Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [20]
‘‘What do you think you are doing?’’ the dragon asked in a more menacing tone than I’d ever heard from anyone who wasn’t a demon lord. Over his shoulder I could see István advancing toward Cyrene’s inert form. I didn’t have time to explain what had happened to the demon—I knew that bastard would do something more to harm her. Without thinking, I wrapped my hands around the dragon’s arms and swung both my legs up to kick him in the chest. He was knocked backward into a couple of chairs, falling with a crash of metal and glass. I raced toward Cyrene, screaming, ‘‘If you touch her again, I’ll kill you!’’
The woman spoke a couple of words, and I stopped, rooted to the ground by a binding ward just a few feet away from Cyrene. István had reached her and was hauling her upward, her head lolling at an unnatural angle. I screamed again and shadowed, slipping out of the ward to leap onto István.
I heard the woman gasp. ‘‘Good lord! Did she just disappear—’’
Before I could reach István, I was knocked off my feet onto the grass a good ten feet away. I shadowed again, trying to roll out from under my assailant, but the man pinned me down with a knee on my back, his grip on my shoulders pressing me into the grass.
‘‘Stop fighting,’’ he said in my ear. ‘‘You will only harm yourself and your friend if you continue this.’’
‘‘If you hurt her again, I’ll—’’
‘‘We will not hurt you or her unless you continue to fight. Drake! I have this one. I have promised her no injury will come to the other.’’
I snarled into the ground as the man named Drake spoke to his men, trying once again to slip out of the grip holding me.
‘‘I will turn you over, but you must not attempt to escape. Drake is overly protective and will not hesitate in destroying you if you make a move toward his mate.’’
‘‘I don’t give a damn about anyone’s mate,’’ I said, spitting out blades of grass and a bit of dirt. ‘‘Just let me go to my twin. That gorilla broke her neck.’’
‘‘I am a healer,’’ the man said, removing his knee from my back. ‘‘I will see to any ills she has suffered.’’
I rolled away from him, but he was on me again before I could get up, lying across my chest in a manner that would have been intimate in any other situation.
Eyes of liquid silver bore down into mine, a look so intense it momentarily stripped all thoughts from my mind but one. ‘‘Quicksilver,’’ I said without thinking, reaching to touch the glittering mercury eyes that glowed with some inner light.
A foot descended on my hand before I could touch him, painfully grinding it into the ground.
‘‘Release her,’’ the man on top of me growled, glaring at the person who had suddenly appeared next to me.
Reluctantly, the man standing on my arm stepped off. I made a fist and tried to punch his leg, but he stepped out of my way.
Oddly, that seemed to amuse my captor. He smiled, dimples marking his cheeks, mobile, sensitive lips revealing teeth that for some reason reminded me of a wolf.
‘‘We will get up now,’’ he said, his gaze never leaving mine. He had a faint accent I couldn’t quite place—it was vaguely singsong, with occasional hints of an Australian twang. Wherever he came from, it left him with a beautifully lyrical voice, the sort of voice that could mesmerize. . . . ‘‘You will not try to attack Drake’s men or Aisling. Your twin will not be harmed. Do you understand?’’
‘‘Perfectly, although I would like to point out that we did not attack them—they attacked us.’’
He said nothing, but moved off me, being careful to keep hold of my arms. Two other people stood around us, the man who had stomped on my arm, and a woman, both dark haired and gray eyed, and dressed identically in black. The woman held a wicked-looking knife, her eyes glittering angrily at me. I allowed the man to pull me to my feet, but wouldn’t let him brush me off. ‘‘I must see my twin. She’s injured. Badly.’’
He nodded, and with one hand holding tight to my arm, gestured toward the patio. The two others followed us. I tried to shrug him off and run to Cyrene, but he held firm.
‘‘I will