Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  The man lifted his hands. “Whoa. I just work here.”

  “Stay where you are,” Joss said when the cleaner crept to the door.

  “I just work here too,” the cleaner said. “I ain’t looking for no trouble.”

  “Who else works here?” Joss asked, directing the question at the bartender.

  “Me, him,” he nodded at the cleaner, “another barman, and a few waitresses.”

  “I’m looking for a woman called Cléane de Villiers.”

  “I can’t give up that kind of information. Who are you anyways?”

  “You could say I’m a cop, the kind who doesn’t stick to the law.” Joss hopped over the counter and pushed the barrel against the man’s leg. “Will a bullet in your knee help to loosen your tongue?”

  The man swallowed.

  Joss lowered his mouth to the man’s ear. “Do you need a little extra motivation?”

  “There’s a Chinese girl,” the man said.

  “What does she look like?”

  “I just said she’s Chinese.”

  Joss released the safety. “Describe her, asshole.”

  “Short. Black hair. Dark eyes. Hot.”

  Pulling back his arm, Joss hooked his fist under the man’s jaw. The bartender staggered into the shelves, making the bottles rattle.

  “What the fuck was that for?” the man asked, steadying himself.

  “For disrespecting her.” For seeing her like that.

  The second punch broke the barman’s nose.

  Cursing, he grabbed his nose. Blood poured through his fingers. “I told you what you wanted to know. Why the fuck did you break my nose?”

  “She’s Japanese, you ignorant bastard. Where can I find her?”

  “She lives in the block next door,” he said in a nasal voice. “Rooftop.”

  Joss swiped a finger over the man’s hand, catching a drop of blood. The cleaner stood frozen. Both men looked on with big eyes when Joss licked his finger clean. The asshole was telling the truth.

  Joss kept his weapon trained on the man as he rounded the bar and headed for the door. “You can take this as her resignation.”

  The man mumbled an insult, but Joss was in too much of a rush to get to Clelia to care.

  He hurried to the building next door, preparing to fight in case the men from the bar had warned the doorman, but there was no concierge. From the reception desk where he was required to sign in, he gathered it was a business block. He glanced at the plaque on the wall and chose the floor number of a recruitment company to sign next to his fictional name, not that the receptionist was paying attention. He was too busy watching a rugby match on a portable television.

  Joss took the fire escape. When he exited on the rooftop, he looked around for a penthouse level, but there was only a loose-standing unit that resembled an engine room, the type that held geysers and wiring. It couldn’t be this.

  He carefully rounded the room. The only window faced away from the street. The curtain was drawn. Next to the door stood a camping chair and a pot with flowers. At the signs of habitation, Joss’s gut clenched in anticipation.

  His pulse throbbed in his temples when he tried the knob. The door was locked. If this was indeed where Clelia lived, would she let him in? No chance in hell. After his performance in France, she was sure to have trust issues. Knowing he knew what she was, she’d believe he was here to hunt her, which, in a way, he was. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  It took him three seconds to pick the cheap lock. He cursed for how easy it was, his chest constricting at the knowledge of how effortless it could’ve been for anyone else. He turned the knob, careful to be quiet. The door squeaked when he pushed it open. It needed oil.

  He paused in the frame for a heartbeat to take in the scene. The squeaking had woken the woman who’d been asleep on the bed. She shot upright, her face alert like someone who never slept too deeply, someone on the run.

  The vise around his ribcage gave marginally. He dragged a deep breath of the stale, humid air inside the room into his lungs. She was here. She was alive. He took her in with greedy eyes. Clelia was dressed in a short, black skirt and white blouse. Her hair was braided and tied with ribbons, making her look impossibly young and vulnerable. Perspiration shone on her forehead. The room was like an oven. He registered everything with a single glance—the dingy interior, the peeling paint, the two-plate stove on a table against the wall, the bathroom cubicle in the corner, and the fear in her eyes.

  He closed the door with a soft click. She squirmed up the mattress, pressing her back against the wall.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “How did you find me?” she whispered.

  Anger roiled through him, only buffered by his relief. “Does it matter?” Moving to the bed, he said, “I told you to never run from me.”

  When she stared at him with those huge eyes, he wanted to strip her and fuck her just to be sure she was real. He controlled himself with much effort, doing no more than reaching out to touch her face, but she winced and flattened herself against the wall. Her reaction was expected, by all means normal, but it grated on him. This was going to take some patience.

  He dropped his hand. “I told you I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “What then?” Her voice shook. “To question me? To lock me up?”

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shook his head with a disapproving smile. “Why didn’t you tell me about your art?” This time, when he brushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead, she didn’t pull away. “That was naughty of you, little witch.”

  She lifted her chin, her dainty nostrils flaring. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “All I could think about since the day you ran was sinking inside you and taking what I’ve missed the first time.” He gave her a level look. “So no, I’m not going to kill you.”

  “Is that why you’re here then? To fuck me?”

