Page 19 of Dragon's Flame
And of course she’d left her purse behind, with her phone and her wallet.
The dog returned and barked something up at Tarian, and he responded with a grunt. “This way.”
“To the murder-a-torium,” she muttered, but she followed.
There wereboards up across the door to the main building, but he yanked them off—either the wood they were nailed into was rotted, or he still possessed far too much strength, despite being down a few pints.
“Wait here,” he commanded. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the dog—either way, they both obeyed. He disappeared into the darkness, then returned moments later. “We’re alone,” he announced.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she said, hugging herself with her arms.
It was cold, and there was fog pouring off of the crooked roof above. He took his coat off and offered it to her—and while she knew taking it would only encourage him, she also didn’t want to make him mad, so she put it on. The jacket was almost as long as her dress’s skirt—and looking at him in the misty dark made her realize it’d been hiding even more of his bloodstain.
“Something is wrong with you, mister,” she whispered.
“Believe me, I know,” he said, gesturing for her to come in.
The moonlight barely pierced the grimy windowpanes, casting long shadows over what had once been a lobby. A fireplace loomed at one end, a dust-covered couch at the other.
“Sit here,” he told her, pointing to a spot in front of the fireplace, and she did as she was told, while twisting her head back to keep him in sight. He picked up the wood he’d pried off the door, then brought it over, tossing it into the fireplace, and knelt down, blocking her view for a moment—before the wood erupted into strong flames.
Kenna tried to make sense of things. He just so happened to have matches? In his pants’ pockets?
And maybe a flask of gasoline?
“You were cold,” he explained, like it helped. Then he reached out, like he was holding himself up by the stones over the fire.
“Mister?” she asked, watching him breathe roughly. “Tarian?” she tried next, when he didn’t respond. “Are you okay?”
He turned just enough for her to see his profile, his expression unreadable—until a small, sad half-smile flickered across his lips.
“No,” he admitted. Then he let go—and fell.
The dog started panicking before she did.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, scrambling back. Then her hands flew to the pockets of her borrowed coat.
There were car keys in them.
Halle-fucking-lujah!
She stood up at once, while the dog nuzzled Tarian’s side, barking frantically.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call nine-one-one,” she said, backing away. Then she leaned over, shouting, “And they’ll be sure to take you to the hospital before they arrest your ass!”
She whirled and raced outside, the little dog hot on her heels.
She reached the van, yanked the door open—only for sharp teeth to nip at her boot. She stumbled back, staring down. The dog glared up at her.
“What?” she snapped. “You can come with me!” She patted the driver’s seat. “Did he kidnap you too? Because no one normal cut your hair like that.”
The dog huffed, sitting on its haunches before glancing back toward the dilapidated lobby. It whined softly, the sound cutting through the cold night air.
“He’s going to be fine,” she said, though her voice faltered.
She didn’t know that. And worse? A stupid part of her—one she’d been perfectly fine ignoring—cared.
“No,” she muttered, both to herself and the dog. “I’m out of here.”
