Page 15 of A Kiss of Flame
The shifter tried to yank himself free, but it was pointless. They could mimic strength, but it was never entirely on par with the appearance. Barith dug his fingers in harder, and the shifter buckled under the pressure, his expression pained. “I ain't sellin'nothin’,” the creature snarled through gritted teeth as sweat began to form over his face.
To anyone watching, it looked like two dragons having some private tense chat.
Levian reached into the pocket of the shifter’s hideous satin jacket and pulled out a small bag of little vials, each filled with iridescent, vibrant powder. She held them up to his face. “Oh, no? This is Opal, isn’t it?”
The shifter tried to snatch the bag, but Barith held him fast.
“Tonight’s your lucky night,” Barith said, glaring at the shifter. “I’m not going to beat the shite out of you or turn you into the magistrate. Instead, you’re going to help us, and if you’re a good lad, maybe we’ll let you keep that memory of yours intact.”
The shifter’s eyes darted between them, the sweat pouring off him now. Still, he gathered enough nerve to snort back, “Feck off, ya tw—” He was cut off at the end when Levian raised her glowing fingers before his face and spoke a relatively simple spell.
Levian tossed the little bag of vials into her enchanted bag and leaned in close, her eyes flaring with magick. “What was that?” she purred, cupping her ear.
The shifter’s eyes grew wide as he struggled to make a sound while Barith held him down.
Levian smiled sweetly at him. “That’s what I thought. So, let me make myself clear. You’re going to help us, or I’m going to take some of this—” she said, pointing to the horrible tattoo on his neck,“—and use a real spell to jumble that little brain of yours until you can barely say your name, let alone sell that trash. Got it?”
She wasn’t a good liar, but he didn’t need to hear the part about how her memory spell usually wore off after a few days.Panic filled the shifter’s eyes. “Wot d’ya want?” he mouthed, to her satisfaction.
“A name,” Levian said before slapping him clear across the face, sending a spray of violet sparks along her path.
The shifter was knocked out cold, and Barith jerked to hold him upright on the stool. “What the hell, Vi?” he snapped.
Several patrons turned to look at all the commotion. “Dragon or not, no means no!” she yelled for all to hear before turning on her heel to storm out of the pub.
There were a few cheers and encouragement as she left, leaving Barith to haul the shifter out alone.
“That was a bit dramatic,” Barith grumbled as he dropped the unconscious shifter near the dumpster in the alley behind the pub.
Levian preened her dark brown houndstooth wool jacket. “It worked, didn’t it? No one looked twice at you for hauling him out unconscious.”
“Aye,” he admitted. “You seemed rather proud of yourself, too.”
She smiled sweetly. “Are you surprised?”
“Not in the least,” Barith replied with a smirk. He pushed the sleeves of his long-sleeved white shirt up past his elbows. The dragon only wore a jacket if it was freezing outside, and even then, he would complain about it. “Ready?” he asked.
Levian finished adjusting her coat and nodded.
Barith gave the shifter a none-too-gentle nudge with his boot. “Oye!”
The creature startled, flailing about. “What the ‘ells!” he snarled, throwing his hands up to hold his aching head, his accent even more pronounced now.
“It’ll wear off,” Levian said without a hint of sympathy. “I can make it better if you tell me what I want to know.”
Barith glared at the shifter as the creature scrambled to his feet, leaning against a rancid dumpster for balance. The dragon facade was already wearing off—he was markedly shorter, with ruddy cheeks, brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouthful of similarly off-kilter teeth. The impressive dragon muscles he’d been mimicking receded to reveal a thicker, paunchier physique.
“W-wot d’ya want?” the shifter stuttered fearfully.
Barith kept his expression hard. This wasn’t his first shakedown with Levian. He knew his role—look intimidating, which was easy enough, and be the muscle if needed. It rarely got that far. Levian was more than capable of siphoning information out of people with magick—eerily so. But it was tricky, and as she’d explained to him a long time ago, one wrong tug could jumble memories or worse. It was easier if their marks spilled what they knew without having to use magick.
“We know selling Opal is just one of your many forms of employment,” Levian said, her tone casual. “And that you’re also a runner for the Eldreth from time to time.”
The shifter’s once fine brown hair thinned quickly, fading to a dirty gray-blond. “I dunno wot yer talkin’—”
“Are youreallygoing to do this?” Levian snapped, her voice dripping with exasperation.
The shifter scowled, inching away from the stinking dumpster and closer to the pile of empty kegs. “Look, lady,” he snarled, “I dunno who the ‘ell you are, but if ya know I work for the Eldreth—which I ain’t sayin’ I do—then ya know they’d cut out me bloody tongue if I said a word. Not that there’s anythin’to tell. They make sure none of us runners know squat, just in case this kinda shit ‘appens.”