Flame's Dawn

by Jillian David

  He returned to the couch with a quilt, which he tucked around her. Cocooned in the fleece, the warm, woody scent, and the thick fabric, Jane’s tension seeped away for the first time in as long as she could remember.

  Unfortunately, she slept.

  Chapter 12

  Typically, when he visited his mountain retreat, Barnaby relished the lack of connection with humanity.

  Now? It scared the hell out of him.

  Nothing, not disease, not pestilence, not war, and not even death itself, scared Barnaby. Until now.

  Sure, he had his uncanny instinct for danger, but it meant nothing if an army stormed the cabin.

  Fear, foreign and unsettling, churned in his gut. He paced from the kitchen to the porch, peering out over the once-peaceful mountains and saw nothing but opportunities for danger to hide.

  At least he’d fed the knife, albeit unwittingly, with Thompson’s crony. That meant Barnaby wouldn’t have to leave Jane and travel to a large population center to find a criminal for about a week.

  If he weren’t an Indebted, he’d be free to consider a normal life with Jane. They could do mundane things like go out on a date. As it stood, the longer he and Jane were together, the danger increased.

  However, if he weren’t an Indebted, he wouldn’t have had the preternatural strength to save her.

  Criminy.

  Even if she could heal to the point where she might trust someone with her heart and soul, why would a woman like Jane choose an eternal killer?

  No woman would want his name on her dance card.

  Barnaby was intrinsically corrupted by the evil he had performed over hundreds of years. He didn’t care about the people he killed. It didn’t faze him to take a meal after a kill, even with the scent of blood filling his nostrils. No amount of atonement could ever purge the taint on his soul.

  The worst part of his existence? He no longer felt the modicum of justice or remorse when he stabbed a criminal. It just didn’t matter.

  Barnaby’s connection with humanity had come undone.

  Save one last tiny tether to this mortal world. One last trigger for his sixth sense. His damned power kept sitting up and pointing when it came to Jane. Maybe his extra ability was trying to tell him something.

  Without Jane, he’d be adrift. Lost.

  With Jane, her life would be forfeit.

  He’d do anything to protect her. Even it if meant breaking the last ties he had to his humanity. Even if it meant leaving her alone. He rubbed his fists over his eyes.

  Because ...

  No.

  He eyed the darkening skies and breathed in the cool evening air that drifted through the open windows. Shaking his head, he returned to stand over Jane’s sleeping form.

  When he checked the clock, he did a quick calculation. Jane had slept for more than eight hours.

  She needed her rest. Needed to recover.

  Only, once she recovered her strength, then she’d leave.

  A nasty jealousy for her health flashed by him, like a blast of flame, singeing his good sense as it blew past. He gritted his teeth against the unnatural emotion and tamped it down, like batting out a fire with his bare hands.

  The radio faded in and out with the strains from Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle.”

  The quilt rose and fell with Jane’s slight breaths, and the evening shadows gave her face an eerie, skeletal appearance.

  Because that’s what she would be at the end of her natural life: a skeleton, in the ground like every other mortal.

  And Barnaby would continue unto eternity his maudlin existence, numb to his kills, driven only by the knife’s impulse until ... what? Until nothing. He had no end to the evil.

  Jane shifted and frowned, as if sensing his unsettled mood. Cursing himself as a selfish fool, he eased away from her, taking his black thoughts with him, and stood on the porch, gripping the rail. The only light in the cabin came from a single lantern on the mantel.

  He had lived for more than 400 years. What had he done with his time to make this world better?

  Nothing.

  He had immense Indebted strength. How had he used his power to help humanity?

  Save dabbling in a war here and there, he’d done nothing with it, other than impressing the ladies with his prowess in the bedchamber.

  How about his fortune amassed over the centuries? Had he endowed a university or created a legacy?

  No. He’d done naught with any of it.

  The railing creaked under his grip, and he forced himself to relax his hands lest he destroy one of the few things in this world he cherished.

  A whimper behind him made him whip around.

  Had he misheard?

  “No, not ... please, no ...”

  He skidded to a stop next to the couch, half leaning over as a shield, his senses alert for whatever could hurt her.

  In the twilight, sweat glistened on her forehead as she feebly thrashed on the couch.

  “Jane?” he ventured.

  A moan like an animal being tortured rent his soul in two.

  “Sweetling? Are you all right?” Z’wounds, he hadn’t used that endearment since his time with Bess. Not the time to think about that significance.

  When Jane didn’t answer, he touched her wrist, just the lightest touch.

  The scream that burst from her dry lips terrified him like nothing he’d heard before on this Earth.

  When it continued despite his murmured reassurances, his blood iced.

  Jane’s eyes were open, but she looked right through him. He could only encourage her to wake up and prevent her from falling onto the floor.

  Midscream, she stopped.

  And blinked.

  “Barnaby?” Her hoarse voice abraded his heart like sandpaper.

  “I’m right here.”

  He would give his own life to stop her desperate, heaving gasps. Cursing, he pulled her awkwardly onto his lap on the floor and crooned nonsense to her, repeating childhood rhymes from his youth.

