 
**BURNING VIOLET**

**Fiery Blooms Series**

**Kallysten**

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**_No love burns hotter than a pyromancer's..._**

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_For five months, Idris has languished in a government detention center for paras—people with paranormal abilities. No more. He'd rather die trying to escape than spend one more day in this hell. Today, he's getting out, and he'll set anyone who stands in his way on fire._

_It was just another mission for Violet: help her squad free paras from unjust imprisonment and get them safely to Sanctuary. However, when she's caught between her captain's orders and the sudden realization that one of these prisoners might be her mate, this phoenix needs to choose between duty and destiny._

_On the run from the authorities, Idris only has one thing in mind: revenge. He doesn't mind that Violet insists on accompanying him, though... after all, he's been celibate for far too long. But when he realizes why she's so interested in him, he can't run away fast enough. Even running into danger on his own is preferable to yielding to love..._

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Copyright © 2018 Kallysten

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in 2018

All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Edited by Kristin W.

# CONTENTS

Burning Violet

Thank you

Excerpt

Fiery Blooms series

About the author

# BURNING VIOLET

# CHAPTER ONE

Lying on the bare floor of his cell, the prisoner known as James Watson stared at his hand, raised in front of him. A tiny flame, smaller even than his thumbnail, jumped from fingertip to fingertip in an endless loop.

Such a small flame, with so little heat... It was all he dared to conjure up right now. The fire comforted him, a familiar presence even in this hellhole, enemy and ally all at once, but he had to save up whatever strength he had left. It had been five months already—maybe more. It was hard to keep track of time in a windowless cube that wasn't any larger than eight feet in any direction. Even when they took him out of his cell, he never saw the light of day.

They thought they could break him.

They piped screeching music into his cell at all times of the day or night, sometimes for just a few moments, sometimes for hours. They kept the temperature well below what any normal person could endure. They restricted his access to food and water to the bare minimum he needed to subsist. They'd removed the toilet, leaving only a gaping hole for him to use, the gag-inducing smell of which permeated everything. They hosed the whole room down with frigid water whenever they felt like he needed a wash. He was still frozen down to his bones from the last time, earlier today.

They thought that if they submitted him to these forms of torture along with all the other ones, small and not so small, his resolve would finally snap and he'd agree to cooperate for their experiments. They still tried to study him against his will; it rarely lasted very long. In this bare room, there wasn't much he could do, but out of it, he could always find something to set on fire. He'd tried to escape twice already. He'd try again and again until he succeeded.

It would be easier for all concerned if they just killed him, but they refused to concede defeat to a 'para.' They still believed he, and all the others like him, could be cured—believed it was a sickness to be different. Believed if they didn't act now, soon the entire world would be taken over by 'freaks.'

They knew nothing—not even his name.

Every time one of the guards banged on the metal door and called out, "James Watson. Hands to the wall, resident," he allowed himself an inward snicker. He'd long ago ceased being amused that they called their prisoners 'residents,' as though this were some artist colony on the coast. But he'd never stop relishing the knowledge that, for all their resources, they still didn't know his real identity.

His name was Idris Serden, although he hadn't used it for years even before he'd been taken, right off the street. It was too dangerous in regard to his family, and too dangerous in regard to his mate. With a name as distinctive as his, his family might be found and used as leverage against him. As for his mate...

He rubbed the small flame tipping his index finger over the singed patch of skin on his wrist, the way he always did when the thought of his mate popped into his mind. Every time his skin healed enough that the letters were almost readable, he burned it again, and made sure no one would be able to read what name was tattooed there. He never wanted to meet her. Fated or not, she deserved better than what he could offer her. And whoever she was, she didn't deserve to be used as a weapon against him. No one deserved that.

Three heavy bangs on the metal door echoed through his cell, reverberating against the cement walls. The small opening at the bottom clanked open. Idris pushed himself to a seating position in time to see the opening close again, leaving behind the metal tray that bore his meal for the day. He forced himself to count to fifteen silently before he reached for the tray. He was no dog; no bells or banging would dictate his reactions.

The best that could be said about the chunk of bread was that this time it wasn't moldy. He left it alone for now. The cup of soup would have been little distinguishable from clear water if not for a few unidentifiable bits of vegetables at the bottom. It was, as always, stone cold—but that at least was something Idris could remedy.

He held the metal goblet in both his hands, closing his eyes to slits to focus. The flames that rose from his skin to lick at the goblet weren't any larger than the one that had danced from his fingers, but little by little they warmed up the soup until thin volutes were rising from the surface, carrying a very faint smell of broth. The fire didn't burn his hands; only if he deliberately focused his will, like when he burned off the tattoo, could he hurt himself.

Carefully bringing the hot cup to his lips, Idris did nothing more than inhale for a few seconds before he finally took a small gulp, then a second, not so small one. One last gulp, and the goblet was empty. He kept that last mouthful on his tongue for a long moment, swishing it around his mouth to get every last bit of flavor he could. Hardly good manners, but being polite had long ceased being anywhere at all on his list of priorities. Said list, actually, only contained one item right now: escape.

Escape first, whatever it took. Revenge would come later.

With regret, he swallowed the broth. Now barely lukewarm, it nonetheless felt heavenly sliding down his throat. The bread was next, the fist-sized chunk torn into small pieces that he masticated one at a time until there was nothing left to chew.

When he was done with his meal, he felt even hungrier than before he'd started eating, his stomach twisting as though to demand more. Lying down on the floor again, this time with his head close to the door, he listened intently for sounds in the corridor. He could identify several of the guards by their stride, or the way they ran their batons against the walls and doors as they patrolled the hallway.

There were always two rounds between the delivery of the meal and the retrieval of the trays. The first round, today, was from the guard Idris had nicknamed Gimpy for his slight limp, which meant that, after the second round—today by Heavy who trudged through the corridor as though carrying three men on his back—Gimpy would be the one retrieving the trays.

Good. Idris had payback to dish out toward Gimpy, who'd deliberately knocked over Idris' goblet of soup the last time he'd served meals. Judging by the shouts and angry banging on a door somewhere on the right on that day, he'd done the same for at least one other prisoner as well, probably both of them.

Idris knew their names, or at least what the guards called them, but nothing else. They'd both been brought in after him and he'd never seen either of them, although he'd heard shouting at times as someone was being dragged or wheeled down the corridor. Late at night, when everything was quiet, he could hear crying. He was almost certain that was a child, or at least someone younger than his twenty-five years of age. When he escaped, if he could manage it, he'd try to spring them. They might have powers that would be helpful. If nothing else, the added confusion might give him a better chance.

Idly resting a hand on the metal tray, Idris continued to listen as he focused. In the beginning they'd tried giving him a plastic tray and goblet. He'd set both of them on fire right as the guard retrieved them, causing little damage but creating noxious fumes that had triggered the fire alarm—but that hadn't prompted the guard to open his door, unfortunately. Squeaky, named for his shoes, had been the wrong person to attack, although at the time Idris didn't know the guards well enough to realize that much. They'd switched his tray to metal after that, and Idris had decided to be smarter and start planning rather than cause chaos for the sake of it.

He'd studied the guards, figuring out which one might be more prone to a strong reaction. He'd learned to identify them by sound. He'd counted their steps as best as he could, trying to guess how long the corridor was—a hundred yards by his best estimate. He'd counted the bangs on doors to know how many prisoners were around him—one on the right, one on the left, although he thought there were multiple empty cells on both sides. There used to be a woman on his left, but he hadn't heard her in weeks.

He'd heard a guard complain to a colleague about the old-fashioned metal keys they had to use on this floor, because one of the prisoners could manipulate electronic systems at will—which meant Idris might have to lose a few moments finding the right keys to open cells, but if he found the right prisoner his way out was assured.

He'd waited long enough. He'd gathered as much information as he could from this side of the door. He had to try his luck, and even if he failed he'd have a better idea of the obstacles in his way.

Gimpy was coming, his steps recognizable even behind the sound of the wheels from the carrier on which he set the trays.

Idris was ready.

The opening clanked. With a small hook, Gimpy pulled the tray out and closed the opening again. The hook was so he didn't have to reach in and risk a prisoner grabbing his wrist. But once the tray was safely out, he picked it up with his bare hand and—

A yell of pain permeated through the heavy door, as loud as though Gimpy had been right inside the cell.

"Son of a bitch! The bastard burned me! Can you believe that?"

Idris frowned. He hadn't heard another guard. Were they close? Close enough to intervene when Gimpy's anger made him reach for the door and—

The jangling of keys. Metal rasping against metal. Idris scrambled to his feet and wiped his palms against the torn shorts that were his only clothing. Non-combustible, of course. But the guards wore regular fabric—Idris was almost certain of it. And when Gimpy appeared behind the opening door, his taser already buzzing with electricity in his right hand and fury in his eyes, Idris was ready.

He'd watched countless old westerns with his dad and brother when he was just a kid. In many of them, the whole plot boiled down to one moment, one confrontation: the hero and the villain, face-to-face, hands on their weapons, ready to draw and shoot. It was a contest of speed as well as accuracy.

Idris had both.

He didn't know if he was the villain or the hero here. Unlike the guards, he'd never kidnapped or tortured anyone, but he was hardly a saint. Either way, no one deserved to be treated like this.

Before the door had finished swinging open, he threw his empty hands toward Gimpy, hurling the power he'd been gathering for the past few minutes. A ball of fire as wide as Gimpy's torso flew at him, so bright it drained him of all colors—or that might have been his fear. He didn't have time to react in any way, not even to stumble back or shout. Already the fire was engulfing him, setting his clothing ablaze. He screamed and dropped the taser to beat at the flames with both hands. Steps were resounding down the corridors, calls for help—and the alarm, already.

Damn it. Idris had hoped to have at least a few moments before the alarm went off. No doubt it'd summon every guard in the building. He'd have to leave the other prisoners to their fate and try his luck on his own.

He rushed out of his cell, wrenching the ring of keys out of the lock on the way. He picked up the taser on the floor, giving no more than a contemptuous look to Gimpy, who was now rolling back and forth on the sickly green tiles. His screams were easier to ignore than the stench of burning flesh and hair.

Bet he'd like to be on the receiving end of that hose now, Idris thought with vicious satisfaction.

The other guard, Heavy, was on the left, rushing forward while trying to figure out how to operate the fire extinguisher he held. Idris ran to the right, past two heavy doors. A poor bastard was calling out from the second one, banging on the metal. Steven Johnson, the guards called him. Idris gritted his teeth and continued onward. A door made of metal bars blocked the way. In those westerns from his childhood, the town's jail always had bars like these.

Idris shoved the taser behind the waistband of his shorts and fumbled with the keys. There were six of them on the ring, five that were very similar, like the one that had opened his cell, and a larger, heavier one. That had to be it.

Glancing back just long enough to see Heavy smother Gimpy with thick white foam, Idris pushed the large key into the lock—or at least tried to. With adrenaline rushing through him, his hands were shaking so hard he had to try a couple of times before the key finally slid in. He turned it with a wordless cry, threw the door open, and stopped dead in his tracks.

A woman had just appeared past a door in the corridor ahead of him. She held a gun with both hands and looked in his direction with dark eyes so cold they seemed dead. The only way he could tell she was a woman was from the generous curves of her breasts and her hourglass figure. She was clothed entirely in black, from the heavy boots on her feet to a black catsuit that hugged her body to the face mask that covered her hair and features, exposing no more than her eyes.

She didn't look like a guard, and that was why Idris was slow to react. With just a second's warning, he could have blasted her the way he had Gimpy, but already her gun was pointed in his direction, already she was barking, "Down!"

She fired before he could obey.

# CHAPTER TWO

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_Forty-five minutes earlier_

The three oversized screens on the wall each showed the blueprint of one floor of the containment center. Millie, the leader of the squad, stood at the back of the room behind everyone else and pointed at the screens with a green pinpoint laser, following the path even as she explained it—again. Slouching in a seat in the front row, Violet did her best to refrain from tapping her booted foot on the linoleum floor.

They'd gone through this briefing three times in the past week already, in addition to individual briefings. Being prepared was good and well, but everyone knew the plan would change at the moment of first contact with the enemy. It always did. So what was the point?

"The point of this briefing," Millie said, raising her voice a little, "is that the plan changed. So please pay attention."

Violet didn't turn toward her, didn't move to acknowledge in any way that the words might have been directed at her, but she thought as strongly as she could, _Butt out of my head_.

Honestly, telepaths were a pain in the ass.

"We've received more intel about the lowest level," Millie went on, her voice back to its neutral tone. The green dot of her pointer circled the third screen broadly. "There are only three prisoners kept there at the moment, and from what we know, all three of them are unstable and a danger to both themselves and others. Depending on how quickly we evacuate the middle floor and how much resistance we encounter, it might not be worth it to go down to the lowest level."

This time, Violet did turn around so Millie would see her frown, and she voiced her protest aloud for all members of the squad to hear.

"It's not _worth it_ to get every para out of that place? You can't seriously mean that."

Millie's face remained impassible, although she corrected herself.

"I should have said, it might be too dangerous. There are twelve paras on the first level of containment, including two of our own. These are our priority. If the opportunity presents itself, we'll grab the other three as well. But if it's a choice between risking the entire operation or leaving behind three paras about whom all we know is that they're unstable... then yes. I seriously mean that we'll put the needs of the many over the needs of the few. Anyone who has a problem with that can stay at headquarters and write a memo about their objections. Are we clear?"

The dozen or so people in the room all made murmurs of assent—including Violet. The hell if she was going to be left behind, even if she disagreed. All she had to do was keep her thoughts quiet in her own mind so Millie wouldn't pick up on them. No doubt she'd only noticed Violet's boredom earlier because it was so pronounced. In a room this full, she usually couldn't focus on anyone in particular.

Besides, all Violet needed was a look around the room to find Ryan and meet his eyes. She raised her eyebrows in a question. In reply, he winked at her. They were in agreement, then. 'If the opportunity presents itself,' Millie had said. Violet and Ryan would make sure it did. Both of them were shifters, and both of them had been caged before—Violet for only a few days, Ryan for close to a year. They weren't going to leave anyone behind, and that was the end of it. No para deserved this treatment. As far as Violet was concerned, to fail to even try to free them would be tantamount to collaborating with the authorities. She'd rather cut off her own wings.

As they filed out of the room, the entire squad passed by Millie and received from her the miniature headset that would allow them to communicate during the operation. Violet, having been in the front row, ended up the last one in line. When she reached Millie, the squad leader didn't immediately give her the headset, and instead considered her intently, her brows furrowed. She kept her hair cropped to quasi-military standards, which accentuated the severity of her expression.

"Are you rummaging through my mind?" Violet asked in as bland a tone as she could manage. "I thought that went against the squad's code of conduct, Sir."

Millie snorted and shook her head.

"I co-wrote that code of conduct, so I know perfectly well what it says. Including the part about agreeing to follow all reasonable orders if you decide to join our group. You do remember that part, don't you, Ladybird?"

Code names were regularly employed in the squad, but somehow every time Millie used Violet's she managed to made it sound mocking. Violet forced herself to smile and held out her hand.

"Perfectly," was all she said.

After another few seconds, Millie finally gave her a headset and nodded her forward. Controlling her breathing, Violet let out a long, slow breath even as she slipped the headset in her ear. She wouldn't have put it past Millie to ground her from this mission, and that would have absolutely sucked.

There was a war going on, paras against government, and Violet was a fighter. If she'd wanted to stay safe, she'd have remained at Sanctuary. She wanted to help people who, like her, through no fault of their own, were different. And as far as she was concerned, that included 'unstable,' 'dangerous' people too.

Her next stop was by the armory, where the rest of the squad was putting on armor and strapping on weapons. The first, she didn't need, although she did alter her clothes to match the rest of the squad: black, tight, reinforced over the torso and thighs. It took no more than a few moments of focus to rearrange her feathers and turn them fully black and completely seamless.

When she was in her phoenix form, they gleamed like gold, but in her human form she could alter their appearance at will. Whether phoenix or human, however, they protected her from blades and most firearms. She would be in trouble if their intel was wrong and the containment center was defended with heavy artillery, but then, so would the entire squad.

Ryan approached her, and, without a word, handed her two guns. She took one, checked the ammunition and the chamber before strapping it to her thigh. She did the same thing with the second gun. This one, she hid under her feathers at the small of her back.

"Knives?" Ryan asked

Violet shook her head.

"I think I'll be okay," she said with a slight smile, and raised her hand between them, fingers spread out. All it took was a thought, and each of her nails extended into three inches worth of serrated talons. Ryan barked out a brief laugh.

"How could I forget?" he said with a grin.

Next to them, Petro chuckled, the deep sound like the rumble of thunder.

"You call that talons?" he asked even as he extended his middle finger upward. His nail grew until it was maybe seven inches long, with a wicked metallic gleam on its edge.

"Dragons," Ryan said with a disgusted snort. "Always got to brag about your size, huh? Almost like you're compensating for something."

Petro laughed, as did a few people around them, but not Hazel, Violet noticed. She and Petro used to date, but since they'd broken up she'd been withdrawn. Maybe when they were all back to Sanctuary, Violet would ask her for coffee and see if she wanted to talk about it.

There was an unspoken understanding between all the shifters in the squad. It didn't really matter what animal they shifted into. They were family. Like in most families, siblings teased each other at every possible opportunity. And like in most families, they were there for each other, no matter what.

They all finished their preparations, and when Millie appeared at the door, dressed in the navy blue guard uniform that would help them get access to the facilities, all she had to do was give a single nod. Everybody followed.

Down in the garage, Violet cast a wistful look toward her motorcycle. She'd shined every last bit of it just days ago, and it gleamed under the lights, the flames painted along the body as bright as a real fire. She'd left the keys in the ignition. No one in the squad would dare touch her baby. She wished she could have gone to the mission riding it. If she had her way, she would ride everywhere. Or rather, she would ride everywhere she couldn't fly. Today, however, everyone was climbing into one of two vans. Going in, there were only seven of them in each van, two at the front, and five in the back. If all went well, the vans would be a lot more crowded coming back.

As planned, the drive took about twenty minutes. The location for the base of operations had been chosen for its proximity to the containment center. They would regroup at the base afterward, but then it would be abandoned. The newly-freed prisoners would be brought to Sanctuary to rest, heal if they needed to, and receive new identities, and the members of the squad would be left to their own devices until their next operation.

It was a simple plan, really, almost too simple, but then simple could be very effective. Simplicity had been at the core of the center's design, too: build an underground facility, top it with an unmemorable building that looked like the dozens of other commercial properties around it, keep the security to a minimum so as not to attract attention, and remain incognito right on the edge of the east coast's largest metropolitan area. Many such containment facilities followed the same idea of keeping things small and hiding in plain sight. The design was sound, but the issue here, like so often, was the human element: all that was needed to break the secret was for one of the people who worked there to speak too much.

Using forged credentials and identities, Millie and Jeremy gained access to the facility, each of them pretending to be bringing in a newly captured para in the van they drove. They were both telepaths, although Jeremy was still learning to use his abilities. The idea was that if they were on the verge of being discovered, or if the guards manning the entrance grew suspicious, telepaths would realize as much right away, and give them a few seconds more to react.

No such thing happened today. They drove right in, everyone quickly came out of the vans, and they were greeted in the indoor garage by their contact. From what Millie had said, the man wasn't a para himself, but his mate was. Living with her, he had realized what all paras knew, but that seemed so hard to understand for regular people: having powers did not make paras any less human than the rest of them. A pity that it had taken finding his mate for the man to realize what he did for a living was abhorrent, but at least by then he had enough seniority to be useful to the cause. He and his mate would be sent to Sanctuary to start new lives, too.

"All right, no time to lose," Millie said, stepping to the front of the squad. "You know your orders. Good luck."

They separated into three groups. Three people remained with the vans, ready to protect the squad's retreat. Two would disable the guards at the entrance, insuring the squad would be able to leave unimpeded but also ready to report on any potential reinforcements coming in. The rest followed their informant to the service elevator, which was large enough to take them all to the first of the underground levels.

Millie had chosen this time, late in the evening, to attack because at this hour the so-called scientists who performed experiments on the paras would be gone for the night, and all the prisoners would be back in their cells. The informant was supposed to be in the surveillance office monitoring the closed circuit televisions, so the cameras placed at regular intervals on the ceiling were not a problem.

What was a problem, however, was that one of those scientists was either overzealous or running late: when the elevator doors opened onto what should have been an empty corridor, a man dressed in a lab coat looked up from the clipboard he was making notes on as he walked. At his side, a teenager who didn't look a day older than fifteen was strapped to a wheelchair, his dazed expression and lolling head hinting that he was drugged. One black-clad guard pushed the wheelchair, while another walked behind them. Neither of the guards had a weapon in hand, but the second one had a walkie-talkie close to his mouth and was talking to someone.

Five shots were fired, no louder than quiet 'pops' thanks to the silencers. One of them came from Violet's gun. The scientist and the guards all fell to the floor as though they'd been nothing more than puppets whose strings had suddenly been cut. But the guard on the walkie-talkie must have had time to give at least one word of warning: within two seconds, the blaring sound of an alarm filled the corridor.

"All right," Millie said in a cool voice. "We knew the alarm would be raised at some point. It just means we need to be fast. Siren, you take this kid to the vans and stay down to help the others. The rest of us, onward."

They hurried on, following the informant who stopped briefly by his former colleagues to retrieve their electronic passes. If he felt anything at seeing them dead on the ground, he didn't show it, and wordlessly gave the passes to Millie. She kept one, and gave the other one to Petro. Suzy, meanwhile, was taking hold of the wheelchair and hurrying back to the service elevator.

Violet looked back to watch the doors close on the young shifter. Her animal form was that of a dolphin, which meant she didn't have many occasions to shift. She was a quiet little thing, deceptively frail looking, and didn't speak much. If Violet had had to take someone away from direct action, she'd have chosen Suzy, codename Siren, too.

Falling into step with Ryan, Violet thought furiously. They'd already retrieved one prisoner, and they had three cards to open electronic doors so that it'd go faster than planned. Which meant...

She brushed her elbow against Ryan's, catching his attention. He looked a question at her. She nodded.