  Damn her. His cock stirred. “First, little girl,” he said, twisting her braid around his fist, “I’ll make love to you.” He let his smile stretch, the gesture calculated and cold while his body ran hot. “Then I’ll fuck you.”

  She spat her words at him like poison. “In your dreams.”

  “In my bed and where the hell ever I want.” He tightened his grip in her hair, pulling her face so close only a breath of air separated their lips. “Don’t look so put off. This is what you’ve always wanted.” He lowered his voice, letting the threat spill into his tone. “Isn’t that what you were after when you stalked me? Don’t you know girls who don’t want to get burned shouldn’t play with fire?”

  She yanked sideways, her large eyes brimming with insult and hurt. “You’re not the man I thought you were.”

  He had to let the silky braid go or risk tearing the hair from her scalp. “Does the version of me you constructed in your romantic little head not fit the reality? You thought I was tormented and wronged but a good man underneath? You thought you could save me?”

  Her chest rose with a shaky breath, anger mixing with the hurt in her eyes.

  “Sorry, little witch.” He uttered a wry chuckle. “I’m not here to lie to you. I’m here to take what’s mine.”

  “You mean steal it,” she bit out.

  “I’m not taking anything you haven’t given first.” He raised a brow, challenging her to contradict the statement.

  “You’re a jerk,” she said with angry tears building in her eyes.

  There was no point denying the truth. But enough of that. He wasn’t here to make her cry. Getting to his feet, he walked to the rail in the corner and flipped through the meagre wardrobe. “Why are you here, Cle?”

  Accusation rang in her voice. “You know why I ran.”

  “I’m not talking about that.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Is this where you live?”

  “I had no money when I came here. Work is scarce.” She added in a defensive tone, “This is what I can afford.”

 
; He went on to inspecting the contents of a minifridge. One of the hinges was missing. The door almost came off when he opened it. “Tell me about the bar.”

  “What about the bar?”

  Judging by the apples and butter in the fridge, it didn’t look like she ate well. He shut the door and turned back to face her. He kept the question nonchalant, but the need to know grew in him like a cancer. “Did the men touch you?”

  She looked away. “No.”

  “But they wanted to?” he asked, his anger not abated.

  “Some.”

  He’d fucking kill each one of them. God forbid he should ever run into any of them on the street. “Did they look at you?”

  “I was too busy working to notice,” she said, glaring back at him.

  That line of question wasn’t helping the self-control he needed. He’d found her. That was all that mattered. Forcing the image of another man’s eyes roaming over her body down with much difficulty, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the firestarting?”

  Her eyes flared. “Jeez, I don’t know, Joss. Maybe because if you knew you’d kill me?”

  “Drop the sass, Cle. Why did your blood mask it? How did you do it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He clenched his hands. “You fucking lied to me.”

  “I didn’t know,” she exclaimed. “Not until it happened.”

  He considered her answer for a moment, taking in her frail form on the bed. He believed her. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have run from me. I warned you about that.”

  “So what?” She scoffed. “Now you get to punish me?”

  She’d be afraid if she knew. Mockingly, he said, “Finders, keepers.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t belong to you.”

  He walked back to the bed and bent over her, placing his arms on either side of her body on the mattress. “That ache I bet you felt between your legs after fucking me says otherwise.”

  She struck out, but he caught her wrist before her hand could connect with his cheek. “You hit me, and you’ll regret it.”

  She yanked her arm from his hold. “It happened once. It doesn’t mean a thing.” Her voice shook. “It doesn’t count for anything.”

  “Once or a hundred times, it doesn’t matter. I fucking came inside you. You can pretend all you want what we shared didn’t count, but it would never make it less real.”

  “Whatever you think that was isn’t real.”

  Like hell. “It’s fucking real.” He gripped her chin. “It’s staring at me right now. I came over a continent to find it.”

  She jerked her face away. “Just kill me already or leave.”

  He straightened, smiling down at her with all the coldness her betrayal ignited in his heart. “You don’t think it’s going to be that easy?”

  The anger that glittered in her eyes shifted, letting in hatred. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “Get up.”

  “Why?” she asked, the word sounding breathless with the fear she tried so bravely to hide.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Making his voice hard, he said, “Now, Cle.”

  She glanced at the door. “Is your team waiting outside?”

  “They don’t know I’m here.” Well, they knew he was in South Africa, but not that he was with her.

  Her lips parted before she clamped them together, probably deciding if she should believe him. After another beat, she asked, “Cain didn’t send you?”

  “No one knows you’re alive.” Taking her wrist, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. “I suggest we get a move on. Lupien must be close on your tail.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I’ve been careful.”

  “I found you, didn’t I?”

  Her face paled.

  “Let’s go,” he said, dragging her to her feet.

  She held back. “Not until you tell me where.”

  “You lost that right when you bailed on me, little witch.”

  “Wait.” She dug in her heels. “I came home from work only a few hours ago. At least let me have a shower.”

  He glanced at the cubicle with the cracked tiles and molded shower curtain. “If you need a shower, you can have it at my hotel.”

