Flameborn. Corinna Rogers

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СКАЧАТЬ truly are still a nonbeliever, aren’t you?”

      “I’d let you know if that changed.” It’s not so hard to flash a bit of magic and call a man a god. Drake has seen Shane do more miracles than he’s seen from the being behind the Church.

      “Have I ever let you down before?”

      Drake looks up, meeting his eyes, and says levelly, “Yes.”

      That at least causes something of a twinge. “Test it yourself. Let go the sword.”

      I hate faith magic, Drake thinks vehemently. Any time the choice is to trust and possibly die or to stay safe and distrustful, he rarely finds himself on the side of the faithful. He lays the sword on the ground, then carefully, slowly removes his hand.

      Nothing sears or flops. His stomach doesn’t twist. The usual surge of fatigue hits him, reminding him that his body has human limits even if he can ignore them while he’s holding the sword, and old aches so familiar that he rarely feels them make themselves known. Drake exhales deeply, and nods his head. “Thank you, Father.”

      “Don’t thank me. Thank God.”

      Drake gives a pro forma nod to the ceiling. He’s never yet been struck down for not believing, despite being a theoretically important Church person. “Anyway, I’ll be back for service tomorrow,” he says, rising to his feet with a grimace as he sheathes the sword on his back.

      “Before you go…” Father Aaron reaches out a hand, gently grasping Drake’s sleeve. “Could we speak in private for a moment?”

      “No.” Drake raises an eyebrow, and Shane strides over, less repelled by the obvious faith magic. “We’re going.”

      Father Aaron lets out a breath that’s closer to a huff, and gives him a truly annoyed glare, which Drake returns placidly. It’s a lot easier for the Church to find new priests than new Champions, and unfortunately for Father Aaron, Drake knows it. “You cannot let these fires continue. More and more of us are dying every day.”

      “If you know where to start looking for her, I’m more than willing to listen.” He doesn’t have to say who he’s talking about. With the Ice King gone from the city, the fires have been closer and closer together, Inferna multiplying, and it’s all Drake and Shane can do to keep up.

      “I hear the Fire Queen is difficult to find.”

      “We could have told you that. In fact, we did.”

      “But she is drawn to those…” Brown eyes flick over to Shane, who takes a half-step back. “Those of her kind.”

      “Why is it literally always my fault?” Shane doesn’t sound terribly perturbed. If anything, his voice is amused. “I’m pretty sure she’s not a Mage. Last time I checked I didn’t have anywhere near close to the kind of juice she likes throwing around, and I’m the most powerful Mage we’ve ever met.”

      “Humility is a virtue—“

      “Not one I’m entirely fond of,” Shane admits cheerfully. “Not when it’s false modesty. I’m the most powerful Mage you’ll ever meet, that’s for sure.”

      Father Aaron’s jaw clenches, and he draws himself up to his full height, which is still a few inches shy of even Shane’s. “You have no concept of what I’ve seen or who I’ve met. A child like you could never comprehend—“

      “I’m older than I look, promise. And better than you seem to think.”

      “Unless you can tell us where she’s hiding,” Drake interrupts, stepping none-too-subtly between the two men, “We’re going to go find her ourselves. We’ll make one of the Inferna talk before dying, eventually.”

      Father Aaron looks between the two of them, then finally nods, face drawn and less than pleased. “If you ever need to find her, open him up. See what’s inside.”

      Shane grabs the priest by a handful of black fabric, hauling him nearly off the ground. “You little piece of shit, I’m trying to be civil,” he snarls. “What if I open you up and she shows, huh?”

      Father Aaron just blinks at him, unmoved by the words or the display of violence. “Then you’d know that you and I are one and the same. Is that a risk you want to take, Shane Connell?”

      “I hate the way you say my name, you goddamned—“

      “And we’re going.” Drake’s hand isn’t gentle on Shane’s shoulder, but it is effective, hauling both of them out of the Church as fast as long legs can carry him, Shane nearly keeping up and having to trot the last few steps.

      He doesn’t speak for long moments, not until he slides into the driver’s seat, sword unbuckled and in the back. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he breathes out heavily through his nose, staring straight ahead without seeing much as Shane settles himself into the passenger’s seat.

      “Well, that was—“

      “Not now.”

      The drive home is silent, save for the occasional clicking of a turn signal and the revving of the motor. Drake pulls up in front of an apartment building that’s reasonably shabby for the money (a sign in the window says “Magic and Pet’s Allowed!”), but doesn’t unbuckle his seatbelt.

      Shane raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re not even coming in? What, just because I grabbed him?”

      “You know this is what I’m doing with my life.” Drake rubs at the back of his neck, short hairs bristling under his hand. “I’ll be home in a few hours. Got a class to teach.”

      There’s something tense and unhappy in Shane’s body language as he slides out of the truck. He looks for all the world like he wants to say something, but Drake drives off before he can turn around.

      Through the entire drive to the karate studio, Drake feels three things: the dull ache of heat in his lungs, the tingling print of Father Aaron’s palm on his head, and the taste of Shane lingering on his lips.

      ~

       Chapter Two

      ~

      Smashing something isn’t nearly as much fun when Shane knows he’s the one who’ll have to pay for it in the long run—or worse, that Drake will have to take late-night classes to pay for it, and that drastically cuts into the time he usually considers “fun.” He’d like to put his fist through a wall, annoyed at himself, annoyed at priests who don’t seem nearly as free from worldly desires as Shane is pretty sure they’re supposed to, annoyed at creatures that don’t play by the rules when it comes to dying when they’re supposed to.

      Being a destructive asshole was a lot more fun when he didn’t give a shit about the consequences.

      Underneath the anger, there’s a sulking resentment that it’s Friday night and literally no one he knows will want to go out. They’d been that couple for a while in their twenties, the ones who rarely went out except with СКАЧАТЬ