They'd reached the end of this corridor, where it branched out on the left and right. On the left, the informant was already opening a gate with his electronic pass and explaining over the alarm that the prisoners were divided throughout both corridors. They knew that; they hadn't had multiple briefings for nothing. At a nod from Millie, Petro opened the gate on the other side. Three squad members went one way, two the other way with the guard. Ryan, Violet and John remained at the junction to cover for the arrival of more guards.

On the back wall, a heavy door was market with the symbol for a staircase, and topped with a glowing red 'exit' sign.

"London, you stay here, cover the hallway," Violet said quickly to John, all too aware that Millie, down the corridor, would hear every word. "Fangs and I will stake out the staircase."

She didn't wait for him to answer before pushing the door open, Ryan right on her heels. Her headset immediately buzzed to life, Millie asking what she thought she was doing. She didn't reply. A touch to the headset shut off the mike, but she left the sound on so she'd know what was going on the upper level.

She looked upward, where she could hear steps rushing down the stairs. She motioned for Ryan and the two of them took cover, waiting for the guards to appear. It was almost too easy to take the first ones down. The rest shouted and remained out of sight; stalemate.

"I've got this," Ryan said confidently. "Think you can get them by yourself?"

For all reply, Violet winked at him and hurried down the staircase to the lowest level, taking care to keep her steps as light and silent as possible. If no guards had come from this level, did it mean there weren't any guards down there or that they were hunkering down? She'd soon find out.

She paused on the landing and took a deep breath. She came out of the stairwell with her gun pointed in front of her, sweeping all around. It came to rest on a tall man, bare except for torn shorts hanging low at his waist beneath tight abs. For all that he looked young, his eyes were dark, even more so for the deep circles around them. His hair was shorn very short, as though it'd been shaved and was just beginning to grow back. He had something in his hand—keys, and she realized instantly what he was: an escaped prisoner. He froze when he saw her, fear and anger battling in his widening eyes. Her attention had already moved on to the figure running up behind him.

"Get down," she ordered, but didn't wait for the man to obey before she fired.

She was a good shot.

No, she was a _great_ shot. She prided herself on her skill with a gun. It didn't hurt that, as a shifter, her eyesight, coordination and reflexes were all enhanced.

She fired her bullet above the prisoner's left shoulder. It hit the guard three steps behind him in the middle of the forehead.

"Are those the keys to the cells?" she asked, immediately running forward. "Help me get the other prisoners and we'll get the hell out of here."

The man simply stood there, staring at her for a few seconds before he looked back at the guard she'd just shot.

"Hey!" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He blinked once, then frowned at her.

"Of course I understand, I'm not stupid."

His voice was low and rough, as though he hadn't used it in a long time.

"Then help me," she demanded, taking his arm and pulling him toward the gate.

He wrenched his arm free, glowering at her as though to dare her to touch him again.

"You've got a way out of here?" he demanded in that same low voice, now more urgent.

In Violet's ear, Millie was barking orders. Shots were being fired. Violet didn't have time to explain herself.

"Help me," she demanded in her strongest voice. "And I'll get you out."

# CHAPTER THREE

The part of Idris that was all too aware he hadn't seen or touched a woman in months wanted nothing more than to tear her mask off and see if her face was as lovely as the curves her catsuit flaunted. But the part that ached from months of captivity wanted to get out of here more than anything, and she looked like she knew what she was doing. The way she'd killed Heavy, with no hesitation, barely a warning for Idris to get down...

Granted, he'd have liked that better if he'd been well out of her line of fire, but he could still admit it'd been some shot.

The only question was, could he believe that she would get him out of here?

He could always go along with her for now, and ditch her when he was out.

"All right," he said loudly to be heard over the shrieking of the alarm, and bounced the keys from hand to hand. "I help you, you get me out of here. Deal."

They didn't seal it with a handshake or anything; there was no time to lose.

The poor bastard in the first cell was still banging on the door, but his cries for help stopped when Idris shoved a key in the lock, then a different one when the first didn't work.

The gears clicked. Idris drew the door open, keeping well out of the way. He didn't know who was in there, what his powers might be or how he would react. If he attacked, the girl had a gun to protect herself. Idris would rather keep what strength he had left until he had no choice but to use his power again.

"Are you from Sanctuary?" a shaky voice called from deep inside the cell.

Idris frowned. Sanctuary? What was that?

"Yes," the woman said curtly. "Are you wounded? Can you walk?"

"I'm okay," the man said. He limped out of the cell, blinking repeatedly and shielding his eyes from the halogen lights in the hallway. His cell was completely dark. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I can't say how long I've hoped you'd come. Thank you."

He reached out with both hands to take the woman's right hand in his, heedless to the fact that she was holding a gun.

Or maybe, Idris thought darkly, precisely because she was holding a gun. He might be playing the weak, thankful card to get her weapon. He'd seemed perfectly fine when banging on his door.

The woman might have had the same idea because she took a step to the side, keeping her hand—and gun—well out of reach. Smart girl. Or maybe she was just as paranoid as Idris was.

"Well, you're welcome," she said. "We'll get on our way in just a moment. Wait here."

For the first time, the man noticed Idris. Something glinted in his eyes and reinforced Idris' suspicions that he might not be as weak as he wanted them to believe. Was this the prisoner who could manipulate electronics? If it wasn't, what were his powers exactly, and why had he been kept in a high security cell?

Without lingering on the question, Idris hurried down the corridor, past his open door cell and Gimpy on the floor. He was immobile, covered in fire extinguisher foam. Dead or merely unconscious, Idris didn't care and he didn't stop to check.

"Your work?" the woman asked, keeping close to him. When he nodded, all she added was, "Nice."

The word took him aback. He'd have expected horror, or at least distaste. Those were the common reactions to what he did. Still, he didn't have time to stop now. They went past five doors that stood ajar, the cells empty. Stopping in front of the next closed cell, he unlocked the door, this time on the first try. He didn't pull back when he opened the door. This was where the crying had come from before, and his curiosity demanded that he look in.

"Shit," the woman breathed.

Like he'd thought, the cell held a child, a dirty dress draped around her small form as she cowered in the corner farthest from the door. Her hair was filthy and dirt stained her cheeks. A whimper escaped her as she looked at them, and she tried to press herself deeper still into the corner.

How old could she be? Eight, maybe nine? What powers could she possibly possess that she'd been locked in such a place?

"Come on, sweetheart," the woman said, and the endearment sounded odd, as though she wasn't used to such language. She held her free hand out toward the girl, palm up and inviting. "Let's get you out of here."

The girl looked from the woman to Idris, her eyes wider still. Was Idris imagining things, or was the air colder suddenly?

"We don't have time for this," the woman said under her breath, before touching her ear and saying louder, "Ladybird here. Copy that. Almost done on the lower level. They held a little girl. Just a kid."

A reply buzzed in her headset, although Idris couldn't make out the words. She wasn't alone, then. She was part of a team, a team that used code names, which meant that they were organized. They must have a plan to get out—a plan that was time sensitive. All right then.

Dropping the keys now that he didn't need them anymore, Idris entered the cell. It was just as bare and dreary as his own, although, maybe because of her age, the kid had been granted a thin mattress on which to sleep. She raised her head as he approached, her pale blue eyes growing incredibly wide, her breath coming out in fast huffs that misted in front of her face. It really was colder, and Idris had an inkling of what her power might be.

"What are you doing?" the woman—Ladybird—asked behind him. "You're scaring her!"

"Maybe," Idris said, advancing with his hands up as though it'd be enough to reassure the child. "But she'll be a lot more scared if we don't get her out of here, so..."

He didn't finish, and instead went to grab the girl. She shrieked and fought back, kicking and twisting to free herself from his hands at her waist, but she was a small little thing, and weighed practically nothing. He wanted out of here. If it meant scaring a kid for five minutes... well, she was probably traumatized already, and all he was doing was carrying her.

As he stepped out of the cell again with the kid in his arms, the woman gave him a hard look but didn't comment. She led the way out, encouraging the other prisoner to move. The kid stopped fighting back. At first Idris thought she'd finally realized they were here to help her, but then he noticed she'd put one of her hands flat on his chest and curled the other one around his wrist—and they were cold. Not just cold from being in a cell with no heat, but icy, painfully so. If he hadn't known any better, he could have thought he'd been stabbed with icicles. Massive ones.

Definitely her power. And definitely a defensive maneuver she'd used before.

"Stop that, kiddo," Idris said warningly, to no avail.

He didn't break his stride, nor did he adjust his hold on the child. Instead, he focused the fire that always burned deep within him and allowed it to gradually rise to the surface of his skin. At first, she'd only feel warmth, and he hoped it'd be enough to startle her and make her stop before the heat grew uncomfortable for her. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't feel like letting her hurt him, either.

She didn't quite react the way he'd expected, however. She was definitely startled, her head jerking up as she took her hands off him, but she immediately threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. It was his turn to be taken aback, enough so that he almost stumbled on the first step going up the staircase.

Ladybird, who walked next to the other prisoner, supporting him with one hand while aiming the gun upward with the other, looked back. Whatever she thought of the sight they made, she didn't say, and her features remained unreadable behind her mask before she turned back to look ahead.

"You're a dragon too," the kid said close to Idris' ear. Her voice was rough and unsteady, the voice of a little girl who'd cried herself to sleep too often, and yet it was full of something bright, like hope, or maybe gratitude.

Idris held his tongue and didn't say he was no such thing, didn't ask what she meant by 'too' even though, for the first time since he'd been taken, his curiosity was piqued. Was she a dragon herself, or had she been helped by a dragon in the past? He'd met shifters before—all the members of the Gang of Nine were wolf shifters, for one thing—but he'd never met a dragon. At least, not as far as he knew. He eyed the woman three steps ahead of him, the curves of her ass just about at eye level, and wondered. Ladybird? Might that be a code name for a dragon?

He shook his head, bringing himself out of his staring before he could do something stupid. He didn't plan to stay around long enough to know what the woman might be—or how tight her pert little ass truly was under all that leather.

They reached a landing where two men stood under the cover of a low wall, occasional gunfire coming from above. One of the men was wounded, blood glistening on his upper arm where the shirt was torn, but it didn't stop him from joining his companion in launching a new volley of gunfire. It provided cover while the four of them hurried out of the stairwell through a door held open with a plastic wedge.

Idris had no idea where they were. He'd never been in this part of the building before—at least as far as he knew. When they'd taken him out of his cell, he was always blindfolded. But Ladybird looked like she knew where she was going so he hurried after her down a long, empty corridor. Here and there, droplets of blood stained the linoleum like a trail for them to follow, and three bodies were pushed out of the way and right against the wall. The kid's arms tightened a little more around Idris' neck.

They reached a freight elevator. Two armed women held its doors open. A shot of adrenaline coursed through Idris when he realized one of them was clad in a guard uniform and glaring in their direction.

"Too hot," the little girl mumbled into his neck.

He managed to get himself under control. The woman wasn't a guard. Even now, she was touching her headset and saying, her words crisp and quick, "Ladybird and her flock are here. Fangs, Talons, retreat now, stay on the right side and we'll cover you. Dreamer, be ready to punch it. ETA one minute."

Ushered to the back of the elevator, Idris had a perfect view of the two men from the stairwell running out of it and down the corridor, the door swinging shut behind them but failing to hide renewed gunfire. All three women stood at the front of the elevator, their guns aiming at the door. It started moving just seconds before the men reached the elevator. The women fired. At this distance, the rounds didn't penetrate the door, but whoever was behind it heard the warning loud and clear and didn't try to come through.

The men came in. The metal doors closed. The elevator started going up. Even with eight of them in there, the only sound was the light buzzing of the machinery. The little girl clung tighter still to Idris' neck, as though silence were more frightening than gunfire. He understood the feeling all too well.

When the elevator doors opened again, the back of a van was right in front of it, one man inside it. He helped everyone climb in. Idris would have been fine on his own if not for the child half-trying to strangle him. Before they'd all finished sitting on the metal benches, the woman in a guard uniform touched her headset again.

"Dreamer, go! Alpha, Cerberus, be ready to jump in."

The van started moving. The man who'd helped them in stood by the open back, holding himself steady with one hand on a grip attached to the ceiling of the van and the other on the door, stopping it from swinging back and forth. Through the opening, Idris thought he saw bodies on the garage floor. Then they were out—it was night but the air was warm, like it often was in the summer—and two huge dogs jumped into the back.

No, not dogs, Idris realized at once. Wolves.

They laid down at the feet of the woman in charge. The man closed the door. Dreamer, the driver, hit the accelerator.

The realization that he was out—he was free!—hit Idris all at once. He didn't realize he'd tightened his hold on the kid until she started wiggling in his arms and protesting, "You're squishing me!"

He released her, directing her to sit on the bench, but somehow she ended up leaning against him as though he were a pillow for her use.

"She's cute," the second woman who'd been waiting in the elevator said, pulling her mask off and revealing dark skin and chiseled features. Thin braids cascaded onto her shoulders, the glass beads at the end of each one clinking lightly against each other. "What's her name?"

Idris shook his head. He'd heard what the guards called her, but that didn't mean anything as he well knew.

"No idea."

"She's not his," Ladybird interjected. "Just another _prisoner_ on his floor."

She looked at the woman in charge when she said that last part. There was something going on there, a brewing argument judging by the cold look the woman gave her in reply. Idris closed his eyes. It was none of his business. As soon as they arrived wherever it was they were going, he was out of there.

"All clear," the woman in charge said after a while. "We're not being followed. The other van thought they were so they took the long way back. They say they're clear now. They should arrive at the base at about the same time we do."

Two or three people whooped. Someone might have high-fived someone else. Idris didn't move and pretended to be asleep like the kid against his arm.

"Is the base..." The last prisoner from the lower level cleared his throat. "Are you taking us to Sanctuary?"

The hope in his words was unmistakable. It was the second time he mentioned this 'sanctuary.'

"We have safe houses in town," the woman in charge said. "We'll get all of you spread out and lie low for a while, make sure we're clear, then we'll start getting you guys to Sanctuary, a few at a time, through different channels so we don't attract attention. How do you know about Sanctuary?"

"My sister... she's there. With her family. I was supposed to join them, but I was taken. Could I get a message to her?"

Idris tuned out the rest of the conversation. Whatever this place was, whoever these people were, it didn't matter to him. He'd be on his own again soon, and this time he wouldn't make the same mistake. This time, he'd stay away from other paras.

He'd thought he'd found a new family with the Gang of Nine, and in the end they'd betrayed him. Sold him out to the authorities to save their own skins. He'd get his revenge soon, and then he'd get off the grid.

After another few minutes, the van stopped. Idris opened his eyes, pretending to be waking up. The woman who'd called the kid cute earlier gently picked her up from where she was leaning against Idris' side and carried her out of the van. Everyone else was climbing down, and Idris followed. They were in some sort of garage. The door was still open. He would just slip out and get away before anyone noticed.

He looked around him to see if anyone was paying attention to him. The woman in charge had drawn Ladybird to one side and the two were arguing. Medics were seeing to a couple of wounded soldiers, or whatever they were. More shabbily-dressed people—freed paras like him, Idris guessed—were being helped out of a second van. They looked around themselves with various degrees of incredulity and joy. A couple looked fairly old, one looked like a teen, but most seemed to be in their twenties or thirties. None was as young as the ice child.

Briefly, Idris wondered if he ought to warn his liberators about the kid's powers. No, they'd figure it out soon enough. He had to get out of here while he still could.

His eyes widened in appreciation as they suddenly glided over the sleek form of a motorcycle. There were two more close to it, one a gleaming Harley, but this one called to Idris, flames curling around the black body. His decision was made in the blink of an eye. If these people were ready to bleed or die to save him and the others, surely contributing to his transportation needs was nothing in comparison.

He started toward the bike, once more looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to him. After only three steps, he froze. That man over there by the second van, turning toward him as he looked around the room much like Idris had just done, it couldn't be—

Their eyes met and heat flashed through Idris. He smiled, changing his path to go toward Chris instead. He met Idris halfway, his right arm already extended. Idris clasped his forearm and drew his brother into a hug.

# CHAPTER FOUR

"—Never seen anyone in my squad show such disregard for orders!"

By Violet's tally, so far Millie had said 'my squad' five times, 'disregard' twice, and 'orders' seven times. It was beginning to be a little repetitive, but she didn't seem ready to stop her harangue quite yet and from experience Violet knew she had to let her get it out of her system. She even lowered her eyes and looked away as though feeling chastened by the dressing down.

In truth, she was annoyed more than anything else. They'd held a kid, for crying out loud! Millie might be hardened enough to claim leaving two grown men behind would have been acceptable in order to save the rest of the prisoners, but a kid? Violet would like to see her try saying that with a straight face.

As Millie continued with her reprimand—in full view of the rest of the squad, of course, so they wouldn't get any ideas about orders being suggestions—Violet looked around surreptitiously. Hazel had taken the child upstairs, the more the pity. Maybe having her there would have helped Violet make her point faster, once she was allowed to talk. The rest of the freed prisoners were by the vans, some of them still wide-eyed as though not quite believing yet they'd been released. They would be ushered into cars and taken away to safe houses after Millie talked to them, presumably as soon as she was done with Violet.

"—the decision was mine to make, and yours to execute! If you can't understand—"

Not done yet. Violet tuned her out again.

A little apart from the rest of the prisoners, she suddenly noticed one of the two men she'd rescued—although granted, he'd been on his way to rescuing himself when she'd found him. She still didn't know his name, but she'd heard the child say he was a dragon. Not a surprise; Violet had seen what he'd done to that guard. Fire was a powerful weapon.

He was walking toward the rest of the prisoners, and suddenly pulled one of the other men in a hug. They held on to each other long enough for Violet to start wondering if they were tattoo mates. She'd glanced toward the man's wrist back in that corridor; the impulse was hard to control, even in the middle of an operation, and even more so when the other person's wrist was completely bare. She hadn't been able to read his mate's name, however. The skin in the spot where it should have been was burned and discolored. He wasn't the first person she knew who hid the name on purpose. She kept hers covered at all times as well. Whomever fate had chosen for her, it concerned no one but her and her mate.

"—believe your last name will get you out of this one for free, think again! I don't play favorites."

Blinking very slowly, Violet returned her eyes and full attention to Millie. She'd intended to take her sermon and move on, but if this was how Millie intended to play it, it was a whole new game.

"I never asked you to play favorites," she said, acutely aware that the squad members around them had fallen silent and would hear every word. "For that matter, I never told you my last name. You went and looked for it in my freaking mind. You asked if I was one of _those_ Littlewings. Should I have lied?"

She paused briefly but when Millie looked like she would reply, she talked over her.

"I signed up because the squad is supposed to help paras when no one else will. If we hadn't gone to that lower level today, how old would that kid have been before we had a chance to try again?"

Millie stood up straighter, drawing herself to her full height, but even so she couldn't quite look Violet in the eye.

"The argument would hold more water if you'd known there was a kid there," she said icily.

Violet snorted. "Oh? So you're saying it wouldn't have been worth it if there hadn't been a kid there? If it had only been—"

She looked back to where she'd last seen the dragon shifter, already raising her hand to point at him, but the other man was alone now. Alone, and looking to the side of the garage. Violet followed his gaze and gasped.

"Son of a bitch!"

The dragon had taken advantage of the argument drawing everyone's attention to get on her bike, and even as she swore he brought the engine to life with a flick of his wrist on the ignition key. The engine roared. Violet started forward, but already he was gunning it, going straight for the open garage door that no one had closed yet. He was gone before she'd taken three steps.

"Fucking son of a bitch," she repeated, more quietly this time, and despite herself she couldn't help but feel a little awed at the man's sheer gumption. She'd saved his ass, and to thank her he'd stolen her bike! When she caught him, she was going to teach him a thing or two.

"Still think he was worth Ryan getting wounded?" Millie asked snidely behind her. "Maybe losing that bike will teach _you_ a thing or two about obeying orders."

The echo of her thoughts wasn't a coincidence, Violet was sure of it. She glanced back at Millie and glared.

"Stay out of my head."

"And you stay here," Millie replied in a tone that made her words an order. "If you go after him, you're off my squad. And appealing to your mother won't help, I'm telling you that right now. Did you hear me, Violet Littlewings?"

As though Violet's mother would want to help her keep fighting outside Sanctuary! Millie thought she knew everything there was to know about Violet, but maybe she should have dug deeper into her mind. Not that Violet intended to suggest that much to her.

Without bothering to reply or look back, she took long strides toward the door. She half-expected a member of the squad to stop her—Ryan, maybe, or Petro—but when a hand caught her arm just below her elbow, it was instead the man who'd hugged the thief a moment earlier. She threw a glare at him and tried to wrench her arm free, but he wouldn't let go. He watched her with narrowed eyes, as though looking for something on her features.

_Your name is Violet? Is that right?_

The words appeared in her mind like a whisper, quiet yet impossible to ignore. The man's eyes, pale green and fiery, captured her gaze.

Just what she needed. Another freaking telepath.

_Let go of me_ , she projected toward him, as loudly as she could, and she saw him wince.

He didn't let go.

_Please, just tell me. Are you Violet?_

The words were still as quiet, but a thread of excitement was coloring them. Unbidden, despite everything, the beginning of something like hope started growing inside Violet. She dropped her gaze to his wrist, and while he continued to hold her he twisted his arm, allowing her to read...

Marigold.

That hint of hope just vanished in a puff of smoke. It wasn't her name tattooed on his skin. So why—

_Because my brother's tattoo says 'Violet,'_ he whispered in her mind. _Can I see yours?_

_Why bother? You can just look for it in my mind, can't you?_

Damn it, the hope was already coming back. She wasn't that desperate to find her mate, was she?

Of course she was. She'd fled Sanctuary and joined the squad in part because she hoped it'd bring her to him. And now...

_I could look through your mind_ , he said, and his lips twitched into a grim smile. _But believe me, that wouldn't be very pleasant for you. Can I please see your tattoo?_

Violet couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed someone to see her tattoo. When she drew back her feathers, exposing the skin of her wrist, she felt as though she was baring her entire body in front of this stranger—in front of everyone here.

Were they still watching her, like they'd watched while she argued with Millie? Would they avert their eyes and give Violet some privacy, thinking she might have found her mate? She didn't check, and didn't care, really. When the man looked down, she kept her eyes on him, trying to read his expression as he took in the name she'd traced with her finger at least once a day since she'd been a little girl. He blinked twice. Was that a yes? Was that his brother's name on her skin, put there by some strange trick of evolution—a clue as to who the person meant to complete her was?

