Flame's Dawn

by Jillian David

  Staring at her shaking hands, she said, “It’s still a crime.”

  “No. It’s self-defense. Truly.” How refreshing to see someone care about their kill. Barnaby had lost that sensitivity a hundred or so years ago. “Let’s get out of this room,” he said, helping her step over the two bodies in the bedroom doorway.

  He deposited her on the couch, knowing he should clean up the cabin and dispose of the bodies. But he couldn’t do it right away. He couldn’t let go of her.

  That damned knife warmed his leg in sated satisfaction, almost taunting him.

  Because the reason Barnaby hadn’t been here to protect her would be an issue until the end of time.

  Which was more important? Feeding the incredible knife lust and retaining near-immortal status?

  Or Jane.

  After dropping a kiss square on her soft lips, he stroked her long, tangled hair. What would life be like, spending every day with her in his arms?

  Damned amazing, to be honest.

  He eased her away from him with another kiss and worked on setting the cabin to rights. When he moved the bodies, lifting each one like it weighed nothing, the horror in her eyes indicted him more than any uttered phrase ever could.

  A monster. He’d become a monster.

  Hours later, as false dawn made the sky glow, Barnaby had removed all traces of blood and glass. He’d run the Chrysler off a cliff and scattered the bodies all around. Hopefully carrion birds would take care of the evidence well before anyone discovered the dead men.

  All that remained was to replace the window, and the cabin would be back to normal.

  Only, truth be told, he never wanted to come back here.

  This cabin represented his attempts to escape his empty existence. This place represented where he nearly lost what he held most dear in this world.

  God willing, this cabin would soon be part of Barnaby’s distant past.

  Slumping into the couch cushion, he leaned back.

  “Are you okay?” Jane asked.

  “You’re alive, so yes.”

  “Yes, well ...”

  So he went for levity. Anything to smooth the furrows from her brow. “Hey, great shooting, by the way.”

  “Thank goodness they taught us women some useful skills.” Her tiny smile gave him hope.

  “You were perfect. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here before Thompson found you.”

  “You had to go. Your job.” She held up her hand. “Look, it’s okay. I understand that some things are out of your control. Lord knows, I get that.”

  Pushing back to his feet, he paced. “I want to try for a future with you, but not as the creature I am right now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  A caged animal. He’d become trapped between what he wanted most in this world and the monster he had become. He pivoted and stared at her. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

  Even in the early morning light, he couldn’t miss how her cheeks paled.

  “Live like what?” she said.

  “Jane, I ... need to collect my thoughts.”

  “What?” she whispered, wrapping thin arms around her legs.

  He’d do anything to remove the stark fear on her lovely face.

  Anything?

  The answer whispered, like a gossamer thought floating just out of reach.

  What did his instincts tell him? His traitorous sixth sense had gone to sleep.

  No help there.

  A new kind of panic, different from what he’d felt since finding Jane, grabbed hold of him and didn’t let go. He couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry. I, um, need a little space.”

  The downturn of her lips hurt more than anything he’d felt in four centuries. But he had to get his head screwed on straight.

  “You need space?” Her flat voice drifted in a hopeless, gray tone.

  He reached out, then dropped his hand. “It’s not like that.”

  “It never is, Barnaby.” Her lips pressed into a sad, straight line.

  “No, Jane, it’s not what you think.”

  “You presume to know how I think?” She didn’t meet his eyes but stared somewhere over his shoulder. “Go. Get your space.”

  “Jane—”

  “Go.”

  He walked to the table, looked straight at her, deliberately placed his car keys on the table, and strode out of the cabin.

  Chapter 17

  Like an idiot, she’d sent Barnaby packing. Again. Apparently, she couldn’t learn.

  How did things turn out the last time you made him leave?

  Beyond disastrous.

  What about his safety, though? Maybe she could find him and make certain that he was okay.

  He was a supernatural immortal being. He didn’t need her help.

  What did he need from her?

  Absolutely nothing.

  The sun rose and lit up the cabin in a cheery glow that taunted her melancholy mood.

  Several times, Jane scooped up those damned keys and opened up the front door, ready to drive away. He’d given her a clear choice.

  Could she accept Barnaby, an unnatural being?

  She had no right to judge.

  Real question was, could he accept a broken person like Jane?

  Afternoon crawled into evening. Restless, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get comfortable.

  The problem had less to do with the man who exited the cabin and more to do with the woman remaining inside.

  I can’t live like this anymore, he’d said.

  Cold fingers of fear slid over her neck and squeezed.

  I can’t live like this anymore.

  How far would he go to fulfill that promise?

  Twilight darkened the skies, and she shivered in the light breeze through the broken window. She’d long since stopped jumping at each tiny noise outside.

  Who cared? The man she loved, her calm in the storm, the man who had challenged the devil’s own henchman to save her life, had left.

  She sniffed. Nope, tears had long since dried up. She had nothing left but a sucking emptiness that started out small and expanded until it wormed its way through her entire chest.

  How could he have done this?

