He lifted his eyes to hers, the gray splintering and sorrow seeping through the cracks. “Now tell me again I don’t deserve the nightmares.”
Hearing him confess the facts she already knew was so much worse. The pain was right there, in front of her eyes, not a concept in her head, and it was unbearable to watch. No longer vague detail censured and conveyed by Erwan, the truth felt raw. She hadn’t known all of it, though. She hadn’t known about the beatings. No one did. Everyone suspected when Joss’s mother turned up in town with bruises on her arms and legs, but she always had excuses. She tripped over a step or slipped on a rug. No one challenged his mother when she lied. No one pressed harder, because no one wanted to get involved. No one cared. Not really. Her heart broke a little more for him.
“Your father did terrible things,” she said. “The only heritage he left you with is guilt, but the guilt isn’t yours to carry.”
His lips lifted in one corner. The almost-smile was sad, a consolation that seemed to be meant for her rather than himself. “You’re still so innocent, little witch.” His gaze trailed over her face. “So naïve.”
“That’s not fair.”
“None of it is.” He leaned closer, whispering over her lips, “Life isn’t.”
She couldn’t move. Her heart and mind were on opposite sides of a rope, each pulling, stretching her thin. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to let her go. They were playing a dangerous game. He was fire. Was she willing to go down in flames for him?
“There’s one way to make it better,” he said in a thick voice.
The plea hooked into her heart. She couldn’t rip it out without tearing a piece of her in the process.
“Lie down me with.” Cupping his hands around her head, he hooked his thumbs under her jaw. “Just for a little while.”
“I–I don’t—”
“Pretend it’s different. Pretend I’m good, and that you’re not scared.”
She swallowed. He was asking her to lie for him. It was wrong, but didn’t she always want him to corrupt her?
She didn’t stop him when he pushed her down. When her back hit the mattress, she didn’t move to the edge against the wall. She lay quietly as he stretched out on top of her, her heart sighing at how their bodies fitted. The mattress dipped under his weight, but he kept most of it on his elbows.
“I won’t fuck you,” he said, stroking her hair like one would pet a frightened kitten. “I just want to hold you.”
Someone to hold. How much she wanted—needed—that too. The captive finding solace in her captor’s arms. How ironic. But she needed something in return. “Promise me.”
He looked at her like the world outside the walls didn’t exist. “Anything.”
“When it’s time, I choose how.”
His breathing quickened, the air he exhaled warm on her face. “Stop thinking about that. I don’t want to kill you.”
“But you will if you must.”
“Shh,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “Tell me a secret.”
She folded her hands around his neck. It seemed like such a natural thing to do in the circumstances. “You know all of them.” Every one that mattered.
He rubbed a thumb over her lips, tracing the movement with his eyes. “Tell me one.”
The caress felt right. The way he held her was new, but it felt familiar. It didn’t matter who they were, him the hunter and she the prey, because stripped down to its core, the moment was real. He’d burned down the bridges of the worlds that separated them when he’d given her his vulnerability. He’d created this bubble, this fragile piece of honesty in a nightmare riddled with questions and deceit. It would be gone by morning, the gilded coach turning back into a pumpkin. Would it be so wrong to take what he was offering?
“If not a secret, then tell me about your dream.” The playfulness of his smile didn’t mask the sadness underneath. “I told you about mine. It’s only fair.”
No, it wasn’t fair. She didn’t owe him anything, but she couldn’t deny him after he’d sliced open his heart and let her have a peek inside.
Blowing out a sigh, she said, “There’s not much to tell. You came.” She shrugged, motioning at the room. “Then this.”
“I want to fuck you, but I won’t.”
She froze at the words. Not only were they out of place, but there was also too much information in that statement, too many threads she couldn’t pull apart.
“Ask me why,” he said when she didn’t reply.
Did he only find her desirable when he was drunk? The stakes of this truth were too high. “I don’t want to know.”
She did. She wanted to know, but she still had her pride. She wasn’t going to surrender her pride with her life.
He studied her. “You do. You’re asking yourself why I don’t want you.” A battle raged in those mercurial pools. She wasn’t the only one who was fighting an internal war. “You’re thinking maybe you’re not hot enough, but nothing can be further from the truth, so ask, little witch.”
“No.”
His expression turned possessive. “You and me, we have history. You know it just as well as I do.”
He was referring to her stalking. Stubbornly, she kept her mouth shut.
“Fine,” he said when the silence stretched. “I’ll tell you anyway. I shouldn’t want you for so many reasons, but I do.”
He was pulling on the string of a ribbon tied to her heart. Just a little more, and it would float free, past these walls and the shackles of enemies, right up into the sky.
“I won’t,” he said, “not as long as this case hasn’t been solved, but it’s not over.”
Her throat went dry. “What more do you want?”
“To finish what we started.”
“Why?” she uttered with a gasp.
Determination stole over his features. “I keep what’s mine.”
