Temptation by Fire

by Tiffany Allee

  Temptation by Fire

  Tiffany Allee

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Tiffany Allee. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Rochelle French

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-200-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition December 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Nordstrom; Die Hard (movie); Cherry Coke; Pepsi; Lincoln Navigator; Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Toyota Corolla; Facebook; Dollar Tree; Formica; Dumpster; Pizza Hut; Google; McDonald’s; Target; Froot Loops; Oscar; Sharpie; Home Depot; Sprite; Star Trek.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For George Allee

  Chapter One

  Monstrous. That was the only word for it. Deep reds and yellows flashed at me, hurting my eyes. The sparkles were almost enough to put me right over the edge. What the heck were those things? Rhinestones? Who wore rhinestones anymore?

  Only Miriam.

  “What do you think, Ava?” Miriam asked.

  I bit my lip, searching my mind for a way to tell her that it was the fugliest thing I’d ever seen without offending her. I cast a quick glance about us. Thanks to the after-dinner hour, the hospital cafeteria where we sat at a chipped Formica-topped table was almost empty. No one else seemed to notice us, or the horrible dress that my best friend was waving around. But combined with the smell of disinfectant that clung to the stark white walls and pastel plastic furniture, the dress was enough to make me dizzy.

  Nope. There was no way to be polite.

  “I think it’s horrible,” I admitted. Miriam’s fashion sense tended toward the wild side, but that dress crossed a line. Besides the garish sequins, the neckline looked like it would hit her navel.

  “Really?” Miriam held the dress at arm’s length and studied it with a critical eye. “I thought it might be nice for the graduation party. I don’t graduate from medical school every day. Might be a good chance to wear something saucy.”

  I suppressed a shudder at the idea of wearing something so flashy in public. But that was Miriam. Brave and fun and willing to journey into the scariest places fashion offered. Despite our differences, we’d been best friends ever since the day in middle school when Miriam decided we would be.

  Miriam got what Miriam wanted.

  She was also my favorite person in the world. So it worked out pretty darn well for me.

  “Besides, once I start my residency, I won’t be out of scrubs for years,” she said. “There’s only so much you can do to make scrubs look good.”

  The ache that had settled into my chest ever since the reality of Miriam leaving had hit me flared into pain.

  I was twenty-five for crying out loud, far too old to be using my best friend as a security blanket, even if she was leaving me alone in Chicago to pursue her dream of being a medical doctor in New York City. Mentally quashing the loneliness, I forced a grin.

  My grin didn’t fool her and she frowned at me, then shoved the dress back into a Nordstrom bag. “You’re tougher than you think.”

  “I know,” I said automatically. My fear of getting physically near people—heck, even being in the same room as large groups—was the source of many, many, many of our arguments. Especially lately. The last thing I wanted was to get into it again. Miriam was a gem, but she spent way too much time worrying about me.

  Some things weren’t fixable.

  I pushed down the self-pity the thought caused. The emotion was silly, self-indulgent, and unfounded. Sure, I wasn’t exactly sociable because of the constraints placed on me by my curse, but I still had a decent life. One that was a heck of a lot better than most people’s.

  As long as I was careful not to touch anyone.

  “So, I need to get as much Ava-time in as I can before I go. What are you doing tonight? You should come with me to find something to wear to the party, since you have to compete against this amazing dress.”

  Compete against that? So not my style. The dress was a walking banner proclaiming Miriam to be vivacious and outgoing. And more than a bit of a daredevil. If my clothes had a sign attached, it would identify me as “cautious,” or just scream “don’t touch.” There was no competition. And shopping?

  A sudden need to be out of this place, alone and in my own space, hit, and I tugged on my sleeves.

  Miriam’s gaze shifted, just enough that I could tell she noticed. Awesome friend that she was, she pretended she hadn’t. “Actually, I’m a little beat,” she said. “Maybe I could bring a movie over? Something filled with angst and love and Colin Firth.”

  “Are you ever getting out of the Colin Firth phase?”

  She pushed up from the table, face serious. “Colin Firth isn’t a phase, Ava. He’s a way of life.”

  “He’s a tad refined for my taste, but”— I stood and pushed my chair in—“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of something so important.”

  Miriam turned to walk out of the cafeteria when she suddenly froze, her eyes widened, and her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. She let out a quiet whistle. “Wow, cute. Forget Colin Firth.”

  As casually as I could, I snuck a glance behind me.

  The man was anything but cute.

  He could have been anywhere from his late twenties to midthirties. His good looks weren’t marred by the thick and ropey scar that ran down the side of his face and neck. I could see him playing Double Oh Seven, not Darcy. But the way he carried himself—arrogant but guarded—seemed out of place in the quiet hospital. His gaze weighed and categorized everything it took in and made my stomach clench and my heart speed up. Fight or flight?

