Shadowflame Read Online Free

straightening. Miranda noticed she had something in her hand, something metal with the flash of wood—
    “How stupid are you for being caught without a bodyguard?” Stacey asked, and lifted her hand.
    Miranda’s body reacted before her brain could register what was happening; she threw herself backward as the gun went off, twisting sideways a split second before the stake bit hard into her shoulder. The impact threw her backward into the wall, and she snarled, springing forward toward the woman, who had already turned on her heel and bolted from the room.
    Miranda missed Stacey by mere inches and flung herself after the woman, her vision gone scarlet with rage; Stacey sprinted through the narrow backstage passageway, knocking people over as she ran. Miranda snaked through the crowd, ignoring the pain and the feeling of blood running down her torso. She heard gasps behind her as she closed the space between herself and the would-be assassin, but Stacey reached to the side and hauled a stack of speakers on wheels out behind her to block Miranda’s path.
    The Queen kicked them out of the way and resumed her pursuit, but by the time she burst out the backstage door there was no sign of Stacey, no sign of anyone; the alley was empty.
    “Goddamn it!” Miranda snapped to the empty air.
    Immediately, the alert on her com went off. “Emergency team to Mel’s Bar and Grill, code Alpha One!” she heard Faith’s voice command in broadsend-mode, then, “Star-two, Star-two, Miranda, are you all right?”
    Miranda took a deep breath. “Star-three, this is Star-two, and I’m fine. I’m injured but not severely. A woman posing as a reporter staked me in the shoulder. She had some kind of spear gun. I lost her but I’m heading out to track her now—”
    “Like hell you are,” came a voice.
    Miranda turned in time to see the shadows beyond the edge of the building grow dense and coalesce, the substance of the night twisting on itself, resolving into the shape of a man in black with a glowing stone at his throat.
    The Prime was at her side in seconds, and the look on his face, though extremely attractive to her, would have made a human’s blood run cold. “What happened?” he asked, taking hold of her shoulders.
    When he saw the stake he hissed and his eyes went silver.
    “It’s not bad,” she insisted. “If we hurry, we can still—”
    “You’re hurt,” he replied tersely. “That takes priority. Now, hold still, and brace yourself . . . take a deep breath in . . . now breathe out slowly . . .”
    She did as he said, and on the out breath, he took hold of the stake and pulled it.
    Miranda cried out; she felt the wood sliding through her muscles as if every splinter of the stake were jagged and tore the flesh around it. It was as if the wood left behind something oily and poisonous that seeped into her body and stole her strength away.
    Her vision swam, and she sagged into the Prime. “Oh, God . . .”
    “Easy, beloved,” he said, considerably more gently. “Easy. Close your eyes . . . breathe.”
    Miranda clamped her eyes shut and dragged her awareness to the feel of his hands on her arms, the sound of him breathing, the rhythm of his pulse that she could feel, always, beating in her own veins. She felt him drawing power up out of himself and feeding it along the connection between them, and her shoulder grew unbearably hot for a moment, then itched horribly before fading into numbness.
    When she opened her eyes the wound was gone, though there was a gaping hole in her coat.
    “Shit,” she murmured. “I love this coat.”
    With that, she passed out, thankful he was there to catch her.
     
    Faith managed, somehow, to keep David from tearing the building apart in search of the attacker, but it wasn’t easy. The half-dozen Elite who reported to the scene were obviously frightened by his anger. Who wouldn’t be? A black cloud of seething energy surrounded him as he stood cross-armed and watched the team sweep