I rose and crept forward. A warm flickering light began to infuse the darkness, and the air was decidedly warmer. I crept forward, listening intently but unable to hear anything beyond the soft murmur of conversation. TV, I decided, and wondered how the hell they got power down here, let alone reception. I pressed my back against the bricks and peered cautiously around the doorway.
He was sitting in a tattered red armchair in front of a metal barrel that had been cut in half and now had a fire burning in it. The smoke rose and fanned out, hanging like a shroud from the ceiling—a good way to die if there was no cross-ventilation, and I couldn’t actually see any. Obviously, these Razan weren’t too bright.
I reached for the Aedh, but a hand grabbed mine and it was all I could do to stop myself from screaming. But only because the wash of heat told me who it was.
I glanced at Azriel, who shook his head. Do not, he said, his voice crystal clear inside my mind. Obviously, the microcells weren’t an impediment to him reading my thoughts. They are attuned to the Aedh and will sense it.
Well, fuck. Why couldn’t something just be easy for a change?
I flexed my fingers, then took off my shoes and left them near the doorway. I crept forward, the old brick flooring icy under my toes. The man stirred and reached for another piece of wood, tossing it into the barrel with a clunk. I froze. The flames flared and sparks bloomed upward, briefly illuminating the ceiling before the smoke closed in again.
He settled back down and, after a moment, I crept on.
But somehow, he sensed me.
In one swift movement, he rose and swung around, a gun rising in his left hand. I dove forward, grabbed the top of the chair for balance and twisted around in midair, aiming my feet at his midriff. He jumped back, firing the gun as he did so. My feet missed his belly, but his aim was better. The bullet skimmed my left leg before tearing a chunk of flesh from my thigh. Pain curled through me but I ignored it and let go of the chair, landing in a crouch, the gun following my movements. I threw myself sideways, realized too late just how close I was to the barrel, and hit it hard. As the barrel and I spilled to the floor, Azriel took shape behind the man and grabbed the weapon. I jerked away from the fire and pushed to my feet, only to see the man flying through the air and hitting the wall with enough force to break bones. He slid down to the floor and was still.
I glanced across at Azriel, who calmly handed me the weapon. I slipped the safety into place, shoved it into the waistband of my jeans, then said, "You’re breaking the rules again, aren’t you?"
"As I said," he replied, his expression impassive, "my quest comes first. If that man had succeeded in killing you, it would have created serious problems. How is your leg?"
I blinked at the sudden change of topic, and looked down. The bullet had torn a hole in my jeans, and blood was pulsing down my leg. Of course, the minute I became aware of it, the bloody thing began to throb like hell. I swore softly and wished—for the hundredth time in my life—that I could shift shape to heal myself. Unlike my side wound, this one wasn’t about to heal in an hour or two. I was stuck with trying to stem the flow of blood until that happened. I guess I just had to be thankful that these men were human rather than shifter or wolf. Otherwise, the damage might have been greater.
I limped around the chair and over to the Razan. After checking his pulse, I stripped off his shirt, tore it into strips, then wrapped them tightly around my thigh. Not exactly hygienic, but better than nothing.
"The guard will be out for about eight minutes," Azriel said. "The others will be back before then. We must find the book quickly."
"Which would be a whole lot easier if the fucking thing weren’t hidden by veils." I paused, looking around the room, trying to find something—anything—that sparked a reaction in me. There was nothing.