“It happened once,” she exclaimed.
“Once, a hundred times, it doesn’t matter.”
“B–but I thought you were—”
“Promiscuous? I’ve never let anyone who belonged to me go.”
“The others,” she stuttered. “The other girls…”
He lifted a brow, waiting for her to connect the dots.
“They dumped you?” she asked with disbelief.
“Every one of them.”
It was hard to imagine. “Why?”
“They all eventually figured out I was no good. I’m no good for a woman, especially not for someone as innocent as you, but we can’t change what happened. We’re just going to live with it.”
Live with it? “This isn’t the same. There’s nothing between us.”
“You gave yourself to me. You don’t get to just take it back.”
“It was once!”
His gaze cut her open, stealing the secret she didn’t want to admit. “As I said, I take sex very seriously.” Delving deeper yet, brushing the edges of her soul, he said, “That’s why I shouldn’t do this while you’re my prisoner.”
He kept his eyes open as he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers. It was a message, telling her he owned the wrong he was committing. He was unafraid and fearless. Regretful, but honest.
Sparks crackled over her skin. She wanted to be strong and do the right thing, but so many things were already wrong. Both of them were doomed in their own ways, their ghosts hovering in the dark corners of their hearts.
When he deepened the kiss, her resistance fizzled. Arching up, she sought the hardness of his body and the soft parts of his soul. For a short while, they were just Joss and Clelia, two people who grew up in the same town. Who knew what they could’ve shared if she hadn’t been too young and his guilt hadn’t chased him away? For as long as he was kissing her with gentle strokes of his tongue, the reason he was back didn’t matter.
He kissed her like he had in the cemetery, with soft urgency. His hands moved over her hair to the back of her head, lifting and tilting her face just
so, giving him the access he wanted. He was tender, even when her body screamed for more. His control was commendable. If not for his hard-on giving away his desire, she would’ve thought he wasn’t affected at all. He kissed her with patience, but the slow rocking of his hips stirred a need that had her moaning into the kiss, knowing where she wanted him to take her was forbidden.
When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark with hunger, another telltale sign of his lust. The lines between truth and fantasy were blurry. He wasn’t her dark knight. He was her executor. The hands that held her in a tender embrace were the hands that could snuff out her life. The delicate balance between dreams and reality tipped when he lifted her arms above her head.
The magic evaporated like a puff of air. She didn’t feel protected by his warmth any longer. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes. “Don’t.”
He took something from the nightstand. She didn’t have to look to know what it was. Cold metal encased her wrists, locking her to the bedpost.
“It’s better like this,” he said, his gaze and voice flat. “Tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere else.”
Just like that, she’d been unseen. It made her feel like the mistake from the cemetery was hers alone, that he took responsibility for her only because they’d crossed a line and his warped sense of honor demanded it.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” she said.
“Oh, but I am, my sneaky little witch. I want everything.” He bent down over her, putting their faces close. “The next time we fuck, I will remember.”
Her lips parted, but no words formed.
“What?” he asked, giving her a heartless smile. “Does the thought scare you?”
“What about feelings? Aren’t those supposed to play a role?”
He straightened. “Sorry, but I don’t do love.”
The verdict was a cruel blow. Her words were more sad than judgmental. “No wonder they dumped you.”
“A luxury you won’t get.”
“Why me?” She strained in the handcuffs. “Why don’t I get a choice?”
Trailing a finger over her cheek, he said in a low voice, “This is what you’ve always wanted, Cle. I guess you should’ve been more careful about what you wished for.”
Before she could reply, he turned away and switched off the light, casting them in darkness that dispelled her love and invited the old ghosts in.
Chapter 13
Joss didn’t wake with a start like he usually did. The transition came gently. For a man who’d spent hours in a hard, wooden chair, he felt surprisingly rested. For once, the dream had been absent. He glanced at the woman sleeping in his bed. Maybe Clelia exorcised his ghosts. Maybe he’d expelled his demons at her expense. If she’d felt his ghosts, she’d be dreaming his dreams now.
Conflicted, he watched her. During the night, she’d tried to slip under the covers. The crumpled blanket under her hips was evidence of her failed attempt. Goosebumps covered her arms and legs. The chair creaked when he got up, but she didn’t move. Instead of pulling the blanket from under her and risk waking her, he folded the ends over her body.
The tiny woman stirred things inside him. Wanting her scared him. Needing her petrified him. In their case, want and need were synonymous with disaster.
Turning his back on her, he walked from the room and closed the door. He stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He wanted to free and save her, and chain and keep her, all at the same time. All of it irrational. His mission wouldn’t allow him either luxury. He threaded his fingers through his hair. It took strength to walk away. She feared. He worried.
The relaxed state he’d woken up in vanished quickly when he stalked downstairs to the kitchen and flung open the door of the fridge. For a long time, he stared at the meager contents, and then banged his head against the freezer compartment. Goddamn. If he didn’t get a grip, they were both goners. He wiped his palm over his face. Taking a deep breath, he took out the cheese and made breakfast.