When he met her eyes again, he was beaming.

_Can I call you 'little sister'?_

She snorted and looked away, blinking repeatedly to chase away the extra moisture in her eyes.

"Where is he?" she said aloud, her mind suddenly too much in shambles for her to think directly at him. "Where can I find him?"

His smile wavered, turning a little wistful.

_Yeah, about that. That man who just stole a bike? That was Idris._

Without thinking, she looked at her wrist. The elegant black script flowing from the edge of her palm parallel with her tendons had been there from the moment she'd been born. No one knew how the mate tattoos came to be—but no one knew how anyone was born a shifter, a telepath or anything else, for that matter. It was just one of the truths of this word that every person was assigned a mate by fate, with matching name tattoos to confirm who they were to each other.

Some people met their mate when they were still kids, and they grew up knowing that, one day, they'd be more than best friends. Others looked for their mate their whole life, and were only granted a few years with them before their deaths. Some didn't bother looking and loved as they wished without caring about what the name on their wrist said, trusting that if they were meant to meet the love of their life, it would happen some day.

Violet had had lovers through the years—two of them—but she'd ended things both times after only a few weeks because the thought had always been there: what if Idris was looking for her right now? What if she missed her chance at meeting him today, and only met him years and years from now because she'd settled for someone else?

And now...

Now she'd met him.

She'd seen his face... but she'd been so focused on what she was doing at the time, she could barely bring it back to her mind now. It seemed unfair somehow that she had his name on her wrist but nothing, at the sight of him, had warned her that this was it—this was him.

Although she did recall rather well how tight his abs looked. After being in that cell for who knew how long, he still had a freaking rocking body, and...

The man—she still didn't know his name—gave her arm a little squeeze before letting go. He coughed into his hand, but failed to fully hide his grin. Violet's cheeks flamed up when she realized he'd still been reading her thoughts.

"Sorry," he said, speaking aloud for the first time. His voice was a little rough, but the same deep timber as the voice that had spoken in her mind. "I didn't mean to hear that. My name's Chris, since you were wondering. And there's something you should know about Idris."

He paused briefly, and his expression turned rueful.

"He doesn't want a mate. He'll try to run from you."

Another pause, and his words turned quieter still.

"Please don't let him."

# CHAPTER FIVE

** **

It felt good to have clothes on his back, clothes Idris had chosen for himself—black leathers, mostly. He found they stood up to his accidental flare-ups better than other materials.

It felt good, and he looked good, too, judging by the way the cashier was eyeing him as she scanned the handful of tags he'd torn off the clothes he was wearing. He hadn't received looks quite so pleasant when walking in the store in his rags—the manager had even made vague threats of having security remove him, but some sap story about being in an accident and a flash of his cash-padded wallet as he'd offered the manager a gratuity 'for his understanding' had solved that problem.

"I'll need to remove the security tags on the pants and jacket," the cashier said, raising some kind of wand attached by a long chain to her desk. "If you wouldn't mind..."

She gestured for him to walk to her side of the register. He complied with an easy grin, passing his tongue over his lips and watching her eyes follow its path. He'd had a peek at her tattoo; James, it said. Well, he'd been 'James Watson' for years, now, so he wouldn't be lying if he said it was his name, would he?

She fumbled a little with the tag attached to the bottom of the jacket, but she soon was done with it. The tag on the pants, on the other hand, was a little below the waist, and there was no way she could remove it like this.

"Would you mind?" she said, and, her cheeks filling up with a lovely pink, gestured vaguely toward the pants.

"Not at all, darling. Anything for you."

He popped the first button with a flick of his thumb. The girl lowered her gaze to his crotch, and it remained there as he slowly, ever so slowly worked the second button. He hadn't tucked the black tee in the pants, and when he raised his left arm to curl it behind his head, the tee-shirt rode up, exposing his abs. Another button and he pulled the right of the leather pants to the side, where the girl would be able to access the back of the tag. Her flush deepened a little more when she realized he was going commando under there.

"Ah. Mm. If you'll excuse me..."

Warm little fingers reached in, the back of her knuckles brushing against the skin of his lower belly.

"You have to know," he said very low, leaning a little to whisper close to her ear, "I don't usually drop my pants quite so easily. But there's something about you..."

Five minutes later, he was walking out of the store with his now lighter stolen wallet in one pocket, and Theresa's phone number in the other. He didn't have a phone yet, but he intended to remedy that fact before the end of the girl's shift. Revenge was still on his mind, but it could wait for another night while he satisfied other needs.

Whistling an old tune absently, he strode past the corner of the store to the shaded area where he'd left the bike—and blinked when he realized a woman was leaning against the seat. She wore a deep crimson dress that flowed around legs as long as the way home, even longer still from her high heels. Sleeveless and with a plunging V neckline, the dress caressed lovely curves and made him long to do the same. Dark, luscious locks waved in the gentle breeze, and she raised a delicate hand to brush away a strand that had fallen across her face. Plump lips painted a dark red curled in a wry smile. Idris finally met her eyes—and groaned as he recognized them. He'd wondered what hid beneath Ladybird's catsuit and mask; now he knew.

"Fuck. How did you find me?"

"She's mine," she said, patting the leather seat of the bike as she might have patted a beloved pet's back. "I've got my ways to find her."

Idris mentally chastised himself. When he'd run off, he'd stopped after a few miles when he was sure he wasn't followed and had checked the bike for tracking devices. He'd learned the hard way to be careful about that kind of things. Still, he must not have been careful enough. He'd obviously missed something.

"How much do you want for it?" he asked, pulling his still loaded wallet from his pocket.

Ladybird shook her head.

"She's not for sale. And I'm not in the habit of accepting stolen money from fugitives from the authorities."

Idris glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around who might have heard her, then glared at her.

"Do you want a megaphone, make sure everyone around hears you?" he hissed. "There's a police car driving down the street over there, do you want me to flag them down? For that matter, it's not exactly legal to spring paras from..."

That police car he'd followed from the corner of his eye as it drove away suddenly made a U-turn, its lights flaring briefly to life although the officers didn't turn on the sirens. Maybe it was something else, maybe they'd just caught someone speeding, maybe—

He saw one of the officers in the car looking straight at him from behind the low hedges lining the parking lot.

"Damn it!"

Ladybird followed his gaze and swore. She pushed off from the bike and held her hand out to him.

"So you _did_ steal that cash, huh? Come on, let's get out of here. Give me the keys."

There was a tone of absolute authority in her words that stirred something in Idris' belly, made him want to grab a handful of her hair, tilt her head back and taste the crook of her neck where her skin looked like buttery caramel. No time for that right now, alas.

He put the wallet back in his pocket and pulled the key out. It dangled from a leather cord long enough to be worn around the neck—the same kind of cord that wrapped multiple times around Ladybird's wrist like a bracelet, hiding her tattoo. He didn't give the cord to her, and instead climbed onto the bike, shoving the key in the ignition.

She swore again, but rather than arguing she climbed on behind him, her arms closing around his waist just a second before the engine came to life. The police cruiser was entering the parking lot, now turning on lights and siren. Idris launched the bike full throttle, speeding off to the other end of the parking lot and the second exit there.

A car was pulling in, the driver clearly unaware of the bike. Ladybird's arms tightened but she didn't make a sound when Idris maneuvered the bike out of the car's way. The tires skidded on the asphalt, leaving marks as they tilted dangerously to one side. Idris accelerated again and the bike righted itself. They tore into the street in a cacophony of honking and sirens.

As he wove through traffic, Idris couldn't see the police car in the mirror. He wished he could have glanced back to see if they were hanging on, but at the speed he was going, it would be the same as begging for an accident.

"They're losing ground," Ladybird said, right by his ear so he'd hear her despite the roar of the wind. Her lips touched his earlobe and he shivered. "They must have called for backup. We've got to get off the street. Take the next left."

Giving him orders again... She was very good at that it seemed. On general principle, Idris would be inclined to turn right just to show her how much he liked being ordered around, but he had to concede she probably had a point. They needed to get off the street and fast before more police cars got involved, and Idris wasn't familiar with the city. He gritted his teeth and took a hard left, following her directions into progressively narrower streets until she finally demanded, "Stop by the red door."

They were in a one-way street, and said red door was the garage door of a narrow two-story townhouse. She jumped off the bike before he'd even fully stopped and ran to the door.

Idris blinked. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt... What the hell had happened to her dress? Was it an illusion? Chris could do shit like that, project images at people, but he had to actually touch them.

She banged on the door with her fist twice, then one time, then twice again. A man opened and she motioned for Idris to bring the bike in.

He looked back through the street, then ahead where an intersection was visible. Without the girl at his back and the worry he'd be responsible for her death if he made a mistake, he could ride faster, get on a highway, get away...

Or could he?

"Don't even think about it," she said, coming back to the bike and punching his arm lightly. "Now get in, you idiot."

He glared at her for all he was worth, but he wheeled the bike inside, killing the engine as soon as he was past the doors. He recognized the blue sedan already parked in there; it'd been in the garage last night close to the bike.

It might not be the same house, but he was basically back right where he'd started, in one of the safe houses of whoever these people were. Wonderful.

He pulled the key from the ignition and shoved it deep in his pants pocket, throwing Ladybird a smirk as he did so. He expected a protest or another order, this time that he return the key. All she did was sigh and roll her eyes before turning to the man who had closed the door.

"Full house?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "Nah, just a couple of shifters. They're resting now. We're putting them in a plane tomorrow."

"We?" she repeated. "Who else is there?"

The man barked out a laugh.

"The person you want to see the least right now. But she's asleep, so you have at least a moment to think of what you'll say."

Ladybird grimaced. Idris couldn't help but wonder what this was all about.

"Hungry?" she asked, looking back at him even as she started toward the staircase in the back of the garage.

That had been Idris' second order of business this morning—the first being to acquire some cash. He didn't enjoy using his power for this kind of things, but people's innate fear of fire was a very convincing argument when asking them for their wallets. Without shoes or shirt, he'd ordered fast food from a drive-through window, earning himself some weird looks. He'd quelled the worst of his hunger, but had intended to sit down in a restaurant after getting clothes on his back. It was now more than time for breakfast.

"Famished," he said, following her upstairs, and once again being treated to the sight of her lovely backside molded into tight pants on the way up. She glanced at him as though she could feel his gaze on her. Amusement drew a coy little smile on her lips.

All right, then. It didn't look like she was all that upset that he'd stolen her bike if she could look at him that way, or offer him food for that matter.

The first floor consisted of one large room roughly divided into a kitchen and a sitting area. While Idris wandered toward the wide windows behind the sofa, Ladybird went straight for the fridge. She peered in and announced, "Eggs, sausages, bacon, hash browns, pancakes... Any preference?"

Just hearing those words made him salivate, but he tried to sound unconcerned when he replied, "Whatever you're doing for yourself. I'm not picky."

She let out a quiet snicker but didn't comment. While she busied herself at the stove, he stood by the windows and drew the sheer curtains to one side to look out. He couldn't see much more than the facades of the houses across the street, all of them gray and nondescript, but above the roofs, the sky was a blue so light it would have seemed white if not for the presence of a few clouds.

"How long were you 'in custody?'" Ladybird asked over the sounds of utensils hitting pans.

The contempt she injected in those last words matched Idris' own. The government program to study paras had been in effect ever since the existence of humans with paranormal powers had become general knowledge almost forty years prior. Countless lawsuits that had gone not only to the highest court in the land but also to the International Court for Human Rights had yielded no change. The only good thing that could be said was that at least in this country paras weren't killed outright—although there had been days, in that cell, when Idris hadn't been far from wishing for a quick end.

"Hard to tell," he said absently, his eyes following drifting clouds. "I lost track of time for a while. Somewhere around a hundred and fifty days. What's the date?"

"June twenty-seventh."

"I was taken in January."

The words scratched his throat. Taken? No, he hadn't been taken. He'd been sold out. Wolf shifters were common enough that they weren't always taken into custody for studying... especially if they had a more interesting para to offer in sacrifice.

"Must have been hard not to stretch your wings for that long," Ladybird said, her voice notably softer although she sounded closer now. "I bet you can't wait to fly again."

Blinking, Idris drew himself out of dark memories and turned toward her. She was setting down two plates loaded with food on the low table in front of the sofa. Idris' stomach growled. The smell of all things greasy, unhealthy and delicious curled around him and pulled him forward. He was sitting down and picking up a plate before he even remembered what he'd been about to say. Even then, he practically inhaled a slice of bacon before saying, "Not sure what you think I am, but I don't fly."

Curled up at the other end of the sofa with her legs under her and the plate balanced on her thighs, Ladybird arched an eyebrow at him.

"You don't? You mean, you're not a dragon?"

"Nope."

She'd made an omelet of the eggs and it was cooked to perfection, neither overdone nor still runny. It was all he could do not to groan in pleasure. After months of limited, flavorless rations, even fast food had seemed like a feast, but this... this was the kind of breakfast he'd be happy to wake up to for the rest of his life.

"But the kid said you were a dragon," she persisted. "And you set that guard on fire."

She'd barely touched her own food, he noticed while starting to work on his hash browns. The temptation to reach over and grab an extra forkful of eggs from her plate was hard to resist.

"That doesn't make me a dragon. Disappointed I'm not like you?"

She scoffed and finally started on her eggs. Pity.

"I'm not a dragon either."

She brought a second forkful of eggs up to her mouth and caught him staring. She looked startled for a second, then rolled her eyes. Leaning over, she brought her plate close to his and pushed the remainder of the eggs onto his plate without a word—although she stole a sausage. Fair exchange, Idris supposed. He flashed her a smile of thanks and asked, "So what kind of bird are you, then, Ladybird?"

"You first," she shot back.

Silence fell on the room as they continued to eat and observe each other sideways. Should he tell her? He wasn't in the habit of telling people he barely knew what he could do. Then again, she had helped him get out of that hellhole.

"Something to drink?" she asked when, done with her food, she stood and held her hand out for his empty plate. When he nodded, she added, "Orange juice or water?"

"Is it too early for a beer? Whiskey? Vodka, even."

On her way to the kitchen, she flashed him an amused look over her shoulder.

"I'm afraid this is a dry house. My boss doesn't believe in the healing powers of alcohol. But tell me what it is you do and I might take you out to a nice bar I know once we're safe."

Once they were safe? He didn't intend to stick around that much longer, didn't she understand that? He'd stuck with paras once before, and he'd had long months in hell to regret it. This time, he would keep a low profile, and stay away from anyone the government might have an interest in.

But if that was really his intention, why did he wait until she was coming back to the sitting area with two glasses of orange juice to raise his hand in front of him and make a ball of fire appear in his palm?

# CHAPTER SIX

The fire in Idris' hand burned so brightly it was almost completely white, and even from a few feet away Violet could feel its heat against her face and bare arms. She came closer, setting the two glasses of orange juice on the table without taking her eyes off the flames.

She couldn't have said why she reached for them exactly. Maybe it was simply the old attraction to fire, something that had been part of her for as long as she remembered. Or maybe it was because it was _Idris'_ fire. She'd never met a pyromancer before. How utterly perfect that he was the one fate had decided to make hers!

"What are you... No!"

The fire went out with Idris' exclamation, disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared. Some people had trouble controlling their powers, but it seemed it wasn't the case for him.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, his eyes blazing. "Fire that hot, it'd have burned you to the bone!"

She shook her head, smiling softly, but before she could tell him what she was, tell him _who_ she was, too, steps coming down from the second floor drew her attention to the staircase. Millie appeared on the landing, and if for a second or two she looked confused, it didn't last, and soon she was scowling as she advanced toward Violet, a general marching to battle.

"No," she said in a hard voice. "Absolutely not. You don't get to disobey direct orders and then stroll in here like you own the place. Get out."

Great. Just what Violet needed right now: to argue with someone who couldn't look any further than her own idea of duty. There had to be a name tattooed under the sleeve of Millie's crisp uniform, but if she gave a damn about fated mates, she'd certainly never shown it. Better not mention who Idris was to Violet. Instead, she said, "I found him! See?"

She gestured at Idris, as though Millie might not notice a six and a half foot tall man standing just a couple of yards from her.

Millie barely spared him a glance.

"So you did. But that doesn't change the fact that you challenged my authority in front of the entire squad. You're out. Now get out of my sight."

"But—"

Whatever Violet had been about to say disappeared in the sudden barrage of noise that filled her mind. She pressed her fingers to her temples, grunting with effort as she tried to push Millie out of her mind. If anything the noise sharpened a little more, going from merely uncomfortable to a full on migraine.

"What are you doing to her?" Idris asked, his voice distorted through the mental assault.

"Encouraging her to leave," Millie replied. "It's unpleasant, but it won't hurt her. It'll stop as soon as she goes."

Unpleasant was certainly right, but Violet would have objected about the 'not hurting' part. The sound was so debilitating that dark spots were beginning to appear in front of her vision. Even so, she could see Idris stomp past her and toward Millie. She caught his arm just in time, stopping him before he could reach her. Getting into Millie's face now, or even threatening her, would help nothing.

"Don't," was all she managed to say.

She was starting to feel vaguely nauseous. She clung to Idris' arm a little harder, needing an anchor or she'd start wavering. By now, even if she tried to leave, she wasn't sure she could do it on her own without stumbling or tripping over her own feet. Did Millie realize how much she was affecting Violet, or was she allowing her aggravation to get the best of her? Violet suspected the latter and she would have called Millie on it if she'd been able to speak. Instead, she leaned toward the staircase, hoping Idris would understand she wanted to go. He did, and helped her through the room and down the steps.

He shot some parting words toward Millie, but they didn't register in Violet's buzzing mind, nor did Raphael's worried inquiry down in the garage. She shook her head lightly and gave him her best try at an apologetic look. Idris said something to him as he helped Violet climb onto the bike behind him. She pressed her face to his jacket and the cool leather was something of a relief to her aching mind. He pushed off the kickstand and walked the bike out, Raphael having opened the garage door. She couldn't say a word, but she was grateful he wasn't adding to the noise in her head with the rumbling of the engine.

At the moment she passed the door, the indistinct noise filling her mind simply vanished, leaving behind what felt like the residue of a headache.

"Feeling better?" Idris asked, twisting on the bike to look back at her.

"Fuck," she replied. Eloquence was beyond her at that moment.

Idris chuckled wryly.

"Yeah, I'll agree with you on that one. Your boss is a real bitch, huh?"

"Not my boss anymore, and it's not a word I like to use toward women, but I can't argue with you right now."

He looked to the end of the street, bringing the engine to life. The familiar vibrations of the bike under Violet were as much of a comfort as the feel of a strong body in her arms.

"Think we're safe riding through the city? It hasn't even been an hour. If the police are still around, they'll spot us before we can get far."

She had to agree on that. Thankfully, there was something she could do about it.

"I'll disguise us. Give me a sec."

"Disguise?" he repeated, but she didn't explain. He'd see soon enough.

She took a couple of deep breaths to dissipate the last of her migraine and to focus her thoughts. She had to picture what she wanted very precisely in her mind, much more so than when she was only working on herself. Creating clothes on her body and keeping them in place was something she did easily; it required no more thought than breathing. But covering someone else, and even the bike, was trickier. She wouldn't be able to sustain it forever, but she would at least buy them enough time to get out of town.

The image firmed up within her mind, and she pushed it out toward the outside. Her feathers lengthened and stretched, their colors matching what Violet was imagining. They swept over the body of the bike beneath them and covered the fire paintjob on a black background until the bike looked light blue. They also covered Idris, disguising his leather gear into a white riding suit and helmet, and a matching ensemble for herself.

"What the hell..."

"You showed me yours," she said. "It's only fair I show you mine. Now get us out of here, I can't hold this forever."

He took her words to heart and zoomed down the street. She thought of warning him to slow down, but she raised herself to get a peek over his shoulder at the speedometer and saw he was staying right at the speed limit. Odd how it seemed to her they were going faster than that. Was it maybe because her heart was beating so fast?

She'd found her mate. She'd shared a meal with him. Small talk. She'd started getting to know him...

And then she'd lost their shelter and her job. Not a particularly good start. She wondered what Idris thought of all this. He'd helped her even without knowing her name—without knowing they were destined to be mates. His brother had said he didn't want a mate, so maybe if he'd known who she was he wouldn't have helped her. She had to tell him, though. She couldn't keep something so important from him. At the first occasion, she'd...

She lost her train of thoughts when she noticed a black van parked a block ahead of them on the side of the road. Her breath caught in her throat. Without quite realizing what she was doing, she tightened her arms around Idris. He might have understood her sudden unease because he briefly rested his left hand over hers and squeezed. With his hand back to the handles, he changed lanes and took a side street before they could pass by the van.

It might have been nothing. After all, the UIPP, the Unit for Investigation of Paranormal Persons, didn't have a monopoly on black vans. Still, Violet felt better as they drove away from it.

Or at least she did until she noticed a second van, this one driving on the opposite side of the road. It crossed paths with them without slowing down, but Violet couldn't help but look back and check it wasn't making a sudden U-turn.

"Take the next right," she said close to Idris' ear. Her feathers might look like a helmet around his head, but they wouldn't stop her voice from reaching him. "Then follow the signs to the highway. If we're not followed, get to the first rest area."

He nodded, showing her he understood, and navigated the traffic as smoothly as though it'd been his own bike he was riding. Violet much preferred being in control of the bike than being a passenger, but now wasn't the time to argue about that. Besides, to her own surprise she was finding she didn't mind all that much having nothing more to do than hold on to Idris.

She'd dreamed about meeting her mate ever since she'd grown old enough that boys didn't seem quite so 'icky' anymore. She'd spent a considerable amount of time wondering what Idris would look like, what he would be like, whether he would be a para, too, or just a normal human being. So far, every part of him was even better than what she could have hoped for... although she might have been a little biased, knowing they were destined to be together.

All while keeping an eye out for police cars and ominous black vans, she let her thoughts drift toward all the questions she'd always wanted to ask her mate. She didn't know which one she'd start with. Would, "Can you kiss me now please?" be too forward?

They left town without her spotting another van, but she couldn't shake the bad feeling she'd had upon seeing two of them so close to the safe house. When she spotted a sign for a rest area, she tapped Idris' shoulder, reminding him of her request.

