Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2

by R. G. Alexander

  “From what I understand, the treaty was formed to protect this world,” Aziza responded softly. “So it also stands to reason that if an alliance is formed for the sole purpose of breaking a binding contract and killing the people it was created to safeguard, there would be repercussions.” Namely, her.

  Mr. Nash’s smile sharpened. “‘From what you understand’. An interesting choice of words.”

  She really needed to get out of here before she hit him. “I’m here as a courtesy, to show you respect, Mr. Nash. Let’s stop playing this game, okay? I’ll admit I don’t know anything about werewolves and we can plainly see you don’t take the Jiniyr threat seriously, so why don’t you tell me what you want from me? Then I can do my job and let you get back to yours.”

  He startled her by seizing her wrist, pulling her closer and peeling back her fingers to see the mark of the feather still burned into her palm. “I was wondering if you would insult me by using this in my presence. The archivist told me about this ability, along with the others. Mayet’s Truth, I believe? There is no reason, Aziza. The way Brandon reacts to the mere mention of your name means we’re practically family. Or we could have been, if you weren’t tainted with enemy blood and the treaty didn’t call for you to mate with a human to continue your line.”

  Tainted.

  Aziza gritted her teeth, sorely tempted to go four-alarm on him. The asshole seemed to know as much about what she was as she did—in fact, with his resources, he might know more—but he obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. “Let me go.”

  He released her wrist. “Even if that weren’t the case, from what I’ve gathered, you and my honorable son are not exactly compatible. A fact I believe you’re aware of. I doubt any self-respecting werewolf would approve of his woman allowing herself to be chained and whipped for the amusement of others, do you? We are nothing if not a possessive people. We like to keep what belongs to us close. Brandon has more of the old ways in him then I can lay claim too. He’s a traditionalist. I can’t imagine what he’ll do when he finds out.”

  She froze. He knew what happened at Underbridge? Had Natalie told him, or was another Enforcer a member—watching and waiting for Ram to screw up?

  Brandon, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.

  Fed up with his manipulation, she demanded bluntly, “You can stop now. Tell me what it will take for you to leave the exile alone and let me work with the Enforcers—or at least guarantee they won’t stand in my way—while I find you the real killers and actually save lives?”

  “Poor Brandon.” The Alpha clucked his tongue. “I notice you didn’t use your leverage to protect him. Or to keep him from finding out what you do when he isn’t by your side.”

  “I didn’t know he needed protection from his father.”

  Mr. Nash nodded ambiguously. “Too late now, in any case. I appreciate your style, Aziza. Straight to the point. No fear. What it will take is you saying yes.”

  Aziza narrowed her eyes. “Yes to what?”

  His face transformed into what he probably imagined was his most charming expression. “A limousine, some champagne, a fancy dress and your best conversational skills and table manners. No floggers or corsets allowed.”

  She raised her eyebrow and he took a step back. “A party, Ms. Stewart, tomorrow night, in your honor, and with all my lieutenants present and salivating to meet you.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “The invitations have been sent, most of the guests have already arrived, and the only thing I’m missing is you.”

  He may be tiny for a werewolf, but she had to admit he had a big set of balls. “What if I say no?”

  The Alpha walked around his desk and sat down in his leather executive chair. “Then you would miss a wonderful evening with some of the finest people I know. There’s one man in particular I think you’d like to meet. He’s from Jordan. I understand Brandon has been communicating with him for several weeks now…something about witness testimonies and an explosion?” He shook his head. “My first thought is that it has something to do with your youngest brother. My son must be besotted indeed to have believed he could investigate such an important matter behind my back. Still, what’s done is done. Now I don’t know if you’d be interested in anything like that but, as I said, it would be your loss. In more ways than one.”

  This man knew how to play his little games. And he had her. If Brandon had been talking to someone about Joseph, as his father was implying, and that someone was going to be at the party, there was no way she wouldn’t come. But why would the Alpha offer her information on her brother and threaten to withhold permission for her to help his people stop the Jiniyr…to get her to a party? Why would he use all his leverage for something so trivial?