  There was a lot of wasted time to make up for, a whole fucking lot she owed him, and he was looking forward to remembering it this time.

  Chapter 23

  With white marble pillars and winged cupids painted in pastels and gold on the ceilings, the Westcliff Hotel was impressive, but Joss hadn’t chosen the place for its decor. He’d picked it for its security that included guards around the clock and a fingerprint sign-in at the door.

  He brought his little witch straight to his suite, which was ten times the size of the room in which she’d lived for the past four months. The comparison made him clench his fists. She was his responsibility. Poverty wasn’t a fate she’d suffer with him. When she’d run, she’d taken away his right to take care of her. The jump had been daring and irresponsible. Didn’t she know how easily she could’ve died? Didn’t she realize how lucky she was Lupien hadn’t found her first?

  Pushing away the dark thoughts, he pulled open the closet. “I brought your clothes.”

  Accusation burned in her dark eyes. “Were you that sure of finding me?”

  She shouldn’t expect anything less of him. “Of course.”

  “I see,” she said in a flat voice, trailing her fingers over the dresses on the hangers. “What now?” She turned back to pin him with a gaze. “Why am I here?”

  “Show me,” he said, advancing on her.

  She backed up into the clothes, all but falling into the closet. “Show you what?”

  He towered over her, not giving her the reprieve of space. Her defiance made it difficult to shed the anger the idea of losing her had ignited. The fear. “Your art.”

  Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what, witch?” he asked, gripping the shelf above her head and leaning in.

  “I can’t do it.” She ducked underneath his arm and darted past him.

  He let her get away. For now. Smiling to himself, he straightened and turned.

  She stood with her back to him, facing the balcony doors. “I don’t even know if…”

  “If what?” he asked, unable to stop himself from moving closer. Her pull on him was magnetic, her spell black magic.

  “I don’t know if it was me.”

  He frowned. “If what was you?”

  She spun around. “If I started the fires.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Shaking her head, she looked away. “Nothing.”

  In one step, he was in front of her. Judging by her flinch when he gripped her chin and turned her face back to him, he’d been less gentle than he intended.

  “No more lies,” he said through thin lips. “Your life is at stake, and so is mine.”

  She pulled away, escaping his touch. “I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”

  “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I didn’t find you first?” Each word was measured. “You could’ve died ten times over already.”

  “What do you expect me to say? Thank you?”

  For the love of the gods, she was an obstinate little witch. He wanted to pull her over his lap, push up that too-short skirt, and spank her pink, like she deserved. If only her blood didn’t lie, he could’ve settled this easily enough.

  Frustration welled up in him. “We’re running out of time. I have ways of extracting information, but I prefer not to use them on you. Now make that pretty mouth useful and tell me the truth for once.”

  Her manner was hesitant as she studied him. He bet her mind was working at a mile a minute, trying to get ahead of him in the game, but it was already checkmate for her.

  “Nothing you say will change your fate,” he said, “so you may just as well go ahead and tell me.” He
added in a sinister tone, “One way or another, I will find out.”

  The silence dragged on for another few seconds before she finally said, “A month before you came, at the same time the fires started, I started having a dream, the same dream, and whenever I dreamt it, I walked in my sleep.”

  “You sleepwalked?”

  “Sometimes I woke up in a different room of the house, but sometimes I woke up someplace else, like in the woods.”

  Fuck. He didn’t even want to think about the million dangers and all the things that could’ve happened to her.

  “I begged Erwan to lock me into my room at night, but his heart wouldn’t let him,” she continued. “He told me it wasn’t me. He said I’d set fire to things only twice, when I was three years old, and never again.”

  He stood motionless, waiting for her to continue.

  “I wanted to go to the authorities and hand myself over, but Erwan said it wouldn’t accomplish anything because they’d only use me as a scapegoat.”

  Yeah. Erwan had been wise.

  “Erwan said it was best we both went into hiding for a few months until the dust had settled. I was on my way to the jetty to take his boat when you arrived.”

  The fires were malicious. Being evil wasn’t in her making. Not yet. “Cain is certain it was Lupien.”

  She considered his answer, then shook her head. “Why would he do that?”

  “It’s a way of awakening a regressed art.”

  “Is that why you couldn’t pick it up from my blood, because it’s regressed?”

  “Maybe.” If she wasn’t lying, it was the only explanation that made sense.

  “How could Lupien have known this if he’s never met me?”

  “I don’t know, but Lupien is a clever man. His motive for setting a whole village on fire wasn’t only to draw out a virgin firestarter. I suspect he also knew it would draw out his enemy.”

  “Cain.”

  “Two birds with one stone.”

  “If that was so, why didn’t he try to kill Cain?”

  “He did. He tried to kill us, remember? The shooting was an effort to get to you. When Cain realized Lupien was involved, I took you to the safe house. Then you escaped, and Lupien disappeared.” He gave her a level look. “Like I’ve said before, he’s still after you.”