He exited the highway smoothly, coming to a stop in the furthest part of the rest area, where they were not only alone but also out of sight of the main parking lot. Killing the engine, Idris dismounted the bike. As he did so, Violet's feathers retracted, coming back to cover only her body with the outfit she wore most often while on the bike, a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt. Even as she changed, she drew her feathers away from the cell phone she kept close to her body at all times and took it in hand.

"How did you do that?" Idris asked, considering her with an awestruck look.

"Phoenix feathers can mimic anything," she replied as she dialed Millie's number.

"Phoenix? Is that what you are?"

She only nodded as she listened to the ring tone. Would Millie even bother picking up? She could think whatever she wanted about Violet, she could even kick her out—and she had—but Violet had joined this fight for one main reason: help paras. If she didn't say anything about those vans and Millie, Raphael and the two shifters they were escorting ended up suffering for it, it'd be on her.

On the fifth ring, Millie finally picked up.

"I've got nothing to say to you."

"Good," Violet retorted. "Then maybe you can listen. On our way out of the safe house, we saw two vans. Same model the UIPP uses. I can't be sure they were from—"

"Where?" Millie interrupted sharply.

Violet gave her the vans' approximate locations at the time. Millie was silent for a few seconds before offering a grudging word of thanks.

"But that doesn't change anything," she immediately added. "You're still off the squad."

"Nice to talk to you too," Violet said with a snort, and hung up the call.

"Why warn them?" Idris asked. "That woman kicked you out, so they're not your problem anymore."

"They never were a 'problem' to begin with. Some of them are the best friends I've ever had. And I know why Millie kicked me out. I'm not happy about it, but I did disobey direct orders. Twice. And both times I got you out of trouble, I might add."

He crossed his arms in a gesture that might have been foreboding if not for his crooked smile.

"Yeah? So are you saying I should be grateful or something? 'Cause the way I see it, you couldn't have carried the kid and helped that limping guy all by yourself, back in that jail. And you couldn't have come out of that house on your own two feet with your boss messing with your head. Looks to me like we're even."

"Nope. Not even yet. I fed you breakfast. Next meal is your treat."

He laughed at that, an actual laugh rather than the chuckles she'd heard from him so far. It might have been the sweetest sound Violet had ever heard, and it was all she could do not to jump in his arms right then and there.

''Well, I suppose it would be poor manners to leave you stranded out here," he said, stroking his chin as though he was actually thinking it over.

"Especially since it's my bike," she pointed out. "Do you even know where you're going?"

He shrugged. "That's the thing with highways. You can get pretty much anywhere you want."

"Sanctuary is west from here. A few days of riding, less if we take turns."

Even when he said, "We'll see," she could already hear the 'no' in his voice. She didn't push it. There'd be time to convince him later.

"So, put some distance between us and the police, and then lunch is on you?" she asked.

He looked at her with his head tilted to one side, passing his tongue over his lips like she was on the menu. She couldn't say she minded all that much.

"Lunch? We had breakfast half an hour ago, you can't be hungry already! Although we could find a way to work up an appetite before that..."

A waggle of his eyebrows made it clear exactly what he meant. She wouldn't have minded that either, but they had time. They had the rest of their lives, in fact. And besides, she really was a little hungry.

"Ever used your powers continuously at a high intensity for half an hour?" she countered.

His expression turned almost contrite. "Right. Lunch. Now?"

"No, I'll be fine. Let's just get as far from the city as we can before we stop again."

He climbed back onto the bike and she straddled the seat behind him, leaning close to his ear to whisper, "Maybe we can work up that appetite later for dinner."

At these words, Idris, who had handled the bike as though it were an extension of his own body until now, let the engine stall. Violet buried a laugh into his back and tried very hard to keep her hands locked around his stomach rather than allowing them to settle lower. They'd have time for that later, too.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

As much as Idris loved wearing leather, there was no denying that it could make riding less than comfortable when he was aroused—and god, was he ever. After months without so much as seeing a woman, he would have flirted with anyone willing. He just hadn't expected this particular woman to flirt back so quickly.

After all, whether they kept score on who had saved whom or not the fact remained that he'd stolen her bike. If someone had ever done that to him, he'd have been pissed, but she seemed to have forgiven that transgression easily enough, even allowing him to drive without so much as a protest... unless she wanted to torture him as punishment. Her hands did seem to slide lower and lower across his middle as time passed. They'd stopped once for gas a little earlier, and the look she'd given him then made it quite clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

Maybe he shouldn't have teased her about working up an appetite...

He glanced down for the hundredth time or so in the last couple of hours. Her fingers were just inches from where his cock lay thick and hard, clearly defined by leather. If she'd just move a little lower...

Rather than going down, her right hand came up and tapped him on the shoulder. He thought for a second she was admonishing him to pay attention to his driving, but soon realized she was pointing out a sign on the side of the road. It advertised a diner. Time for lunch.

He took the exit, finding the restaurant right off the highway. Ladybird slid off the bike first. When he dismounted and turned to her, he was startled to see her in the same long, tight dress she'd worn when he'd first come out of the store to find her by the bike. He'd liked the jeans and t-shirt look, but he couldn't deny this dress fit her perfectly. It didn't help with the problem of his over-tight pants, and from the little smile she gave him as she looked him up and down, she knew that much.

"Shall we?" she asked, taking his arm.

As they walked in, he couldn't help but reflect on how easily she'd reached out to him, as though they'd done this dozens of times before. He wondered if it'd feel just as familiar when he took her to bed.

A nagging feeling came to the surface of his thoughts as they followed a waitress to a corner booth, and he looked down at her wrist. It was once more wrapped in multiple bracelets that would hide her tattoo from anyone trying to get a peek. It couldn't be his name there, could it?

"What is it?" she asked in an urgent whisper once they were seated and the waitress had walked away. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a UIPP team."

He shook his head, trying to smile.

"No, just wondering about something."

Her arched eyebrow invited him to continue.

"You haven't asked me my name," he said. "All this time together, and you haven't asked once. Any reason why?"

She picked up the menu and disappeared behind it. Was she trying to hide something, or did the subject matter so little to her? The exchange of first names, upon meeting someone of the gender one was attracted to, was one of those things everyone did with a small edge of trepidation until they found the person whose name matched their tattoo, and whose tattoo matched their name. People who didn't ask others' names had either found their mate already, or like Idris they didn't care to ever find them.

"You haven't asked me mine either," she retorted. "Any reason why?"

He gave her a look of mock surprise over the edge of his menu. "Are you telling me Ladybird isn't your name? I've been thinking of you as that since—"

He interrupted himself as someone walked past their table. He'd been about to say 'the jail,' but maybe a little discretion might be best.

"Since we met," he finished.

"And I've been thinking of you as 'thief' for almost as long," she replied playfully.

The return of the waitress stopped Idris from offering 'James Watson' as his name. They ordered quickly, and as the waitress left again Ladybird asked, "Speaking of thief and stolen goods, where exactly do you intend to ride my bike to?"

So. She was more interested in her bike than in his name. Fine with him.

"How far do you intend to let me go?" he shot back, leering so that she'd know the innuendo was very much on purpose.

"Pretty far," she replied with a straight face. "I'm not opposed to a little pleasure trip, especially seeing how I'm out of a job. I just like knowing what I'm consenting to."

He couldn't quite suppress a startled laugh. It was like playing a game of poker. 'I see your innuendo, and I raise you a double entendre.'

She'd asked earlier where he was going and he had evaded the question. They'd been riding for hours now. He supposed he could tell her that much, so she could decide whether it was time for them to part ways.

"I'm going south. Close to the coast."

"Is that where you're from?"

"No. But it's where I was living when I was taken. I've got some scores to settle with the people who sold me out."

Something blazed in her eyes, although he'd have been hard pressed to figure out what it meant. She started saying something, but already the waitress was returning with their food.

"Paras or normals?" Ladybird asked sotto voce when they were alone again.

"Wolves," he replied in the same tone. "I stayed with their clan for a while. From what I've pieced together one of them sold me out to save their own skin."

She focused on her food, and while Idris picked at his own he couldn't fail to notice she was frowning, seemingly deep in thoughts.

"You don't approve of me taking my revenge," he guessed, giving her a grim smile when she looked at him. "Is it because they're paras? Are you going to try to convince me that we should stick together or something just because we're freaks?"

"We're not freaks," she said fiercely, and that blazing fire was back in her eyes.

Although the diner wasn't anywhere close to being full, the noise level had been high enough that, when silence suddenly fell all around them, it was impossible not to notice. Idris looked around. Sure enough a dozen people or more were peering in their direction, including two waitresses and the manager. One by one, they looked away, and conversations started again throughout the diner, although they did seem more subdued than before, as though people were waiting for another outburst.

"Sorry," Ladybird breathed with a sigh. "I didn't mean to be that loud, I've just got a problem with that word. But I meant that. We're different, but that doesn't give anyone the right to hunt us and lock us up. And I don't disapprove of you going after your former friends per se. I just think you should keep a low profile for a while. Right now you're probably on a 'most wanted' list in every UIPP office in the country. Give it a few months, change your appearance a bit, and you'll be less at risk."

He couldn't deny that she had a point, but knowing she was probably right didn't change his mind in the slightest. During those long months in that small cell, the one thing that had sustained him was the thought that one day, he'd get out and make the wolves pay for every hour he'd had to spend in that hellhole. Now that he was out, there was nothing else he wanted more. He didn't feel like arguing with her, however. He'd much rather go back to flirting.

"Change my appearance?" he repeated, mock-affronted. "And mess with perfection?"

She laughed quietly at that. God, she had a beautiful smile.

"Well, I'm not saying you've got anything to improve." Her eyes sparkled as they ran over what she could see of his body. "Although maybe you could grow out your hair a bit. Give a girl something to hang on to."

Grinning at the images her words summoned, he passed a hand over his head. His hair was shorter than he liked it, almost as short as a military buzz cut, but it wasn't like he'd been offered the services of a barber while stuck in that cell. Most prisoners he'd seen in the hideout had long, tangled hair, and many men sported hirsute beards. Idris had kept himself groomed with the one thing the security forces couldn't take from him: his fire. It'd been a reminder to himself that, even confined, he was still himself.

"I'm sure you'll find something to hold on to when it comes to that," he offered with a leer.

"When, huh?" She snorted quietly. "You're awfully cocky."

"Says the woman who..."

His voice trailed off, though he barely noticed. Something had changed in the diner. He couldn't have said what exactly, but over the years he'd become very good at reading the 'mood' of a place. His instincts were screaming at him that danger was imminent.

"I think we should get out of here," he said in a low voice, taking another bite of food that tasted like ashes and fighting his need to look around. He shouldn't give himself away by showing any suspicion.

"You're gonna have to work a little harder for that," Ladybird replied, still teasing.

Hadn't she noticed anything, or was she only projecting nonchalance? He couldn't tell. He held her gaze as he said again, his tone as serious as he could make it, "No, really, I think we should get back on the road. We've got a long way to go."

Her smile slowly faded, her expression turning first to confusion, then to grim realization. He didn't know what she'd noticed, but she seemed to have the same impression he did.

"Why don't you take care of the check while I go powder my nose?" she suggested, speaking in a normal voice but with a fiery intensity in her eyes. "I'll join you outside in a moment, all right?"

He was about to say it wasn't all right at all; separating now seemed like a bad idea when they didn't know what exactly was going on. The thought was odd, because he usually preferred fighting on his own. Less chance of injuries under friendly fire that way. Still, she had more experience than he did as far as strategy went; he figured she might have a plan.

"Okay, I'll see you in a moment then. Don't take too long."

He didn't know why he did it, but as Ladybird was beginning to stand, he leaned over the table and pressed his mouth to hers. She froze against his lips, and for a second he thought she would pull away, or even slap him. Instead, she pressed forward.

The kiss remained chaste, and yet suddenly it seemed electric. The fire that burned within Idris, that same fire that had been inside him for as long as he could recall, that he had learned to master—for the most part—that fire flared without warning, turning into a raging inferno. He drew back quickly, knowing from experience that any prolonged contact would burn her.

If she noticed the sudden heat, she didn't mention it. All she did was bring her fingers to her lips and touch them lightly.

"I won't be long," she said, then lower, "Be safe."

He wanted to say the same thing to her, but already she was walking away toward the restroom, her long dress flowing around her legs like flames dancing in a fireplace. Idris couldn't take his eyes off her until she'd disappeared. Only then did he look for the waitress to signal he wanted the check. She was already looking in his direction, but she didn't move toward him right away. Instead, she looked toward her manager, waiting for him to motion her forward before she came over to Idris' table.

Right. Better put a quick end to this.

Flashing her a smile that couldn't have been more fake, he handed her a fifty.

"Keep the change," he said. "For the _friendly_ service."

The deep flush that spread over her cheeks reinforced Idris' suspicions. Her weak denial—"It's company policy, I had no choice."—finished to confirm them. When he walked out of the diner, it was with the certainty that he'd run into either regular law enforcement or UIPP forces right outside.

He didn't see anyone, but he continued to focus the heat within him, ready to unleash it as quickly as needed. He was halfway back to the bike and starting to wonder if he might just get out of here that easily when four men ran from around the corner of the building, all four seemingly ready to use heavy rifles.

Raising his hands slowly, Idris stopped, the perfect image of compliance even when his mind churned, trying to decide on what to do. Two members of the UIPP stood close enough together that a ball of fire launched toward them, if it was hot enough, would hurt and incapacitate them both. It'd also affect their rifles, rendering them useless.

He could send such a ball from each hand, but the problem was that the other two men stood further apart. He could get one, but not both. If he acted now, it was likely that he would get shot. But if he didn't...

He couldn't go back to that cell. He just couldn't.

"Keep your hands up," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff and distorted by the face mask he wore in addition to a helmet. "You are suspected of being an insurgent and will be taken in for questioning. Anything you do or say might be used against you at your trial. Do you understand what I just said?"

What Idris understood was that it was all bullshit. He'd heard the same thing when he'd first been taken, but he'd been jailed without ever so much as the hint of a trial.

"What if I don't?" Idris replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could; the hell if he'd show them any sign of fear.

"Dose him," the same man said, addressing one of the others. At the same moment, he touched the headset on the side of his face. "Maxwell, Jones. Report. Do you have the girl?"

The shortest member of the UIPP lowered his weapon and reached instead for a pocket on his thigh, covered by a flap. Idris knew what it contained: he'd once been injected with whatever was in those syringes. It had been like being trapped in his own body, seeing, hearing, feeling everything, yet unable to move or make a sound. He hadn't even been able to blink, and tears had started rolling from his irritated eyes. His captors had made fun of him because of it... and there'd been nothing Idris could do about it.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to go through that. With only three guns now pointed at him, he had his targets, and a chance to escape. His hands were already pointed palms out toward his would-be jailers. His power was focused. He only needed to—

Four gunshots resounded in quick succession. The four men screamed, each of them dropping the rifle or syringe they were holding to cradle their bleeding hands to their chest.

"Idris, let's go!"

Ladybird was already running toward the bike, a gun in her hand and clad once more in the black uniform she'd been wearing when she stormed the jail with her friends, complete with that mask that covered her features.

He wasn't sure how she'd come out of the diner—a back door, maybe?—or where she'd stashed the gun—under her dress, he supposed, like she was concealing her cell phone—or even where she'd learned to shoot like that, but damn if he wasn't happy to see her. He'd been beginning to think he'd have to run off without her if she didn't show herself right away.

He reached the bike only seconds after her. He'd pulled the ignition key from his pocket and slammed it in, launching the bike into motion before Ladybird had even closed her arms around him. The power he'd been accumulating demanded to be released, and as they passed by the UIPP, he couldn't resist thrusting one hand in their direction, launching a ball of fire that might not be quite as hot as what he'd intended to unleash on them, but that was large enough to encompass all four.

Their screams, as he sped back toward the highway, would have been more pleasant if he'd had any idea how many more people were tracking him.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Before they were out of the diner's parking lot, Violet once more extended her feathers, covering as much of the bike and its two passengers as she possibly could. She went for black, this time, because it required the least amount of effort seeing how it was the color of most of the bike and of Idris' clothes as well. Her left arm twinged a little, but she refused to let the pain interfere with what she was doing. Her focus didn't matter all that much right now, but it would quite soon, and she needed to be ready.

Communicating her plan to Idris wasn't easy. At the speed he was going, she needed to all but scream in his ear, and even when he nodded she couldn't be sure he'd really understood. There were sirens in the distance; whether they were coming for them or for someone else, they needed to disappear. Literally.

He must have understood her directions because, when they reached the interchange where the highway crossed paths with a second one, he angled the bike toward the exit she'd suggested. She took a deep breath as they approached the overpass and pushed everything out of her mind: the sirens, the pain, the adrenaline still coursing through her after what had happened inside the diner and out, the excitement of finally having found her mate, of having him in her arms...

She'd never had to do this in the face of real danger before, but she'd trained and trained for it back in Sanctuary. Her mother had been ruthless when it came to making sure she'd be safe outside the boundaries of her domain. It was tricky, but she never doubted she could do it.

Before they reached the overpass, they were a black clad couple riding a black motorcycle. By the time they came out on the other side, they were simply gone. An observer would have needed to look very closely to see Idris' eyes, the only part of him she couldn't hide behind her feathers, or the bare inch or two of the wheels visible where she didn't dare extend her feathers too close to the asphalt.

Her feathers had taken a reflective quality that mimicked whatever was behind them, depending on the angle at which someone looked in their direction. It was camouflage at its finest... but it was also something she wouldn't be able to keep going for very long.

Idris must have noticed what she'd done because he slowed down enough to glance back at her, gasping softly when, presumably, he only saw her eyes floating behind him, like she could only see his eyes.

"Get off the highway and get back on going west," she said, as close to his ear as she could. "I'll keep us invisible as long as I can and hopefully it'll throw them off our scent."

"South," he objected. "I want to go south."

"Go west. We were headed south so far, so that's where they'll look first. I know where we can stay for a while until things calm down."

Every part of him she could touch was both tense and burning. He shook his head.

"You won't get your revenge if you get yourself locked up again!" she said, now getting annoyed.

The engine suddenly roared and the bike leaped forward. Violet tightened her arms around him. A little ahead of them, the divider wall that separated the westward lanes from the eastward ones was open, the gap meant for police and emergency vehicles. Idris made a U-turn so sharp that Violet gritted her teeth so she wouldn't gasp, or worse, cry out.

In the sparse traffic, Idris seemed to have no trouble remaining away from cars and trucks whose drivers could not see them. He kept a fast pace, above the speed limit. Good; Violet wouldn't be able to hide them like this until they reached their destination. When the strain became too much, she checked that there was no one close enough to have a good look at them and, little by little, retracted her feathers until they covered only her.

Now, he was a lone rider on a bike, while the authorities would be looking for two riders. It wasn't much, but it might help. What would also help was getting off the highway, and at the first opportunity she signaled it to Idris by tapping his arm and pointing at an exit sign. It would take more time on local roads than on the highway, but the farther they went, the deeper into the countryside they were... and the less people they would cross paths with.

After another couple of hours, Idris needed to stop to fill up the tank. Even at a lower speed, they'd made good progress.

"How far are we going?" he asked as he returned from paying inside the small station. His lips barely moved and he didn't look in her direction—not that he'd be able to see her if he tried as she continued to conceal herself.

"We're halfway there," she assured him quietly. "We'll be able to get food, rest, spend the night. Discuss our options on where to go next."

Judging from his light frown, he didn't think much of that last idea. Clearly he still wanted to go south and get his revenge. He didn't say as much however, and instead asked, "At the diner. Why didn't you kill them?"

She considered him for a while. So much hatred in his words... But after five months in hell, wasn't that to be expected?

"Because they were wearing helmets and body armor. I doubt my bullets would have done much damage. But shooting up their wrists? They won't be able to hold a weapon for months, if not more."

He was done with the pump and gave a slight nod as he climbed back onto the bike.

"That was some nice shooting," he said as he started up the engine again.

Surely this small compliment shouldn't have made her blush like a schoolgirl.

Onward they went. After another hour, Violet couldn't sustain her camouflage trick any longer. She allowed her feathers to take the familiar form of jeans and t-shirt, and, resting her head against Idris' shoulder, closed her eyes. She couldn't sleep like this, but she could rest.

After a long while, she opened her eyes and got her bearings. They were getting close. Twenty minutes later, they were rolling into the courtyard of a small farm that had long ago been converted into a bed and breakfast. She directed Idris toward the barn, jumping off the bike when he stopped in front of it so she could open the door for him. He parked the bike inside, next to a car old enough to qualify as 'collectible.'

"What is this place?" he asked, looking around with obvious wariness.

"Somewhere we can be safe," she assured him, guiding him out again and lowering the latch of the barn.

He'd pocketed the bike key on its leather cord again, and she didn't fight him for it. There was no reason for her to object right now.

"Is this that 'Sanctuary' place you were all talking about?"

She couldn't help but smile at that, a pang of nostalgia sweeping through her. She loved her home, and she couldn't wait to go back... but she couldn't spend her entire life sheltered.

"It's _a_ sanctuary, but no, it's not Sanctuary. That's days away by road. Come on, let's get inside."

Before they could reach the door of the sprawling farm, however, an old woman came out. Her tan skin proudly showed every wrinkle she'd earned through the years, although her hair remained jet black. Her short stature was draped in a cotton dress over which she'd tied one of her perennial aprons. As far back as she could remember, Violet could only recall a handful of occasions when she'd seen Linda without an apron at her waist. And she could think of even fewer instances when said apron had been anything other than spotless, proving just how unneeded it was.

"Aunt Linda!" she called out, opening her arms already for a heartfelt hug. "It's been too long!"

Linda might look frail, but she returned the hug with vigor.

"Too long indeed, girl! Your mother said you were in the region, but you never even called me!"

Stepping back, Violet gave her an apologetic smile.

"Work kept me busy," was all she said.

Linda turned a shrewd gaze to Idris, looking him up and down before asking him, "And who would you be, young man? If I were to guess I'd say you're 'Work.'"

Idris barked out a laugh that felt warmer than the late afternoon sun.

"James Watson, ma'am," he said, offering her his hand. "And yes, I suppose I met your niece through work."

Linda took his hand, enveloping it within both of hers as she peered at him with hawk eyes.

