Page 3 of Shield of Fire

Or, indeed, out of them.

I resisted the impulse to race him back to bed and followed him down the old stairs whose song was faded but still filled with joy. When Cynwrig’s family had renovated this building long ago, they’d obviously done so with the aid of a pixie, because there was no tale of destruction to be heard in that song. The same could not be said about many other redeveloped buildings within Deva’s old walled city. The council might have strict rules in place for all heritage-listed buildings, but that didn’t mean they understood or even cared about the wooden bones of those buildings.

Cynwrig unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs then ushered me into his main residence—a large room containing a luxurious kitchen to the right, a dining area on the street side, and a big old sofa and four comfortable chairs in the middle facing the fireplace and the TV above. It was a comfortable, if little used, space, at least when we were together. Given past comments, the opposite was true when it came to the bevy.

I walked across the room to grab my woolen jacket from the cloak closet, pulling it on as I followed him out the door and down the stairs. No sound came from the other apartments—there were two on each of the three floors—but that wasn’t really surprising given the amount of sound insulation installed. The foyer was large and ornate, the front door a wide expanse of old oak that hummed harmoniously with the rest of the building.

We didn’t use it, however. Cynwrig caught my hand and tugged me to a rear fire exit that wasn’t visible from the front door. He pushed it open and followed me through, but didn’t let the door close, holding it open with his fingertips instead.

The storm I’d felt earlier had started to unleash, the rain more like sleet as it splattered across the already wet concrete.

I hastily did up my coat, then shoved my hands into the pockets, gaze scanning the immediate area but still not seeing the danger I sensed. “How do you want to play this?”

“I’ll head out the front door and draw their attention. You come in from the side.”

“What if they run away?”

Amusement twitched his lovely lips. “They won’t get far.”

“Unless we are dealing with a bird shifter.”

“Then you can use the wind to leash the bastard.”

“Fair point.” I rose onto my toes and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Be careful.”

He laughed softly and lightly touched my nose. “I’m not the one with a long history of getting injured during quests.”

“I wouldn’t call it a long history,” I replied, amused. “I’ve only been doing this whole relic-hunting, bad-guy-chasing thing for a few weeks, remember?”

“And that’s what you think is out there? A bad guy?”

I hesitated and then nodded. “They intend harm.”

What form that harm would take was a question I couldn’t answer, but I wasn’t liking the gathering heat. Thunder rumbled overhead, an uneasy echo of the dread growing within.

“Then let’s move,” Cynwrig said.

He stepped back inside and quietly closed the door. I walked down to the end of the lane, then paused and scanned the street. Lightning flashed in the distance to my right, her power echoing through me, sparking something deep within. Just for a heartbeat, it altered my vision, allowing me to see the air in the same way I could see the golden rivers of life that pulsed through trees or wood when I touched it. These currents were neon bright, however, and filled the darkness with a seemingly endless range of color, allowing me to see objects otherwise hidden from normal sight because of distance or darkness.

The flash faded, and so too did that river.

I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, uncertain whether I should be excited or fearful of this new development. Granted, it might be a very useful gift on relic hunts, but I knew there’d also be drawbacks. There always were when it came to psychic or magic gifts, even if inherited from a father who was a minor god of storms.

I crossed the street and went left. I couldn’t see the arch itself from this angle, but there was a small, orb-shaped section of turbulence hovering several feet off the ground just before it. It was neither a shadow shield nor a natural occurrence, but it was very definitely the source of danger I sensed.

Cynwrig appeared out of Watergate Street, the hood of his black coat drawn low over his head and his body hunched against the rain, an action that somehow made him appear less of a threat.

The heat and sense of danger nevertheless spiked within me, and its source wasn’t that turbulent mass of air up ahead.

We were no longer alone in the rainy darkness. Others were out here now, even if I couldn’t immediately see them.

Thunder rumbled overhead, an ominous sound I felt through every fiber of my being. Once again, I briefly became one with that storm, as incandescent and as bright as the lightning that spun through her. Sparks danced across my skin and drifted away into the night.

One of those sparks briefly caught the gleam of a golden eye.

A man, coming at me, moving so fast he was little more than a blur.

But no man—no human man—could move like that. Not unless he was a shifter or had magical assistance.

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