  I looked at Miriam. “Quit grinning at him,” I whispered. “He looks like a thug.”

  “He looks sweet.”

  “Hardly,” I threw out.

  “Oh, him? I’m not grinning at him.”

  It dawned on me Miriam was looking at the young blond man who stood next to the man who’d caught my attention. No wonder she’d said cute—this guy was pretty—in a frat boy sort of way. He didn’t look a day over twenty-one. Young, and without the intensity of his friend. How had Miriam even noticed him next to the darker-haired man?

  “They’re going to get the wrong idea with you gaping,” I said, gathering my purse. The blond might be harmless, but I was certain the man next to him was anything but. Time to leave.

  “God, I hope so.”

  Movement caught the corner of my eye; the blond was swaggering toward us. Great.

  “Hello, lad
ies,” the blond said, oozing confidence in a way that made me immediately want to get away. A chill ran over me, like the air conditioning had kicked on.

  “Hi.” Miriam grinned, toying with her hair.

  “I’m Thomas. This is Karson.” He jerked a thumb at the man I’d mentally labeled Tough Guy, then offered me his hand.

  Instinctively, I stepped back, only to catch my foot on the chair behind me. I stumbled, and before I could move away, the blond man grabbed my hand to steady me.

  Cold flashed up my arm—a sharp pain followed by a chilly, almost numb feeling, as if someone had dipped my hand into a vat of ice. It ran up my arm into the rest of my body. I shivered.

  Then I burned.

  I smelled the smoke first, searing its way up my nose and into my lungs. Fear started then, building from my chest and spreading outward into my limbs. Panic set in, and I almost couldn’t smell the smoke for how much the mind-gripping fear overwhelmed my senses. I wanted—no, needed to run, but couldn’t.

  Couldn’t move.

  Then pain engulfed the panic, driving it relentlessly forward. Sound roared in my ears—a thumping heartbeat and screams that had to be coming from my mouth. A thundering voice sounded like it was coming from my own mind, uttering foreign words that scared me even though I couldn’t understand them. I could smell again, the scent of ordinary smoke now pungent with another scent.

  My burning flesh.

  I blinked and tried to see, but couldn’t make much out through smoke and darkness. Only a flashing light touched my stinging eyes—a neon sign. The words were blurred by pain and smoke and I couldn’t focus, couldn’t see. I silently prayed for darkness. But darkness didn’t come. Only pain and fear.

  Then, another sound, a voice. A voice reaching for me through the din.

  A voice I reached for, desperate.

  “…You all right? Ava?”

  Miriam.

  She was there, next to me. There for me.

  I took a deep breath and leaned heavily against her. A few moments of confusion passed before I could orient myself. A hospital worker in a set of pastel scrubs walked by, a concerned expression on his face, but he didn’t stop. I swallowed the bile in my throat and looked at Miriam. Her face was pinched, eyebrows drawn together with worry.

  “Miriam?” The hospital. I was at the hospital. Not tied up in a room. Not in pain. Not burning.

  “I’m here,” she said quietly.

  I pulled away from her, careful not to touch her skin to my skin, teetering a bit as I regained my balance.

  “Was it…you know?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I swayed, and Miriam reached for my arm. I pulled away from her, leaning against the chair instead. I hated myself a little, for the hurt that flashed in her eyes when I rejected her help, but my special touch-me-not instincts were at an all-time high. I looked around the hospital cafeteria for the young man who’d triggered my curse, but didn’t see him or his intense friend.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who—oh, they took off. His scary friend dragged him away when you started muttering about fires and burning and stuff.”

  Relief hit me so hard I sagged against the back of the chair I’d been leaning against. I didn’t have to face the choice. I didn’t have to debate whether to warn them about what I saw. I didn’t have to actually tell someone new about my curse.

  Because every time I tried to tell someone what I’d seen, it never did a single bit of good. They still suffered whatever fate I witnessed in my vision.

  “What did you see?” she murmured, gently.

  “I saw him getting burned alive. I saw him die.”

  …

  Convincing Miriam that the middle of the hospital cafeteria wasn’t the right place to talk about my visions or about what I’d seen was tough. She wanted to deconstruct the entire series of events right then, right there. Convincing her that I was okay to go home alone was tougher. But after a few minutes, she relented, promising to be at my apartment in a couple of hours, with a Colin Firth movie in hand.

  I walked out the exit door and halted. Leaning against the brick wall was the man I’d mentally dubbed as Tough Guy.

  My mouth went dry and my stomach clenched, but I crossed my arms and didn’t look away from him. Wasn’t that how you were supposed to deal with scary people? Show no fear? Maybe that was dogs.

