Kissed by Fire

by Shéa MacLeod

  I reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing inch after inch of beautifully bronzed skin. On each little inch I laid a kiss.

  Jack’s hands slid around to my ass, molding, squeezing, shaping. I grew more and more aroused, until I had no more patience and ripped the rest of his shirt off. His jeans came next and I paused just long enough to take in the beauty of his body.

  The first time we’d been together, I hadn’t had the chance to notice his scars. There were plenty. Ancient slash marks across ribs, stomach and arms. Battle scars of a Templar Knight.

  I traced one that cut across his left pectoral, right above his heart. I pressed my mouth to it, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath.

  “Enough,” he groaned. “You are driving me to madness.”

  “Oh, goodie,” I whispered, voice huskier than usual, “I always wanted to do that.”

  With a laugh, he grabbed me and threw me back on the bed, following me down. Legs and arms and mouths tangled together. Hot, so hot I was burning alive.

  I traced the line of his back until I found his ass and did some squeezing of my own. “I want you, Jack. Now.”

  I felt him at my entrance and then he was inside me, all that hot, hard length of him. My body tightened around him as I arched off the bed. Gods, it felt good.

  He began to move inside me, every stroke driving me mad, pushing me closer and closer to the edge until he pushed me up and over. I came with his name on my lips and fire in my eyes.

  ***

  “Welcome Hunter.”

  I blinked. The voice was so deep it rumbled in my chest like stereo bass turned up too loud. Problem was I couldn’t find a person to go with the voice.

  I glanced about and felt my heart lodge itself in my throat. I was standing on top a rock wall with a sheer drop hundreds of feet to the valley below. Fortunately, the wall was wide enough I could take a step back from the edge.

  Cold wind tugged at my clothes and hair, just a hint of snow in its breath. The sun struggled weakly against clouds heavy with impending rain. Below, the valley stretched for miles until it became a forest thick with trees. Not the enormous evergreens of home, but the shorter aspens and birch of Northern England and Scotland. They were naked now, the trees, but would be beautiful in the spring, furred with pale green leaf buds.

  To my right was a giant tree, bare of leaves, but I knew it to be an oak. It grew right up through the middle of the ancient stone wall.

  “Wait a minute.” My voice filled with wonder. “This is Hadrian’s Wall.”

  “Correct, Hunter. This wall has been standing for nearly two thousand years and will most likely stand for two thousand yet. You stand on history.”

  He wasn’t kidding, but I still couldn’t spot the owner of the voice. “Yes, it’s very cool. But why am I here?”

  “Because, Hunter, we brought you here. There are things which need to be said. Truths which need to be told. Lies which need undoing.”

  “OK.” I turned around still trying to find the speaker. No luck. The wind blew strands of violet red hair across my eyes. I impatiently brushed them out of the way before turning back to the view of the valley. Even with winter approaching, it was a beautiful valley, green and lush with tiny little white sheep dotting the landscape. “You want to talk? Let’s talk. But first, I want to see you. It’s kind of hard to hold a conversation with air.”

  A chuckle so deep it made the wall itself vibrate. “Ever the Hunter. Always you want evidence. Never can you take a thing on faith.”

  “Faith? What does this have to do with faith?”

  “Everything. Nothing.”

  I growled under my breath. “Listen, mister, whoever you are, I don’t like riddles. I want to know who you are and what I’m doing here.”

  “You are here because I bid you here. You need to know the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” My voice was just this side of a snarl.

  “The truth.” The voice moved closer though I still couldn’t see anyone, just a windswept vista from the top of the wall. Hot breath puffed against my ear. “The truth is that we did not do this thing of which we are accused. We would never do this thing, despite the lies told about our kind. This you must know and this you must prove.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Confusion sent my mind into turmoil. What “thing” was he talking about? What had he been accused of and who had accused him? And while we were at it, who the heck was “we”?

  “This.” The word was a sibilant hiss, strung out on a breath. As the word ended, a picture appeared before me. A beautiful young woman, blond hair spread across a pillow. Eyes closed as though in peaceful sleep.

