Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  “Then follow me.”

  He took off at preternatural speed, Ruth right behind him. They flew by homes, their feet barely touching pavement. He glanced back. Her hair streamed behind her like a glorious copper-glinting flag as she easily kept pace with what he knew humans would perceive as a blur or a rush of air. After a few minutes, he slowed to a walk, and Ruth followed suit. Neither of them panted, a side effect of their unhuman state.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  Her wind-swept hair tangled around her shoulders. How good would it feel to draw a brush through those long luxurious waves, have those silky strands draped all over his naked body. Or over her body. Or spread out on a bed, like the rest of her?

  His groin tightened. Again? He was like a teenager with his first crush. Ridiculous.

  All day, he’d been distracted. When he’d held her in his arms earlier today, she had smelled like mint and lavender, tasted more delicious than anything he’d ever experienced, and those curves had fit perfectly against him.

  And now she might be the key to his plan to destroy Jerahmeel.

  With the unpleasant visitation from the Lord of Hell fresh on her mind, maybe he could press her for help. And if he got to run his tongue over her curves along the way? More the better. Right?

  “I thought we might share a meal?”

  He gestured toward the front door of a small restaurant where they had stopped. The scents of garlic, spice, and cooked meat wafted out into the street, and a warm glow spilled from the wavy glass windows onto the sidewalk.

  “Do you always grab a bite to eat in stressful situations?”

  One side of her full mouth quirked upward, and suddenly, he had little interest in restaurant dining and a heightened interest in tasting her lips.

  He grinned. “After getting away from Jerahmeel, a fine meal seems like a great idea.”

  “Yes, but for how long will he stay away?” Sadness turned down the corners of her lush mouth.

  “I don’t know, but that’s why we should enjoy tonight.”

  She countered, “You and I don’t need food.”

  “Need and want are two different things. I want to have a meal with a fascinating woman. I need her to join me, or I shall perish.”

  She was a little prickly tonight, this beautiful, defiant woman. Perfect. A test of wills. Something he hadn’t experienced in hundreds of years. He’d been with feisty women but none who could truly match him. He did love a challenge, especially if it concluded with her in his bed.

  When she peered down the street, her sculpted face half hidden in shadow, the play of emotions over her features entranced him. She pinned him with those gold-flecked eyes.

  Not only could she be the difference in success and failure in his scheme, but what a bonus if he could get those long, soft legs thrown over his shoulders as they made inexhaustible love. Odie simply needed to work a different angle until he had everything he wanted.

  He waited for her answer.

  “All right.”

  Chapter 7

  Odie held the heavy door of Chez Herbert and motioned for Ruth to precede him. When he brushed his fingers over the small of her back, a frisson of electricity pulsed through the material and zipped up her spine. As they entered the opulent restaurant, she glanced at the tables set with crystal stemware and gold-rimmed dishes. The wood paneling gleamed, and pressed linen covered the tables. The scents of furniture oil, savory steak, and melted candle wax blended in a rich aroma. Although the establishment was small, its tables didn’t crowd the customers. Comfortable and luxurious at the same time. And expensive.

  Heat crawled over her cheeks as she smoothed her knit top and pants. She glanced at Odie in his jeans and denim shirt from earlier today. They were both underdressed.

  “We can’t eat here.” She motioned toward the lingering customers, clad in elegant evening gowns and three-piece suits. “Besides, it’s too late. The restaurant’s closing down for the night.”

  “Don’t worry. Besides, my clothing is more casual than yours.”

  He ran a hand through his tousled hair. Although his chest filled out the untucked shirt and rock-hard cords rippled beneath his jeans, she agreed with his assessment of their attire.

  Ingrained decorum urged her to withdraw. Damn those old-fashioned manners, a holdover from the old Ruth. She needed to let go of that passive woman who cared about everyone’s opinion and embrace the woman she wanted to be—the woman who might take a chance on a rogue like Odie.

