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

by Charmaine Pauls

  When she didn’t answer, he pushed open the door. The silver of his eyes lit with appreciation as he ran his gaze over her. “The priest is waiting.” He turned toward the altar.

  “Why are you doing this, Joss?”

  Pausing, he said without looking back at her, “It’s who I am.” After no more than a beat, he continued down the aisle.

  Steeling her spine, she said, “I’m not doing this.”

  He stopped again, this time turning slowly to face her. His expression was as unreadable as his voice, void of emotion. “Maybe this escaped you,” he said, walking back to her, “but I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

  “No.” She looked up at him, her hands shaking with fury. “You’re ordering me to.”

  His eyes thinned, crinkling in the corners. “I’m glad you understand.”

  Clenching her hands into fists, she could only stare at him.

  “I was going to wait for you at the altar like a groom, but maybe it’s better if you go first.” He swept an arm through the air. “After you.”

  She wasn’t going to win. It was a battlefield he’d tricked her onto by clouding her defenses with lust. She should’ve run the minute she’d spotted the chapel. She should’ve known.

  Joss raised a brow. “Tonight still, witch.”

  Unable to keep the bite from her tone, she said, “Haven’t you forgotten something in all your foresight?”

  His brow climbed another inch, impatience emanating from his imposing frame.

  She turned, glancing back at him from over her shoulder with her hands propped on her hips.

  For a moment he looked surprised, maybe that he could’ve overlooked such an obvious detail, but he quickly schooled his features. “Of course.”

  Her stance was defiant. It was a small victory, inconsequential, yet one she was fully set on rubbing in his face. A step fell on the stone floor, echoing in the space, and then his hands were on her waist, just below hers. She dropped her arms, letting them hang uncomfortably at her sides. When he cupped her hips to pull her closer however, she couldn’t pretend she still had any standing or pride. She looked away. She didn’t want him to witness the defeat on her face.

  His fingers brushed her skin as he pulled the back of the dress together to fasten the first button. Warmth tingled where his touch lingered, the pads of his fingers abrasive as he worked his way up her spine.

  When the last button was done, he pulled away. “There.”

  There.

  That one little word said so many things—he was done, she was dressed, they were ready, and now they could start. Sometimes, the word meant to soothe, to convey that everything was all right. So many meanings, and she wasn’t ready for any of them.

  She lifted a foot, still wearing her boots under the wedding dress, but instead of turning to him, she took a step toward the open door. It was instinctive, her urge to flee taking over since there wouldn’t be a fair fight.

  This time, he didn’t lead the way or send her ahead. He turned her gently, took her hand, placed it on his arm, and walked her to the waiting priest. The freezing night seeped through the walls, chilling her to the bone. The setting was an eerie mixture of gray, dilapidated stones surrounding a crumbling altar and the soft white of flowers in the golden glow of the candlelight. The decoration didn’t match the ruins. It was all wrong.

  The thick-set man dressed in a white robe with a black collar and a golden cross on a chain around his neck glanced at his watch as they stopped in front of him.

  He picked up a Bible and held it out to Joss. “Your right hand, please.”

  Joss placed his palm on the Bible.

  “Make your vow,” the priest continued.

  Joss looked at her. “I take you as my wife, Clelia d’Ambois, for better or worse. Forever.”

  “Your turn,” the priest said to her. She glared at him, but all he said was, “I don’t have all night.”

  “She’ll take me as her husband,” Joss said when she didn’t speak.

  “Fine.” The priest sighed. “Just say yes. That’ll do.”

  Joss hooked an arm around her waist, tightening his fingers on her hip as he bent down and pressed a whisper against her ear. “Think about Erwan. That should make it easier.”

  She jerked her face sideways to look at him. “I hate you.”

  His jaw hardened. “I know.”

  “Come now,” the priest said. “I’d like to get back before midnight.”

  She curled her fingers until her nails cut into her palms.

  The priest sighed. “Whatever. You’re married. Husband and wife.” He took a piece of paper from the Bible and handed it to Joss. “Here’s your license.”

  A muscle ticked in Joss’s temple. “She’ll say it.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” The priest tapped his foot.

  What was the point of refusing? They were already married by law, thanks to Joss’s unscrupulous manipulations. He’d either bribed the priest or the priest owed him a favor.

  “Go on, little witch. Say it.”

  She clamped her lips together.

  “One little word,” Joss coaxed, “and we can all go to our warm fires and soft beds.”

  “It’s done,” she gritted out. “What difference does it make what I say?”

  “I want to hear it,” Joss said, his gaze turning several degrees colder. “Humor me.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, her anger flaring like red-hot coals and heating her insides, “damn you both.”

  The priest made the sign of the cross, but Joss only smirked.

  “I’m not afraid of your curses,” he said in a low voice.

  She jerked from his hold as a flash of heat erupted over her body, making her break out in a sweat. “You should be.”

  The heat expanded, making her feel dizzy and nauseous. It made her sick, because it was just like on the yacht, right before she’d produced a ball of fire.

  Stumbling a step, she placed a hand over her stomach.

  No. No, no, no.

