than her changing attitude toward dragons.
“Humans have always stolen the bodies of beasts,” he said. “Our skins, teeth, claws, fucking gall bladders, you name it. But alchemists ascribed special power to dragon blood, dragonfire, and our ichor.”
Her brow furrowing, she crossed her legs out in front, her new shoes tapping impatiently. “Ichor…is not blood?”
His dragon focused on the tapping, twitching to pounce. The pricey pink ribbons emphasized the delicate bones of her ankles, and he hung onto his bottle lest he reach for the swank curve of her calf. The strength he sensed under that lush flesh reminded him she wasn’t just kidding about using her sharp heel as a weapon.
He shook his head. What the hell were they talking about? “Ichor flows through our body like blood, but not the same.”
Letting out the dragon just enough to shift another lone talon, he set the razor tip to his forearm and carved a shallow path.
Anjali sucked in a harsh breath and stiffened. She grabbed a paper napkin as scarlet welled in the cut.
But his dragon was restless and roused, and before the blood could spill, the opalescent glimmer of ichor flashed across the wound.
Her gasp was louder this time. He nudged his hand under her slack fingers to grab a napkin, and he wiped away the thin line of blood to show her the pale mark of healing flesh underneath.
“Our inhuman strength and speed comes from our beast, like any shapeshifter, but the ichor is something else. It powers the essence of what we are—a Nox Incendi dragon.”
“Nox Incendi,” she repeated softly. “The burning night.”
He nodded. “But the petralys—the stone blight—turns ichor to stone. And us along with it.”
He showed her the sheen of ichor on the napkin then wadded the blood-dotted paper in his hand and tossed it upward. With a click of his teeth and one beer breath, he ignited the paper in midair.
Even that tiny smear of ichor was enough to erupt in a tiny fireball with all the hues in the visible spectrum of light and more than human eye could see.
Instead of flinching back, Anjali had leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The fireball reflected in her wide eyes before vanishing without even a puff of smoke.
Torch took another draught of his beer to hide his surprise at her lack of fear. Then he thought of how far he’d had to drop her. Anjali Herne wasn’t intimidated by him or his dragon.
Why that should please him so…
After a long moment, her dazzled gaze shifted to him. She cleared her throat and matched him, drink for drink. “So, Ashcraft wants to be able to belch rainbows?”
He spread his fingers away from the beer bottle in an acknowledging gesture. “Who wouldn’t? But that, plus all our treasure, probably. And immortality.”
That did make her slump back in her chair. “You’re immortal,” she whispered.
“Well, it’s more that we just don’t die.” He scowled. “But we can be killed. By the petralys, for example. By six-inch heels through the heart.” He narrowed his eyes at her meaningfully. “And by asshole warlocks, of course.”
“Piper and I called him the ash-hole,” she murmured, “even before all this.”
Torch grunted. “That’s what we’ll make him: a hole of ash. His very own grave.”
Anjali clutched the bottle, the fire opal ring on her finger clicking nervously on the glass. “Not before we get Esme free of his influence. If he dies while she’s under his command, or if he even realizes we’re going after him…”
Piper had said the same thing. And Rave, as her mate, was backing her. But Torch wondered if it was even possible to save the wasting waif. And if the risk of waiting was worth it.
Still, they were in Las Vegas, so what was a little risk among friends?
“I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” he told her. “But you can be sure I don’t want to lose to Ashcraft, not anything.”
After a moment, she nodded. “He’s already figured