It almost sounded like an apology. He stood so close she could hear his breaths as he inhaled and exhaled. She could smell the scent of clean soap on his skin, the same scent of last night.
As if a switch had been flipped, he turned brusque again. “You need to move around to stimulate your blood circulation or your body will become sore.” Walking to the door, he said, “Come.”
The order tightened her throat. He wasn’t going to kill her, not when he still needed her. Right?
“Come, Cle,” he said when she didn’t move.
She sat up reluctantly. “Where are we going?”
“Stop looking at me like that. We’re just going down to the kitchen.”
After a moment, he offered his hand like an olive branch. Not wanting to test his patience, she got up and put her palm in his. She had to choose her fights wisely.
He led her through the door into the dark corridor. Wooden floorboards creaked under her bare feet. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and she couldn’t help but pull back when goosebumps ran over her arms and the hair at the back of her neck stood erect.
He flipped on a light switch and rubbed a thumb over her wrist. The small act shouldn’t have reassured her, but she found comfort in it nevertheless. How warped to feel safe in the clutches of her kidnapper. How twisted to feel a spark under her skin, to imagine intimacy in the touch.
The light on the landing was bleak, making the dusty air seem grainy. They moved down a staircase with a carved balustrade and through a small entrance hall into a narrow corridor that led to a kitchen. Once he’d flicked on the light, he let her go.
The kitchen was big. The walls and floor were covered with olive-green tiles. A cooking fireplace dominated one wall. All the old houses in the area had one. Copper pots and pans hung against the chimney. The only other means of cooking was a coal stove. Instead of doors, yellow and green curtains covered the cupboards. A buffet stood next to the shuttered window, the shelves filled with blue and green crockery. Everything looked old, but the room was spotless.
As if reading her mind, he said, “It’s old, but it’s clean.”
She stared at his stony face. “If you didn’t plan on coming back to this house, why did you have it cleaned?”
He turned his back on her and started packing ingredients from the fridge onto the counter. “I’m selling it.”
“Oh.” That meant he wasn’t staying in town.
“If you like, you can give me a hand.” He walked to the table and pulled out a chair. “Or you can sit here.”
She remained on the spot, questions running through her mind as he washed his hands and pulled a knife from the block on the counter. Silence stretched as he dribbled lemon juice over a fish fillet and flattened it with the blunt side of the knife.
Swallowing, she asked the question that held the answer to her fate. “When are you leaving?”
“When this is over,” he said without looking up from the cutting board.
She moved closer, willing him to face her. “When will it be over?”
He scraped the knife over the fish. “When I’ve done my job.”
Her heart started thumping, the direction of the conversation dragging it along. It was like approaching a waterfall, knowing she was going to tumble over. Rushing ahead, already feeling the dangerous pull of the current but unable to stop it, she asked, “Then you’ll let me go?”
He looked up, straight into her eyes. His jaw flexed. A moment’s battle raged in his silver eyes, and then his lips flattened on a single word. “No.”
A vice tightened around her throat. “What do you mean?”
He schooled his features, turning his face into an expressionless mask. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I want to talk about it now,” she said, feeling a little hysterical. If he was going to kill her, she had a right to know. “You can’t keep me against my will.”
The words were idiotic and futile. They both knew it. He didn’t even acknowledge them. He only carved the fish into slices.
Looking around the kitchen, she searched for windows or doors. Everything that could open was barred. Claustrophobia wound around her, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. The room closed in on her.
“Cle.”
His voice was dispersed through the blood that gushed in her ears. She ran to the backdoor and tried the knob. It was locked. She rushed to a window and pulled on the latch, shaking the glass in the frame. It didn’t budge.
She wanted out.
Now.
She ran from window to window, banging her fists on the glass. It was useless. Even if she broke the glass, the shutters were barred from the outside. She turned around the room in a circle, her panic escalating. She was trapped in a ghost house with a man who’d just admitted he wasn’t letting her go when his job here was done.
“Cle.”
She turned her face to the sound. Joss stood very still, regarding her with a strange expression on his face. Pity. Fury heated her clenched stomach. All of this was his fault. He had no right to pity her.
Her gaze found the dark hallway, the only way out. Joss followed the direction of her eyes, clearly anticipating her move, but her body was in flight mode, overriding any logical thoughts. Nothing mattered but getting out.
Putting everything she had into it, she sprinted toward the corridor. With a couple of sideways steps, Joss cut her off before she could make it.
“Cle,” he said again, holding out a hand.
She escaped that hand, the outstretched arm, retreating until her backside hit the counter.
“Easy,” Joss said. “That’s a good girl. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”
The words snapped her back to reality, to the threat hanging over her head. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her, but he would kill her. He’d said so himself.
Not moving her gaze away from Joss, she searched behind her for the knife he’d been using. Arms crossed, he watched her quietly as her fingers gripped the shaft.
She swung the knife forward, aiming the sharp point at him with a shaky hand. “Let me go.”