"That's not your name," she said after a few seconds, "but that's all right. I didn't always call myself Linda either."

He hurriedly pulled his hand free, his laugh forgotten as he frowned at her then at Violet.

"Are you—"

"Let's go inside," Linda said over him. "I was just about to start preparing supper. You two can clean up while I get everything ready. I don't have any guests at the moment so you can have your pick of rooms."

She ambled back inside the farm. Violet started following, but Idris stopped her with a hand on her arm. She couldn't quite suppress a wince and pulled out of his grip.

"Is she a telepath?" he blurted out, then, noticing her reaction, added, "What's wrong?"

"Not a telepath, just a good judge of people. And I was shot. Grazed, really. I'll be fine."

"Shot?" His eyes grew wide enough to show white all around his irises. "When?"

She led him inside, starting toward the back of the house where the guest bedrooms were lined up.

"At the diner. When I went to the bathroom, a man and a woman followed me. They pulled guns on me, tried to get me to come out to the parking lot with them. I don't take well to people giving me orders."

She pushed a door open and tilted her head toward the rustic interior.

"Here's yours. The bathroom's down the hall. I'll let you have first run at the hot water."

He looked in, then down the hall at the open door of the shared bathroom, then frowned at her.

"No, you go. Clean up that wound. It's been hours, you should have said something earlier."

"It's nothing bad, really," she insisted, but Idris wouldn't hear of it.

Stopping in the next bedroom only long enough to retrieve the complimentary bathrobe and toiletries Linda put out for all her guests, she walked over to the bathroom and took a short shower. A longer one would have been heavenly, or even a bath, but she knew from experience during her last stay that the hot water supply was limited. She couldn't in good conscience use all of it when Idris had probably not had a chance to enjoy hot water in a long while.

She'd met him less than a day ago and already she was what her sister Rose would have called 'mate-whipped.' Unlike Violet, Rose had never showed much interest in meeting her mate, and she thought the whole concept was a joke.

Hopefully Idris didn't think so as well.

Standing in front of the mirror and combing her hair back with her fingers, she gave a better look to her shoulder. She'd wrapped her feathers tightly around the wound while on the bike to stop the bleeding, but it had started again while she was in the shower. Like she'd told Idris, it was just a graze, not a through and through, but it was still as long as her pinkie finger, the edge of the wound ragged. She pressed a washcloth to it for now to stop the bleeding again, but she'd need to ask Linda for the first aid kit.

She used a feather to keep the washcloth in place while she slipped the bathrobe on. She started toward Idris' room to let him know the shower was all his, but stopped on the threshold of her own room when she realized the door was open. Looking in, she was startled to find Idris sitting at the foot of the bed. He'd taken off his shoes and jacket, and had the first aid kit at his side, various supplies already spread out on the coverlet.

"Let's have a look at that wound," he said when he saw her there, gesturing for her to join him.

"I can do it," she offered as a weak protest, but he merely raised an impatient eyebrow, and she walked in the room to come sit by him.

"Show me," he demanded a little gruffly.

She'd never been shy a day in her life, so why did it suddenly seem like her face would burst into flames at the thought that she was next to him wearing no more than a bathrobe, and about to show some skin to him? She hadn't worn anything more than her feathers all day, and yet she suddenly felt very exposed.

She wove her feathers close to her skin in a simple white bra, then slipped her arm out of the bathrobe, keeping the garment draped around her. The washcloth fell off when she retracted the feather. Idris caught it and whistled softly.

"Nothing bad, huh?" he said, shaking his head. "How often do you get shot to think this is nothing?"

"Just once before." She hissed when he touched a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic to the edges of the wound. "I heal pretty fast."

He considered her thoughtfully.

"And by 'pretty fast', do you mean overnight or..."

"A few days. Maybe a couple of weeks for something like this."

He nodded at her answer, although it seemed to be more for himself than for her. With sharp, practiced gestures, he tore a package of sterile gauze and set it over the wound, holding it there with two fingers as he secured a bandage over it.

Every time his fingertips brushed against her skin, more goose bumps erupted in their wake. She thought at first the elusive touches were accidental, but she soon noticed the little smile he sported, and how every caress—since it now seemed obvious that was what they were—was a little longer than the last.

"You've done this before," she said, and couldn't quite prevent her voice from shaking a little.

His smile turned positively devious as he finished securing the bandage.

"Made a woman blush and get goose bumps? Oh yeah. I've done a lot more than that, too."

On the last words, he leaned a little closer so that his mouth was just a breath away from Violet's. She didn't know whether to look at his mouth or his eyes. Reflexively, she licked her lips. At the same moment, he pressed forward and covered her mouth.

It was just as unexpected as the kiss he'd offered her back in the diner, but she reacted the same way she had then. She kissed him back, and felt him grin against her mouth.

He cupped the back of her head and guided her down onto the bed. He laid against her, careful not to jostle the shoulder he'd just treated. Abandoning her lips, he kissed the corner of her mouth then her chin on his way to her neck.

"Is this part of you?" he murmured, pushing the robe down her shoulder. "Like, your feathers or something?"

"Not the robe, no."

She raked her fingers over his head. As short as his hair was, it still felt like silk under her fingertips, and she couldn't help but wonder what he would look like once it grew back.

Heat radiated from his lips everywhere they touched her skin. She sighed deeply and allowed him to explore as he wished, going from her shoulder to her neck, then down to her cleavage. She wasn't usually so passive, but this felt new. If he'd known like she did that they were destined by fate, the gods, or whatever else to be together, would he have acted any differently?

"What about this?" he asked, and now his lips were brushing against the strap of her bra. "It doesn't feel like fabric."

Few people could tell the difference... not that she let many people that close to begin with.

"Part of me," she confirmed, and just because she could she transformed the feathers so that the bra turned black, so thin and translucent it was see-through.

Idris made a little appreciative noise.

"Pretty. Very pretty. But I'd rather see it come off. How do I do that?"

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and she shivered at the fiery heat she saw there. He looked like he wanted to consume her alive... and who was she to protest, really? She gave him the sultriest look she could manage in that moment... but damn if it wasn't hard when she was so nervous about being with her mate for the first time.

Nervous! Her! She couldn't recall being nervous ever before. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her?

"You could just ask," she said, almost proud when her voice didn't waver. "A simple 'please' does wonders."

He licked his lips and chuckled, the sound so low it seemed to reverberate down to the very core of Violet's belly.

"I don't beg, sweetheart. But you—"

He didn't get to finish. A pointed cough from just outside the room caused them both to freeze. They turned their heads in unison to find Linda there, next to the door Violet had neglected to close when she'd come in.

"Dinner is served," Linda said deadpan, looking straight at them with no trace of embarrassment. "Come now before it gets cold."

She waited a second longer, as though to make it clear she wouldn't tolerate lateness, then walked away.

Violet and Idris looked at each other, and in the same instant burst out laughing.

"Rain check?" Idris asked as he stood and offered her a hand to help her get up.

"We'll see," she replied, playing coy, but even she could hear the resounding 'yes' in her own words.

# CHAPTER NINE

Idris let Ladybird go ahead to the kitchen while he stopped by the bathroom. In there, he washed his hands and splashed water over his face. He needed to cool down. He didn't know if it was because he hadn't been with a woman in so long, or because Ladybird was different from anyone he'd ever known, but everything felt heightened suddenly.

When he touched her, the fire within him roared and struggled to get free, the way it used to do, back when he was too young to be able to control it. Back then, strong emotions had often meant accidental fires, or inflicting burns on people he touched. The first girl he'd ever loved had received second degree burns to the face during their first kiss, and he could still hear her shouts in his mind whenever he thought of her.

In time, he'd learned to control the fire—learned to control his emotions, and keep himself on a tight leash. His relationships with women had been shallow, based on sex and little else, simply because he couldn't allow it to be anything else.

The last time he'd had a girlfriend, his feelings had grown deep enough that his control had started to slip. On the last night they'd spent together, he'd left red marks on her thighs where he was touching her. She'd laughed it off, saying she'd been sunburned worse than that while on the beach and that her shifter abilities would take care of it within a couple of days. Wolves healed fast. Everyone knew that; they were the paras whose abilities were best known—they'd been the first ones to be 'discovered' and studied. But Idris hadn't wanted to risk it. He'd broken up with her the next day. And he'd been taken in by UIPP forces before he could even leave town.

Suddenly realizing he'd been staring at the cold water running into his cupped hands for at least a couple of minutes, Idris shook himself off. He'd known Ivy for two years before he'd started losing control. Surely it wouldn't happen the first time he took Ladybird to bed. And he did intend to take her tonight. Why hesitate when she seemed more than willing? He was just being silly, thinking back about the past like that.

His thoughts calmer now, he followed the delicious smell of food all the way to the kitchen, finding Ladybird and her aunt seated at a rustic wooden table. Behind them, a window opened onto a courtyard bathed in the golden evening light. A pot of steaming soup was set in the center of the table, a round loaf of bread nestled in a kitchen towel in a basket next to it.

His stomach rumbled loudly at the sight, and Ladybird threw him a smile. She was back to wearing jeans and t-shirt, and he suddenly realized what he'd known unconsciously for a while: she was, for all intents and purposes, naked. Every stitch of clothing she wore was actually her feathers—part of her.

"Stop staring and sit, boy," Linda said dryly. "Your food's getting cold."

But the generous helping of soup she ladled into the bowl in front of him was anything but cold, as was the thick slice of bread Ladybird cut for him. He thanked each of them and started slathering butter onto his bread. As he took a bite of the bread, it occurred to him that this was essentially the same meal he'd had just last night in jail. Bread and soup. And yet, it couldn't have been more different.

Fresh bread, obviously handmade, straight from the oven. Thick soup, heavy with large chunks of chicken and vegetables of all colors, full of flavor. A well lit, brightly decorated, warm kitchen.

And company. An old woman across from him who looked nothing like his mother and yet reminded him of her. A woman on his right whom he'd held in his arms just minutes earlier, and with whom he'd probably spend the night—a woman who was barely taking her eyes off him as she ate, the gleam in her eyes warming him even better than the food.

"Well?" Linda asked. "Dinner's not to your liking?"

"Dinner's excellent," Idris assured her, eating another spoonful of hot soup as though to prove he meant it. "The best meal I've had in a long time, believe me."

She peered at him with the same penetrating gaze that had unsettled him earlier. A small, sad smile touched her lips and she nodded once.

"I believe you."

It was all she said before returning her attention to her own food, so why did Idris feel like she'd just acknowledged the five months he'd just spent in hell? There was something about her... 'She's a good judge of people,' Ladybird had said, but it was more than that. She was a para, he had no doubt about it. As to what her power was exactly, he'd have been hard pressed to guess. If not a telepath, then what?

They ate in silence for a little while. Idris savored every mouthful of bread or soup, as though each one might erase one of many unsatisfactory meals. When he finished the last of his soup, Linda stood and took his bowl. Without a word, she refilled it, maybe not as fully as the first time around, but certainly enough that he wouldn't go to bed hungry.

"How long will you be here?" she asked Ladybird as she sat back down. "I'll be glad for your company as long as you care to stay, but I know you, child. And I just need one look at your friend to know he's the same."

Ladybird glanced at Idris before returning her eyes to the crumbs of bread she was playing with on the table, her fingertip pushing them this way and that in what looked like an absentminded gesture.

"I'm thinking a couple of days," she said quietly. "I might have to leave the bike with you for now since they're looking for it. We'll rent a car, it'll be less noticeable. What do you think?"

She addressed the last toward Idris, catching him by surprise. He hadn't realized her plans included him. He finished chewing his vegetables slowly to give himself time to think.

"I'll be sad to lose the bike," he said in the end, "but you're right. It's too distinctive."

"And where will you be going?" Linda asked. "Home?"

Home... Part of Idris wished he'd had a home to go back to, but even if he had, it would have been too much of a risk. Ladybird, on the other hand, answered without hesitating.

"Yes. It'll be best if we keep low for a while, and there's no better place for that than Sanctuary."

"You've mentioned that place several times," Idris said, "but I still have no idea where that is. Or what."

"It's only the closest thing to Heaven we're likely to find on this side of life," Linda said with a little chuckle.

She stood and started gathering empty bowls, but Ladybird stopped her, offering to take care of the cleaning up for her.

"Thank you, child. I'd appreciate that as I'm late in feeding the chickens."

She draped the shawl that had been resting on the back of her chair over her shoulders and walked out through the back door. Ladybird picked up the empty bowls and cutlery and carried them to the sink. Idris watched her back for a few seconds before pushing away from the table and joining her. He stood next to her and took the bowls after she washed them, rinsing them and setting them on the drying rack.

"So, Sanctuary?" he asked.

"It might not be Heaven, but it really is the closest to it we can build. It's right on the northern border. It's a private property, large enough to contain three small towns, two on one side of the border and one on the other. We've got fields, orchards. An air strip. It's fenced in, with surveillance and patrols. We've got allies in both governments that basically erased every trace of it from records. We even found a way to make sure no satellite looks in on us. As far as nearby towns are concerned, we're just a benign religious cult that likes to keep to itself. The few people who know it's a place for paras are people we trust with our safety. People come there to live in the open as who and what they are, or just to rest for a while after they've been hunted or jailed. We can give them new identities and help them start over, anywhere they want."

They were already done with the dishes. Idris leaned back against the sink while Ladybird finished clearing up the table before scrubbing it clean. With his arms crossed he watched her work, replaying her words in her mind. He'd never heard about a place like that. It sounded too good to be true.

"You say 'we,'" he noted, "but you're not there. You're here, rescuing paras with your grinch of a boss."

"I _was_ rescuing paras," she corrected, a note of bitterness in her voice. "I'll have to find another way to do that. I know there's another group operating down south but I've never made contact."

He'd lived in the south for five years but he'd never heard about any such thing. He almost said as much but realized she'd taken the tangent on purpose.

"That still doesn't tell me who 'we' is."

She was done with her cleaning. She remained with her back to him for a few seconds before she leaned back against the table, facing him with her arms crossed as his were.

"One of my great-great-grandmothers owned the property a couple of hundred years ago," she said in a voice so blank of emotions that Idris couldn't help but wonder what she was hiding. "She'd found gold in the mountains there, and she bought land, piece by piece, until she had a domain large enough that she could fly without anyone seeing her. My family lived there, mostly cut off from the world. They'd grow up safe, then go into the world to find their mates, and most came back to Sanctuary. Even today half the people there are related, to one degree or another. It used to be no one was told of Sanctuary who didn't belong to the family by birth or mating, but ever since the world found out about us and started hunting us, we've been welcoming others, helping them. My mother's in charge, now. I mean, we vote on big decisions and she's got people to advise her, but in the end she makes the important decisions."

Listening to her, Idris could only marvel that he'd never heard even so much as a whisper about it. What would he have done if he had? There had been a time in his life when he could have used guidance from people who knew what it was like to struggle with powers, but today...

"Sounds like a nice place," he said with a nod. "Maybe I'll check it out after I take care of my business."

Ladybird clenched her jaw before loosening again.

"Your business. Getting your revenge, you mean."

When he nodded, she went on.

"I don't think it's a good idea. You're being hunted. Don't you think they'll be looking for you in the place where they found you before?"

It was something Idris had thought about, yes. The last thing he wanted was to be captured again and sent back to jail, and yet he couldn't just forgive his former allies.

"The entire time I was in that place," he said very low, "getting out and making the people who sent me there pay was all I could think about. It's the only thing that kept me alive. You can't understand—"

"I do," she cut in, a thin smile softening the interruption. "I do understand. I was in one of those cells, once. Nowhere near as long as you were, but long enough that I had a few fantasies about revenge. But revenge doesn't help you heal or move on. It just allows your wounds to fester."

Offering her a grin that bared his teeth, Idris pushed away from the counter and started for the door.

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that, sweetheart."

As he was passing by her, she raised a hand toward him, briefly touching his bare arm and sending a shiver down his spine.

"How about this?" she said when he met her gaze. "Come to Sanctuary with me. Rest for a little while. We'll get you a new identity, a bike or a car. And then if you still feel like you need to take your revenge, you'll be free to leave. No one will stop you. Not even me."

When he started to shake his head, she added quickly, "At least think about it before you say no? As a favor to me? You owe me that much."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Idris couldn't help but be amused. She really didn't know when to quit. He could count on the fingers of one hand the women he'd met in his life who'd been as determined as she was... and she was in a whole different league. Maybe it should have annoyed him, but strangely enough he didn't mind. Or at least, not that much.

"I'll think about it," he offered, and kept to himself that he wouldn't change his mind.

The searing smile she gave him in return was worth the trouble. He started for the door again, and she called after him, "I'm going to say good night to Linda, and then I'll turn in for the evening."

He thought at first that it was her way of saying they wouldn't be finishing what they'd started earlier after all, but when he glanced at her, her expression reflected an eagerness that was as good as a verbal invitation, red spots darkening her cheeks while her eyes blazed with desire. He might be across the room from her, but with no more than that look he was suddenly hard and aching again.

"Right," he drawled, passing his tongue over his lips. "We did have a pretty long day. A good bed would be welcome."

"Very welcome, yes."

She winked at him before conjuring a shawl over her shoulders in a flurry of rearranging feathers. Out through the back door she went, and Idris went back to his bedroom, walking away with the complete certainty that she wasn't at all talking about the bed.

"Clean up first," he muttered to himself. "Make her wait a little. She'll be that much more eager for you."

Somehow, though, neither the prospect of making her crave him enough that she'd beg nor the delights of his first hot shower in months could keep him away from her for very long.

With water still dripping from him and nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist he went to her door. It wasn't fully closed, and all he had to do was push it open to find her waiting for him at the foot of the bed. A flash of heat coursed through him at the sight of her sitting there in a red satin robe that clung to her every curve, and every inch of his skin suddenly felt as dry as his mouth. He walked in and made sure to lock the door behind him.

# CHAPTER TEN

Idris leaned back against the door, the nonchalant pose at odds with the intensity of the hunger reflected on his features. His eyes roamed over Violet and he clearly enjoyed what he was seeing; so did she.

"Flatterer," she said, drawing out the word.

Confusion briefly touched his face, but when she looked fixedly at his crotch, where the towel that covered him tented in an impressive fashion, he laughed.

"All for you," he confirmed.

His right hand came to rest on the edge of the towel, the gesture full of intent. Violet licked her lips, unable to tear her eyes away.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he drawled.

Getting to her feet, she tapped a finger across her lips and affected a thoughtful expression.

"Tempting," she said, "but you'll have to do better than that."

In lieu of encouragement, she transformed the long, silky robe that covered her down to her ankles into a powder blue baby doll nightgown that fell no lower than her thighs. Idris pushed away from the door and took slow steps toward her, one hand still holding the towel at his waist, the other rising toward her décolletage. He traced the edge with a fingertip, barely touching her skin.

"I told you I don't beg," he said very low, the words like a rumble of distant thunder.

"How about asking nicely?" she replied, her words just as quiet but a little breathless.

"I don't do 'nice' either."

"No? So taking care of my arm, that wasn't you being nice?"

She inched just a little closer to him. Without heels, she had to look up to meet his gaze. They weren't touching, but they were so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. It felt delicious against her skin and feathers.

"Is it nice that I did it only so I could get you half undressed, and see where that would lead us?"

She snorted at that. He was full of it. Someone who thought only with his dick wouldn't do such a good job with a bandage.

"All you've got to do is say 'please' and you'll know exactly where that road leads."

He shook his head, a grin twisting his lips as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"You really like to tell people what to do, huh? I've listened all day. My turn to give orders."

But rather than saying another word, he let the towel drop. Before she could look down and get a peek at what made her salivate already, he picked her up and half dropped, half threw her on the bed behind her. She let out a wheezing laugh of surprise but couldn't manage even a word in protest, especially when he climbed onto the bed on all fours and crawled up her body. The tip of his cock left a wet trail against her leg and thigh and it was all she could do not to moan at the touch.

It had been a long time since she'd been with a man; too long. But this was not just any man now reaching for the flimsy ties that held the baby doll closed, was it? It was her mate. And he didn't even know it. Or did he? His name had slipped from her lips back at the diner, but he hadn't reacted at all. And he still hadn't asked for her name. Could it be because he knew, or suspected? If he knew, she wanted to be sure; if he didn't, she had to tell him.

"Wait," she said, covering his hand with hers and stopping him from opening the baby doll's sides. "There's something you need to know."

His face hovering above hers, he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Is your tattoo mate going to burst in and kill me for laying a hand on you?" he asked.

She couldn't help but grin.

"No, but—"

"Then tell me later."

And with that, his mouth crashed upon hers.

It was technically their third kiss already, but it felt like the first proper one—the first that was allowed to develop and last. The glimpses she'd caught the first two times now proved to be true: they just 'clicked,' their natural rhythms falling in sync without any effort whether they devoured each other's mouth or slowed down for something more sensual.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she drew him tighter against her body. Months of captivity had left him close to being too thin, but he still weighed down on her comfortably, anchoring her to the here and now when her mind wanted to drift toward a dozen unanswered questions. The warmth coming from his skin flared every few seconds, like flames rising above a campfire to reach toward the sky.

She retracted her feathers, leaving herself bare against him, just so she could enjoy his heat a little more. He raised his head when he noticed what she was doing, and fiery eyes roamed over her body. He licked his lips before smirking at her.

"See? I didn't have to beg after all."

She'd have argued the point—his kiss had felt like a very polite request to her—but the words simply melted on her tongue when his own teased a path from the crook of her neck to the tip of her left breast. Her nipples had always been too sensitive for this kind of stimulation, and she squirmed under him, her hands tightening on his shoulders to push him off. Instead, she stilled and opened wide, unseeing eyes toward the ceiling.

The heat of his mouth and tongue transformed a touch that had always been almost painful to something that made her moan and arch against him. Without realizing what she was doing, she pressed her nails into his shoulders to hold him where he was. He chuckled in reply, and pressed a painless bite to the side of her breast before moving on to the next one.

"Like this, don't you?" he murmured, his lips caressing the achingly hard nub he found there.

Words were beyond her reach, but she managed a little hum.

"What else do you like, then?"

