A woman like that not only didn’t belong in a fucking alley . . . she didn’t belong in the bar she’d just left.
The human male slowed and let out a low chuckle that sounded slightly manic. He towered over the woman, even in her heels, and before Kell’s eyes, his shoulders seem to broaden in his flannel shirt. “Looks like you’re at a dead end,” the guy said.
The woman sucked in air, her chest moving nicely with the effort. “W-what is wrong with your eyes?”
The human shrugged.
Kell gave a slight nod. Yep. His eyes should be all sorts of crazy at this point.
The skin down Kell’s arm sprang to life and the hair rose in warning. The atmosphere changed.
Flames, an unhealthy dark blue and morphing, danced down the human male’s right arm. He gasped and shook out his wrist. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Did you see that?”
The woman gaped and then slowly shook her head. “Did you just set your arm on fire?”
“No. I am fire.” He held out his arm again, and flames licked down.
The woman inched to the side of the alley and stumbled over a loose brick. “What drug are you on?” Her focus narrowed as she regained her footing.
“Who cares? I’m invincible. I can create fire.” More flames danced. The guy formed a ball in one hand. “Take off the dress, or I’ll burn it off.”
“That’s not garing ta happen,” Kell said, moving to the side, opposite of the woman.
The guy whirled around, fire whipping. “What the hell?”
“Been following you.” Kell kept his hands loosely at his sides while fighting back the urge to alter matter with quantum physics and create his own fire. Just being in the same vicinity of another fire starter, one who didn’t have a clue what to do, made him itchy. “Get lost, lady. I have business with the gent here.”
The guy squinted. “You Australian?”
“No.” Kell drew himself up. Australian? Fucking moron. “Move. Now,” he ordered the woman, who’d frozen in place.
The guy shook his head. “If she moves, I’ll burn her. Even through the rain, I’m all powerful.”
“W-what’s your business?” asked the woman as she took a tentative step along the building. Water sloshed up her shapely leg, and she had to shove short wet hair away from her face.
“Doesn’t concern you.” Kell angled deeper into the alley so the guy would have to partially turn to keep him in sight, thus giving the woman a chance for freedom. Rain splattered into his eyes. “Just get moving, would you?”
“No.” The guy shook out both hands, and fire flickered. Blue and yellow stripes cut paths through his brown eyes, and red bloomed in the white parts. “I’ll kill you both.”
Kellach sighed. “How much of the drug did you take?” If the guy had only taken half a dose, he might live.
“The whole damn thing.” The guy spun around, and plasma fire sailed into a dumpster, ripping a hole in the metal. “They said I’d be a god. I’m a fucking god.”
The woman cringed against the brick building. “I don’t understand. What kind of a weapon throws fire?”
Kell shot forward and slid an arm around the guy’s neck, spinning him into a headlock, their backs to the woman. Fire burst along the guy’s arms, burning Kell. Pain dug under his skin. With a low growl, Kell allowed his own fire free. Deep and green, it crackled along his body, shielding him from harm. With a puff of smoke, Kell’s fire quelled the human’s.
The human convulsed. Hard and fast, he shook against Kell, who held him upright. It was too late to help the guy—he had taken too much. Way too much. A wretched scream spilled from the human’s throat.
Kell released him and stepped back.
The guy fell to the wet ground, still convulsing. Red poured from his ears, his eyes, and then his nose. The rancid stench of burned flesh filled the alley. He hit hard, shook, and then went still. His eyes retained the bizarre colors, and he looked sightlessly up at the cloudy night. The rain mingled with blood across his face.
Kell sighed and pushed wet hair out of his eyes. Another dead end, and he’d wasted more time, which he absolutely did not have right now. He needed to get rid of the body and then somehow convince the woman she hadn’t just seen what she’d just seen. Plastering on his most charming smile, he turned around and froze.
“Seattle PD. Freeze, asshole,” she whispered, her stance set, a Sig Subcompact in her hands and pointed at his head.
Detective Alexandra Monzelle kept her balance on the ridiculous heels and her gun pointed at the definite threat.
Well over six feet tall, muscled, graceful as hell . . . the guy facing her showed no fear. No emotion, really. Black hair fell to his broad shoulders, the darkness a perfect match for his eyes. Chiseled face, huge-ass hands, and feet big enough to waterski on. Yet he moved with the smoothness of a trained soldier.
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Seattle Police Department?”