“Or?” he asked in a flat tone.
Holding the knife in front of her, she took a step toward him. “I’ll use this if I must.”
He didn’t budge. He didn’t even look scared, damn him. “Then use it. Do what you have to.”
She inched forward. “Step aside!”
He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “You’d want to go for the jugular vein. An injury won’t slow me down. It won’t stop me from handcuffing you again. The only thing that’ll stop me is to go straight for the kill.”
“Don’t make me do this,” she said, hating how her voice trembled.
“I’ll give you this. One chance only. Come on, little witch. I won’t resist. Cut me.”
He was taunting her, testing her to see how far she’d go. All the damn way. She closed the distance between them and pushed the blade against his neck. “Open the door. Let me out.”
He smiled. “The only way you’re walking out of here is if I’m dead.”
Damn him! She could do it. She could snuff out his life. It was him against her, right? Self-defense. She pressed harder, until a thin red line appeared on his golden skin.
“A sharp drag to the left should do it,” he said, his gaze locked onto hers.
A swipe to the left. Easy. She couldn’t be the weakest. Her hand shook even more.
“Do it, Cle, or don’t, but make your choice.”
She applied more pressure. Still he didn’t move. Not even when a trickle of blood ran down his neck and into the collar of his T-shirt.
The sight of the blood shocked her. What was she doing? She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Tears blurred her vision, distorting his handsome features. She couldn’t kill him. How pathetic.
Her hold slackened. The knife hit the floor with a clang, a deafening sound in the silence. Strangely, she breathed easier, dragging greedy gulps of oxygen into her lungs. Her chest e
xpanded when it should’ve shrunk, and the knot in her throat untangled when she stopped trying to hold back the tears.
Joss reached for her, but she jumped out of his way, backtracking until she collided with furniture. The table. A chair rattled. He was going to make her pay for what she did.
His gaze followed her as she ran around the table, his silver eyes smoldering. She made it to the other side of the room before he’d rounded the table. Flattening her body against the backdoor, she dragged her nails over the wood in an instinctive but futile effort of escaping her prison.
His footsteps fell softly behind her, but they echoed in her chest. How would he extract revenge? How would he punish her? She expected him to strangle or slap her, not to press his body against her, trapping her with her arms above her head against the door. He simply stood like that, with his chest against her back, until she stilled in defeat.
She pinched her eyes shut, waiting for the blow, but he only cupped his hands over hers.
“Shh,” he said, his lips pressed against her ear. “You’re safe with me.”
Was she? Promises were made to be broken. “I want to go home,” she managed through her tears.
He brushed his cheek over hers, grating her skin with the stubble. “You can’t go home.”
Sharp pinpricks grounded her in the moment with him. This wasn’t a dream. Nothing had ever been more real. The admission weakened her knees. She’d failed. Failed to escape. Failed Erwan.
When her body sagged, he gripped her hips to hold her up.
“I can’t let you go home,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
Exhausted from her outburst, she didn’t have enough energy left to argue when he picked her up and carried her to the table. Instead of lowering her into a chair, he sat down and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle free when he cradled her head against his chest, but he only pressed her closer.
The act was soothing, strange coming from her kidnapper. The strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat drummed against her ear. Slowly, her erratic breathing evened out. One by one, her muscles relaxed.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered more to herself than him. It wasn’t like her to freak out like this.
He gripped her chin and tilted her head for their eyes to meet. “You’re having a delayed reaction to the shock. It’s normal, nothing to worry about.”
“Normal?” Nothing about this was normal.
“The tranquilizer works on your nervous system.” He spoke to her softly, patiently, as if to a child. “It affects your mind as well as your body. This afternoon when you woke up, you were placid and lethargic, but now that the drug has worked itself out of your system and your mind is more acute again, you’re having a delayed reaction to the events of the last few hours. It’s not uncommon to have a breakdown.”
His tenderness only angered her more. He’d abducted her. He had no right to be kind. “With or without drugs, I’d say I’m allowed a breakdown under the circumstances.”
A smile flirted with his lips. “Of course.”
She stiffened. “It’s not funny.”
“I never said it was.”
“Let me go. Please.” She pushed away. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” She continued in a rushed tone. “We can just forget any of this happened.”
“It’s not safe for you to go home.” He stroked a hand over her hair. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She didn’t know who she was supposed to be running from any longer. The police, Joss, or her father? She slapped his hand away. “Why isn’t it safe?”
“The attack on us yesterday…” He paused, searching her eyes. “I believe it was an attempt to kidnap you.”
“But you beat them to it, didn’t you?”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’m going to get you out of this, but you have to tell me everything you know. Talk to me about the fires.”
The sudden gentleness was nothing but a ploy to make her talk. She tried to stand, but he tightened his hold.
“I don’t know who started the fires,” she said.
“Think, Cle. Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you? I’ve just learned there’s a powerful pyromancist in town,” he said. “Does the name Lupien ring a bell?”
