Soon there was nothing left but a pile of ash on the floor. Kirby walked in, her gaze sweeping the room until she found him. "Are you all right?" Though she was pale, the left side of her face was red, as if burned, and bits of dust and wood were caught in her hair.
"Are you?" he countered abruptly. "Did the spell on the door hurt you too much?"
She shook her head, but her gaze skated from his. Tears shimmered in her green eyes, and her mind was filled with pain. He winced as he stood and walked toward her. She didn't retreat, didn't move in any way. It was almost as if she was frozen by what she'd done.
I've never used my lightning to kill before now.
The thought whispered through him, filled with such horror it nearly took his breath away. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She tensed, her gaze searching his briefly before she relaxed in his embrace and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
He held her close, listening to the wild beat of her heart—a rhythm that matched his own. Her body fitted his like a glove. She felt so warm against him, so right, somehow. Like he'd found the other half of himself. He closed his eyes at the thought. His father had once told him he would know when he found his mate. That it would hit him like a fist to the gut—suddenly, painfully. He had a horrible feeling the old man was right.
"You had no choice but to kill it," he said. "I certainly don't think I would have survived another round with it."
He breathed deep the scent of her. She reminded him of spring—fresh and warm and rich with the scent of flowers.
She pulled back slightly, and he instantly regretted speaking.
"What was it?" Her breath washed warmth across his neck and stirred the already flaring embers of desire.
"Zombie," he said, gently picking a sliver of wood from her hair. "And dead long before you got to it."
Tears gleamed briefly. She blinked them away and touched his cheek, her hand cool against his flesh. She must have taken his gloves off to use her magic.
"You look like shit." A smile touched her lips. Lips that looked all too warm and inviting.
"Strange," he murmured. "It's just what I feel like." God, he wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt, but she'd run the minute he tried. She was just starting to trust him, and he didn't dare do anything that might shatter that trust. Especially when her living or dying might well depend on his ability to keep close to her.
He stepped back. Sirens were wailing in the distance, anyway. They might not be headed here, but with the noise the zombie had made, they couldn't risk staying any longer. Not with Rachel Grant lying dead downstairs. "We'd better get going."
She nodded. "With the noise I made getting in the door, the neighbors are all probably awake and standing out front, wondering what's going on."
"Then we'll go out the way I came in. Though the window." She raised an eyebrow. 'The windows are boarded up."
"Only the ones on the ground floor." He caught her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. "Let's go."
He stopped in the hall long enough to put on his shoes and pick up his coat then continued on into the other room. Pain twinged down his side at every movement, but it wasn't the sharp, excruciating pain of broken ribs. He was lucky, that was for sure.
A quick peek out the window showed lots of lights but as yet, no cops. There were no neighbors standing on the sidewalk, either, but that didn't mean they weren't around. It was going to be a little tricky getting out, but he'd certainly been caught in worse situations during his time as a thief.
He raised the window. "Keep close to the wall," he said. "And squat down, so you present less of a silhouette."
She studied him. "You've done this before, haven't you?" She was either very intuitive, or she was reading his mind as easily as he was hers. "Done what? Been rescued by a pretty young woman from the hands of a zombie?" He gave her an easy grin. "It doesn't happen as often as I'd like, I'm afraid."
A smile touched her lips, but annoyance flickered in her eyes. "You really won't give me a straight answer about yourself, will you?" He hesitated. If he was going to be honest about himself, then it would be with her, for all sorts of reasons—not the least being the attraction he felt. But right now, they simply didn't have the time.
"Force of habit, I'm afraid." He motioned toward the window. "Go, before the cops get here."
She eyed him a second longer, then climbed out the window and hunched down in the shadows. He followed then carefully closed the window and nudged the latch closed again.
"Thief," she murmured. "Had to have been. You're too damn good at that." He slipped the pick back into his pocket. "Could have been a cop, you know. Cops learn all sorts of things."
She gave him a knowing look. "Yeah, right."
He grinned and slipped past her, moving to the end of the balcony. The shared wall between the two terraces jutted out several feet and would make climbing onto the next balcony awkward. At least all the windows in the next terrace were still wrapped in darkness.
He glanced at her. "We'll have to climb around the wall to the next balcony. You ready?"
She glanced down at the ground, then back at him. Fear flickered in her eyes. Afraid of heights, he realized. "I won't let you fall," he added. He held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it and climbed up onto the wrought iron. It wobbled under her weight, and she made a small sound of fear, grabbing for his shoulders.