  Face tight, he was as still as a statue. His friend had told me his name, but I couldn’t remember for a moment. Movement beyond him caught my eye, and tension cinched my shoulders into a tight knot when I saw the young man—Thomas?—come out from behind the larger man’s shadow. Thomas looked me over with a curious expression on his face.

  “Get me some answers.” His words were for Tough Guy, even though he grinned at me in a charming manner. Everything about Thomas said California surfer: the dark tan, the big white teeth, the sun-bleached hair. The only thing that countered that image was the perfectly tailored suit he wore, which probably cost more than what I paid a year in rent. Charming, polite, and well-off.

  Too bad the only thing I could think of when I looked at him was how his flesh smelled when it burned.

  With the odd order still hanging in the air, Thomas turned and headed toward the parking lot, whistling, leaving Tough Guy behind.

  Answers? If he wanted answers about what had happened to me—my vision—why wasn’t he asking me himself?

  Paralyzed, I watched him walk away, leaving me alone with Tough Guy. My throat closed and for a moment I could taste the smoke again, feel the fire licking my fingertips. I half wanted to follow him, to tell him what I’d seen. But I couldn’t seem to make myself move. And I knew what happened when I tried to warn people about the things I saw in my visions. It only made things worse.

  It always made things worse.

  Tough Guy took a step toward me and crossed his arms. With his large frame, he towered over me, but thankfully he didn’t crowd me. His dark hair, cut in a longish, haphazard way, absorbed the light around it. And though his body was long and obviously well-muscled, it suggested bar room brawls, not a life spent working out at the gym.

  Karson. That was it. Tough Guy’s name was Karson. Although Tough Guy seemed more apropos.

  His intensity had my insides quivering. Whatever it was he wanted from me, there’d be no getting away from answering. But at least he didn’t seem to be trying to scare me intentionally—the man was just majorly intense.

  “Are you a Venator?” he asked sharply, surprising me with the question.

  “Excuse me?” Lame, I know, but I had no clue what he was talking about. I’d thought he’d be asking why I’d started muttering about fire and looking like I was in some other world.

  “Is this some kind of setup? Because I don’t appreciate you screwing around on my job.” He shot a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to look at me. He stepped forward, towering over me with his large frame.

  His scent touched my nose, spicy and masculine. But he was too close. I stepped back.

  Something in his expression shifted. Softened, but only a tad. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, and cut the scared rabbit look. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I knew no such thing.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “The trancing out and muttering about burning. Ring any bells? Are you trying to get me killed?” Eyes locked on mine, he took another step toward me, crowding me.

  At least now he was talking about something I knew about. But the whole Venator thing? Screwing around on his job? Trying to get him killed? Very slowly, I repeated myself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He cursed under his breath. “You’re lying.”

  I didn’t answer, but I didn’t look down, either. And I didn’t step back again. Miriam would have been proud. Or petrified for me.

  He stepped back this time, and his lips curved into a slight grin. “You’re a tough one.”

  “Damn
straight,” I managed.

  His grin widened into an all-out smile, and the world around us brightened.

  My breath hitched, but not from fear this time. Just the small change in his expression made him more man than monster.

  “Just—just tell your friend to watch out for himself,” I said. A wimpy-ass warning, but did I really know anything else that would be helpful? What could I say? Tell your buddy that if he knows anyone who likes to burn people alive, that he shouldn’t trust the pyro? Yeah, that would totally be helpful. “And to stay away from neon signs.”

  I expected him to roll his eyes or laugh at my warning; it was such a weird thing to say. But his gaze rolled over me in a very obvious appraisal, and when he finally got back to my eyes, I gave him my best glare. After years of pushing people away from me, I’d gotten good at the whole steer-clear glare.

  “Keep your secrets, girl. But stay away from my job.” With a final, lingering glance at me, he turned and headed the direction Thomas had taken.

  He moved quickly, but with purpose, like some sort of jungle cat on the hunt. The man didn’t walk. He stalked.

  Thank God he’d gone the bullying route. With a smile like that and enough testosterone to kill a horse, he could have charmed the truth out of me. But the weird word he’d used still ran through my mind.

  Venator.

  What the hell was a Venator?

  And did it have anything to do with my curse?

  …

  In my apartment two hours later, I almost jumped out of my skin when the loud knock sounded on my door. Had to be Miriam, but I still took a quick peek through the peephole to make sure. My hands were a little shaky as I struggled with the lock. The vision, that guy Karson’s weird statements, had gotten under my skin. Once I got the door open, her smile faded into a look of concern. Damn. I must look like crap.

  “Are you all right? Is it the vision?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Liar.”

  I almost laughed. Miriam never feared calling me out, no matter what. I beckoned her into the living room where we sat on my flower-print couch. I went through the encounter with the man outside of the hospital while Miriam listened intently.