A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

London

eight days to return to the horde

T he pixie leaned over the table to set down their pints of lager, turning to smile at Barith, her deep dimples, and full ruby-red lips on full display. Levian watched sharply as the pix ran her dainty fingers delicately down Barith’s bicep.

“Need anything else, darling?” the pix asked, her fair eyes glued to the dragon, her fingers lingering longer than necessary.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Levian clipped, reaching for her drink. The pix blinked as if she’d forgotten Levian was even there, her smile slightly faltering.

“The crisps,” Barith reminded her.

The pixie perked up, her smile brightening as she winked at the dragon. With a snap of her fingers, a bag of crisps appeared in her hand. She had some fae blood if she could conjure. She handed the bag to Barith. “The onion, right?”

The pix might as well have taken her curvy behind and sat it right in Barith’s lap with how much sexual energy practically wafted off of her.

“Aye,” Barith confirmed, tearing open the bag. “I cannae believe ye remember that. Thanks, Lily. We really appreciate yer help.”

Lily smiled at him. “Any time, darling,” she added, her fingers grazing his bicep one last time before disappearing into the crowd.

After a night of raucous drinking in Berlin, of which Levian only remembered bits and pieces, Carvatticus had left to return to Obsidian. The daemon had seemed to make friends with Barith, much to her delight and annoyance—especially since some of what she did recall of the night involved them trying to one-up each other by telling the most embarrassing stories they could remember about her. Car won in the end. It hadn’t been amusing.

Barith shoved a handful of onion crisps into his mouth and turned to Levian. “Wha—?” he mumbled, crumbs falling into his beard.

Levian rolled her eyes and took a deep swig of her lager. “I take it you two have been an item?”

“Me and Lily?” he scoffed, nearly downing half his pint in one gulp. “Nah.”

Levian raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “She practically tripped over herself when you walked in, and she’s exactly your type.”

He grunted. “And what exactly is my type?” he asked, refilling his mouth with crisps.

“You love a flirt with curves and a captivating smile. There was a time when those dimples alone would’ve been enough to charm you out of your better senses—not that you had many to begin with,” she snarked.

Barith chuckled, tipping his head thoughtfully. “Ye aren’t far off, though I’m not quite the same dragon I once was,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I don’t go rolling about with every creature willing to smile at me.”

Levian mocked a gasp. “It’s the end of an era.” He smiled, and even Levian wasn’t immune to the charm of his expression. Her insides turned irritatingly gooey.

“Ye can say whatever you like, mage,” he shot back, amusement glinting in his eyes. “But we both know I’m as charming as a country cottage in springtime.”

Levian snorted softly. “Perhaps one that’s missing half its thatched roof.”

Barith scratched his bearded chin before leaning closer to speak over the rising noise of the crowded bar. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ye were a bit jealous,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Jealous of what exactly?” she retorted.

He took another long pull from his pint, sucking the foam from his mustache. “That I’ve still got it, and yer only lovers these days are books.”

Levian scowled. “And what makes you think that?” she shot back tartly.

Barith gave a soft shrug. “You’ve been busy with other things, and ye rarely mix business with pleasure unless it’s extremely convenient.”

She bristled at the acuteness of his observation. “I’m that obvious, am I?” she sneered.

“Yer just you,” he replied, his voice calm and genuine.

Levian scoffed into her pint and scanned the crowd, hoping to drop the subject of her nonexistent love life. They were here for a reason—not to flirt with barkeeps or argue about who had more sex appeal. Levian knew she could easily find a lover if she wanted to, but she didn’t, even if she did feel more irritably undersexed these days. There would be time for lovers after her black-masked thieves were caught, which was precisely why they were in this Folk pub in the middle of London in the first place.

The Eldreth were an old family of pixies that ran the largest underground brokerage dealing in rare Dokk artifacts. Levian had a lot of connections, but oddly, she had none when it came to the Eldreth. They were meticulous, secretive, and didn’t exactly have a phone number to call. She needed an in—someone who could help her find an Eldreth Curator to verify the Heart Orb and facilitate a deal for them to broker its sale. If the Eldreth tried to sell the orb, the thieves would know it was legitimate and would most certainly come hunting for it. All they needed was the Curator, and she hoped to have a name before the night was through.