  “Let’s leave. Please.” She tugged at his muscled arm. He didn’t budge.

  “Nonsense.” He waved at a middle-aged man who approached. “Ah, here’s the maitre d’.”

  The tuxedoed restaurant host dipped his head and smiled. Ruth cringed in embarrassment.

  Odie smiled. “Philippe, any chance you can fit in a late-night customer?”

  “Of course, Mr. Pierre-Noir, we always have a table for you. And for your lovely companion.”

  Funny, but the host’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at the two of them. Almost as if he truly didn’t mind them arriving at his restaurant close to midnight.

  “We don’t want to be any trouble,” she said.

  “No trouble at all, mademoiselle, it would be my pleasure. Right this way, if you please.”

  The old Ruth took a backseat as the muscles holding her spine rigid finally relaxed. Damned if Odie didn’t shrug those broad shoulders and wink at her. And damned if she didn't giggle like a schoolgirl. At a corner table, Odie held out a chair and scooted her forward, brushing her arms in the process, which released a tendril of happiness that flowed through her body. She hadn’t enjoyed a gentleman’s solicitous attention since those elegant dinner parties in Maryland 150 years ago. Barnaby didn’t count; he was more like her father.

  After Odie ordered a wine, the maitre d’ left moist towels for them to clean their hands and faded away. Ruth tried to ignore the streaks of red on the fabric, folded the tinted fabric inward, and sighed.

  The candlelight made Odie’s green eyes dance with even more mischief, as if he had a joke to tell. Oddly, she rather enjoyed wondering about his thoughts.

  Tempting as it might be to use her power, she wouldn’t invade his privacy or risk exposing her secret. Normal communication would have to suffice.

  When he reached out and took her hand in a feather-gentle grip, she jumped. He didn’t move but watched her, eyebrows raised. Patient. Waiting.

  Go away, old Ruth.

  After a few moments, she did something foreign and relaxed and simply enjoyed the contact. Thick tendons beneath his tanned skin flexed with strength in that broad grip. Although his paw engulfed her hand, he cradled her like a piece of crystal, and she savored the delicious sensations that rolled up her arm.

  “Thank you for doing me the honor of a meal together,” he said.

  His tenor voice, barely above a whisper in the hushed restaurant, sent chills down her spine. She wondered what that voice would sound like in another intimate venue, right next to her ear as they lay surrounded by soft sheets and pillows.

  Shame on you. He’s simply being kind. You have no business thinking differently about this man. Or any man.

  “Thank you. I haven’t had a nice meal out like this for a very long time.”

  “Nor have I. And certainly not with such a lovely companion.”

  The rough pad of his thumb caressing the back of her hand erased coherent thought. How did he do that? Did he have some sort of hidden power, too, an ability to control her mind or her emotions? Could he read her thoughts? Maybe he had something else in mind for tonight. Panic fluttered in her chest like a bird’s wing, caught in a net. She stiffened.

  “Odie, I don’t want—”

  “Shush, chère. Let’s enjoy an extravagant meal together as though we were normal humans without a care in the world. For one night, we’ll pretend.”

  Pretending. A skill she had perfected over the past 150 years. Whether human or Indebted, she
no longer wanted to deal with the weight of maintaining a façade.

  For one night, we’ll pretend.

  Fair enough.

  She sighed beneath the slow rhythm of his thumb on her skin. Divine. The movement loosened muscles in her back and neck, and deeper in her core, something else opened up a crack that felt suspiciously like a chink in the armor around her guarded heart. Maybe she could let down her defenses for one night.

  He eased his hand away when the maitre d’ returned. After Odie tasted and approved, Philippe filled their glasses with wine and withdrew.

  The sweet citrus tang of the red wine mixed with the oak tartness as the tastes danced over her tongue.

  “What kind of wine is this? It’s delicious.”