  She nodded stiffly. “May I bring guests?”

  “I would be offended if spunky Aunt Penn and your companion Gregory Prophet weren’t at your side.” He paused. “More so, if anyone else was.”

  Translation: Ram was not allowed. “And what, besides my fancy dress and my family, should I be bringing to this gathering?”

  He leaned back in his chair, relaxed in his victory. “The Vessel, Ms. Stewart. We have to give the people what they want, wouldn’t you agree? I wouldn’t be a very good CEO if I neglected their desires. As long as you are under my roof you will be what they need you to be. The Vessel of Fire.”

  “So it’s agreed? The exile is off-limits?”

  He stared at her in silence for a long moment then looked down at the papers on his desk. “Never question an Alpha’s word again. You may go now, Aziza. Until tomorrow night.”

  Turning without another word, she stalked out of the office. She didn’t look at Hillary on her way out, didn’t study the unique architecture as she made her way down to the lobby and outside of the building.

  She was too busy trying not to explode and take the entire city of London with her. The Alpha reminded her of Razia. He made her feel the same cold ball of rage in her stomach. There was something dark and ugly inside him, she could sense it.

  Usurper. That man was not supposed to be the leader of Brandon’s people. Everything good and honorable and strong that she’d seen in the others was absent from him. He was smaller on the inside too.

  God, she needed a drink.

  “Stop!” When the hourglass burned into her palm and everything around her froze, she kicked off the sensible pumps and left them on the steps of the building. She shouldn’t be abusing her powers like this, but she couldn’t stand the idea of that man looking out of his tower window and laughing at her.

  “Arrogant, egotistical son of a bitch!” she yelled up at the building. “I bet you look like a hairless chihuahua when you go wolfy.”

  This was the man they all walked on eggshells around, the man Natalie spied for and Hillary was afraid of? This was Brandon’s biological father?

  “Bullshit.” She walked into the nearest pub. Elbowing past the frozen patrons, she hopped over the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka. “Bull. Shit.”

  “You don’t hurt the innocent, dear. You’re Fireborne.”

  “Did you know the very word Fireborne means justice for my people?”

  “You have to care about all of them.”

  She could hear the voices of her better angels echoing in her head, swimming around in a sea of vodka and denial, but none of that stopped her from leaning over to take the hand of a sweet-looking young woman having lunch at a café patio and place it on the firm butt of a passing waiter.

  “This is justice, right? It would be criminal not to grab that,” she reasoned out loud. “And I do care. I’m spreading the seeds of laughter and happiness. I may as well do something productive with this ability, since the wolf boss only wants me to wave and smile and make him look good to his constituency.”

  She glanced up over the rim of the sunglasses she’d “borrowed” from the other woman at the table and winced at the sunlight before noticing what the poor, handsome, soon-to-be-objectified waiter carried
.

  “Mmm. Coffee. That is what I need. What you need too, cutie,” she added as she helped herself to the lone cup on the tray. “You’ll thank me for taking this in a few minutes, trust me. The last thing you want is a lawsuit for spilling hot coffee on a customer because another couldn’t resist pinching your ass.”

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t react at all. But then, she didn’t expect him to. The café, the entire street full of people, were frozen in time by her ability. The coffee had been frozen too, but the instant she touched the cup with the idea of trying to unfreeze it, the frozen wisp of steam above it was released.

  She laughed. It worked. Her coffee would be the only witness to these crimes. “Confess, coffee,” she demanded. “You are delicious.”

  It should bother her that the species of werewolf her Fireborne line was apparently so tied to brought out her inner lush. That couldn’t be healthy. Talk about a dysfunctional relationship. She couldn’t help it—the Enforcers, their rules, their stupid Alpha—she really didn’t like them very much. Brandon, Hillary and Devil were the only exceptions so far.