“Enlighten me.” Levian prompted. It wasn’t as if they had anything else to do while they waited for Lily to point out the shifter who might have the name she was after.

Barith finished his beer and turned on his stool to face her better. When he shifted, an entire table of young witches looked at him, smiling and giggling. It had always been like this. Barith was a dragon, and dragons were like rare gems. Rare gems with a reputation for being rather skilled lovers, even if not all deserved such unearned praise. The fact that Barith was silver-tongued and stacked with muscle didn’t hurt his prospects, not to mention his auburn hair, golden-flecked beard, amber eyes that could sparkle with flame, and his rather obvious tail. He usually kept his wings and tail glamoured away when they were among mortals, but down here in this basement pub amongst the Folk, he let his tail hang openly along the edge of his stool.

The dragon didn’t seem to notice the witches at all. “You never take lovers when you’re focused on work,” he told her. “Ye like to throw yourself at a problem without distraction. I’ve always respected you for it, to be honest—yer discipline. And when you’re with someone, you have your rules and keep to them.”

Levian fought back the uncharacteristic urge to blush under such an apt observation of herself. “I don’t know about rules ,” she mumbled.

Barith chuckled. “Don’t get yer silk panties in a twist, Vi.” He raised his hand and waved at Lily for another round. Levian couldn’t see her, but based on Barith’s swoon-worthy smile, she imagined Lily had smiled back with her giant dimples. “All I’m saying is that ye know what ye want and how to set clear boundaries. Ye’ve seen me muck up countless relationships, so ye know I’ve got no room to judge.”

“That’s because you always knew your fate,” she declared without thinking. Barith’s whole countenance darkened, and Levian cursed herself immediately. “I’m sorry,” she offered, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to?—”

He shrugged it off. “Och, it’s alright. Maybe yer right. I always knew my mother would call me home eventually to get mated, but honestly?—”

“What?” she asked, sliding her beer toward him, chilling it with a swipe of her finger as she did. She’d never been much of a lager fan and was fine to spend a few evenings sober after their night in Berlin.

He shifted in his seat and looked down at his empty glass. “It’s silly,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I always thought I’d find love. That I’d find my true mate, and then my mother wouldn’t have a say in who I ended up with.”

Levian’s heart couldn’t help but soften at his words. It was charming, albeit a bit silly. Dragons had old traditions around courtship and mating. Arranged matings were more common than not. From her understanding, mating in the magickal sense—finding a true mate—was extremely rare. It was even rarer, or unheard of entirely, for a dragon to mate with someone who wasn’t also a dragon, and as far as she knew, Barith had never had too much interest in dragon females.

“We can’t all be as lucky as Gwen and Sirus,” she said softly.

The dragon grinned half-heartedly back at her. “Aye, those two are downright disgusting.”

She laughed. “I do love them dearly, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to set foot in Volkov again without remembering the time I caught them in the library—very loudly?—”

Barith pulled a face and slammed his palms over his ears. “I don’t want to hear it,” he groaned. “Gwen is like one of my wee sisters—it’s just—gross.”

“I only mean that they could figure out some kind of warning system,” she chuckled. “Even a tie on the door handle would suffice.”

Levian knew real love wasn’t in the cards for her. It just wasn’t how she was built. But she couldn’t help feeling warmed by seeing Gwen and Sirus together. Levian would never know how a surly, stoic vampire like Sirus ended up with a charming creature like Gwendolyn, but their odd pairing was beautiful—a true love match for the ages and one she believed would endure for many years to come.