He didn't wait for her to reply. Even as he bestowed the same treatment onto her previously neglected nipple, his right hand trailed over her side and hip, raising goose bumps in its wake. Next, it slid to the inside of her thigh as he shifted to rest next to her. A gentle tap of his fingers let her know what he wanted, and she didn't even think twice before parting her legs for him. Her mind was still swimming in sensations even when he lifted his mouth off her to watch her, and they only redoubled when his fingertips gently started exploring her folds.

"Like this?"

She didn't reply, at least not in words, but her gasp and the way she pressed down into his hand answered anyway.

He continued to explore, finding every spot in and out of her that caused tendrils of pleasure to wrap around her. With two fingers curled within her and his thumb flicking back and forth, he rested at her side and watched her closely. She felt more exposed than she'd ever been before and started draping her arm over her face to hide, but he wouldn't let her.

"No," he said strongly, twisting his fingers in such a way that she cried out. "Show me."

She dropped her arm and tried to say something, she wasn't even sure what, but this time it was his thumb that pressed harder against her clit. She arched against him—and he only did it again, and again and again, until fire tore through her and it was all too much. Panting hard, her vision blurring, she grabbed his wrist and pushed it away.

"Please, please, just..."

Another shudder wracked her body and she finished with a moan.

"Who's begging now?" he asked, and his slight smile didn't do a thing to tone down his smugness.

She laughed quietly, calling him a bastard in a wheezing voice. After her heart had calmed down a little, she managed to raise her head to grin at him.

"We'll see about that."

Pressing a hand to his chest, she pushed him onto his back and lost no time crawling between his legs. His cock, hard and thick, twitched in her hand when she took hold of it to lead it to her mouth. She swiped her tongue against the slit, enjoying the tangy bead of clear fluid, then took the full head inside her mouth. His flesh felt burning against her tongue and she let out a quiet hum of appreciation as she slowly moved up and down.

She'd only been at it for a few seconds when he grabbed her hair in his fist and pulled to make her stop. She raised her head and arched a questioning eyebrow at him as she licked her lips.

"I haven't touched a woman in five months," he said gruffly. "I'm not going to last."

"Who asked you to?" she shot back.

She held his gaze until he realized that she meant it. He didn't let go of her hair but allowed her to lower her mouth to his cock once more. She redoubled her efforts, keeping an eye on him as much as she could, although she didn't try to figure out what he liked best. She'd have plenty of time for that later. For now, all she wanted was to give him the same pleasure he'd offered her—and the release he must sorely need after months of isolation.

She didn't try to tease him or make it last, and merely settled on making him come. As he'd warned her, it didn't take long before he did, his wordless cry filling the room.

The heat coming from him felt luxurious as she nestled against his chest. She listened to his hammering heartbeat, content to wait until he was ready for the next round.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, and she was drifting into a comfortable half-sleep when Idris spoke, his words quiet, a hint of forced derision coloring them.

"A blowjob isn't going to change my mind, you know."

She made a little sound, low in her throat, before managing to push words out.

"About what?"

"About going to that Sanctuary of yours."

It took a few seconds for the words to make sense. She'd certainly not been thinking about this now, which made her wonder why he had. Could it be that the gentleman protested too much and wanted to be convinced?

"Is revenge really that important?" she asked gently, keeping her voice neutral.

His body tensed against hers.

"Five months of my life were stolen from me. I was starved. I was beaten. I was experimented on. I was—"

She stopped him with the gentlest of kisses, caressing his face with her fingertips in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

"I know," she murmured. "I know what they do in those places. That's why I joined the squad. To get as many paras out as possible."

He tilted his head to one side, pressing his cheek a little more into her hand as he considered her.

"If that's so important for you, why did you throw it all away to come after me? You haven't even tried to take your motorcycle key from me."

She regretted suddenly that she hadn't managed to tell him they were mates much sooner. She'd had time to wrap her mind around the idea, and even after only a day she felt like she'd known him all her life. But how did he feel? What did he think of her? He enjoyed her company enough to be in her bed right now, but could he see anything beyond that?

"Idris," she started, choking a little on his name, "I—"

But the confession she wanted to offer died on her lips when he grabbed her hands from his face and pushed her off him, sitting at her side and looking down at her.

"What did you just call me?" he asked, a hint of panic seeping through his words before he caught himself. "Who told you—"

"Your brother. Back in the safe house, when you stole my bike."

For a moment, he looked completely bewildered, as though she were speaking in tongues.

"My _brother_ told you my name?" he asked, his eyes wide. "Why?"

He sounded genuinely confused, and Violet had to hide a smile. He'd been so sure of himself since they'd met, taking everything in stride, it was odd to finally see him off balance.

"Take a guess," she said.

All he did was stare at her.

"You still haven't asked me what my name is. I think maybe that's because you know. Or suspect."

"I don't..." he started, but didn't finish the thought and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment. Did he think it'd be enough to make her disappear?

She waited until he'd dropped his hands again before she said, "My wrist has been bare practically since you entered the room. Haven't you been tempted to peek, not even for a second?"

She raised her hand toward him, her wrist out like an offering, but he closed his fingers over it without glancing down at his name.

"Don't," he said quietly.

"Don't what?" she challenged. "Wear your name on my skin? I don't have much of a choice about that, do I? Even if I burned it off like you're doing, it'd still be there. Pretending otherwise won't change anything. I'm here, and so are you. And I've been looking for you for a long time."

Hadn't she always looked for him? Hadn't she waited with a half-formed hope, every time she'd met a new boy when she was a child, a new male teenager when she was adolescent, a new adult man when she'd grown, to hear them say they were called Idris?

In answer, he gave her a twisted smile that made something tighten painfully deep inside her.

"And I've been hoping I'd never meet you for probably just as long."

Letting go of her hand, he turned away and sat on the side of the bed. Afraid he'd leave now, she rested a hand on his back, a silent plea for him to stay. He felt even hotter now than he had earlier, and she shivered.

"We met just one day ago," she murmured, "and yet here we are. Sharing a bed. There's something between us. You can't deny it."

He snorted, his body moving under her hand but without dislodging it.

"I'd have taken anyone to bed tonight," he said harshly. "Any woman's pussy would have done the job."

The words were meant to wound Violet and push her away. She refused to let them touch her. If he wanted to scare her off, he'd have to try a lot harder.

"Is that so?" she asked. "Turn around, look at me straight in the eye when you say that, and maybe I'll believe you."

She wanted to crow when he did no such thing, but contained herself. This was a battle she wouldn't lose, whatever it took. But Idris wasn't done fighting yet.

"You don't understand." His words turned deathly cold. "I burn things. I burn people. Every person I ever gave a damn about has paid for it. Every woman. If I ever had a mate—"

"You have a mate," she cut in softly. "She's right here. And she sure as hell isn't worried about a little heat."

He stood and turned to her, his eyes flashing. Warmth radiated from him in suddenly stronger waves.

"A little heat?" he repeated, a growl in his words. "Have you heard a single word of what I said?"

"I have." Violet kept her voice calm in response to his growing agitation. "And I believe you. I believe you're scared as hell to hurt me. But do you know what I believe in, too? This."

She extended her arm toward him, once again showing him the tattoo. His eyes remained on hers for a long moment, burning bright, before he finally looked down. He blinked, a visible shiver shaking his body. All the fight seemed to drain out of him at this tangible proof that something had existed between them before they'd ever laid eye on each other.

"I don't want to hurt you," he breathed, still staring at his name on her skin.

"You won't," she murmured, taking his hand in hers. "I know you won't. I trust you."

She drew him forward. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling next to her. She kept his hand in her own and cupped his face with the other one, stroking his cheek with her thumb as she kissed him gently once, then twice. The third time, he seemed to wake up from a daze and surged forward, pushing her back against the pillows as he covered her body with his own.

If things had been intense earlier, he was now kicking the heat up a notch, devouring her mouth before pressing ardent kisses to her neck and shoulders that she returned with interest.

They rolled back and forth on the bed, their hands roaming and fanning the flames of their mutual desire. His cock was hard and burning against her, leaving wet trails against her thighs and stomach. She took hold of it to give it a few hard strokes, reaching out toward the night table with her free hand. She had to let go of him and pull away to grab a condom—Linda kept her rooms stocked with anything her guests might need.

Soon Violet was tearing off the foil package and stealing just a kiss to the tip before she started rolling the condom down. His arms crossed behind his head, he watched her intently, his breaths already coming out short and quick. When she moved to straddle him, he uncoiled all of a sudden and rolled her over.

Poised over her, his cock merely nudging at her opening, he gave her a long look, his gaze seemingly plunging right into her soul. He was barely touching her, and yet she was burning, inside and out.

"Please," she breathed.

The word spurred him back into action. He hiked her legs up around his waist and, with a push of his hips, entered her hard.

He took her fast, grunts accompanying each thrust, and it was all she could do to cling to him. Small moans rose from her lips every so often as he inexorably pushed her onto the path toward the light. His eyes never left hers, and she wondered what he was seeing there. Earlier, he'd claimed any woman would have done the job, but that look said something entirely different.

Touching his face softly, she whispered his name, the way she'd whispered it so many times to herself across the years. He slowed down and leaned in to press a brief kiss to her lips. When their eyes locked again, something had changed, and she felt like she could look deep inside him too. The heat coming from him felt glorious everywhere he touched her. She moved with him, and as earlier they immediately found a rhythm together.

She'd always wondered if being with her mate would be different. Now she knew. It wasn't just different. It was everything she'd never even known she yearned for.

She held him close as pleasure took her and felt him shudder against her as he followed her. Her arms tightened a little more still; she never wanted to let go again.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Long shadows stretched through the courtyard, accentuating angles and giving the buildings a surreal feel. The sun had been up for less than an hour. Idris should have left long before that.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he pushed the bike out of the barn. He'd start it once he was at the end of the driveway, far enough from the house that he wouldn't wake Ladybird.

He knew her name now, but he still couldn't manage to use it, not even in his own mind. All his life, he'd thought of the name 'Violet' with some trepidation and wariness. Part of him wanted to meet her, to know who she was, and what it was that made her the best possible person to be in his life. And part of him knew that he wasn't fit to be in anyone's life for very long, so why torture himself by getting to know her then leaving?

He wished he'd let her tell him before they'd slept together. He'd have left right then and there.

Unless...

Could she be right? Could something inside him have guessed, even if he hadn't allowed himself to become fully aware of it?

He shook his head and walked a little faster. Of course he hadn't known. He wasn't a telepath like his brother. And god, the next time he laid eyes on Chris, he was going to give him a piece of his mind! He knew exactly how Idris felt about finding his tattoo mate. Why on Earth had he sent Ladybird after him?

"Coward."

The word splashed over Idris like cold mud. His spine turned to steel and he froze, slowly turning back toward the house. Linda stood by the door, one hand holding her shawl closed at her throat against the morning chill.

"You're a coward," she said, a little louder. "Whatever you're running to, it's not worth what you're running from."

"Beg your pardon, ma'am," he said coolly, "but what I do doesn't concern you in any way."

"No, it doesn't. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. You're letting your fear and anger lead you. Fear and anger are exactly why the world is in this sorry shape. Hope and love, those are the things that will save us all. And you're running away from them. From _her_."

He couldn't help himself. He laughed. Hope and love would save them all? Aside from spouting trite platitudes, she clearly didn't live in the same world he did. And she clearly had never set foot in a government jail.

"I'm not running from her," he said, climbing on the bike. No doubt she'd wake Ladybird as soon as he left, so there was no point in being quiet anymore. "I'm saving her life."

She didn't raise her voice, but he still heard her clearly over the rumbling of the engine.

"Not just a coward, but selfish, too."

The words echoed in his mind as he drove away. He made the engine roar to fill his head with noise, but even so that little old lady's voice remained with him, causing him to wonder once more if she was a telepath.

Whatever she was, he told himself repeatedly as he drove down narrow roads, only occasionally crossing paths with a car or even sometimes a horse carriage, she was wrong. This was the right thing to do. He'd known it would be the right thing to do long before he'd ever met his tattoo mate. How could he stay with someone who would love him beyond everything, whom he was destined to love just as much, when he knew he'd risk hurting her every time he laid a hand on her?

He'd felt it last night. He'd felt that raging inferno that, all his life, had awakened whenever his emotions got the best of him. It had taken everything he had in him not to let it burn what he touched to cinders—Ladybird included.

When he was only five, he'd had a tantrum on the playground when other children refused to let him play with their ball. The authorities had claimed it was a lightning strike that had struck the jungle gym and scorched part of it beyond recognition.

Two years later, he'd almost burned down his own house when his parents wouldn't allow him to go to camp for the summer like his brother. They claimed it was too dangerous for him to go because of his power. At the time, small flames sometimes leaped from his fingertips when he was focused intently on something. That, at least, had gone away in time, but his parents had learned to keep fire extinguishers in every room in case his temper flared up.

Scared of what he could do by accident but even more so of what would happen to him if the authorities took him, his parents had done their best to teach him ways to control his anger. He'd learned breathing techniques and meditation mantras at the age when other children learned addition. They'd practiced with him every morning before school, and for the most part he'd remained safe during his schooling.

A few of the desks he had occupied over the years would show burnt marks among old bits of gum if they were flipped upside down, but no one had ever noticed his brief flare-ups. He'd also learned to recognize when his anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness—and in his later years, sexual desire—were growing too much despite his best efforts, at which point, with his parents' blessing, he'd find a way to sneak out of school. Better for him to get in trouble for skipping classes than for burning down the school with his peers and teachers inside it.

Even without incident, his behavior had been strange enough that he was sometimes called a weirdo across the years. After his first kiss—the girl in question had been sure to tell everyone what he'd done to her, even if she had no idea how he could have done it—he'd all but become a pariah. He'd finished his high school years only at his parents' insistence, scraping just enough average grades to graduate. He'd never even considered continuing his education after that.

He tried to shake off the onslaught of memories, and as he rode the motorcycle up a highway ramp and accelerated probably beyond what was safe, he managed to leave them behind for a little while. But he couldn't keep up at this speed; attracting the attention of the police would be the worst mistake he could do right now. He reluctantly brought the bike down to the speed limit, and his memories caught up with him once more.

Images rolled over him, and with each one emotions burst within him that he had to fight back to remain calm. Eight years had passed since his graduation—eight years during which he'd drifted through his own life, never settling down anywhere for more than a few months. He'd kept in touch with his parents and brother intermittently, but always refused to go home for more than a few hours at a time. He knew, even if they'd never said anything, that they all slept better without the threat of being burned alive in the middle of the night looming over them.

And that threat had been real. There had been incidents over the years. Fires he hadn't meant to start... and fires he had started on purpose. With nothing to his name but the bitterness of what he was, he'd learned to use pyromancy as a weapon. He'd become very good at it. And that was one more reason for him not to visit his family: they wouldn't take the news that he'd become a thief and arsonist all that well.

Neither thing had seemed to trouble Ladybird in the least, he recalled suddenly. She'd only warned him against attracting attention.

The burst of affection he felt at the thought of her took him aback. He barely knew her at all! What was there for him to feel affectionate about? This tattoo thing was just messing with his head.

With or without cause, the thought of her remained at the back of his mind as he rode the bike south. When he stopped for gas, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder as he filled the tank, all but certain she'd appear out of nowhere. It was the same thing when he ate a late lunch in a fast food restaurant; no one joined him in the booth he chose, but until he left he was sure that she would. And that night, as he lay in an uncomfortable bed in a clean but bland motel room, every little noise seemed magnified, every sound the precursor to her arrival. He managed to get a few fitful hours of sleep, but by morning he was still alone.

"So much for fated mates," he muttered to his reflection as he passed two flame-tipped fingers over the stubble that covered his cheeks. "She clings to me for a full day, welcomes me into her bed, and that's it. She's not even trying to get me back or anything. True love for sure!"

Not that he wanted her to follow him, of course not. He'd known from the start it would be better this way. He just hadn't realized his mate would agree so easily.

Back on the road, he tried to put her out of his mind, but it wasn't easy when he was all too aware it was her bike he was riding. Never mind the mate thing; was she really going to let him get away with such a sweet ride? She'd seemed almost offended when he'd offered to buy it from her, so why would she let it go so easily now? It didn't make much sense.

Another full day of riding brought him no answers. As evening fell, he drove into the city he'd called home for almost two years. It felt odd to be back, but he didn't allow himself any kind of nostalgia. He'd been captured in this place before. Betrayed and captured. The almost-shoulder length hair and goatee he'd sported back then were gone, which was as good a disguise as he could have right now, but he doubted it would be enough. He'd have to be quick, there was no other option. Get in, get even, get out. And then figure out where to go for some much needed rest.

And no, that 'Sanctuary' place wasn't an option. Not when he was likely to run across Ladybird there.

Through small streets and narrow alleys he knew as well as the back of his hand, he drove to the commercial district close to the center of the city where the Gang of Nine had their shop. The name was right there on the awning, and if asked about it they explained it was a reference to the fact that the nine of them were co-owners of the bike and auto repair shop. What few people knew was that they were not a 'gang,' but a wolf pack hiding in plain sight.

He parked the bike in a one-way alley across from the shop and hid in the shadows behind a dumpster, looking out toward the shop. It closed at nine in the evening, which meant that right now the interior was brightly lit and visible through the bay windows. There were only three cars and two bikes inside as far as Idris could see; slow business, it seemed. Which would mean the whole pack might not be present. Not a surprise, but it would have been altogether easier if he could have killed them all in one go.

_Even Ivy?_ a treacherous little voice asked at the back of his mind. _Could you really kill Ivy that easily?_

He wanted to believe he would, but before he could convince himself of that fact a voice rose just inches from him.

"So, what are we looking at exactly?"

He practically jumped out of his skin as he turned to find Ladybird standing near him and peering toward the shop like he was. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. Surely she was just a product of his imagination. She couldn't be there. Except that she was. He stomped on the part of him that wanted to wrap her in his arms and steal her breath with a kiss. They couldn't have that. One night had been too risky already.

She was back in her 'stealth' gear, wearing black from the tip of her boots to the hood wrapped around her hair and leaving only her face exposed. He hadn't heard her approach at all. What on Earth was wrong with him? And how had she found him anyway?

"How did you get here?" he demanded in a harsh whisper.

She gave a little shrug and said nonchalantly, "Phoenix, remember? I can fly."

Could she? He'd never given her abilities much thought beyond what she had cared to show him. In his experience, some paras were touchy when asked what they could do, and it was safer not to ask directly and simply observe.

"How did you find me?"

He'd checked the bike a second time for tracking devices and still found nothing. It wasn't merely his curiosity asking now. If she could find him that easily, who else might come after him?

"Trade secrets," she said, but this time her aloofness wasn't enough.

Walking closer, he loomed over her until his body was only an inch away from touching hers. Everything inside him cried out for her, but he kept a tight control on himself and asked in a growl, "I said, how did you find me?"

Her expression, from relaxed and slightly amused, turned to something more neutral. When her hand rose toward him, he started pulling back, but she didn't let him draw away and sneaked a hand in his pants front pocket. She soon pulled out the motorcycle's key and, holding it by the leather cord, dangled it between them.

Except, it wasn't a leather cord anymore. Under his eyes, the thin strip of leather shimmered and changed, until it had become a long golden feather looped onto itself.

"Let me guess," he said dryly. "That's one of your feathers?"

She nodded. "It's part of me, and I can track it down anywhere. Usually it means I can find it around the house when I misplace it, but it's come in pretty handy to track down a thief." After a beat, she added, more quietly now, "Why did you leave?"

She sounded hurt more than accusing, and Idris looked away, turning his attention back to the repair shop.

"Idris? Why did you leave?" she repeated, resting a light hand on his arm.

A dozen flippant answers rose to Idris' lips, but when he glanced at her, all of it faded away. He didn't want to lie to her, and he didn't want to hurt her, be it with words or with his body. He shook his head and indicated the shop.

"I've told you before. I've spent five months dreaming of my revenge. And now I'm going to get it."

"Your revenge, right." The steely edge to her words warned that she'd demand a better answer soon. "Let's go see about that, then."

Before he could ask what she meant, she started taking long strides toward the repair shop. She was halfway across the street before he managed to shake off his shock to run after her.

"Ladybird!" he hissed. When she ignored him, he used her name for the first time. It felt odd, passing his lips after so many years of trying not to think about it. "Violet! What the hell are you doing?"

All she did was turn to wink at him. She was almost at the door. He ran faster, but didn't catch her before she'd entered the shop. He caught the swinging door as it was closing and could hear her ask in a calm voice, "Hello. Could you point me toward the person in charge of betraying other paras to the UIPP?"

Utter silence enveloped the shop.

Mad. She was completely mad. She was going to get herself killed in there!

Hurrying inside, Idris pushed back the sense of nostalgia washing over him. He'd worked in the shop for over two years, the longest job he'd ever held. The people here had been his friends, and in Ivy's case, his lover. The shop had been a kind of home. And now, all he could think of was to burn the place down, along with everything—and everyone—it held.

It was Ivy who stood behind the counter, staring at Ladybird as though she'd just sprouted horns and a forked tongue.

"What—" she started saying, but fell silent again when her gaze turned to Idris as he approached them. Her eyes widened and her face split into a wide grin that was all too familiar.

"James!" she shrieked. "Oh my God, you're back!"

The next second, she leaped over the counter and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and planting her mouth firmly upon his. Of all the reactions he'd planned for when he imagined confronting her and her pack members, this wasn't one he'd envisioned. He returned neither the embrace nor the kiss and she pulled back after a second or two, her expression now a little confused. Behind her, Ladybird had crossed her arms under her breasts and looked absolutely murderous.

So, she had a jealous streak, Idris noted absently. Good to know.

"James! It really is you!" Jonas was coming forward with a smile as wide as his sister's. He cleaned off his hands with a rag before holding out the right one to Idris. "We were worried about you, man."

Even as Idris hesitated about whether to take his hand, Ladybird cleared her throat and came to stand at his side. In the same calm voice she'd used when talking about betrayal, she asked the very same thing Idris was wondering about. They looked genuinely pleased to see him. Why would they be if they had a guilty conscience?

"So, these are the people who sold you off? They don't look very remorseful, do they?"

# CHAPTER TWELVE

It was quite possible that Violet was wrong.

She wasn't so arrogant as to believe herself infallible, and she wasn't so naive that she thought every para on Earth was a good person and every regular human an evil one. She'd heard of paras turning in other paras to protect themselves or their families, but every time it had been a stranger that was betrayed to the authorities.