  Brandon’s father, it was clear, wanted to use what she was as a prop for himself. No surprise there. He was the Alpha in power when the Vessel arrived. He was awesome by association. That wasn’t what bothered her.

  What bothered her were his eyes. And his mouth. And all the words that came out of it. What bothered her was that that short drink of Napoleon complex and snake oil knew so much about what she was supposed to be. Knew about her scene with Ram at Underbridge. Thought the Jiniyr were—what? Normal? He’d seemed more enraged by her conversational faux pas than he was by the idea that a group of Jinn and Niyr were conspiring against his world. He was…well, he was a dick.

  Aziza reached up to trace the second mark that had formed on her forehead, as solid as the one on her palm. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it, now that Shev had told her the Jinn world and probably the Niyr were both affected by her abilities. There was no reason to hide from voyeurs frozen in a time bubble. She just wanted to make sure. To be alone with her thoughts. To finally have some damn privacy.

  She wondered if there was a better name for this concealing power than Mayet’s Veil. Maybe she should make one up. “Mayet’s Privacy Curtain,” she mused, shaking her head. “Mayet’s Mind-Your-Own-Fucking-Business Barrier.”

  And once again she wondered who the hell this Mayet was. They’d said the sand in her blood would tell her what she needed to know, but that was starting to feel like a convenient line to keep her in the dark about her strengthening abilities. What was inside her, talking in her head, guiding her actions, demanding experiences that would be impossible to explain to the man she was currently taking a breather from but still technically dating?

  You need to listen.

  What she needed to do was find a way to protect Greg and Penn from what she could feel coming. To protect Ram. She didn’t trust the Enforcers to do it now. She couldn’t rely on Shev. Aziza would be an idiot if she thought the Jiniyr would be satisfied dropping strangers’ bodies at her feet for long.

  It struck her that she had the ability to protect them, to stop time and hide them all from prying eyes. She could do anything she wanted. Anything in the world.

  And she was doing this.

  “I am definitely going to hell,” she murmured, regretfully taking off the sunglasses, but leaving her two posed “mannequins” in place before continuing down the sidewalk toward Penn’s flat. She should call Brandon back and tell him about the meeting, about what she did at Underbridge and the upcoming party before he heard it from somebody else. She wasn’t sure what to say to him.

  She should practice. “Hey, Brandon,” she said to the air, “I’m sorry your father is a tool and your species’ way of life is a little obsessive and prejudiced. Oh, and if you hear anything about me being handcuffed to a cross or Ram beating me with a whip until I screamed, that was just for the investigation—although, what happened later didn’t have anything to do with anything except the sand possibly turning me into a one-woman hormone factory. Would you still want to be my boyfriend if I invited Ram and occasionally West into our bed?”

  Brandon. God, what was she going to do about him? When they weren’t fighting, no one had ever made her feel so taken care of. He made her feel safe. Strong. Adored. And there was no denying he drove her crazy in the bedroom.

  You still want Ram. You know him better than you ever knew the wolf. You haven’t told Brandon about the stables. Or Underbridge. You haven’t told him what you and Ram shared in his bed.

  She didn’t have a response for that. She could say she was only human, but as Ram pointed out, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t something she was proud of—this continued desire, this greed for more. She hoped it was just another side effect of the sand and not a flaw in her character, because anyone with two brain cells to rub together and a pulse would know she’d won the man lottery with Brandon. She shouldn’t have a single doubt in her mind.

  He lied to you. He believes what the other Enforcers believe. He would never understand how you feel about Ram. About Shev. Even Te.

  He would also never leave her. He would die for her. Claim her if he could. She couldn’t say the same about any of the others.

  Aziza’s reverie was interrupted when she noticed a not-so-perfect man who seemed a little too desperate to recapture his adolescence, wearing a leering grin and a pair of saggy jeans that showed the top half of his underwear. He’d obviously been frozen by her ability while trying to come on to a woman who appeared more intimidated than interested.

