Kiss of Fire Read Online Free Page B

a hand through her long fair hair when the cab pulled away, and only seemed to realize then that her hair was loose over her shoulders. It gleamed like spun gold. She pulled it into a ponytail and twisted it back, then rummaged in her purse for a way to fasten it. Then she jingled her keys as she walked toward an exterior staircase on a neat little Cape Cod house.
    Evidently she lived on the upper floor. Quinn watched her climb the stairs, seeing exhaustion in her every move. He waited until she was inside her apartment, certain that she would lock the door against intruders.
    Maybe she would lean against it and sigh with relief. She wasn’t, however, as safe as she might think she was.
    Quinn would fix that.
    He waited to ensure that she wouldn’t see him. She opened her windows a small increment to let in some air and turned on a couple of fans. He watched through the kitchen window as she got a soda from the fridge. She rolled the cold can across her forehead, and the sight of her pleasure made Quinn smile. When she dropped the blinds low and disappeared from view, Quinn heard water running. She was in the shower. Knowing she wouldn’t see him, he circled the house silently.
    He liked the strong aura that the house had. If he’d had to pick a house for her to sleep in, this would have been the one. It sang to him of the psychic gift his mate was prophesied to possess. Her foresight would protect her, but Quinn would give her even more insurance. With a Slayer hunting her, she needed a better protection than mere locks could provide.
    The sky was clear and he couldn’t sense any other Pyr in his vicinity—that didn’t mean there weren’t any, though. Quinn wasn’t the only one who could disguise his presence, especially in human form.
    He pulled the coin from his pocket, the one he had picked up from the arcade. It was gold and he shook his head at the fleur-de-lis that was embossed on it. On the other side was John the Baptist in his hair shirt. It was a florin, a medieval coin from the Italian city of Florence, and Quinn remembered the first time he had ever seen one.
    He wondered whether the Slayer meant to challenge him personally, or just to make it clear that he knew Quinn’s firestorm involved this woman.
    It didn’t matter. Yet.
    He’d diffuse the challenge and prove he was the Smith. Quinn closed his hand over the coin and breathed into his fist. He listened to the rhythm of the metal and shaped his song to persuade it to his will. Three times he exhaled into his hand, willing the coin to become his own.
    When he opened his hand, the coin had changed. A mermaid adorned one face of it and a hammer the other. Quinn smiled at the appropriate combination. Sometimes the metal knew the truth better than he did.
    Then he flicked the coin skyward, demanding that it find its place. He saw its gleam as it landed on the chimney, spun, and settled. It would warn any attacker who approached from above that this territory was claimed and defended. Quinn knew without seeing the coin that the hammer side was up. His mate’s home was an extension of Quinn’s lair.
    But he could protect it even more.
    Quinn circled the house, keeping his distance as he identified all of the exits and entrances. He strolled through the side streets, keeping the house in view, memorizing its openings.
    Its weak points.
    Then he began to exhale his smoke, weaving it and guiding it to enclose the apartment in a protective cocoon. Once the building had been encircled three times, Quinn walked back downtown. He kept the vision of the apartment clear in his thoughts and focused on weaving an unbroken wreath of smoke.
    Only another Pyr or a Slayer would be able to see the smoke. It would be a sign of his mate’s presence and his own, but the time for secrecy was past. She had been targeted. Somehow the Slayers knew more about her than Quinn did.
    The source of their information was irrelevant; all