A glass shattered somewhere in the bar, and Barith cocked his head to get a better look. Levian watched him in the dim light, her heart-stirring slightly. The dragon had always been a ridiculous romantic, willing to throw himself headfirst into love until things inevitably imploded dramatically. There were times over their long acquaintance when Barith had been her closest friend and confidant. When they’d reconnected last fall to help Gwendolyn, they’d quickly returned to their old ways. Levian had again enjoyed the comfort of Barith’s reassuring presence in her life—his irritating but endearing solidity. She knew he’d grown accustomed to it too, which was why it had been so difficult when she’d left to take on her role with the Council and why she’d bristled when he’d been called home for his long-overdue courtship. She’d felt his absence more this time than ever before because, this time, it was permanent.

“Barith,” she started, unsure where she was headed, knowing she’d likely regret it. “I am happy—happy that you?—”

Lily suddenly popped up at their table empty-handed. “He’s here,” she told Barith, leaning unnecessarily low so her ample bosom was on full display, her very low-cut top emphasizing the view. The dragon followed her gaze as the pix peered over her shoulder at a large creature standing at the bar, his bright red dragon tail swishing lazily behind him.

“That’s him,” Levian confirmed. It wasn’t easy for other Folk to see, but shifters had a strange energy when using their gift—like a picture not quite in focus. The mage could have found him without Lily.

Barith rose from his stool, and the Lily went wide-eyed as he towered over her, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as she no doubt imagined all the wicked things she and Barith could do together.

“Thanks, Lily. We’ll take it from here,” he said.

“All right,” she replied, her voice a bit breathless. “Just don’t make too much of a scene, darling. It’s busy tonight.”

He winked at her, his smile as charming as ever, as he began to step into the crowd, which parted for him like the sea. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetness.”

Levian could hear the woman giggle behind her and glared at Barith, who caught her scathing look out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he mouthed.

“You’re insufferable,” she mouthed back.

He smiled smugly. “Insufferably irresistible,” he replied proudly as they came up behind the shifter. Levian rolled her eyes and gestured to the shifter standing before them. Barith looked the fake dragon up and down before shooting Levian an unimpressed look.

The shifter felt their gaze and turned to look over his shoulder. He was broad, with wavy deep brown hair, yellow eyes, and tattoos crawling up his neck in an incoherent jumble—utter gibberish to anyone familiar with Elder runes.

“Hello, brother,” Barith greeted the shifter warmly.

The faux dragon turned to face them, his smile widening, clearly proud of himself for fooling a real dragon with his disguise. “Oi, mate,” he said, his East End accent coloring his words. “Ain’t usually see other dragons in ‘ere. How ‘bout that?”

It was almost laughable. No member of a dragon horde would have such an accent. The nearest horde was Barith’s, based on the isles northeast of Scotland.

“Let me buy ya a pint,” the shifter offered, nodding toward the bar.

“A raincheck,” Barith replied, his tone turning more menacing, his hand clapping down on the shifter's shoulder with enough force to make the other man wince. Then he yanked the shifter closer. “You know, I try to be a good sport about this kind of thing, but my friend over there told me you’ve been using her pub as a spot to sell some shite drug the Alchemists are cooking up.”

The Alchemists were the makers of Opal, as well as all the other more popular drugs to pass through the Folk underground over the last century. No one knew precisely who led their organization, but Levian suspected a mage had to be involved in their concoctions—a gifted mage at that.

The shifter tried to yank himself free, but it was pointless. They could mimic strength, but it was never entirely on par with the appearance. Barith dug his fingers in harder, and the shifter buckled under the pressure, his expression pained. “I ain't sellin' nothin’,” the creature snarled through gritted teeth as sweat began to form over his face.

To anyone watching, it looked like two dragons having some private tense chat.

Levian reached into the pocket of the shifter’s hideous satin jacket and pulled out a small bag of little vials, each filled with iridescent, vibrant powder. She held them up to his face. “Oh, no? This is Opal, isn’t it?”

The shifter tried to snatch the bag, but Barith held him fast.

“Tonight’s your lucky night,” Barith said, glaring at the shifter. “I’m not going to beat the shite out of you or turn you into the magistrate. Instead, you’re going to help us, and if you’re a good lad, maybe we’ll let you keep that memory of yours intact.”