A short while later, he went back upstairs armed with a flask of coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches. Leaving the tray on the desk, he went down on his haunches next to the bed. The blanket had fallen open again. Clelia’s back was turned to him. The bones of her delicate spine formed a semi-circle through the cotton of her T-shirt. A fragile bird. Constrained like this, she seemed like an angel with her wings clipped.
He brushed his fingers over her arm. “Cle.” The first word he’d spoken today. Why did it feel so fucking right? “Wake up.”
She stiffened, then pulled away, giving him the cold shoulder, not that he could blame her. If only he could figure out what was brewing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were heading toward the mother of all disasters. What they both needed was strength. Food.
“I’m going for a shower,” he said, “and when I get back, you’re going to eat. I’ll feed you, bite for bite, if I must.”
Although he felt physically better than what he had in years, he couldn’t put his mind at rest. Leaving her handcuffed a little while longer, he had a quick shower and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He zipped up his boots, tidied the bathroom, and dumped their dirty clothes in a travel bag.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Clelia was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. At least she’d moved. They didn’t speak as he removed the handcuffs. She still said nothing as she took clean clothes from her bag. She discreetly shifted the underwear between a pair of jeans and a tank top. Out of consideration, he looked away, busying himself with pouring coffee until she closed the bathroom door behind her.
Sitting on the bed and sipping his coffee, he listened to the sounds she made. When he heard the water come on, he imagined what he’d missed out on in the graveyard. He imagined her under the spray, naked. When it turned off, he saw her wrap the towel around herself in his mind’s eye, but what was missing from the picture was him at her back, his hands on her wet skin, moving the towel down to where her hips curved out. The images that flashed through his mind rewarded him with a painful hard-on, which wasn’t where he was supposed to be going with this mission.
Frustrated, he paced the room. He checked his watch. It was almost time to make contact with the team to report with a daily update. So far, there was no sign of Erwan d’Ambois. There were a million places he could hide. Eventually, with the means at their disposal, they would find him, but it would take time. Precious time. The government demanded an end to the fires. They wanted a culprit, someone to blame. The quicker, the better. They’d reckoned it would be faster to draw the old man out using his grandchild as bait. Cain was very specific when he asked about the probability of achieving success with such a method. Joss had said it was their best chance, and now he regretted suggesting this strategy. He couldn’t know he’d develop a sudden sense of responsibility toward Clelia—possessiveness if he had to call a spade a spade—or that Cain had more on his agenda than solving another crime.
There were things that didn’t add up. The rumors about Clelia’s mother still bothered him. It was too much of a coincidence, but Clelia was clean. He’d tasted her blood twice. At that thought, his cock twitched. Brushing away the unethical thoughts, he double-checked the perimeter alarms.
At eight sharp, he punched the code into his phone that gave him a direct, secure line to Cain.
“A beautiful morning,” Cain said. “I’m having breakfast on the deck. I could get used to this. May try my hand at some fishing later.”
“Any new info?”
“Has Erwan made contact?”
“Not yet. I’ve left a secure number with a message from Clelia with the fishermen and in various brasseries. If any of them had contact with him, he would’ve called by now.”
“We need to get her out of there. You’ve got eyes trained on you.”
His gut clenched. “Who?”
“Lann picked up a little spying eye in the sky. It was piggybacking on a weathe
r satellite.”
“Lupien?”
“Hard to say, but not every jackass can afford private satellite time.”
He started shoving the electronic equipment back into his bag. “You know where I am?”
“Courtesy of your peeping tom. You’re running out of time as we speak. Lupien is probably already on his way.”
Fuck. “Why didn’t you contact me as soon as you got the information?”
Cain chuckled. “I enjoyed spying on you too much.”
“Cain,” Joss said, his muscles tensing, “this isn’t a fucking game.”
“You seem to be playing it nicely.”
His tone was clipped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Is seducing her an effective method of obtaining information? Shouldn’t you try torture?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Joss hissed.
“I’ve never heard you emotional before.”
“Cut through the crap, Cain. The fires could’ve been a set-up to get you here. It could be a trap.”
“Maybe. Most probably. Which is why we have to act even faster than what we thought. Time has run out. A firestarter was found dead in Normandy this morning. I don’t have to tell you how many of them are left.”
Damn. That left two—Lupien and whoever he was after.
“Lupien is now officially the most powerful firestarter in existence,” Cain continued. “He’d take great joy in burning you alive.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Bring the girl to the safe house. We need to keep her on the water. Lann can use his art here to counteract any possible attacks from Lupien.”
“Then what?” he asked, zipping up the bag.
“Then you better hope Erwan loves his granddaughter very, very much.”
His hand stilled on the strap. “You still owe me forty-eight hours.”
Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1) Page 13