  She wasn’t her mother. She didn’t want to be that person.

  Joss reached for her. “Cle?”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  He took a step closer when she took another back. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She took a breath and blew it out. “I’m fine.”

  “Must be the stress,” the priest said, gathering a coat and hat from behind the altar.

  Joss took her arm. “We better get you home.”

  She tried to shake him off, but he wasn’t loosening his grip.

  “Oh, if you want to exchange rings,” the priest said, “now’s the moment.”

  Joss took a small box from his pocket. It held two identical wedding rings of three interlinked bands of white, yellow, and rose gold. He first slipped the smaller one onto her finger before fitting his own.

  It was the sorriest excuse of a ceremony she’d seen. Joss needn’t have bothered. There was nothing sacred about this.

  “Would you like to join us for a glass of champagne at the castle?” Joss asked the priest.

  The unholy man rubbed his hands together. “No thanks.” He was already making his way to the door. “I still have a long way home.”

  “Need a ride?” Joss asked.

  “My car is parked at the back of the castle,” he called before exiting into the night.

  “Unbelievable,” Clelia said, her voice shaking a little. “How did you pull that one off?”

  “Family tradition.”

  “Did all your ancestors drag their wives here against their wills?”

  “Arranged marriages,” he said in a clipped tone. Gripping her elbow, he steered her to the door. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the room where she’d dressed and reappeared with her clothes. After helping her into the coat, he bundled the dress under his arm. “You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.”

  As if food could take away everything that was wrong.

  They made
their way back into the dark forest, Joss’s arm around her waist, presumably to keep her from stumbling.

  “That’s why you ran ahead,” she said, “to make sure the priest was there.”

  “And to check on the setup.”

  Hurt constricted her throat. “I see.”

  He stopped. “You don’t.”

  She waited for him to continue.

  “If I’d asked, you wouldn’t have said yes.”

  “That simple, huh?”

  He continued walking, pulling her behind him. “Yes.”

  She trudged after him, her thoughts and feelings a mess.

  When they exited the forest after the short walk, the night felt even colder. The castle stretched before them like an image of doom, not even the light shining from the windows adding warmth to the picture.

  Their footsteps crunched over the gravel and then echoed on the steps leading to the entrance.

  In front of the wooden door, Joss paused. “Welcome to your new home.”

  She stared up at the towers framing the moon between them. “It’s not my home.”

  Instead of answering, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out.

  “Carrying you over the threshold. Isn’t that how it’s done?”

  She didn’t want any more of his meaningless traditions. “Put me down.”

  Opening the door with the hand in which he still clutched her dress, he carried her into a large reception hall. His footsteps echoed in the hollow space. Empty of furniture, it was cold and gray. Light from candles that were fitted into holders on the walls bounced off the stone. He put her down and kicked the door shut. When he took her hand and led her to a spiral staircase, her heartbeat picked up. This was the moment Joss had been holding out for—the moment they consummated this marriage.

  “Why?” she said, tugging on his hand as he all but dragged her up the stairs. “You didn’t have to marry me.”

  He stopped, staring down at her with a dark expression. “It was the only way of keeping you safe.”

  “Safe from—” She wanted to ask who, but then it hit her. From his team.

  Would Cain truly not kill Joss’s wife? She wasn’t so sure a title alone could protect her.

  They continued their ascent, exiting into a narrow hallway on the first floor illuminated by more candles. The inside smelled of damp, candlewax, and the sulphur of matches. He let her hand go, testing to see if she’d follow. What choice did she have? Where was she going to go? The woods were unsafe and he’d easily catch her if she tried to make it somewhere on foot by road.

  He walked ahead, glancing back at her every now and then, his face tense as if he expected her to run at any moment. There was one way only, and that was forward. As much as she dreaded and feared what lay ahead, they had to finish this. That was what Joss had said. After that, she’d bide her time. She’d find a way. She had to believe that.

  At the end of the hallway, he paused in front of a big door. She slowed her steps, reluctant to reach that destination, but eventually ran out of hallway. He waited quietly until she’d caught up before he opened the door.

  Glancing inside, her breath caught. The bedroom was the size of a hall, fitted with a four-poster bed complete with velvet curtains. Except for an armoire, the bed, and a chest standing at the foot end, there was no other furniture. Instead flowers took up almost all of the space. Bunches of flowers shaped like bells hung from the walls, reaching all the way from the ceiling to the floor. Exotic looking, fragrant white lilies were arranged in vases on the floor. In between the arrangements stood thick, yellow candles that cast a warm glow over the room. Fires burned in two fireplaces, one on each side of the hall, providing ample warmth and the pleasant music that fires made.

  He motioned for her to enter.

  With nowhere else to go and no other choice, she stepped over the threshold and walked to the bed. It was covered with plush cushions and soft looking throws.

  “You look so small against the backdrop of that bed,” he said behind her.

  She jumped, her nerves all over the place.

  “This is the bed where my ancestors consummated their marriages. It seemed fitting to bring you here.”