The shifter’s eyes darted between them, the sweat pouring off him now. Still, he gathered enough nerve to snort back, “Feck off, ya tw—” He was cut off at the end when Levian raised her glowing fingers before his face and spoke a relatively simple spell.

Levian tossed the little bag of vials into her enchanted bag and leaned in close, her eyes flaring with magick. “What was that?” she purred, cupping her ear.

The shifter’s eyes grew wide as he struggled to make a sound while Barith held him down.

Levian smiled sweetly at him. “That’s what I thought. So, let me make myself clear. You’re going to help us, or I’m going to take some of this—” she said, pointing to the horrible tattoo on his neck,“—and use a real spell to jumble that little brain of yours until you can barely say your name, let alone sell that trash. Got it?”

She wasn’t a good liar, but he didn’t need to hear the part about how her memory spell usually wore off after a few days. Panic filled the shifter’s eyes. “Wot d’ya want?” he mouthed, to her satisfaction.

“A name,” Levian said before slapping him clear across the face, sending a spray of violet sparks along her path.

The shifter was knocked out cold, and Barith jerked to hold him upright on the stool. “What the hell, Vi?” he snapped.

Several patrons turned to look at all the commotion. “Dragon or not, no means no!” she yelled for all to hear before turning on her heel to storm out of the pub.

There were a few cheers and encouragement as she left, leaving Barith to haul the shifter out alone.

“That was a bit dramatic,” Barith grumbled as he dropped the unconscious shifter near the dumpster in the alley behind the pub.

Levian preened her dark brown houndstooth wool jacket. “It worked, didn’t it? No one looked twice at you for hauling him out unconscious.”

“Aye,” he admitted. “You seemed rather proud of yourself, too.”

She smiled sweetly. “Are you surprised?”

“Not in the least,” Barith replied with a smirk. He pushed the sleeves of his long-sleeved white shirt up past his elbows. The dragon only wore a jacket if it was freezing outside, and even then, he would complain about it. “Ready?” he asked.

Levian finished adjusting her coat and nodded.

Barith gave the shifter a none-too-gentle nudge with his boot. “Oye!”

The creature startled, flailing about. “What the ‘ells!” he snarled, throwing his hands up to hold his aching head, his accent even more pronounced now.

“It’ll wear off,” Levian said without a hint of sympathy. “I can make it better if you tell me what I want to know.”

Barith glared at the shifter as the creature scrambled to his feet, leaning against a rancid dumpster for balance. The dragon facade was already wearing off—he was markedly shorter, with ruddy cheeks, brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouthful of similarly off-kilter teeth. The impressive dragon muscles he’d been mimicking receded to reveal a thicker, paunchier physique.

“W-wot d’ya want?” the shifter stuttered fearfully.

Barith kept his expression hard. This wasn’t his first shakedown with Levian. He knew his role—look intimidating, which was easy enough, and be the muscle if needed. It rarely got that far. Levian was more than capable of siphoning information out of people with magick—eerily so. But it was tricky, and as she’d explained to him a long time ago, one wrong tug could jumble memories or worse. It was easier if their marks spilled what they knew without having to use magick.

“We know selling Opal is just one of your many forms of employment,” Levian said, her tone casual. “And that you’re also a runner for the Eldreth from time to time.”

The shifter’s once fine brown hair thinned quickly, fading to a dirty gray-blond. “I dunno wot yer talkin’—”

“Are you really going to do this?” Levian snapped, her voice dripping with exasperation.

The shifter scowled, inching away from the stinking dumpster and closer to the pile of empty kegs. “Look, lady,” he snarled, “I dunno who the ‘ell you are, but if ya know I work for the Eldreth—which I ain’t sayin’ I do—then ya know they’d cut out me bloody tongue if I said a word. Not that there’s anythin’ to tell. They make sure none of us runners know squat, just in case this kinda shit ‘appens.”

Barith didn’t dislike shifters in general. Most were good, honest Folk who used their abilities to enhance or alter their features subtly, not entirely mimick the full appearance of another. It wasn’t easy to replicate another creature so thoroughly, especially one of such a dramatically different body size. This shifter was a little weasel, but Barith wasn’t about to underestimate him either.

