by Ashley Meira
Quick as lightning, I gripped his face and pulled it down to mine. Our lips crashed together as I ran my thumbs over his cheekbones. They were almost more delicious than the confections surrounding us. I had a bad habit of randomly acting on my affection for him, so Adam froze on impact before getting into it. Guess he was getting the hang of my moves.
I heard a polite cough before someone behind us gasped and shushed our would-be interrupter. “Adam Pierce” came out in a hushed whisper before both clerks went quiet, leaving us to our PDA. As much as I loved kissing Adam, I enjoyed not being beet red more. He was beaming when I pulled away and fanned my reddened cheeks.
“This is what happens when I stop paying attention to my surroundings,” I mumbled at the floor.
“Feel free to do it more often, sweetheart.” Adam placed a final kiss on my cheek. “Now, go have some fun.”
Chapter Two
I had a lot of fun.
What wasn’t fun was the plane ride home, because I had to keep myself from eating all the chocolate we were bringing back. Delicacies like this needed to be savored, not wolfed down. I licked the roof of my mouth, tasting the remnants of those praline samples, and whimpered pathetically.
“I’m guessing that whimper isn’t because we just landed?” Adam asked, handing my bag over. Surrendering it, more like. I had to wrestle the luggage from his perfect, gentlemanly hands. “If you want to eat—”
“No,” I said firmly. “I— You paid a lot for these, and I’m going to enjoy them at a nice, leisurely pace.”
“I can always send people to buy more.”
I raised a brow.
“That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?”
“Not wrong,” I said with a shake of my head. “Just extravagant.”
That was another part of our deal. While I was trying to be more accepting of his lavishness, I also had to point out when he bordered on the excess. For a regular person, at least. This stuff was normal to our society’s upper class. He wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.
Our trip to Ollie’s cafe, the Golden Cat, went by smoothly. We even managed to get a few kisses in between traffic stops. I’d compare us to honeymooners if the very thought didn’t send all the blood to my head along with an extra dollop of embarrassment. Fiona told me this was a normal feeling when entering a new relationship, so I tried not to think too much of it. Adam flashed me a smile when he noticed I was staring, and I couldn’t help the huge, goofy grin I gave in return.
I tried, but I usually failed.
Sadly, all happy times came to an end. In our case, it was because of the sea of reporters loitering in the street between Ollie’s cafe and Damien’s gallery. Damien was Adam’s younger brother, so they must’ve been trying to double down on their bets. Luckily for them, the establishments were less than ten minutes apart.
“How easy would it be for you to get a murder charge dropped?” I asked.
“I’m not running them over,” he said flatly. “And neither are you.”
“Spoilsport.”
The cafe’s curtains were open, allowing me to see how crowded it was. Not with reporters, thankfully, but with trend-followers who’d heard this was one of Adam Pierce’s favorite haunts. Most of them had been polite enough not to disturb us while we were there. The ones who weren’t got thrown out by Ollie, who was surprisingly menacing for such a twiggy dude.
I took in the warm interior, cozy booths, and soft garland lights with a frown. Ollie would have to close the curtains when we came in. Since photographers started coming around, we’d moved from our usual spot by the window to a more private corner near the back. That didn’t stop them from trying to take pictures, however, and the usual street view clients had was replaced by a bunch of obnoxious, half-shaven faces pressing their cameras against the windows.
It made me feel like crap to be affecting my friend’s business this way, but I didn’t dare mention that in front of Adam. He felt bad enough over this as it was. I’d apologized to Ollie in private, but he’d scoffed and brushed it off before telling me not to be a dummy.
Adam’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “I’m going to have to say hi later.”
“Work?” I asked, looking down at his unlocked phone.
Adam had moved to Santa Fae — one of the biggest magical cities in California and my home for the last three years — to take over his father’s position as CEO of Pierce Incorporated. Why he came here was a mystery, because his father had run things fine from England. But when I asked, he made a joke about fate putting us together, forcing me to fake a scowl.
He nodded and leaned over. I met him halfway. Warmth seeped into me as we kissed, the piranhas outside long forgotten. His tongue swiped against my lips, and I let him in. We wrestled for dominance of my mouth before I surrendered with a nip to his lower lip.
“Keep that up and I’ll never make it to work,” he said in a husky voice.
I wanted to tell him to drive us back to his place, but forced myself to accept he had other responsibilities beside making me feel good. Plus, the photographers had taken notice of his car, and while his windows were blacked out from the outside, the thought of exiting into a huge crowd made my stomach twist. Best to leave before they fully gathered.
With one last peck, I pulled my hood up and exited the car.
It took all my patience, plus some I had to borrow from a future life to get out of Adam’s car, go toward the trunk, pull my bags out, and not violently murder the dozen or so jerks that thought bumping into me and shoving a flashing camera against my retinas was going to get them an exclusive.
I stumbled into Ollie’s cafe and fell in a crumpled heap before the entrance. Apparently, pictures of my ass sticking up after being shoved inside by a wave of douchebags was picture-worthy, because the flashes went into overdrive.