  When her shaking subsided, he kept rocking her and singing.

  She leaned back and stared at him.

  He stopped in the middle of “For Want of a Nail” and focused on the shadowed face before him.

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “Hi. Listen, I’m so—”

  “Stop. No apologies here. That’s the rule.”

  She rubbed a damp cheek into his shirt, blessing him with the gesture.

  As darkness fell in earnest, he kept her in a loose embrace, present but not confining. The last thing he wanted was to re-create any more nightmares in the dim light.

  It was one of the witching hours, when day turned to full night. Barnaby sighed. So different, this modern world compared with the one he’d left centuries ago.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked after a time.

  Rubbing at her arms, she shook her head. “No, I want—I want this off of me. All of it. No more darkness. No more pollution.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want light. I want to be clean.” She scratched at her arms, and he deflected her gently, not wanting to see her do injury.

  He eased her back onto the couch and bowed. “At your service.”

  In no time, he had every lantern and candle lit. Bright light bounced off the walls of the cabin. A fire crackled in the grate, and he placed a large pot of water on to boil. He also fired up the propane stove and placed another pot of water on it as well.

  As her opened mouth, he held his hand up, stilling her words. “Your wish is my command, milady, and I’m not done yet.”

  Returning from the small outbuilding, he carried a large iron tub back into the house and set it in the middle of the living room floor.

  “Your bath is coming up.”

  “What? No, you didn’t have to—”

  “Who says it’s for you? I don’t smell so fabulous, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Despite her red-rimmed eyes, she giggled, the tinkling sound shaming his dar
k soul.

  With quick work at the sink pump, he filled the tub halfway with cold water. Adding in the hot, he tested the temperature. Hopefully, it was about right.

  “Oh my God, you just ... did all of this? Because I asked?”

  He shrugged. “Of course. Now, if you’ll allow me to lay out some toiletries on this chair here, I’ll leave you to your ablutions.”

  He helped her to one of two chairs he’d placed next to the bath. On the other chair, he set out towels, cloths, soaps, and the other clothing he’d purchased.

  “Barnaby?”

  “Yes, swe—Jane.”

  “Why did you really do all of this for me?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Remember? Language pattern specialist?” She cocked a thumb at her chest. “I can tell when people aren’t being honest.”

  “No. I don’t—” He dragged his hand through his hair. He owed her some explanation. Didn’t have to be the entire truth, right? “Look, Jane. I’m a bad person.” Raising his hand at her protest, he continued, “I’ve done some pretty awful things over the years. And I can’t help but feel responsible for the situation you’re in.”

  “That makes no sense. This mess isn’t your fault.”

  “It might be.”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

  “The bad things I’ve done ... have to do with Thompson being so evil. To you.” Shite. He’d said it, hadn’t he?

  She shook her head. “How?”

  “Please. I can’t say more without you being in even more danger.”

  “More than a cult leader letting me hemorrhage to death? More than falling thirty feet from a garage? More than a maniac pointing a gun at me?” Her eyes glinted in the light.

  He opened his mouth once, failed, and tried again. “Yes. More than that.”

  When she pressed her lips together, the flat expression on her face shredded his soul.

  “Fine.”

  “Um, pardon?”

  “Fine. You have your secrets. I get that.” She eyed the steaming tub. “Now I’d really like that bath, if you don’t mind.” Her shaking hand contradicted the determined set to her jaw.

  “Anything.” He stumbled as he backed up. “I’ll just be—”

  “I don’t want you to ... please just don’t go far.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks, unable to answer. A few seconds later, he had a firmer grip on himself.

  “Of course.” He slid the glass on the porch closed and used more willpower than he possessed to turn his back on the woman inside the cabin.

  Chapter 13

  Pink, warm, and most important, scrubbed clean, Jane heaved herself from the tub to the chair and dried off. Barnaby had set out a second set of clothes. The sporty zip-top outfit made her look like the Bionic Woman, minus the super strength, of course. But she didn’t care. With a sigh, she drew the pants up, her fingers bumping against the puckered skin on her hip.

  The permanent reminder of her horrible decision making could never be erased.

  “Barnaby?”

  Faster than her eye could register, he was in front of her.

  “How?” she stammered. No human could move that fast.

  Shifting from one foot to another, he didn’t meet her eyes. “Trick of the light.” He crossed his arms over his muscled chest.

  She wouldn’t learn more about him tonight. “Well, ok, then. Um, thank you for the bath.”

  “If you don’t mind giving me a moment, I’d like to do the same.”

  Heat climbed her neck. “Not in the water I used!”

  “Yes, indeed. And you are perfectly fine, clean, and without blemish. I have no qualms using the same bathwater.”

  Another wave of ugly shame hit her. Of course, people had shared bathwater for ages. She hadn’t done any activity today, hadn’t actually required a bath.

  But she had needed it. Had to erase the nightmare any way possible.

  If Barnaby wanted to wash, after all he’d done to help her, how could she deny him?

  “Yes, you’re right.” She darted a glance around the small cabin. “So, um, where do I need to go?”

  “You can sit on the porch outside or in the bedroom over there. Your choice.”