Levian sighed, shooting Barith a look. His cue. He sauntered over to the shifter, letting his wings unfurl behind him. Embers flared into the darkened alleyway, flickering orange light casting shadows across the brick walls. “And if you don’t tell us what we want to know, what do you think I’ll do to ye?” he growled menacingly. He drew fire from within, letting his eyes flash with flame and smoke spill from his mouth to an intimidating effect.

The shifter cowered against the wall, his eyes wide. Barith could almost hear the other man’s mind racing, calculating whether he’d rather take on a dragon or the Eldreth. “F-Fine,” he relented quickly. His employer was a distant danger, while the dragon was a very present one. “Y-You want a name?”

“Yes,” Levian replied. “I want the name of a Curator.”

The shifter snorted. “I dunno no Curators.”

“Oh, come now,” she purred. “You’re a clever creature. Just because you shouldn’t know doesn’t mean you don’t.” The shifter’s face twisted. Levian’s voice grew sharper as she added, “And I’m tired of standing in this alley.” Barith cracked his knuckles. The shifter gulped.

“I-I dunno no names,” the creature stammered. “Swear it. There ain’t many Curators to start.”

Levian’s expression darkened, her patience wearing thin. She’d been confident the shifter would have a name. “I hope you have something better than that,” she snapped.

Barith stepped closer, and the shifter raised his hands. “Wait!” he pleaded. “I-I don’t got a name, but there’s somewhere ya might find one.”

“I suggest ye talk fast,” Barith growled. He, too, was tired of standing in the stinking alley.

“T-there’s a trade ‘appenin’—i-in two days,” the shifter stuttered, his words coming in a rush. “I ain’t the runner, but me mate is. Anytime there’s a trade, there’s always a Curator ‘round.”

Barith wasn’t well-versed in the black-market dealings of the Eldreth. He knew enough, but not the finer details, which was part of the point he’d always assumed. They didn’t like anyone knowing how the sausage was made.

Levian’s eyes narrowed. “And where might this trade be happening?”

“K-Kamár,” the shifter stuttered.

Barith frowned. The name sounded familiar but elusive. He glanced at Levian. Her eyes met his briefly, and he could tell she knew the place.

The mage stepped closer, her gaze locked on the shifter. “Anything else?” Barith growled low to add a little pressure.

The shifter grimaced, sliding further along the wall. “Wot more d’ya want?” he hissed. “I ain’t gettin’ meself killed for you two! So you can just go—” A sudden pop and blinding flash filled the alley.

Levian cursed, and Barith quickly stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever might come next. He blinked away the stars in his eyes, his vision clouded. Levian bumped into his back, her hand bracing against him.

“I’m fine,” she snarled. “That son of a?—”

A shout of pain echoed from further down the alley. For a shifter who wasn’t in great shape, he was fast.

“Do I need to be running?” Barith asked, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear his vision.

Levian cursed again. “No!” she hissed. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Satisfied, Barith tucked his wings away and turned to face her. She was a blurry outline, but he could see the faint pink of her hair. Levian braced a hand on his arm, steadying herself as she blinked repeatedly.

“I hate those pixie flash bombs!” she shouted angrily. “They always make me feel sick.”

As his vision slowly returned, Barith glanced over his shoulder, spotting the shifter sprawled flat on his back, unconscious.

“An invisible barrier?” Barith asked.

“Yes,” Levian replied, still rubbing her eyes. “I also added a little extra bounce. It’s not my fault the idiot ran into it with such force he knocked himself out cold.”

Barith rumbled a laugh. “Clever. What is bloody Kamár?”

Levian blinked dramatically, her violet eyes still glowing softly with magick as they met his. “A private club,” she grumbled, her voice laced with irritation. “It’s nearly impossible to get into, and they change the location often. It’s run by the Eldreth.”

Barith grunted. “Can you get in?” He gently tucked a stray curl into the wrap she’d tied her hair in.