  Damn her photographic memory. There was no way to unsee that.

  She set the cup of coffee down on the sidewalk and walked over to him, yanking his pants down to his ankles without hesitation, baring his rail-thin, pasty-white legs in the process. She chuckled wickedly. “You have to commit, buddy. Up or down. You should never do anything half-assed.”

  She really was a bad person. Brandon didn’t know how bad.

  What would he think if he knew what she was doing? That she was acting out, that her emotions were on a roller coaster that was only speeding faster along its looping track. That she honestly didn’t know who or what she wanted at any given moment, except not to be what she was, so she was taking as long as the hourglass on her palm allowed her to play college-style pranks on the innocent citizenry of London. A childish rebellion that accomplished nothing.

  Ram would laugh.

  Yes, but Ram didn’t have limits or rules. He wanted to give her whatever she wanted—and that could be dangerous for her too. Especially considering the changes she was going through.

  She glanced at herself in the nearest reflective shop window and froze. Movement behind her caught her eye. Something was moving?

  No. Someone.

  Impossible. That was supposed to be impossible. “No fucking way.”

  Aziza turned around in time to see the back of a tall man in a black, hooded sweatshirt running down the street away from her, dodging frozen tourists and dog walkers with the skill of an athlete.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  She ran after him, glancing down quickly to see the hourglass still branded into her palm. The dark sand was still active—it should be working, damn it.

  As her bare feet slapped against the unforgiving concrete and cobblestone, she tried not to think about what might be on the street that she hadn’t been vaccinated against. Or what might be there soon if she didn’t stop shaking the contents of her stomach. Wasn’t there some rule about how long after drinking you had to wait before chasing someone? If there wasn’t, there should be.

  Then her heel landed on a pebble and she stumbled to a stop. “Ow…fuck!”

  Obviously she wasn’t as badass as Greg and West believed—if she were, cooties, pebbles and one medium-sized bottle of vodka wouldn’t have deterred her from getting her man.

  “Wait!” she shouted breathlessly when he disappeared around a corner. “Damn it, I
’m barefoot. I just want to talk to you.”

  How could he be doing this? Unless…

  “Joseph?” she cried out. “Joseph, is that you?”

  It couldn’t be him. She refused to believe it. Joseph would never run from her. This was someone new—someone who shouldn’t be possible. She’d never gotten close enough to see his face, only the basic shape of a tall man who favored ninja fashions.

  A man who’d obviously been watching her.

  “Well hell.” She limped to the corner, her mind a crazed jumble of possibilities. Maybe she should call for Te or Shev. Someone had to know how this could happen. Who her mystery man could be. “Son of a bitch.”

  “No, that would be your detective boyfriend. He’s the werewolf, not me.”

  The warm, whiskey twang made her whirl around with a gasp. “West?”

  He was leaning on the building when she turned the corner, his smile apologetic as he looked down at her feet. “Are you all right? I didn’t realize you were barefoot.”

  “West, what the hell?”

  When he pushed away from the wall, she took a step back and held up her hand. “I’m fine, so you stay right where you are. How are you doing this? How do you know what I am? What are you?”

  He unzipped his jacket and pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing her the scarification marks on his chest. “Come on, Aziza Jane. Think about it for a minute. You’re the Fireborne. Don’t you already know? Weren’t you told in a dream?”

  Tarik. That dream again. She could hear him whispering in her ear as if he were right beside her.

  “The Zhaman is hidden by the sand he wears, not in his blood, but in spells written beneath his skin. It tells him in visions when and where it must go. In return, his line and those they love who are marked dwell safely in shadows. Free from harm.”

  “You’re the Zhaman?” He did not look at all the way she’d pictured him. And she’d come on to him. Aziza groaned and cupped her cheeks in her hands. “You are the sand keeper?”