  “Porch. If I need anything ...”

  “I’ll be there in a twinkle.” He helped her walk the ten feet and settled her into a chair. “See? You’re already stronger.”

  “All that sleep.”

  He held up a finger and went back into the cabin. Clanking sounds drifted through the window, until he reappeared.

  “Eat, please.” He handed her a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich.

  Perfect.

  “Thank you.” Wonder Bread smelled like fine cuisine right about now. She took a generous bite and leaned her head back on the chair while she chewed.

  “Enjoy the evening air. I’ll be back soon.”

  The light kiss he dropped on her forehead drew out a shiver.

  Like a whisper, he closed the door and disappeared inside.

  Stars dotted the clear sky above the surrounding mountains, and a crescent moon had started to rise. Tree frogs chirped, and animals rustled in the underbrush.

  A breeze ruffled through the fir trees, creating a low hum of background sound.

  Yellow light shone from every window in the cabin. It blew her mind that he’d lit the place up on her say so.

  Instead of relaxing her, the tiny noises and changes in air pressure set her nerves on edge.

  The rustles became hinges squeaking and the creak of bedsprings, and memories of that Saigon closet and her time with Thompson rose up in her mind’s eye. Terror clawed its way into her throat and threatened to strangle her.

  No. She would not fall into the pit again.

  Standing, she clung to the back of the oversized Adirondack chair and peeked in the window. See? Barnaby was right there, mere feet away. His big shoulders flexed as he rinsed his hair. If she called, he would be there in a second. She sank back into the chair.

  She was safe.

  For now.

  Damn this fear. She had to purge herself of the horror, or she wouldn’t be able to function. Wasn’t that what they preached in training? Debrief after the mission.

  Maybe, too, if something happened to her, Barnaby could still find a way to save those innocent women.

  A faint splash and footsteps reached her ears.

  The porch door slid open. He’d tucked a striped, long-sleeved shirt into the narrow waist of his Levi’s. Both knit and denim stretched over ridges of muscles in a way that both reassured and unsettled her. He’d combed his thick hair back, and damp, it glinted in the cabin’s light.

  He offered her the quilt, and she wrapped it around her body.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, dropping into the chair next to hers.

  “Okay.”

  “These things take time.”

  A tight fist of fear squeezed until she had to concentrate to breathe. “I need to tell you what happened.”

  “You need to tell me, or you need to tell someone?”

  An odd question, but the answer brought clarity. “Both.” She paused.

  “But it’s scary?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” He didn’t touch her, but the warmth in his voice wrapped around her like a comfortable sweater, not binding, but moving as she needed to move.

  Swallowing, she began. “So you know how I joined the DEA and went through training? Well, I hadn’t completely gotten over my fears from that night in Saigon.”

  “Really?”

  “That night really rattled my cage. You try waiting for your death in a dark closet.” She laughed. “Actually, you did, and you handled it way better than I did. Anyway, that experience scared the hell out of me, and I struggled with the need to control my own destiny afterward.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “When I was offered the job at the DEA, I figured it was a way to take charge of my li
fe. Before I could blink, I was playing the part of a brainwashed inductee of the People’s Palace, blindly following the divine teachings of Tim Thompson.” His name left a foul taste in her mouth.

  Rolling her neck to loosen the tight muscles, she continued. “I lost control of the mission. I didn’t know how to get them to trust me without jumping in with both feet. But the DEA had strict rules about how far an agent could go. And Thompson was suspicious of anyone who didn’t participate fully in the teachings ... or the drugs.”

  “So you participated?”

  “I’m not proud that I did it. But I tried to get rid of the substances whenever possible. Participation was the only way I could gain trust and inside information about the drugs and the trafficking.”

  “Drug trafficking?”

  She almost couldn’t say the words. “Yes. And human.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, once I figured out what was happening, I had to get the information needed to shut down this organization, once and for all.”

  “Wow.”

  “One day, I reported in to my CO, Howard. He basically fired me on the spot for not completing my mission. But he also made comments that were wrong. He knew more than he should have.” She tapped her head. “I can tell. I think he yanked me because I was about to reveal his involvement. Maybe others in the DEA were involved, too.”

  “So those bastards tried to run you out of the DEA?”

  “Basically. But dirty rats didn’t figure on my stubborn streak” She swallowed a sip of milk. It didn’t calm her stomach. “I was so tired of failure that I decided to freelance the rest of the mission. Damn it, I was so close.”

  “Wait. You continued the job?” In the darkness, his voice carried a sharp edge.

  “Idealistic? Sure. Vindictive? Maybe a little bit. Smart? Not in the least. When I got back to the house, Thompson and his second-in-command, Chuck, cornered me.”

  “Whoresons.”

  “Chuck’s the guy you killed, by the way.”

  “Good riddance.”

  Scrubbing at her face, she took a big breath. “So when they caught me sneaking back in, it was a bad scene. Thompson chose that moment to share his lust for me and wanted me to become his number one wife, which isn’t an honor, in case you wondered. To refuse would have been certain death, as suspicious as Thompson had become.”