She turned slightly. “Are they loose in the back?” He tucked in another unruly strand. “I don’t know,” she replied, returning to face him. “I’d need to call in a few rather large favors.” Her gaze lingered on his wings, which he usually kept hidden away. He’d gotten used to keeping them out when he’d been back home on the island.

Levian smirked. “You look even more intimidating when they’re on full display,” she said.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “Aye, it’s one of the perks.”

She moved past him to get a better look. “They really are remarkable,” she noted, her voice softening. “And larger than I remember.”

Barith blushed—thankfully, she couldn’t see. “They haven’t grown,” he told her.

“I know that,” she replied, “but they look different. More golden now.”

“I’ve been spending more time with them out in the sun,” he explained. Like his hair, which reddened in the sunlight, his wings became more golden.

He sensed her reaching out to touch the edge of his left wing. Barith twisted around, snatching her wrist. “Don’t do that,” he growled, his tone rougher than he intended.

Levian’s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve touched them before,” she reminded him.

“I knew you were going to do it then,” he said, his voice softer. “I could— prepare for it.”

She cocked her head, her gaze sharpening as realization dawned. A wicked smile spread across her lips. Barith immediately turned, stalking down the alley toward the unconscious shifter, glamouring his wings away. “Oh,” she cooed with amusement. “Is that why you keep them hidden so much? Because touching them gets you all?—”

“Can ye not?” he cut her off, his voice tense.

Levian glided up behind him, her laughter soft and teasing. “I always wondered,” she mused. “Especially after that time I caught you with that nymph.”

“Alright, ye’ve had your fun,” he snapped. “Can we get back to tracking down yer damned thieves?”

She chuckled, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out. I’m a little disappointed in myself.”

Barith gritted his teeth, holding back a grumble. If she’d been more observant, she would have figured it out a long time ago. And not every touch of his wings got him all hot under the collar, either. A faint drizzle began to fall, and Barith had never been happier for the rain.

Levian hissed, raising her hand to create a small magick barrier over her head, shielding herself from the mist. “I only need a second to wipe his memory,” she told Barith.

The mage leaned over the shifter, her fingers glowing violet as she held them above his temple, murmuring her spell. When she finished, she dug into his jacket pockets, pulling out two small black balls—pixie flash bombs—and his wallet. She stood, opened her enchanted bag, and tossed them in.

“That should do it,” she said. “He won’t remember much of the last few weeks, I think.”

“Should we drop him at the Magistrate?” Barith asked. “He is selling drugs for the Alchemists.”

Levian sighed. “It wouldn’t do any good. Shifters aren’t really under anyone’s purview, and the Magistrate is likely being paid off to stay out of the Alchemists’s business anyway.”

Barith grunted, accepting her reasoning as he exposed his wings again, holding one high to shield her from the increasing rain. She turned to him, clearly lost in thought, her gaze lingering on his wing before her eyes traced over him, evaluating. He suddenly felt exposed, like a stallion being appraised for auction. He cleared his throat. “Are ye planning how you’re going to chop me into pieces and sell me on the black market?” he teased uneasily.

Levian cocked her head. “No,” she said curtly, “but I think having you here might be more advantageous than I expected.”

“Aye?” he questioned, thoroughly puzzled.

She nodded. “You’re quite the specimen,” she said matter-of-factly.

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, though he knew it wasn’t quite the compliment it sounded like. “Are you thinking of selling me whole, then?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“There aren’t many dragons like you,” she said. His blush deepened despite himself. “And Kamár and its patrons most definitely appreciate rarities,” she added, running a finger down his chest. His skin prickled beneath her touch. She smirked up at him before abruptly turning and heading out of the alley.

Barith hadn’t even noticed the rain had stopped. His mind had simply ceased to function for a moment. It was just a lapse, he told himself. He hadn’t had a lover in some time, that’s all. With a shudder, he stepped over the shifter and followed her. As he did, Levian’s words finally settled in his head.

Kamár and its patrons most definitely appreciate rarities.

“Wait. What exactly are ye planning, Vi?” he asked, shuffling to catch up, his usually low voice suddenly higher. “Vi?”