  To her, the little voice in her head whispered.

  How selfish could she be? He left.

  Because she told him to.

  What the heck did she expect?

  God, she wanted Barnaby back, cursed existence and all. She wanted his jaunty smile and twinkling blue eyes. What she’d give to feel his muscled arms around her again.

  She peered out the window into the moonlit night.

  Like he’d never existed, Barnaby was gone.

  The cruelty of the entire situation hit her like a truck plowing her over. She sagged against the porch door frame. Her entire soul had been ripped in half.

  Her anchor. Gone.

  Her sanity, following.

  • • •

  The next morning dawned cool, bright, and cheery, much to Jane’s disgust. Her sleep had been horrendous, partly due to the open window allowing chilly air to move unimpeded through the house. And partly due to ... yeah.

  Shaking her arms and legs to warm up, she shuffled into the kitchen. Even with a spoon, bowl, powdered milk, and a cornflakes box laid out on the counter, she couldn’t pull it off. She kept staring at the items, not certain what to do.

  So instead, she sank to the floor with a death grip on the spoon.

  He hadn’t returned.

  Well, there you had it.

  She couldn’t stay here. Eventually, someone would figure out that Thompson’s crew had disappeared near Santa Cruz. They would eventually find Barnaby’s cabin. Which would lead a curiosity seeker directly to Jane and a whole lot of things she couldn’t explain.

  The spoon clutched in her hand blurred into the image of Barnaby’s smiling face. She squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed her eyes with the other hand, trying something—anything—to remove him from her memor
y. It didn’t work.

  When her head lolled back on the cabinet and she finally opened her eyes, darned if she didn’t see his face again. She blinked hard. It didn’t help. She gripped the spoon harder, as if doing so would bolster her sanity.

  Even now, she could swear the muscles of his arms flexed and his chest rose with a sigh. She even saw the corner of his strong mouth rise in a wry smile.

  With every nuance of behavior in her imagined vision, the vice around her heart cranked down tighter and tighter.

  “Jane.”

  Oh great, now she was hallucinating sounds. Maybe the LSD from the People’s Palace had come back to haunt her.

  Maybe Barnaby haunted her.

  The burn in her chest amplified when she blinked and he didn’t disappear.

  “Jane. I’m here.”

  “No, you’re not.” The metal utensil dug into the skin of her palm.

  Even though he smiled in the usual Barnaby manner, sadness creased lines on his face.

  When he knelt down and touched her on the arm, she yelped. It felt too real, too immediate, too painful.

  “It’s really me.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Jane.” His mellow voice broke her heart. “Do you trust me?”

  The imaginary vice loosened half a turn.

  He had come back.

  “I trust you, Barnaby.”

  She buried her head on bent knees.

  “Where did you go?”

  “I never left. Not really.” He sank down to sit near her on the floor. “Z’wounds, Jane. I couldn’t leave you.”

  Snapping her head up to stare at him, she said, “What?”

  He took her free hand in his big, rough one, turned her palm up, and dropped a gentle kiss onto her wrist.

  The screws on the vice around her heart unwound with each swipe of his lips on her skin. As the pressure eased up in her chest, the emptiness faded. She relaxed her grip on the spoon but couldn’t let it go yet.

  “You’re really here,” she whispered.

  “You bet I am.” The light in his eyes returned, along with ... fear? “So, Jane?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was always in sight of this cabin. Every time I tried to go farther away, you were like a magnet, pulling me back.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Do you even understand what I’m trying to say? I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

  “I understand.”

  “Really?” His boyish grin made her toes tingle.

  “Yeah. For real. I tried to leave several times, but couldn’t.”

  “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  His eyes shone. “In four centuries roaming this earth, I have never loved a woman the way I love you, Jane.” He swallowed. “I have no right to ask. I’m a monster. Criminy, I have no right—”

  When she pressed her finger to his lips, he froze in place, gripping her wrist like a lifeline.

  “I have no right, either, Barnaby. Neither of us is a whole person.”

  “Maybe we can be whole together.” He rubbed his chin. “God’s teeth, I’ll beg if necessary.”

  Her heart pounded. “No, you don’t—”

  His grip on her hand ached, but she wouldn’t make him let go for a million dollars.

  In the early morning light, his eyes shone, and the big man opened his mouth to speak twice before getting the words out. “We have no guarantees. As long as I’m Indebted, you will be in danger. And if you’re with me, your normal human life is gone. We have to hide.”

  “I’m good at hiding.” She studied the handsome sweep of his hair over his forehead. “Do you really want out of your contract?”

  “Yes. But I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

  “Then I want to help you try. And no, I don’t care about being in danger. I’m getting pretty good at it.”

  His blue eyes lit up, and his brows rose. “Could we try?”

  “There’s nothing I want more than to be with you for whatever forever means for us. We’ll go find those scrolls in Vietnam.”

  “When travel is safe.”

  “But soon. Together.” She twined her fingers in his. “Before we go back to Vietnam, would you help me free those women and expose the People’s Palace?”