“No,” she said, her mouth going dry.
“It looks like he’s chasing a local firestarter. He’s also after you. Now why would that be?”
The blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy. “I don’t know.”
“Is it because he knows what I’m suspecting? That Erwan has the answer to the identity of our firestarter, and that you’re the key to finding Erwan?”
“This is crazy.”
“I’ll never ask you to betray your family, but you better pray Erwan comes for you soon.”
She shoved his arms away and jumped from his lap. “Are you threatening me?”
“No.” He straightened. “If it’ll make this easier for you, think about it like I’m keeping you for your own good. I can’t let you run away, because I won’t let anyone get to you.”
He looked so much like he did that day in the woods when he attacked Iwig she almost believed him, but if there was one thing she’d learned today, it was that she’d never truly known Joss. He was unreadable, his motivations untrustworthy and unclear, and the man was much more sinister than the boy she’d given her heart to.
“Where were we?” he said, walking to where she’d dropped the knife and picking it up from the floor as if she’d never threatened him.
She sank into the chair, watching helplessly as he washed the knife and continued to carve the fish. When he was done, he tossed lettuce in olive oil and balsamic vinegar and placed it on the table with a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
He dished up a hearty portion, poured the wine, and pushed the plate and glass toward her. “The tranquilizer would’ve suppressed your appetite, but you can’t go twelve hours without a meal. Try it.” He motioned at the food. “The tuna will be light on your digestive system and you need the protein.”
She forked a piece of lettuce and said with a bite in her tone, “Do I have to stay at the table until I’ve eaten everything?”
His smile was patient. “Have some wine. It’ll help you relax.”
In a spiteful act, she grabbed the glass and downed the wine in one go.
“I meant sipping it,” he said with a chuckle, “but there’s more where that came from.”
When he lifted the bottle to refill her glass, she shook her head. Getting tipsy wasn’t a good idea. She needed her wits about her.
Of course he made her sit at the table until she’d eaten all her food. By the time her plate was empty, she was buzzing from the wine. When Joss cleared the table, an offer to help was on the tip of her tongue, but then she frowned at the absurdity. She was a hostage, not a dinner guest. In any event, he didn’t ask for help, and as she watched him tidy the kitchen, lethargy settled over her again. It was the low after the adrenalin high from earlier.
She studied him where he stood at the sink, washing dishes. Even with his back turned to her he exuded alertness. No doubt he was aware of her every move. Even if she tried, she’d never make it to the front door before he’d caught up with her. However not all of the tenseness in the set of his shoulders was due to vigilance. It had to be difficult for him to be back in this house.
“If the nightmares are so bad,” she said, “you shouldn’t have brought me here.”
He paused in the middle of rinsing a plate. “It was the only place I could think of on short notice. Believe me, I tried the hotels. Everything is full.”
His honesty surprised her. Despite herself, a small part of her anger waned. Maybe it was the effect of the wine. “That’ll teach you for planning a kidnapping in peak holiday season.”
He laughed. The sound startled her. It was gravelly, coming from deep in his chest. Wow. It was the first time she’d hear
d him laugh like that—not with sarcasm or mocking, but like he meant it. It had never occurred to her before that she’d not heard him laugh once during their shared childhood. He’d always been so serious, so tormented, that the broodiness had simply been a part of Joss’s natural disposition.
Turning to face her, he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “You look surprised.” He arched a brow. “Disappointed in my kidnapping skills?”
She gave herself a mental shake. What was she doing joking with Joss? There was no humor in her situation. Her tone was wry. “You seem to be doing just fine.”
He pushed away from the counter. “It’s past the haunting hour. We can go back to bed now.”
It wasn’t that she’d seen ghosts while Joss had been gone. It was more like she could feel them. She felt the menacing darkness that lurked between the walls, and that seemed worse than a smoky apparition. “That’s not funny.”
Locking his fingers around her arm, he pulled her back up the stairs to his room. Once inside, he let her go.
“Go ahead and use the bathroom.” He took a tablet from his bag. “I need to check the perimeter alarms.”
She closed the door behind her and quickly brushed her teeth with the toothbrush Joss had packed. When she walked back into the room, she stopped dead. Joss had changed into tracksuit pants. His chest was bare. With his hair loose around his face and the muscles rippling over his abdomen, he looked dangerous and wild. Too masculine. Too desirable. She’d never seen him without a shirt. In all the years they’d lived in the same village and gone to the same school, she’d never seen him swim in the ocean or lounge on the beach.
The memory of how the hard slab of muscles and grooves had felt under her palms sent a flash of heat straight to her lower body. He’d been inside her. The way it had felt, the bite of pain, the stretch… Flames burned under the skin of her neck and cheeks, a fire stoked by a memory still too fresh. She might hate him now, but her body still wanted him.
He was engrossed in whatever he was doing on his tablet, but she looked away quickly lest he saw her reaction. At long last, he darkened the tablet.
Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1) Page 11
