Heart of Stone by David W. Burns

Author:David W. Burns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Woodhall Press
Published: 2023-06-09T04:33:09+00:00

CHAPTER 9

When I came to, the first thing I became aware of was that I ached like hell. I touched my neck and felt the tender area at the base of my throat. Raising my hand, I made out a dab of blood on my fingertips.

That was twice, then. Two times in as many days, the snakes had saved my ass. And this time I hadn’t even asked them to counter the manticore’s poison; they’d done it on their own while I was unconscious.

And the Medusa’s Gaze . . . it had never worked like that before. The speed and furious power of it left me aghast; it had completely petrified the manticore in the space of a heartbeat, something I—it—had never been capable of doing before. And the way it had chased after the manticore’s eyes as though it were alive and hungry. . . . I repressed a shudder.

What in God’s name was happening to me?

The first flare I’d thrown was starting to sputter. That meant I’d been out no more than fifteen minutes. I brushed off the pebbles that had been scattered all over my legs and lap and pushed myself to my feet. My twisted ankle felt like it was the size of a honeydew in my boot and hurt when I put my full weight on it. I had a suspicion I could thank the snakes’ venom for that little side effect. And speaking of which . . .

I reached up and patted the top of the beret. “Um . . . thanks,” I mumbled uncertainly.

There was a muffled hissing and then silence. Maybe they felt the awkwardness of the moment too.

Time to deal with that later. The flare in the center of the chamber had guttered and fizzled out. The others would follow in a minute or two. I hobbled to the steps and made my way back to the sixteenth floor. The trek up the spiral stairwell to the penthouse level took way longer than it should have, but every step was becoming a misery for my ankle. I was nearly hopping by the time I reached the suite’s double doors.

I wasn’t expecting trouble, but the habits of a lifetime aren’t easily set aside. Even so, when I shoved open the doors with my shoulder, razing the room with my gunsights, I wasn’t surprised to find the master suite empty except for the girl.

She was slumped on the floor next to an enormous four-poster canopy bed, her wrist chained to the headboard. Her golden hair was splayed over her face so that I couldn’t tell for a moment if she was awake or asleep, living or dead. But the noise of my entrance stirred her and she raised her head.

“Kyra . . . ?”

How the hell did she know that? And why was it so painful to hear the anguish in her voice? I holstered my guns and went over to her.

“Yeah,” I said, bending to one knee in order to work on the manacle’s lock.

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