The curtains were quickly pulled shut, and nearby patrons gave me a sympathetic look. I recognized them as regulars and felt my face flush once more as I realized they’d taken seats near the windows to help shut the curtains faster.
“Thanks,” I said sheepishly, unable to meet their eyes.
“Don’t know why you’re thanking them,” Fiona said, giving the patrons a wink to show she was joking. “All this proves is that Ollie has an army of loyal minions he can ask to do his bidding.”
I directed an unimpressed look in her fairy-glamoured direction before saying, “Like going to Paris to pick you up some hoity toity chocolate?”
She huffed, her red hair bouncing along with the movement. “You can only say that if you didn’t buy any for yourself.”
I pursed my lips. “Adam paid for everything.”
“Still counts,” she said, beaming. Guess we were both glad I was loosening up about being, as she put it, pampered. “Give me the goods, sister.”
“I don’t suppose you brought some for the rest of us, hm?” Symeon’s aristocratic drawl called from the counter.
How had I missed him? I guess the smell of incense his magic carried wasn’t as noticeable when rabid vultures were swarming me. Symeon called himself my patron, which I no longer bothered to fight him on. He was an esteemed collector and dealer of ancient rarities who hired me to help retrieve particularly difficult to find objects. He paid well, and despite his eccentricities, I’d grown rather fond of him. Usually.
“Why are you here?” I asked, glaring at the way his sleek black hair glistened in the light. I looked like a hurricane survivor, and Mr. Siren over here was flaunting his perfect, ocean-blessed hair.
“Picking up coffee,” he said as if it were obvious.
“You never do that in person. You have people for that,” I said. Symeon was also part of the magical elite, though his fortune was self-made rather than inherited.
“Are you sure I don’t just come by when you’re not around? Oh, what am I saying? If you’re not on the job, you’re here.” He sighed dramatically. “Darling, you’re going to die of overeating one of these days.”
“If you’re going to kill him, wait until he pays Ollie.”
I followed the melodic voice to our new usual booth. Apart from a slight tiredness to her ocean blue eyes, Adrienne appeared to be fully recovered from her ordeal of almost being eaten by Seraphine. She gave me a welcoming smile as our gazes met. Unlike Symeon and his big mouth, I could appreciate Adrienne’s beauty without being jealous. Okay, I couldn’t, but I’ve never wanted to punch her.
“No murders in my shop.” Ollie swept in from the kitchen, balancing a dangerous amount of plates that he served with practiced grace. “Please kill each other far enough away for the authorities to leave me out of their questioning but close enough for them to stop by for lunch.”
Fiona and I exchanged looks and said, “He gets this from you.”
“He gets it from both of you,” Symeon said.
Ollie rolled his eyes and stepped behind the counter to finish ringing up Symeon’s order. “Sorry for the delay.”
“No worries.” Symeon paid for his order, then sauntered over to our table with a challenging look in my direction. “I think I’ll be staying a bit, actually.”
“You’re not getting to me.” I sighed and plopped down next to him, Fiona taking the seat across from me.
“Getting?” He clasped his hands over his chest, his expression flat. “Couldn’t I just miss you?”
“Try ensorcelling those reporters,” Ollie said. “She’ll love you.”
Being a siren allowed Symeon to ensorcel people, usually causing them to go mad and kill themselves in horrific ways. Normally, I’d be protesting, but the thought of every reporter out there spontaneously vomiting up their kidneys was kind of appealing at the moment.
Still, I decided to be mature and pull Symeon back down when he moved to go outside. “I do not want to think about those people right now.”
“Poor dear.” Symeon patted my head. “Would you like a hug?”
“The last time you hugged me, you grabbed my butt,” I said flatly.
“I did no such thing,” he said, looking affronted. “I cupped it.”
“Speaking of things you want—” Ollie eyed Symeon with a protective glint in his eye. Despite being the same age, he fancied himself an older brother to me “—I don’t serve steak tartare, sorry.”
Ollie was a green witch on his mother’s side, allowing him to instinctively know what people want. This was only related to homey things, however, like food and drink. His heritage was also what made him such a competent potion maker and chef.
“I’ll live,” Symeon said with a heavy sigh. “How was France, darling?”
“Fine,” I said, pulling out the chocolate I’d bought.
Fiona snapped her boxes up instantly, her green eyes gleaming with a manic glint. “We have arrived, Sophia. We have done it.”
“Having fancy chocolate counts as having made it?” I asked.
“You have your dreams. I have mine.”
“Thanks,” Ollie said, that gluttonous spark I’d seen in the mirror shining in his hazel eyes. Would he be able to hold off eating that stuff long enough to cook with it?
“No problem. What’s going on with you guys?” I trailed off, noticing the dirty looks from the other side of the table. “You didn’t ask!”
“You didn’t offer,” Adrienne sniffed.
Symeon nodded. “Very rude.”
“Like you don’t have someone who flies over to pick that stuff up for you,” I told him, making a note to thank Adam for that bit of info.
“That’s beside the point.”
“Ollie’s parents called earlier,” Fiona said. Since she had what she wanted, she saw no point in terrorizing me. “Apparently there’s been a lot of earthquakes near their home.”