From what she could guess, Idris had lived with this pack for a while. And the fact that they were wolf shifters had an impact on the situation as well. There were all kinds of paras in Sanctuary. All kinds of shifters, too. From growing up among all of these different people, Violet had learned that wolf clans were more protective than most of those they brought into their lives. Judging by how Idris was being welcomed back, he definitely qualified as honorary pack member.

So while it was possible Violet was wrong, she'd pluck her own feathers if she was.

"Sold you off?" the woman repeated, her voice shrill and shocked.

The man at her side—there was a slight resemblance, and Violet would have bet they were related even if she hadn't known they belonged to a wolf pack—looked even more offended, his hardening gaze going from Violet to Idris.

"I'm not sure what we're being accused of," he said, finally lowering the hand Idris hadn't shaken, "but I do know I'm not liking what I'm hearing."

Six more people were approaching, two women and four men, all of them sporting the lean but muscular look of wolf shifters in their human form. Violet noticed that Idris eyed them warily; heat was coming off him in regular waves. Was he still intending to take his revenge? If that was his decision, she'd help him. She shifted a little, hyperaware of the small gun she carried at the small of her back under her feathers. She'd use it on paras if she needed to, but right now she'd be more inclined to talk and figure out if the wolves were lying.

"I was taken by the authorities five months ago," Idris said, addressing the man; he seemed to be the alpha of the pack. "I heard them talk when they were taking me to jail. They were saying what a nice catch their pet wolf had given them this time."

The alpha's expression darkened, his brow furrowing and his fists closing. He still didn't like what he was hearing, that much was clear.

"You were in jail all this time?" the woman asked, covering her mouth with her hand. "We didn't know. We thought you just decided to leave after we broke up."

"Without any of my stuff?" Idris shot back. "Without my freaking bike?"

If possible, the alpha's features hardened yet a little more.

"That's the thing that convinced us you were gone," he all but growled. "All your things disappeared when you did. You really didn't take any of it?"

Idris barked out a bitter laugh. "I was taken off the street when I was walking to the corner store and brought straight to jail with nothing more than the clothes on my back. You're telling me my bike and my stuff aren't here?"

The alpha didn't reply right away. Instead, he turned to face his people, who had assembled in a silent half-circle behind him.

"If your things disappeared from here," he said in a quiet but dangerous voice, "it means one of us knew to make it all disappear when you were taken."

His people met his scrutiny head on, without looking away or flinching. Either one of them was a very good liar, Violet thought, or—

"Where's Don?" the alpha barked suddenly. "Lou, wasn't he working with you?"

"He was," one of the men answered, frowning as he looked around. "When we heard Ivy call out we came forward. He was right by my side."

"Looks to me this Don doesn't have a clear conscience," Violet said, earning herself a nasty glare from the alpha.

"Whoever you are, you have no business putting your nose in our affairs," he growled at her. "If you can't be quiet—"

Bristling, Idris took a half-step forward to stand directly between the alpha and her.

"Watch how you talk to my mate," he said in a low, dangerous tone of voice.

Heat burst through Violet, and not all of it came from Idris. He'd seemed less than happy with their connection so far, but the word 'mate' had passed his lips easily enough when he felt she needed defending. The fact that she could take care of herself aside, she was surprised to realize she didn't mind the quasi-Neanderthal display as long as it showed he accepted her for what she was.

The woman who'd thrown herself into his arms earlier—Ivy, was it?—blinked several times before giving Violet a once-over look that felt less than flattering. She'd had a thing with Idris, no doubt about it. Violet looked back at her flatly. She wasn't one for possessive displays like the one Idris had just offered, but this was her tattoo mate standing at her side. No halfway civilized person would try to come between two people marked with each other's names. Whatever Ivy saw in her, she gave the slightest nod of her head.

The alpha meanwhile seemed nonplussed.

"Mate or not, I don't appreciate—"

Whatever it was he didn't appreciate, he didn't get to say. A megaphone-amplified voice suddenly filled the shop even as powerful lights were turned on outside and directed toward the large bay windows that made up the front of the shop. Everything was suddenly so bright that they all reflexively tried to shield their eyes and stepped back from the windows.

"Attention. Per order of the Unit for Investigation of Paranormal Persons, all persons within this building will surrender peacefully and submit themselves for questioning. Do not, I repeat _do not_ attempt to run or attack, do not shift to your animal forms, do not resist arrest or you will be fired upon. You have one minute to come out."

"You brought them here!" the alpha growled, pointing a finger at Idris' chest. "We've stayed safe all these years and you, you escaped from wherever and led them straight to us!"

"Don't be stupid, Jonas," Idris hissed. "They know you guys are shifters. If all they'd done was follow me, they wouldn't know about you. But if Don called them to save his skin..."

"We don't have time for this," Violet said urgently. "What's your escape plan?"

Jonas crossed his arms and didn't reply. She returned his stare without wavering. Was he really going to try to pretend they didn't have a plan for situations such as this? She refused to believe any para could be so foolish that they wouldn't be ready to get on the run.

"The back alley," Ivy answered instead. "There's a back door and an opening to the storm drain."

"But Don knows about that," one of the male wolves—Lou, was it?—pointed out. "I'd bet anything they'll be waiting for us there."

Violet would have bet the same thing. She looked at Idris, considering. Just from being near him, she could tell his power was close to the surface. Heat radiated from him as though from a furnace, and sweat was pearling up on the brows of the closest wolves. Idris had intended to use this power against the wolf clan... but he might just save them instead.

"I'm guessing whatever hiding place you've got is also compromised," she said quickly to the alpha, and through him to the group. "Listen to this number and memorize it."

She gave them Millie's number, repeating it twice. She saw two of them nodding once, indicating they had it. Between all of them, surely they'd remember it.

"Here's the plan. The two of us are going to create a diversion. While we get those assholes' attention, you lot shift and run for it. Separate right away, lose anyone who might be following you, and reunite somewhere safe. Somewhere Don would not think of. Is there a place like that?"

She looked at Ivy for an answer, since she'd replied before, but Jonas decided to get his head out of his ass and join in.

"The old drive-in on Memphis," he said curtly, turning to look at the members of his pack. "Stay in pairs, no one should go alone."

"When you're reunited," Violet went on, "find a phone and call the number. Tell the woman who'll answer that Ladybird vouched for you to get to Sanctuary. She'll help you get away."

"We can take care of ourselves," Jonas said, bristling. "We don't need your help or—"

"Would you rather end up in jail?" Idris interrupted him. "Been there, done that, I don't recommend it to anyone. Except for Don maybe."

The savageness in these last few words was palpable. Before anyone could reply, a call came in from the megaphone.

"Last chance to surrender with your hands in the air. You have ten seconds."

"So, distraction?" Idris asked.

"Nine. Eight."

"Fire, what else?" Violet said. "As bright, as big as you can. I'll stay close and cover you."

She wished she could have held his hand but she figured he'd need it to exert his power. She took hold of his jacket so she could extend her feathers over him. If the UIPP fired— _when_ they fired—she'd keep him safe. But the wolves would have to be on their own.

"Four."

"Get ready to shift and run like hell while they're blinded," she told the wolves, turning her face away from the window to protect her vision somewhat. "On one!"

"Two. One—"

Any other time, she'd have marveled at Idris' power—at how fast he could activate it, at the strength and scope of the fire he could summon with barely any warning. Right now however, she needed to focus. They would only have one chance to get out of here unscathed.

The power of the fire erupting out of Idris' hands shattered all the bay windows outward, showering the UIPP cars and the officers who'd taken cover behind them in broken glass. Shouts came in from the street. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

The wolves shifted into massive, powerful beasts, and they were ready to leap forward. Violet had extended her feathers over Idris, covering him fully except for a narrow strip for his eyes. Nothing would penetrate her feathers.

"Again," she said before the UIPP started firing, and, tightening her hand over his arm, she drew Idris forward.

This time, rather than one massive fireball, he summoned fire to both his hands and launched it toward the two nearest cars outside like he might have thrown baseballs. The first one exploded immediately while the second caught fire.

"Go," Violet hissed toward the wolves. "Now!"

Even as they sprung forward, a call came out from whoever was in charge out there.

"They shifted! Fire at will!"

In the confusion of the explosion and fire, with black smoke filling the street, only a few gunshots resonated. Violet couldn't tell if any bullet found its mark, but at least she didn't hear any cry of pain. They had to draw the shooters attention away from the wolves.

"Are you ready to meet your maker?" she asked in her loudest voice, making her feathers change color so as to give the appearance that she and Idris were on fire. Lower, she asked, "Can you hit them again?"

"I can," Idris said, immediately launching two more balls of fire; they seemed larger than the previous ones, and one of them hit the edge of the building, sending out debris into the street. "But the more I do this, the less control I have. The wolves are gone, what's the plan for us?"

A volley of gunfire exploded toward them. No bullet pierced the armor formed by her feathers but Violet could feel each impact, like a stone thrown at her bare skin. When she grunted in pain, Idris tensed against her. The next balls of fire he launched at the soldiers were twice as big.

"The bike," she said simply. She doubted she needed to elaborate.

They'd left the motorcycle in that alley right across from the shop—right behind the UIPP forces. If they could just get to it, if they managed to run off, if she had enough energy left to camouflage them until they were in the clear...

Too many ifs, but she didn't have a better idea to get them out of there.

And then Idris added one more if to the equation.

"You need to get away from me. I don't know if I can control myself much longer."

Maybe that was the solution.
** **

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Idris' anger kept growing and growing... and with it, the control over his power grew more and more tenuous.

At first, it had been the same anger he'd felt in jail, the rage of having been betrayed by those he'd trusted implicitly. He'd let that anger grow as he rode toward the Gang of Nine; better anger than the mix of confusion, fear and grief he felt at having found his mate—and at having to run from her.

Then he'd faced those he'd once considered his friends, almost his family, and as the revelation of who was to blame for turning him in had come, a more focused anger had overcome him. He'd never liked Don all that much. From the day Idris had first come to the shop, Don had looked at him with an obvious degree of suspicion because Idris wasn't a shifter like the rest of them, and it had only grown worse after he'd started dating Ivy. When he found the bastard, he'd make him regret ever being born.

And now... now the UIPP was there. The mere possibility that they might take him again—lock him up again—was turning Idris' anger to sheer, uncontrollable rage. The thought that they might do the same thing to his mate was even worse. And then there were these small gasps of pain that Ladybird let out every time a bullet made contact with her. His mate was in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd never wanted a mate, and he'd tried not to let himself see her as such, he'd even run away from her, but there she was.

There _they_ were.

The last time he'd lost control to this point, he'd burned down a building. He'd heard that after an investigation, the forensics team had determined that the fire was due to a gas explosion—and never mind that the gas line had been turned off in that place.

He launched more fireballs toward the officers that were still shooting at them, but far from depleting his power, it barely kept him on the edge of losing control.

"Ladybird, come on," he said urgently. "On the count of three, you've got to let go and run like hell. Or fly. Just get away from me, okay?"

She'd been at his side so far, but now she stepped right in front of him, her back to the UIPP, her arms looped around his neck.

"What—"

"Do you trust me?" she cut in, a small smile touching her lips even as gunfire redoubled around them. "We just met, but can you trust me?"

His mind flashed back to the night they'd spent together. She'd said then that she trusted him, without hesitation or reservation. And yet... What a stupid thing to ask in the middle of a fight like this one! What a dangerous thing to do when he was holding on by a thread!

And what an easy question to answer, too, much to Idris' surprise.

"I do," he said, choking on the words a little. "But I don't want—"

She drew him to her and crashed her mouth on his. Her eyes were wide open and burning with the same fire that roiled through Idris. The same fire he'd barely managed to contain when he was making love to her. The same fire that he couldn't contain any longer.

And deep down, he was scared to realize, he didn't _want_ to contain it anymore. He was tired of restraining himself day in and day out. Tired of this world where people like him and Ladybird, like Chris, and that little ice dragon girl were hunted like animals.

He wrenched his mouth off hers and only had time to say, "Violet..." before his power exploded out of him in a wave of fire.

For a brief moment, he wasn't merely creating the fire but he _was_ the fire. He could see himself enveloping Ladybird and flashing outward like an expanding bubble of searing heat. The police cars and vans, some of them already ablaze, exploded and were swept backwards with thundering crashes. Behind him, the garage was engulfed in flames, the awning blown off to one side and burning. Everywhere, UIPP officers were thrown to the ground, some of them knocked unconscious or killed instantly, others screaming as the angry fire devoured them... although their cries died out very quickly.

In just seconds, utter silence fell on the street. Nothing moved save for the flames dancing here and there, the black, acrid smoke rising toward the evening sky. Idris felt like he was at ground zero where a bomb had gone off... and he'd been the bomb.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and he became aware that he was bare, his clothes vaporized from the intense heat he'd produced. He wasn't surprised. It had happened in the past. Which was why he was scared to look down at the body he still held in his arms.

It was one thing to see UIPP officers fifty yards from him charred to unrecognizable remains; as far as he was concerned, this was only a small taste of the hell that was waiting for them. But Ladybird...

He'd been so scared of hurting her, so scared that all his life he'd tried to avoid meeting her, that he'd fled from her without a goodbye like a coward, and now...

And now...

A dry sob shook his body. He blinked repeatedly and forced himself to look down at a sight he knew would stay with him until the day he died.

And it would... Except it wasn't anything he expected.

Nestled in his arms, her face turned up toward his, Ladybird was beaming up at him. Her skin glowed with a light golden hue, and for the first time Idris could see her feathers in their natural state, falling down her arms in wide wings. The bandage on her upper arm was gone, the wound healed. He blinked again, this time in surprise, and the feathers and golden glow slowly faded away, leaving behind the familiar white t-shirt and jeans in which she always looked so effortlessly sexy.

"You... you're not hurt?" he managed to stammer.

Despite the evidence of his own eyes, he could hardly believe it. He had to take a step back to look fully at her, although he couldn't quite make himself let go of her and took hold of her hands.

"Why would fire hurt me?" she said, sheer joy in her words. "I'm a phoenix, remember? Who better to be your mate than someone who actually thrives in fire?"

He watched as her feathers extended over their hands to flow over him, dressing him in jeans, boots and a leather jacket over his bare torso—or at least, that was what they looked and felt like against him.

It was odd to know he was nude and yet to feel material on his skin—and even odder still to know that it was part of Ladybird that covered every inch of him. Shaking his head in wonder, he stared at her and started to say something, but he was at a loss for words.

"I never imagined..."

"Never imagined what?" she asked gently. "That whoever or whatever made us mates wouldn't take into consideration what we are when pairing us up?"

He tried to swallow the hard lump blocking his throat.

"That, yes. Or that you could still look at me like this after what I've done."

With a tilt of his head, he indicated the mess around them, the burning buildings and cars, the broken windows, the dead bodies and the people who were starting to come out from the building across the street, shell-shocked and holding on to each other. In the distance, fire truck sirens were shrieking, growing louder with every passing moment.

Ladybird looked around and gave a shrug, her eyes narrowing when they paused on a body.

"They'd be just as dead if I'd shot them. And I think we'd better get out of here, don't you?"

Without waiting for his response, she tightened her fingers over his and started guiding him toward the narrow alley on the other side of the street where he'd left the bike. The dumpster behind which they'd hidden earlier was scorched and smoking, but it had protected the bike and it waited for them, untouched.

"It's fine," Ladybird said, sounding relieved as she pulled the key from wherever she'd kept it safe. "I'll drive this time. Just keep holding on to me, unless you want to ride naked."

But Idris found little humor in her words. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what had just happened.

"I just blew up the street," he said darkly, "and you're worried about me riding naked?"

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Not so much worried as unwilling to get the police on our back for indecent exposure," she said dryly. After taking a good look at him however, she added, "Does it bother you that you killed these people? They deserved it. Following orders was never a good enough excuse for the kinds of things they do. And they _were_ trying to kill us."

"I know all that," he replied with a brief look back at the street. "And still..."

He shook his head. He'd never enjoy killing with his power, but she was right that these were hardly good people. And speaking of...

"Don got away," he said bitterly. "He sold me out twice to those assholes. He sold his own pack. He shouldn't get away with it."

He expected her to argue the point, the same way she'd advised caution before, but if anything she looked thoughtful.

"Hard to dispense the payback he deserves when we don't know where to find him."

He wasn't sure why these words gave him the sudden need to kiss her, but he didn't try to fight back the urge. Grabbing her hips, he drew her against him, and pressed his mouth onto hers in the next second.

In all his adult years, every time he'd thought of the mate he couldn't have, he'd persuaded himself that he wouldn't miss much. Romance, sweet gestures, strolls on the beach or picnics in public parks—the image the media often gave of fated mates—none of that was anything he'd care to have. He just hadn't realized that a mate would also see eye to eye with him for such things as revenge or the killing of those bastards who hunted paras like animals.

The intensity of the kiss grew, and with it the heat within Idris started building up again. Any other woman would have pulled back in discomfort and protested, but not Ladybird. Not his mate.

"Hello?" A voice called out toward them, echoing through the alley. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

Ending the kiss with a reluctance that Ladybird shared, judging by the brief annoyed look he saw on her features, they turned together to see a firefighter standing at the end of the alley. He looked unsure whether he ought to venture into a dark alley toward people he probably couldn't see all that well in the shadows.

"We're fine," Ladybird called back toward the man, then added more quietly, "Let's get out of here."

"Yes. Give me the key."

She arched an eyebrow at him at that.

"It's my bike. I've been more than accommodating so far but—"

"I think I might know where Don is."

Was that hunger, flicking through her eyes? Hunger for him, or for revenge? It didn't matter. Either way, she gave him the key, allowing him to get on the bike before she hopped on behind him. He brought the bike's engine to life with a roar. He couldn't know for sure they'd find Don at the apartment complex where the wolf clan lived, but for his own peace of mind, he had to at least try.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As Idris maneuvered the bike through narrow streets and quiet neighborhoods, Violet once more turned her feathers to a perfect mirror of the city around them. Not only was it easier to render them all but invisible at night than it was during the day, but she brimmed with energy after the burst of intense fire Idris had unleashed earlier.

She'd stood right at the center of the blast, and had she been anything other than a phoenix, she would have burned to ashes in a matter of seconds; the fire had certainly been strong enough to destroy any normal body at point blank range. But like she'd told Idris, she wasn't his mate for nothing.

She didn't know if the being or power that marked them all with their mates' names knew everything that would happen in their lives, or even planned it, but if that was the case they couldn't have picked a better person for her. His fire had rejuvenated her, making her feel as rested and full of strength as though she'd spent the last few weeks relaxing at home.

She kept her arms tight around him as they rode into the night, tighter maybe than they needed to be. She didn't think he'd run away from her anymore, not now that he knew she had nothing to fear from his power. She couldn't wait to go to a quiet place with him and get to know him better... both his mind and his body. He felt hot again, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was because of her, draped around him like a living blanket, or because he was getting angry once more.

A little voice that sounded too much like Millie's for comfort refused to quiet down at the back of her mind. It listed all the reasons why it was a bad idea to go hunting for that wolf. First and foremost, Idris had just committed what the authorities would surely call an act of terrorism when they intensified their manhunt for them. It would have been safer to get on the way to Sanctuary, swap the bike for a nondescript rental car like Violet had suggested before, and get away from the region as soon as possible. Every tactical lesson Violet had ever learned said as much.

And yet her heart said something else.

She wasn't blindly following Idris because he was her mate, however. She trusted she'd have made the same decision to go with him rather than try to convince him to let it go if he'd been any other para she was helping through a rough time. The issue here, the thing that Millie, disciplined leader that she was, wouldn't have understood, was that some things were worth taking an extra risk for. It had been more than worth it to risk additional gunfire to rescue three more people from the containment center—and it was worth coming across more UIPP forces for a chance at eliminating a traitor.

Because in the end, that was what this Don person was: a traitor to his clan, to his acquaintances, and to all paras. In this world where anyone with some kind of power was treated like a freak or monster, imprisoned and studied as such, the only thing paras could depend on was each other. Anyone who played by the government's rules was a liability to all of them.

As fast as Idris was riding, it didn't take very long before they reached an apartment complex, several buildings between seven and ten stories high gathered around a small park and playground. He parked the bike near the entrance of one of the buildings. As she dismounted the motorcycle, her hand gripping Idris' arm to keep him covered, she couldn't help but throw a nonplussed look around.

"They lived here?" she asked. "Surrounded by all this concrete? When did they ever shift?"

"They'd go out into nearby woods on weekends or late at night. Or shift inside when they really needed to."

To Violet, it sounded almost as bad as being caged... but she supposed she was biased, having been born and raised on a sprawling domain where she could shift to her phoenix form and take flight whenever she pleased without having to worry about who might see her.

He led the way inside the building, walking past the elevator to get to the staircase instead. He walked fast but she easily kept pace with him, silently rearranging her feathers over both their bodies. Soon, they were both wearing the same black ensemble the squad wore on missions, their vital organs protected not by Kevlar but rather by additional layers of feathers. Drawing out the small gun she'd kept close to her body for the past few days, Violet quickly checked that it was in working order before holding it against her thigh again, where she fashioned an invisible holster around it.

"Next floor," he said when they'd reached the second landing. "They have five apartments over two floors, this one is where he lived when I was there. We should know pretty quick whether he's here or not."

"And if he is?" Violet asked. "What do you intend to do?"

He didn't say a word but gave her a look that made his intentions quite clear. Tightening her hand on his arm, she drew him to a stop.

"The building must be full at this hour," she said, keeping her voice low and calm. "Families home from work and school. Kids already in bed. Starting a fire might not be the best option here. Do you know how to use a gun?"

His grimace answered her before he did.

"No. I never needed one before."

"Then let me do it," she offered. "Quick and clean, no extra casualties. All right?"

She had no doubt that he'd rather have taken his revenge on his own, but she could see her argument winning him over. It comforted her that, despite his burning need for revenge, he was not willing to put innocent lives in danger. Killing members of the UIPP was one thing; they'd chosen their line of work. Same for Don; he'd made his choice. Endangering random bystanders, on the other hand, could only serve to antagonize people who had little to do with paras.