  Those words breathed a layer of frost over her heart. They meant he was finally embracing the heritage he’d refused to acknowledge before, a heritage that reminded him of his difficult past. He’d never find peace if he couldn’t accept that past. What it meant for her was something entirely different. She’d never be able to make peace with the future he was forcing on her.

  She turned to look up at him. His eyes appeared darker in the soft light of the flames, harder. If she had any hope of changing his mind, it vanished with the cold calculation and heated determination she saw on his face.

  “How did you manage all of this?” she asked, stalling, delaying the inevitable.

  “A florist owed me a favor.” He managed a smile, but the gesture was mechanical. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s very pretty.”

  “Good.” He cupped her cheek. “I want tonight to be perfect.”

  Like their first time hadn’t been. Sadness made her feel raw. Maybe there hadn’t been candlelight and flowers or vows and wedding rings, but it had been perfect in its own way, to her at least.

  Bending down, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She couldn’t stop the quiver that moved through her.

  He pulled away. “Nervous?”

  “Yes.” What was the point of lying? This wasn’t a honeymoon. Their circumstances were far from normal.

  “Do you remember how you felt in the forest when I made you come in my hand?”

  How could she not? Her stomach heated at the memory.

  “This is going to be a lot more intense,” he continued.

  Her heartbeat pulsed in her temples. “I’ve done it, remember?”

  “I don’t. I don’t remember if I went easy on you or gave it my all.” Intent infused his tone. “I can promise you however, I will be gentle tonight.”

  “Why, Joss, don’t hold back on my behalf,” she said in a catty tone.

  “I did promise to make love to you.”

  No fucking. Fear mixed with anticipation, tightening her body. The wetness pooling between her thighs was both unexpected and unwanted.

  “Will you say yes?” he asked.

  The same question he’d posed in Paris. Earlier, in the chapel, it had occurred to her. She’d thought it had referred to a different question then, to, Will you say yes if I asked you to marry me? Instead it pertained to this, to, Will you let me fuck you?

  He waited patiently as she contemplated her options. Yes or no.

  “You’re giving me a choice?” she asked.

  “This I won’t force.”

  Only marriage. “What if I never say yes?”

  “I can be convincing.” His lips twitched. “I have my ways.”

  “Seduction, you mean,” she said with a hint of bitterness, because hadn’t her girlish dreams of him already seduced her with false truths? Not that she could blame him for that. That blame was hers to carry, a mistake made by her foolish heart.

  “Eventually,” he said, sounding much too sure of himself, “I will wear you down.”

  Her answer was snide. “May as well just get it over with then.”

  An answering challenge flickered in his eyes. “As you wish.”

  Like a dog that had growled at a lion, she could only stand there, suddenly uncertain and not sure how to proceed, but Joss made it easy by saying, “Turn around,” and thereby taking the lead.

  This was the true moment. She’d given him her verbal answer, but the choice weighed so much heavier when it came down to action. For a moment, she hesitated, fearing the consequences, but the sooner they started the sooner it would be over. Turning around, she gave him her consent.

  Like in the chapel, his fingers manipulated the buttons of her dress, but this time
his hands worked their way down from her nape, skimming a path down her spine. Ripples ran over her skin, waking goosebumps.

  When the dress fell open around her waist, he said, “Lift your arms.”

  She obeyed. With his hands on her hips, he turned her back to face him. Going down on one knee, he pushed the dress up her legs and hips, and, straightening as he went, finally over her head to leave her only in her lace underwear and the boots that didn’t match the wedding attire.

  He threw the dress over the chest at the foot of the bed and dragged a heated gaze over her body before reaching for her again, this time to push the straps of her bra over her shoulders before releasing the clip at the back.

  Her nipples contracted when he pulled away the underwear and let it drop at her feet. Their eyes met as he tore his gaze away from her breasts. The gray of his irises turned a shade darker when he cupped her breasts. She gasped at the contact, her breasts turning heavy. He stroked the tips with his palms, causing her stomach to flutter as they hardened. She didn’t expect the gentle pinch that extended her nipples. Satisfaction bled into his eyes when an unguarded moan escaped her lips.

  A shiver ran through her when he trailed his fingers over her sides. More heat gathered in her core when he slipped his hands inside the elastic of her panties. Holding her eyes, he pulled them down her legs and waited in silent command for her to step out of them. When she’d obliged, he dragged his palms up her calves to her thighs and over her globes. The touch was light but confident. He knew what he was doing. He was a man exceedingly familiar with the body of a woman, and her inexperience only made her anxiety worse. This was unfamiliar terrain for her, a battlefield on which he had the advantage of knowledge. Her only comfort was that when it came to emotions, she was the more knowledgeable by far, enough to know emotions shouldn’t be a part of this. Ever.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, “every inch of you perfect. You know what I think?” His voice dropped an octave. “I think you were made for me.”

  She wanted to contest that statement, but he scooped her up and lowered her onto the bed. Without a field of dirt and a bed of stones and thorns, she had no idea what to expect, definitely not the soft kiss he planted on her nipple or the swirl of his tongue around the tip. A gentle nip of his teeth made her cry out with a needy sound. Too late to stop it, she bit her tongue.