  “After what you endured? It would be my pleasure.”

  “Then we’ll go make you human again.”

  “I don’t know if it can be done. Or if I would survive. If you object, I won’t do it. I can stay Indebted and use my power to keep you safe from any new minions Jerahmeel sends.”

  A cold chill ran down her spine. “What do you want, Barnaby?”

  Pulling her hand up, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I want to become a real man for you. Only you, Jane.”

  “Then that’s what you should do.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. She returned it with interest, pouring her love for him into the contact.

  When he leaned back, he ran his index finger down her cheek until she shivered.

  “One question, sweetling,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Could I have that spoon back? You’re going to strangle it.”

  She hiccupped a sob and laughed. “Of course.” She loosened her grip until he gently extricated the utensil, but the lack of something to hold on to made her heart patter.

  Until she focused on Barnaby.

  She had anchored him to this world.

  And he was her anchor.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the indomitable Gwen Hayes, who graciously turned this manuscript around in record time, complete with her fabulous feedback. I also appreciate Crimson Romance editor Julie Sturgeon’s amazing edits, always spot-on and continually pushing me to make these books so much better.

  Thanks to hubby, who is ever eager to provide character name suggestions (“Buck Naked”) and title possibilities (“Flame Gone Out Then Exploding Again”). For a guy who has no clue about the romance genre, he’s really ... not very helpful. But he’s supportive, and that’s fine.

  Finally, as I conclude this series and the journey while writing it, the last thank you goes to my patients. Their trust as they allow me to travel with them through their pain, joy, fear, hope, death, and life is what has created the rich texture in the stories. Without my patients, there would be no writing.

  Author’s Notes

  The Tet Offensive (phase I) began late on January 30, 1968. Numerous surprise attacks occurred on that date up and down the Ho Chi Minh trail and reaching into Saigon. These attacks continued through March of 1968. This campaign was a major turning point for the entire Vietnam War. U.S. losses tallied at approximately 4,000 troops killed and 20,000 wounded during this time period.

  While the U.S. Embassy in then Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) did have an incursion made into its outer walls by the Vietcong during the Tet Offensive, military police repelled and killed the small invading force. In this story, I took liberties with the extent to which the embassy was breached. Also, to my knowledge, there were no helicopter transports that night. However, I’m always haunted by Dutch photographer Hubert van Es’s iconic photo taken on the final day in Saigon right before the city finally fell to the North Vietnamese in 1975. It’s that image I had in my mind when I wrote the helicopter-roof scene. Then I added the big explosion, which is an acknowledged embellishment.

  The People’s Palace and Tim Thompson are modeled very loosely on the People’s Temple and leader, Jim Jones. As you recall, Jim Jones’s cult moved down to South America, mixed up some Kool-Aid, and from there, things went poorly for everyone involved.

  The music referenced in this novella is from the Billboard charts late in 1967/1968 and in 1973/1974, though a few songs may have technically been released after the events of the story.

  Last but not least, if you are a TV Land junkie/nerd, you’ll have called me out on the timing of the The Bionic Woman reference. I know. The Bionic Woman (who is way more awesome than the S
ix Million Dollar Man, IMHO) debuted as a partner for Steve Austin in 1975. So yes, a year premature on the mention, but come on now, Lindsay Wagner was awesome in those tracksuits. I couldn’t resist the reference!

  Thank you for picking up a copy of my book. It’s readers like you who encourage writers to keep creating new worlds. Would you please consider leaving a review at your bookseller or Goodreads? Better yet, tell someone else about the book. And of course, readers are always welcome to provide feedback or ask questions here: jillian@jilliandavid.net

  Playlist

  For readers who like to cue up the music before reading, here’s the playlist for this novella. I hope you enjoy listening to these songs as much as I did! These tunes totally put me in the 1968/1974 mood ...

  Jackie Wilson “Higher and Higher”

  Herman’s Hermits “There’s a Kind of Hush All Over the World”

  The Monkees “Daydream Believer”

  The 5th Dimension “Up, Up and Away”

  Santana “Evil Ways”

  Jimi Hendrix “Machine Gun”

  Blue Swede “Hooked on a Feeling”

  The Carpenters “Top of the World”

  Kool & the Gang “Jungle Boogie”

  Elton John “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me”

  Bachman-Turner Overdrive “Takin’ Care of Business”

  Grand Funk Railroad “The Loco-Motion”

  Jim Croce “Time in a Bottle”

  John Denver “Sunshine on My Shoulders”

  While editing this novella, I had Melanie’s “Lay Down (Candles in the Rain)” on eternal repeat.

  More from This Author

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  Jillian David

  Holy hell, she needed to kill someone.

  Impractical stiletto leather boots snapped against concrete as she strode up the chipped sidewalk near the Warehouse District of New Orleans. Dilapidated, abandoned buildings clashed with garish bars that depended on sports fans, college students, and tourists. This section of Port Street wasn’t a main road or a well-to-do area of town. Good. That meant fewer tourists but more denizens like her—beings that worked best in the shadows.