Destiny's Fire - By Trisha Wolfe Page 0,1

Shythe—out completely. The Narcolyms’ bloodshed had been worse because all Kythan were endangered already before the centuries of warring. That’s why Jace was so adamant that we train, even while the Shythe Council ordered us not to. He believed the Treaty Act was bogus, and he wanted us to prepare for the worst.

After a long pause, considering his fear, I nodded. “I get it, Jace. It’s cool.”

The lines in his forehead relaxed, revealing the squinty-eyed gaze I’d become accustomed to over the years. He ran a hand through his disheveled, dirty-blond hair. “Yeah, well, at least for the next day or so that mark on your neck is a reminder of who won…again.”

I pushed against his hard chest. He didn’t budge. “Next time I’m going to make you eat those words.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Come on. Devon will be closing the club soon. Let’s get out of here.”

Lana scooted up next to me and handed me my Charge Dagger. “Here, Dez.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Wow, I thought you guys were going to break into a hot make out session for a minute.”

I scoffed, glancing over at Jace. “Right.” I shook my head. “And eww. You’re talking about your brother like that?” I turned a gear on my weapon, and the Charge disabled as the blue glow surrounding the blade went dark. “Besides, Jace doesn’t care about things like that. He takes everything else way too seriously.”

Lana shrugged. “Whatever, come on. I want to get my dance on before we leave.” She grabbed my hand, threading her fingers through mine, and edged me toward the stairs.

I surveyed the basement one last time, making sure all the weapons were hidden away. I sheathed my dagger into its holder against my ankle, hidden beneath my leather breeches, and nodded to Nick. He climbed the stairs and lifted the hatch as I pulled the chain, outing the gas lamps.

As I ascended the rungs, the music that had been a low, hollow boom in the basement was now loud and deafening. I lowered the hatch, stomped on the floor door, and slid a brass barstool over it. Nick pulled back the heavy black curtains, revealing the club. A swaying and bopping crowd cluttered the dance floor. It was almost closing time, but the club was still at full tilt—Shythe and humans dancing. Though the humans were unaware of the shape-shifters in their presence.

Lana bounced up and down, her black and too-short mini-corset barely concealing, well, anything. She latched onto my hand and steered me toward the dance floor as Nick rolled his eyes at his sister. He cocked his head in the direction of the door, holding up five wriggling fingers, indicating he and Jace were stepping out for five minutes. I nodded back.

The beat abruptly changed as Lana batted her eyes at Devon, the lead singer of Current, the band working Cogs’ music scene. Devon was Shythe like us, and he also ran Cogs. Humans didn’t question how the bar operated with its high voltage chemical light show, or instruments that wailed out sounds from a steam pipe no violin or guitar could emulate. Devon boasted that most were all too happy to hide away in the club and dance, content to get lost in the industrial music and booze.

I marveled at all the disguised devices in the bar. Devon ran the majority of Cogs on Charge—Shythe power—secretly cloaking it behind pistons, gears, and makeshift contraptions, while the rest operated on steam power—the Narcolym-forged technology that had shaped our world.

He tipped his top hat and winked at Lana before adjusting the knobs on his guitar. Guys were putty in Lana’s hands when she wanted something, and Devon was no exception. For months now, when she made her way onto the floor, he’d play whatever song she deemed hers at the time. This week, it was a fast-paced urban melody. She squealed and grabbed my hands once again, pulling me along to join her in the jumping throng.

I shook my head, but couldn’t help being tempted to dance as the adrenaline from sparring coursed through my system. I stepped onto the slippery metallic floor and glanced around at the flailing bodies. A guy with long, dark dreads, wearing a black leather military jacket and gloves, turned toward me and gave me a slight nod. I bounced alongside him.

Brass and copper pipes decorated the walls, snaking above the bar and pumping out puffs of steam from the contraption Devon had built to dispense beer more