With the orb of light still in his other hand, he dives to his knees. But I’m faster. I don’t know when I shifted back into my firefox form, but paws are what reach the Chariot and send it skittering out into the hall. I dart after it, but the man clambers over the crates, leaping over my head, his cloak trailing after him. I snap my teeth, grasping the edge of his cloak and locking it in my jaw before he can escape. He whirls toward me and reaches his free hand toward his hip, but his eyes widen when he comes up empty. No more daggers.
Fire roars through me, and I let it rise, let my flame dance over my body, extending from my ears, my face, and the tip of my muzzle. Purple, pink, and aqua fire lights the edge of his cloak. I release him and my flames leap higher. He stumbles back, struggling with his free hand to release the clasp of his cloak, but I circle his ankles, igniting the hem of his trousers, the laces of his boots.
His cries assault my ears as he begins a frantic dance to stamp out the flames. It’s no use. My fire is growing by the second. In a final bid to save his own life, he releases the orb from his hand. The fur stands up along the ridge of my spine, and everything inside me screams danger, even as the light of the orb blinds me once again. And yet, even without seeing it, I can sense the orb. The energy it emits hums through the corridor, a tangible weight against the air around it.
I close my eyes and leap forward. My paws make contact just as I realize they won’t do the trick.
Once again, I need hands. Hands. Hands. It’s all I can think.
My back slams into the hard floor, thrusting the air from my lungs. They’re human lungs. And clasped between my human hands is the glowing orb.
* * *
Energy buzzesbetween my fingers as I return to the weapons room. With trembling hands that beg to be rid of the chilling power radiating from the object, I return the orb to the small box and shut the lid. Only when the room returns to dark do I feel I can breathe again.
It takes me several breaths to compose myself before I can approach the man. He’s gone still, and my flames have died down to a subtle flicker, seeking flesh and cloth that have yet to be charred.
I swallow the bile that rises in my throat as I look down at the man. His skin is blackened, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. I crouch at his side, trying not to focus on his wounds—wounds I caused with my terrifying power.
“Who sent you here?”
His lips peel back from his teeth, the movement splitting the skin at the corners of his mouth, but he says nothing.
My mind reels to find a way to extend his life long enough to get the answers I need. He’s most certainly near death. Then I remember the power I’ve hardly given much thought to ever since I learned I could wield flame. It’s a power I’ve used many times without knowing it, something me and Mother were both able to utilize to help others heal—life force.
Ignoring my revulsion at the damage I’ve caused, I place my hands over his burnt chest. A gentle fire flows from my heart and down my arms, tingling my palms. “I will heal you if you answer my questions. Who sent you and what is the significance of that orb?”
He snarls again. “Don’t touch me, vile half breed.”
My entire body goes still. “So you know of me.” Although, technically, I’m a quarter breed, but this isn’t the time for asserting facts.
“Are you working with the Renounced? Queen Dahlia?”
“Fool,” he mutters.
I clench my jaw and feel the halt in the flow of energy from my hands. “I will heal you if you tell me,” I say through my teeth, “but you must tell me something.”
“He will ruin you,” he finally says.
My pulse races. “Who? Cobalt?”
The semblance of a grin stretches over his blackened face as his eyes roll back in his head. “He will ruin all of you.”
I move my hands from his chest to his shoulders, shaking him. “Who? Tell me and I will heal you, you idiot!”
“The mainland army comes even as we speak. Warships by the dozen. The time of the fae is at an end.”
My blood goes cold. I don’t need to know the name he refuses to say. It could be but one person.
He grins, opening more fissures at the corners of his mouth. “Mr. Duveau sends his love.”
I stare down at him, no longer able to feel the fire running through my palms. His eyes slide away from mine, his grin fading, lips going slack. That’s when I realize the man is gone.
Another life taken by me.
16
My mate.