  “It’s a 1961 Petrus. From a small vintner in the Bordeaux region that fermented very exclusive wines. Many consider this to be one of the best wines in the last 100 years. Très magnifique.” He kissed his fingers. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat? I can call Philippe back over.”

  “I’m not sure what to get; it all looks wonderful,” she said.

  “Would you allow me to order for you?”

  For a split second, she hesitated. The last time she’d ceded control to a man, the result had been disastrous. Frantic panic punched a fist into her gut. She finally nodded but couldn’t meet his patient and eager expression.

  He rattled off their order in French.

  “Did you understand that?” he said.

  “Some of it.”

  “Let me explain what delicacies you will enjoy this evening.”

  He proceeded to list the dishes he’d ordered in enough detail to make her mouth water in anticipation. It didn’t hurt that the mellow voice passing through those strong and sensuous lips would make a hamburger and fries sound delectable.

  She creased the serviette into a precise line. “My French is rusty. Learning it was part of my education, back in the day. Schooling was meant to make marriageable society ladies out of girls and such.”

  “Did the school help?”

  “They married me off, so it must have worked.”

  “Interesting way to say it.”

  “Interesting time of life. A long time ago.”

  He chuckled. When he sipped the wine, a red drop clung to his upper lip. She leaned forward as if drawn like a magnet. The moisture disappeared as he rolled his lips together, the short whiskers nearly meeting in the middle.

  After a moment, she remembered to breathe and continued. “And no, speaking French didn’t help me one bit. Years after my change into an Indebted, I went to nursing school and got a real education. The matrons of Perry’s School for Young Women would have been horrified that I aided the sick and the destitute. That wasn’t part of the curriculum they taught us ‘ladies of a certain station’.”

  Odie’s grin mirrored her own.

  “Oh well,” she said, letting the wine slide down the back of her throat.

  Their kind, the Indebted, never got drunk due to their supernatural healing ability, but she could at least enjoy the brief heat as the full-bodied red reached her stomach. After that, the liver regenerated too quickly for intoxication to occur.

  “So you and Jerahmeel, huh?” Odie asked.

  The slide of liquid stopped halfway down her throat and she coughed. Her hackles rose again.

  She immediately went to her emotionless, polite expression.

  No. Stop hiding.

  Well, it certainly took guts to work Satan into casual dinner conversation. Odie’s eyes twinkled.

  She glared at him until he put up his hands.

  Two could play this game.

  “So you and Jerahmeel, huh?” She shot back.

  “Touché. But mind you, chère, I’m not the enemy here. He is.”

  “I know. But what can we do? He’s now bending his own rules. What’s next?” She rubbed her arms.

  “You’re right. It’s a disturbing expansion of his power. He cannot continue in this way. What would you suggest?” he asked.

  Her toes tingled beneath the intense green stare, his focus not completely uncomfortable but not calming either. It stirred up uneasiness deep inside, something she couldn’t quite name, like a big decision that remained out of reach.

  “What would I suggest? I’m not answering that question. You never know when you-know-who will show up unannounced.” The back of her neck prickled. Before she could stop herself, she glanced over her shoulder, cursing how Jerahmeel’s unwanted attention had changed her, physically and emotionally. How could she, with all of her power and longevity, be scared of anything?

  Easy, when that “anything” comprised the only creature who could make her life more hellish than it already was.

  He sat back and rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t it bother you? How he’s got you back on your heels, off-balance?”

  “Of course it bothers me. After a hundred years of his escalating come-ons, wouldn’t you be tired of it by now? I expect him at all of my kills nowadays.”

  “Interesting.”

  “That’s not the term I’d use for it.”

  “No, chère. What I meant was that it’s interesting how he expends a great deal of energy to poof in and find you. Especially tonight. You’re far away from the nearest vortex, yet he continues to show up. In Portland, you were right around the corner, energetically speaking. He probably comes from Mount Shasta or a secondary portal like Mount Rainier. But with all his traveling, that leaves him with less energy for other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like security. Like taking precautions with his lairs.”