Ollie’s parents lived in Goliki, a magical village in Croatia located near Plitvice Lakes National Park. His father was a fan of Fireborns and knew a few things about them — which was how Ollie had discovered my secret — so I’d taken to paying attention when they called.
“Are they okay?” I asked, making sure to keep Adrienne and Symeon’s displeased faces out of my line of sight.
“Yeah,” Ollie said. “I was worried at first, but they don’t seem too concerned. My dad says it’s the dragons.”
There was a secret, magical section of Plitvice Lakes National Park. A dragon sanctuary, declared as such when mages discovered it and were immediately attacked by dragons. The Council declared the land a no-person zone and left it to the dragons. Smart move, considering they’d been hidden there long before those mages accidentally stumbled upon it.
“I hope he doesn’t visit in person to make sure,” Adrienne said.
“My mom won’t let him until next month,” he said. “He has to help her decorate for the holidays.”
I was about to ask if he was planning on returning home for Christmas when Damien Pierce entered. Like Adam, he had very pretty eyes — and everything else, really. He ran a hand through his short blond hair as he scanned the room. His baby blues landed on me, and he came over.
I tried to keep my face, and magic, passive. Damien had figured out I was Fireborn, and despite Adam’s reassurances that he wasn’t going to out me to the Council, I still felt ill at ease around him. Maybe it was the subtle disapproving look he constantly gave me. I recognized it as the one Adam had, though my partner had never directed it at me himself.
I could have been projecting my discomfort onto him. Adam claimed his brother was indifferent about most people, myself included. It was worth giving him the benefit of the doubt, wasn’t it? After all, that’s what he’d done when he confronted Adam about my heritage instead of immediately reporting me.
I’d just convinced myself to lighten up around Damien when he stopped before our table and said six little words that made my world come crashing down.
“My father wants to see you.”
Chapter Three
Dread weighed down my gut like a heavy stone. So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. The rational part of me considered there was a perfectly logical reason for Liam Pierce, one of the most influential members of the Council of Magic, wanting to meet with me. But it quickly gave that theory up in favor of thinking Damien had sold me out.
My magic, previously coiled like a tame snake, was now a loose fuse sparking around me. I wasn’t worried about people sensing it. Only the most powerful tracker mages were able to do that, like Damien, who raised a brow at the uneasy movements of my magic.
Or Symeon, apparently, who surprised me when he said, “You’re so high-strung, darling. Do try to calm down. It’s putting everyone on edge.”
A quick look at my friends revealed that to be true. Fiona, Adrienne, and Ollie had all paled at his words, their worried eyes fixed on me. It wasn’t me who’d elicited that reaction, though. It was Damien. They knew I was Fireborn, and they knew getting a Council member’s attention could cause serious problems.
But Symeon didn’t know. He’d been the first to figure out I was a mage despite my best efforts to pass myself off as a regular thug from the Mercenary Guild, but he had no idea I was Fireborn. He assumed my aversion to the Council was simply anti-establishment.
“Seriously, calm down.” Damien scowled, apparently displeased with the look I was giving him. “I said he wants to meet you, not kill you.”
It was practically the same thing, and he knew it. Could I call Adam without him noticing? Did he know about this? Doubt hit me like a speeding car and vanished just as quickly. No, Adam wouldn’t do this to me.
Would he?
“And what does Pierce Senior want with our dear Sophia?” Symeon asked since he was the only one of us currently capable of forming words. “Is it time for ‘meet the parents’ already? Don’t te
ll me Adam is planning to propose. It’s much too soon. Sophia will scare away like a skittish rabbit.”
If I wasn’t executed or thrown in prison, I was going to punch him out for that comparison — no matter how accurate it was.
“Something like that.” Damien shrugged. “The meeting, not the proposal. Dad wants to know why company resources are being used to troll tabloids.”
“I doubt he used those words,” Symeon said.
“I paraphrase. He tried calling Adam, but big brother ducked his calls. As usual. So, he came to me.”
It felt like my throat was made of sandpaper, but I managed to ask, “What did you say?”
“That Adam had a new girlfriend whose privacy he was trying to protect. Naturally, that caught his attention. Adam never cared about that sort of thing before. Most of his exes preferred the spotlight. Took me some time to convince him you weren’t married or secretly a man—” Damien eyed me up as if making sure of that “—just private.”
“So,” Ollie said slowly, “he just wants to meet her?”
Relief seemed to collectively seep into all of our bones before Damien spoke again. “No.”
“No?” I repeated, trying to decide whether or not a murder really was going to happen here tonight. Thanks to the paparazzi, my patience had been stretched way past its limits. “What does that mean?”
“I told him you were a tracker mage. Better than me even.” Damien said casually before looking around as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. He was the world’s top ranked tracker mage, and he’d told his Council-sitting father I was better than him? What the fuck?
I watched with wide eyes as he grabbed a chair from another table and brought it over, sinking into it with a relaxed grace. He shot me an expectant look.
“Why?” I finally breathed out.
“He wanted to know about you. My father can be a very persuasive man.”
