His tone was that of a parent humoring a well-meaning but errant child, and that irritated me even more than his stare. “I haven’t been here very long. Give me a chance to think.”
Again a smile teased the corners of his mouth, but this time, it hinted at amusement. My breath caught briefly in my throat. Lord help me if he actually flung a full smile my way. I had a feeling it would be devastating.
“Don’t you think if there was a way out, I would have found it by now?”
“Well, considering you were unconscious and slipping into hibernation when they dropped me in here, I’d have to say no. I mean, it’s hard to be proactive about escaping when you’re out of it, isn’t it?”
He studied me for a moment, then swung around on the bench and sat up. His long fingers gripped the base tightly for several seconds, hinting at either pain or dizziness—neither of which showed in his stony e
xpression.
“Who are you?” he asked, after a moment.
“What are you?” I countered. I might want this man’s help escaping, but I wasn’t about to trust him with anything more vital than that. “The men upstairs were calling you a muerte. What the hell is that?”
“Literally, muerte means ‘death.’ ”
And death had never looked so good. I mentally slapped the thought away, and said, “I realize that. I meant, why would they call you that?”
Amusement flirted with the night-dark depths of his eyes, a spark that did little to warm the chill of his countenance. “Because it’s my occupation.”
O-kay. I’d landed in a cell with a trained killer. Great. I shifted back on the seat a little, and the amusement in his eyes grew stronger.
Several limp black strands of hair fell across his forehead. He brushed them away with strong hands that were as bruised and as beaten as the rest of him, then said, “How does a dragon not know what a muerte is?”
I smiled, and saw something flicker in his eyes. Surprise, perhaps. It was a reaction as odd as the man himself. “I never said I was a dragon.”
“You flame like a dragon.”
“So I do.” I pushed up from the bench too fast and pain flared, providing yet another reminder that I hadn’t fully healed. I grimaced, grabbing at my side as I walked to the door. The stranger’s gaze followed me—a weighted heat that caressed my skin and sent a tremor running through me. I did my best to ignore it—and him—and bent to study the door.
“It’s solid,” he said, the amusement that had been so evident in his eyes now reaching his voice.
“It certainly looks that way.”
But I’d learned long ago that everything—and everyone—had a weak point, no matter how minor. This door might look rock solid, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t give way if it was given the right sort of push.
I just had to uncover what sort of push that was.
There was no handle on this side, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Dragons were notorious thieves, and more than capable of cracking most of the locks and security devices currently on the market. Thieving was in a dragon’s blood, and it was a skill learned—and honed—since birth. Hell, even draman could pick a lock faster than most humans could blink.
Not that my clique had actually taught us draman that trick, either, but some skills were easily picked up when they were being practiced all around you.
I peered into the small gap between the door and the frame. The metal bolt on the other side was at least an inch wide and who knew how thick.
“There’s a rather large dead bolt out there,” I said. “They’re making sure you don’t escape.”
“You’re in the same cell, remember.” He studied me for a moment, then added, “Why is that? What did you do?”
“Asked a few too many questions, I think.” I stepped back and studied the door as a whole. No hinges on this side. “What’s your excuse?”
“Much the same thing, really.”
I glanced at him. He looked healthier than he had five minutes ago, so obviously the warmth I’d lent him was chasing the coolness from his skin. But it wouldn’t last long—not if he remained in this darkness.
“What questions were you asking that you shouldn’t?”
“Lady, when you start answering my questions, I’ll start answering yours.”