  “Doesn’t he have minions for that?”

  “It takes a lot of energy for him to make and maintain minions. And his recent ones have been destroyed.”

  Another Indebted, Dante, had destroyed a minion a month ago, which she didn’t believe possible, given how strong minions purportedly were. Of course, Dante had been exceptionally motivated by insane rage and fear for his mortal love, Hannah. Ruth had arrived just in time to bear witness and ensure that Jerahmeel stuck with the rules. She could still recall the gruesome sound of the minion’s bones snapping under Dante’s crushing blows until he had annihilated the creature.

  Jerahmeel stuck with the rules. That day.

  She shuddered, imaging more nasty minions. “So who protects Jerahmeel?”

  “No one. He leaves it to chance that none of us will get free of our knife lust long enough to track him down.”

  “What happens if we find him but we can’t destroy him?”

  “You think you’re living in hell now?” His eyes no longer danced.

  Suddenly, lightheadedness hit her. This conversation could not be headed in a worse direction. The wine turned metallic on her tongue, and her mouth went dry.

  “What? Would you rather spend centuries more in this life of slavery?” he asked.

  “I don’t know which is worse—living a shell of an existence on Earth or diving straight into hell with him.”

  “Both are wrong. Both can be stopped.”

  She pressed her palms to the tabletop. “It’s impossible. What you’re suggesting has been attempted before. And they failed.”

  “We can do better.”

  “No. Don’t look to me for help.”

  “Hey, I’m only making interesting conversation.”

  She didn’t buy the innocent act for a minute.

  He wrapped his fingers around the stem of his wineglass in a move that managed to be both elegant and strong at the same time. Swirling the wine, he studied the legs of the liquid on the glass and inhaled deeply. As he placed his lips on the rim, a bolt of desire shot into her pelvis, and she found herself enthralled by his sensual mouth. She caught herself running a finger over the edge of her own wine glass. When he swallowed the liquid, his bobbing Adam’s apple riveted her attention to that spot on his neck.

  His mellow voice startled her from the woolgathering, and her cheeks burned as she tore her gaz
e from his corded neck to his face. A sardonic quirk to the corner of his mouth told her she’d been caught looking.

  “But what if you could do something about him? Would you?” he asked.

  “It’s a moot point.”

  “What if it weren’t?”

  “I’m not playing this game. Change the topic.”

  Fatigue lined his face as he exhaled.

  She inhaled the Petrus along with a hint of his spicy, masculine scent.

  “All right, chère. We can talk about other things.” He sipped again. “How did you come to be Indebted?”

  Sadness squeezed her chest so hard, it hurt to breathe, even after all these years. “I don’t want to tell that story. Please. It would ruin the meal.”

  After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Odie straightened up and cleared his throat.

  “I did not mean to bring up such painful times,” he said.

  “Not your fault. I’m not one for bringing up my past.”

  The last time she had seen her son and daughter with their smiling, rosy faces, she had given them big hugs. Even now she could feel their wriggling bodies in her arms. A dagger twisted in her heart. Behind their beautiful faces, she could also visualize her husband, William, his cruel face purple with rage, probably counting the seconds until she was gone. A strange lump lodged in her throat.

  She took another sip of wine in an effort to drive down the tightness in her throat along with her memories. Holy hell, how long had it been since she dwelled on this pain and explored her punishment? How about never? She refused to think about the past, much less discuss it over dinner.

  Odie waited with a solemn expression. Beneath the curl of dark brown hair, the black slashes of his eyebrows drew together.

  Before she had to produce an answer to the unspoken question, Philippe saved her by delivering their steaming appetizers.

  Stirring the crab bisque soup, the tomato and seafood essence wafted up from the bowl. The tender crab pieces blended beautifully with beads of tapioca starch that captured the creamy liquid and transported it to her taste buds with every bite. For a moment, she lost herself in the enjoyment of the meal.