Whatever Idris would have said, however, she never knew. The door opened on the landing a few steps above them. A man appeared, his head shaved, a short beard disguising his mouth, his eyes dark and agitated as they darted first upward, then down toward them. All she needed was to feel Idris' muscles tense under her hand to know that this was the man they were looking for.

No more than a second passed. Violet was only beginning to reach for her weapon when Don threw the bulging duffel bag he was carrying straight at them with a shout that almost sounded inhuman. Idris moved between Violet and the bag just in time to receive the full impact. From his grunt and slight wavering on the step, the bag had to be just as heavy as it looked. His momentary loss of balance caused Violet's hand on his arm to become dislodged. Immediately, her feathers started pulling away from his body, layer by layer. At the same moment, Don pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and raised it toward them.

A fear more intense than anything Violet had ever experienced gripped her guts like a steel hand. She hurriedly grasped Idris' arm again, now with both hands to make the process quicker, adding hoods to both of their outfits to protect their heads from gunshots. The volley of bullets ricocheted away from them.

Don stared at them with obvious disbelief. He looked at the gun in his hand, shot twice more in their direction, and swore loudly when their bodies deflected the bullets toward the concrete walls of the stairwell.

Violet reached for the gun at her side. Even as her fingers wrapped around it, Don started running upward. She and Idris reacted in the same heartbeat, climbing the stairs after him. Every time they rounded a corner, she raised the gun and prepared to fire in case Don was trying to ambush them, but the sounds were coming from higher and higher. Another two flights of stairs and they heard a door bang shut ahead of them.

"He's on the roof," Idris said, breathing hard. "He's gonna fire again. Or attack us."

He didn't say, 'be ready,' but Violet heard the admonition anyway. From anyone else, it would have irritated her, but not from Idris. Not from her mate. He wanted her to be safe, and she wanted the same for him, of course.

Idris came to a stop two steps before they reached the final landing. When he cleared his throat, she threw a questioning look at him... and had to bite her lip to stifle a nervous laugh. She usually had perfect control over her feathers. They were part of her body after all, as much as her hands or feet were. But as she worried about keeping him safe, especially now that he'd already been wounded, her feathers had stretched over the last bit of him that remained uncovered: his eyes. He looked as though she'd thrown a bag over his head.

"Sorry about that," she breathed, pulling the feathers back so he could see again.

She expected him to be annoyed, but even with the lower part of his face still covered, she could see he was smiling. His eyes crinkled at the corners, a soft light dancing through them. She was taken by the sudden desire to kiss him, and had to remind herself this was hardly the time and place.

"Ready?" she murmured.

Idris nodded and laid a hand on the door handle. He raised his other hand, showing one finger, then two. On the third, he pushed the door open. Before they could even step out onto the roof, a huge wolf rushed at them, lunging for Idris' throat. Violet reacted on pure instinct, muscle memory trained from countless hours spent in the firing range back in Sanctuary kicking in.

Her gun hand was already raised. It tracked the wolf's leap for the time of a second before she pressed the trigger. Two shots resonated through the stairwell. The wolf keened and fell to the side. Whining, he started dragging himself back, his hind right leg bleeding profusely. As Idris and Violet stepped out, the wolf resumed his human appearance and continued to scramble backward. He'd ripped his clothing when shifting to his wolf body, and his nakedness now exposed multiple scars over his abdomen. Surgical scars, by the look of it.

"Fuck," he gasped when his back hit the low wall that encircled the roof. He brought both hands to his bleeding thigh, pressing hard onto the wound, but even so blood continued to spurt out with each of his heartbeats.

"You hit an artery," Idris said darkly. "He doesn't have long."

Hearing this, Don's eyes widened and he looked up at them.

"Help me," he pleaded. "You can't let me die like this."

"There's nothing we can do," Violet said with a shake of her head, and it was true. Even her feathers couldn't form a tourniquet tight enough to stop that much blood.

"Why would we even want to?" Idris said, all but biting the words. "You just tried to shoot us. Your treacherous ass turned your own freaking clan in to the UIPP. And you got me sent to that hellhole of a jail for five fucking months!"

She could feel heat rising again within Idris' body, the same kind of sudden, intense heat that had burned within him back at the garage right before he'd let it out in that humongous explosion. It had been helpful then to take down the UIPP, but here, at the top of a residential building, it would be a terrible idea for him to let go again.

"Hey, calm down," she said, stroking his arm in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. "Come on, he's all but dead. No reason to get angry now."

If he heard her, he didn't show it. He raised his hand in front of him, a ball of fire as large as a child's head resting in his palm.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you sell us out? What did you get for it?"

Tears were now streaming down Don's ashy cheeks. He shook his head feebly.

"Nothing. I didn't get anything. They said... if I gave them enough paras... my mate. They have my mate. They did this to me, and then..."

One of his hands left his leg and brushed against his chest, leaving blood trails against the scars.

"They have my mate," he said one more time, and then his body started leaning to one side. He collapsed in a pool of his own blood, his eyes still open as his chest shuddered to a stop.

"Shit," Violet murmured. "What a freaking waste. If he'd asked us to help instead of turning on us..."

But even as she said it, she knew how unlikely it was that Don might have managed to get in contact with the squad, or any of the handful of groups that helped paras as the squad did. There was no global network of paras, nowhere to turn in a case such as this. What else could people as desperate as Don had been possibly do?

"We better..."

As she turned her gaze back to Idris, the words died in her throat. Far from calming down, the fire within him was burning hotter and hotter. His eyes were little more than slits when he launched the ball of fire in his hand toward the dead body in front of them. It hit the wall instead. A burst of heat flared out at the impact, and Violet staggered a little.

"Idris!" she said, her tone turning urgent. She stepped directly in front of him, meeting his clouded gaze straight on. "Listen to me. You've got to calm down."

He blinked twice and seemed to focus on her a little better, but soon he shook his head.

"I can't." His voice sounded hoarse. "It's too late already. When I get that angry... I can't stop it. It has to come out. I don't know how else to stop it."

Angry. Violet's mind zeroed in on that one word. He'd felt almost as hot back at Linda's place when he'd made love to her—so it wasn't just anger that triggered that inner heat, but other emotions too, like lust or desire. If she could distract him from his anger, shift his mind toward less dangerous emotions...

Her feathers retreated from both their faces in about as much time as it took to form the thought. She threw her arms around his neck and pushed herself to her tiptoes, pressing the entire length of her body against him even as she laid her mouth upon his. Another thought and her feathers shifted again, covering their backs still but leaving their fronts exposed so that they were skin to skin, her breasts tight against his chest, his cock hardening already at the sudden contact.

He moaned into her mouth when she invited his tongue to play with hers, his eyes slowly blinking closed. The hands he'd kept fisted at his side came to cup her ass, and in one fluid, seemingly easy movement he picked her up as though she weighed nothing. Without breaking the kiss, she wrapped her legs around him. She hoisted herself a little higher even as she reached between them with one hand. His cock, now thick and hard, felt burning in her hand. She guided it to her core before lowering herself down against it.

As he slipped inside her, Idris threw his head back and grunted. His hands tightened a little more on her ass as he took drunken steps back toward the staircase landing. A wall enclosed the stairwell, barely taller than him. He pressed her against it and pulled back a little, looking at her with fiery eyes. They both groaned at the slight change of angle, his cock now touching her in new, delicious places.

"Still angry?" Violet couldn't help but ask, her voice thready from the sparks of pleasure he ignited within her.

A flash of confusion crossed his face, followed by understanding.

"You little..."

Rather than finishing that thought, he shifted his hands on her ass again, holding her more securely. When he started thrusting within her, it was with no restraint whatsoever, harsh slams of his hips pushing into her in a relentless, merciless rhythm. He held her gaze as he did, and if they weren't kissing anymore, if the act was as primal and raw as it could be, she still felt the connection between them as clearly as though he'd been worshiping her body with tender caresses.

It didn't last long. It _couldn't_ last long, not when the intensity within both of them was already at a breaking point. Their shared climax left Violet gasping toward the stars above them, and wishing they'd have many nights such as this one... if possible, minus the danger.

Even as their bodies separated and he lowered her back to the ground, they held on to each other, sharing the same pleasure and panting breaths. When their gazes connected again, Idris' eyes were clearer, brighter. Wonder shone in them, and Violet knew why. He wasn't burning anymore, on the edge of an explosion. He was himself, his emotions under control along with his fire. They wouldn't always be able to deal with it like this, but it was a start.

All of this seemed to flow between them, a silent communication that yet seemed obvious. As Idris' breath slowed down, his mouth twitched toward a smile.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he murmured.

"You only think so?" she teased, her throat suddenly tight.

His smile widened a little. She didn't say the words back to him; there'd be plenty of time for that later. For now, all she wanted was to kiss him. So she did.

# EPILOGUE

Maybe one day Violet would get used to watching Idris' entire body burst into flames, but that day hadn't come yet.

As he stood in the center of a bare-earth field, directing fireballs of various sizes at the targets erected around him, she felt the same awe that had taken her a few weeks ago when she'd first seen the full extent of his power. When they'd come up to Sanctuary and he'd seen others like them practice to get a better grip on what they could do with their powers, he'd started talking about honing his skills. He'd always been strong, but lately his focus had gained in precision and strength.

"He's good," someone said behind her. "Better than I'd have expected."

She turned toward the new arrival and couldn't hide her surprise at finding Millie there, dressed in her eternal black uniform even though being here meant that she was on leave.

When Violet didn't say a word, Millie went on.

"There aren't many pyromancers around, and from what I've heard they rarely show this kind of control over their abilities."

Violet merely nodded before returning her attention to Idris. He'd noticed she wasn't alone anymore and was coming toward her, the only fire left in his vicinity being a small ball he passed from hand to hand like a baseball.

"If you'd just told me he was your mate," Millie continued, "I would have let you go after him. Or I'd have let you stay when you came to the safe house. Why didn't you say something?"

Violet considered that for a moment. She'd honestly never asked herself the question before. Everything had just happened so fast...

"I guess... I guess it didn't feel right to tell anyone before he knew." Looking at Millie sideways, she had to ask, "Now you know. Are you here to ask me back in the squad?"

Millie smiled—and shook her head.

"So you can tell me no? I don't think so. What are you calling your group?"

If Violet wondered who had told Millie about this, it wasn't for very long. No doubt it was her mother. She'd tried and tried to convince Violet and Idris not to leave Sanctuary again, or at least not so soon, but they hadn't budged. She'd finally extracted from them the promise they'd come back at least once a year for a few weeks.

"We haven't decided yet. We're still recruiting."

"Speaking from experience, you'll always be recruiting. You'll find new members, and lose others along the way. You'll watch some of them grow and become leaders in their own right. And you'll be damn proud when they go out and take charge."

With that, she offered Violet her hand to shake. A last nod, and she was gone before Idris finally reached Violet.

"Wasn't that your boss?" he asked, watching Millie's departing back.

"Not anymore," she replied, and planted a kiss on his lips. "How's your new uniform?"

Looking down at himself, he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves and nodded approvingly.

"Perfect. I'll have to thank your mother again. It looks like I won't be running around naked anymore."

"Pity," she said, tongue in cheek.

His eyes sparkled as they raked over her.

"Unless you want me to, of course..."

She laughed at that. He was insatiable... not that she minded in the least. Right now, however, they had other engagements.

"We've got a meeting with the gang," she reminded him. "Ivy said she'd try to convince more of them to join."

To her great surprise, she and Ivy had become quite good friends over the past few weeks. She'd have expected things to be a little awkward, seeing how Ivy was her mate's ex, but somehow they'd bonded over it. It might have helped that Ivy was a firm believer in the mate tattoos and was dying to meet her own mate. Violet thought that was why she'd been so eager to join the new group they were forming; maybe she hoped to find her mate the same way Violet had found hers.

"We'll have to keep it short, then," Idris said, slipping an arm around her. They started walking together.

"Keep the meeting short?"

"No. Our naked interlude before the meeting."

She laughed at that... but she didn't argue.

** **

_Would you like to know what happens next?Subscribe to my readers group today to receive an **exclusive** , adult-rated short story epilogue that picks up right where this book ends!_

#

# THANK YOU

Thank you for picking up my book and giving it a chance! I sincerely hope you enjoyed meeting the fiery ladies of Sanctuary as much as I enjoyed writing about them!

And if you did... Could I ask a favor from you? Would you take a minute or two to review this book where you bought it?

Positive reviews are an important part of what makes or breaks a book's success, and I would be grateful if you thought my story worthy of your review.

**EXCERPT**

**Sharing Hazel**

He could accept he'd soon die, or he could swallow his pride and try to contact his brother.

He rifled through the desk drawers a little more, and soon found what he needed: a slim box of matches. There were only four inside. Four chances to reach out to his brother. He took one out and sighed deeply before striking it against the side. A small flame crackled up, and Paul lost no time in cradling it into his palm, leaving the charred bit of wood on the desk.

His power didn't consist only in manipulating fire. He could also talk through the fire, from flame to flame. All he needed was to have the person he wanted to talk to firmly set in his mind... and be lucky enough that this person would be near a flame. His first girlfriend, when he was in high school, used to keep a tea light lit in her room every night, so they were able to talk even when her parents took her cell phone away. But his brother hardly had a reason to keep a flame nearby.

Closing his eyes down to slits, Paul focused on his brother's appearance, on his personality, on his voice, on his name. On all the things they'd shared and all the ways they'd clashed. Then he looked straight into the tiny flame in his hand and images started to appear.

Brick, on the sides and above: a fireplace. A room beyond it, dark, only illuminated by the flames from the hearth. A couch, and two people sitting on it, at either end. The woman was breathtakingly gorgeous, and Paul had to force himself to look away to the man. He sat with his whole body turned toward the woman, and his expression wasn't anything Paul had ever seen on his face. Was he actually pleading with her? Was Mister Cockiness Incarnate himself pleading with a woman? Why would he?

Unless she was—

Paul's heart stuttered and he forced his mind off that track. He didn't have time for this now. He'd heard sirens go down the street twice already, and the second time the police car had seemed to be going much slower.

"Petro?" he said in the firmest, clearest voice he could muster. "Petro, can you hear me?"

He already knew the answer was a yes: at the sound of his name, Petro had nearly jumped off the couch, while the woman looked around with a frown. Could she hear Paul, then? Strange; usually, only the person he addressed could hear his voice. But he didn't have time to wonder about it now.

"Paul?"

Petro's voice sounded rough. He came to stand by the fireplace, looking down into the flames. He wouldn't be able to see Paul, not like Paul could see him, but he still tried. He always did. His expression was a mix of surprise and badly hidden annoyance.

"What do you want now?"

Paul almost cut the communication right then. He'd lived all his life with his older brother's disapproval, and he was sick and tired of it. Even when Paul had tried his best to impress him, Petro had always looked at him like he was an unwanted guest who'd overstayed his welcome. Part of it had been the thirteen years of age difference between them... but there had been more than that, of course. Better to get back to that jail and face the consequences coming for him than go through that game with Petro again.

The only thing that stopped him was that the woman had risen from the sofa, too, and she now knelt by the fireplace, looking at the flames as well... looking straight at Paul.

"How do you do that?" she asked, her voice a little breathless. "I never knew anyone—"

"You can see him?" Petro interrupted her sharply.

She looked up at him, and Paul felt a pang at seeing her eyes turn away from him. It was hard to tell their color through the flames, but they were clear, full of life, and feeling them on him had been like feeling the warmth of the sun. She wore her hair in a multitude of small braids and he had to clench his hand on his lap or he'd have futilely tried to reach out to caress them through the tiny flame in his palm. Was it her? Could it be that Petro had found her first?

"Yes I see him," she told Petro. "Can't you?"

"No, I never could," he said, his tone milder now, and with a stifled sigh he knelt next to her before addressing Paul again. "What do you want, Brother?"

The sirens were going down the street again, growing louder, louder... but not decreasing this time. The car or cars had stopped nearby. Paul heard barking. He hurried to speak.

"Your help, if you'll give it. I've gotten myself in a bit of a scrape. Arrested for being a para and I don't think they'll give me a trial. I escaped but they shot me in the leg and—"

Out in the warehouse, a door creaked open. The flashing lights of the police cars filled the enclosed space.

"They're here," he said, speaking even faster. "I can't escape on my own. Can you help?"

For the tiniest of instants, something dark crossed Petro's eyes—something Paul had seen many times in the past, every time the subject of their mate tattoos had come up. He was sure Petro would say no. But then, the woman looked at Petro again, he met her eyes, and the darkness disappeared.

"I'll help," he said gruffly without looking at the flames again, his eyes remaining on the woman. "But you didn't tell me—"

Outside his flimsy refuge, voices shouted, "He's over there! In the office!"

"Freetown," Paul said quickly. "Town's name is Freetown."

"But where—"

Hoping his brother had heard him, he snuffed out the flame. He swept the matchbox from the desk and hurriedly shoved it down his pants, hoping it'd be enough to smuggle them out. Maybe he'd get another chance to talk to Petro from the hospital. Surely he'd keep a flame near him, on the off chance Paul contacted him again. Would the woman still be with him? Paul found himself wishing she would be.

Raising both his hands over his head, he didn't bother standing and merely waited for the officers to rush into the office. They did so with much shouting and threats, but Paul was too tired—and in too much pain—to be all that intimidated. The woman's eyes still filled his mind, full of wonder and warmth.

He'd have given the world to know her name.

"Yeah, yeah," he said tiredly at the demand that he raise his hands. "They're already up. Can you put me in handcuffs already so I can lower my arms?"

"Get on your feet," the same man ordered.

It was the officer who'd been on duty at the jail tonight—the one past whom Paul had slipped after jimmying the lock of his cell, and who'd awakened from his nap just in time to shoot wildly into a dark alley and get lucky with a leg shot. He looked ready to shoot again... and this time Paul had no doubt he'd shoot much higher. Paul stood, though he didn't move forward.

"Can't walk," he said as calmly as he could. "Bullet in my leg. I need a doctor."

The man barked out a laugh as he slipped behind him and cuffed his hands behind his back.

"A doctor, right," he snarled. "You're walking straight back to your cell, asshole. Or we can carry you to the cemetery if you prefer, it's all the same to me."

The three deputies by the office door all looked in agreement with that last statement. Paul clenched his teeth and took a limping step forward. Then another.

All he could hope now was that his brother would come quickly. But if the clear-eyed woman was Hazel, the same Hazel whose name graced both his and Petro's wrists... would Petro want to come at all?

_Continued in Sharing Hazel_

# FIERY BLOOMS SERIES

In a world where 'paras' are hunted like animals by the Unit for Investigation of Paranormal Persons, the resistance has begun. These men and women with extraordinary powers, some of them shifters, telepaths or pyromancers, will stop at nothing to free themselves and their kind.

These stories stand alone and do not need to be read in order.

\- Burning Violet – a phoenix shifter and pyromancer romance

\- Sharing Hazel – a reverse harem shifter romance

\- Saving Marigold – a dragon shifter and telepath romance

\- Chasing Rose – a phoenix shifters romance short story

\- Freeing Heather – a wolf and bird shifters romance

# SHARING HAZEL

**A dragon, a lion and a fire tamer... Are they men enough to share this chimera?**

In a world of fated mates, Hazel doesn't have a name tattooed on her wrist like everyone else.

She has three.

As part of the squad, a group of paranormal beings that frees their peers unjustly imprisoned by the authorities, she works beside the dragon shifter Petro, one of her mates. However, unable to contemplate dating two men at once, she broke up with him to be with another one of her tattoo mates, Paris.

When the para in need of rescue is Petro's own brother, Hazel doesn't hesitate to volunteer her help. Neither does Paris.

A chimera on a road trip with two of her mates is awkward enough, but to complicate everything even more, the man they're on their way to save is Hazel's third mate, Paul.

Defeating bigots and their guns is one thing. Overcoming fear, jealousy and bitterness will be an altogether different adventure.

# SAVING MARIGOLD

**His fated mate is trapped in her own mind. Can he reach her before her dragon destroys their world?**

Chris is free at last.

In Sanctuary, he can be who he is – a telepath – without hiding his powers.

Marigold is free too... in theory.

After years of abuse, she found refuge in her own mind and remains in a comatose state.

Sanctuary's leadership asks Chris to help Marigold, but entering her mind without her consent is not something he's keen to do.

Soon, he realizes they are mates, fated to be together His telepathic powers could be the perfect tool to help her.

But if he fails to figure out how to reach her before her dragon breaks free, Sanctuary may be in danger...

# CHASING ROSE

**Who needs a fated mate? Not this phoenix girl.**

Rose doesn't care about the name tattooed on her wrist since birth.

She doesn't care that there's a man called Pierre somewhere out there, maybe—probably—looking for her.

She just wants to live her life as she sees fit, without following the path 'fate' or whoever else designated for her. Besides, she's too busy running Sanctuary, this safe-haven for people with paranormal powers, to worry about romantic entanglements and a fated mate.

So when emissaries from France visit Sanctuary and one of them introduces himself as Pierre, there's only one thing this phoenix shifter wants to do: fly away.

The only question is, will Pierre allow her to flee?

** **

** **

# FREEING HEATHER

** **

**Sometimes, Sanctuary feels like just another cage to this bird shifter.**

** **

It's not like Heather couldn't leave the fortified community whenever she wants. But the humans in the outside world are all too ready to lock up paranormals for no reason at all—and she's definitely not interested in becoming a jailbird.

Besides, she has no place else to go. She knows what it's like to be homeless and alone and she doesn't want to deal with that again, either. But she's tired of watching paras risk their lives to help others while she stays safe.

When her fated mate Wesley shows up in the coffee shop where she works and Heather learns the wolf-shifter's daughter is still outside the safety of Sanctuary's walls, she sees her chance to help someone, to do something valuable.

Heading out to save Wesley's child means disobeying his alpha—and that's nothing compared to the dangers they'll face once they leave the protection of Sanctuary...

**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

** **

Kallysten's most exciting accomplishment to date was to cross a few thousand miles and an ocean to pursue the love of her life. She strives to give her characters the same 'happy ever after' she found... although their lives are significantly stranger than hers! But whether they have fangs or an inner beast, whether they play with magic or with whips, whether they're looking for 'the one' or a single night of fun, in the end it's all about love...

To see her other stories, visit http://kallysten.net. Subscribe to her **readers group** for free stories and exclusive content, and to get notices about new releases, discounts and giveaways.