  Yet her too white body lay in a pool of crimson blood. Skin slashed from breast to pubic bone, organs exposed, spilling from the wound. The stench of blood and death assaulted me. I gagged and placed a shaking hand across my mouth. I’d seen worse, smelled worse, but I hadn’t had time to brace myself. Besides which, I knew the face that lay on that pillow.

  “What is this?” I demanded.

  “You know.”

  “Alison.”

  “Yes.” The sibilance was back in the rumbling voice, a wisp of smoke chasing away the smell of death.

  “Who are you?” The vision of Alison shimmered and shifted until before me stood a horror of another kind.

  “I am Dragon.”

  ***

  I came awake with a start, the scent of blood and smoke still lingering in my nose. The dream had been as real as the others, but one thing was different. In this dream, I’d been myself. Not a knight or a priest. Not a mage or a princess. Just me.

  I turned to find Jack already awake and pulling on his jeans. I frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving.” His voice was grim.

  My heart stuttered to a halt. “Excuse me?”

  White lines bracketed his mouth and he sank down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “You heard me. This was a mistake. We should never have done this.” With a shake of his head, he stood up and pulled his shirt on, every line of his body weary.

  Anger burned through me, closely followed by pain. “Guilt. You feel guilty again, don’t you?”

  He said nothing which infuriated me even more.

  “This is bullshit, Jack.” I hauled ass out of bed. I didn’t even care that I was buck naked. “You can’t do this to me again. You can’t just come in here, give me some sweet talk and a fuck and then go back to your high and mighty duty like nothing happened.”

  “I’m sorry, Morgan. This is the way it has to be. I shouldn’t have come.” His eyes were wells of agony, but frankly I didn’t give a shit. I was tired of him treating me like a booty call and then pulling the duty and honor card afterward.

  I yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped myself in it then stormed to the door and flung it open. “Get out.”

  “Morgan ... ”

  My voice was quiet. “Get. Out.”

  There was sadness in every line of him, but I felt no pity. Only fury. I was tired of being thrown away whenever it was inconvenient. If Jack wanted to have issues with our being together, fine. But I was done playing the game.

  He hesitated in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Morgan, I ... ”

  “I don’t give a crap. I’m done.” And I slammed the door in his face. This time I meant it. I didn’t care if he was the Guardian of Atlantis or the freaking Tooth Fairy, I was done with Jackson Keel.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was seething with fury. Even a shower didn’t cool me down, so I threw on some clothes and headed for Hyde Park. I hoped a good, fast walk would burn some of the edge off the anger and hopefully allow the hotel maid time to get rid of the evidence.

  Gods, I was such an idiot. I’d let Jack do this to me not once, but twice. I guess this time it really was fool me twice.

  Under all the anger, though, was pain. I really didn’t want to look at that pain, but it was there, burning thro
ugh my gut like acid. Anger was so much easier to deal with than heartache, but heartache would eat you alive if you let it.

  I managed to get a short way into the park before the anger burned out and I dropped onto a park bench. I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry. Bad ass Vampire Hunters did not cry. Especially not over a stupid man without the sense the gods gave a turnip.

  Hot tears trickled down my cheeks. I swiped them away, but that didn’t stop them from coming. It was a good thing I hadn’t bothered with makeup.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, collar turned against the chill wind, wrapped in my own misery. Kabita found me a little while later. She sat down beside me, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing her ankles, looking for all the world like she was about to take a morning nap. For a long time neither of us said anything.

  “Jack is an asshole.”

  That startled a bark of laughter from me. “Preach it.” I shifted so I could see her face. “You know what happened?”

  “Of course I know. Your room is next to mine. I wouldn’t say I heard everything, but I certainly heard enough.”

  I felt myself blushing. Freaking fantastic.

  “I was worried. After last time.” She meant when I touched the Atlantis amulet and discovered I was the Key, the Royal Bloodline. When Jack freaked out and declared duty more important that whatever it was that had been growing between us.

  “You were right to be worried.”

  “Listen Morgan.” She still didn’t touch me, but her presence was like a warm blanket wrapping around my heart, smoothing away the anger and the hurt. “Jack is messed up. You know that, I know that. Apparently 900 years doesn’t cure a person of testosterone poisoning.”

  That made me smile. “Guess not.” And Jack had more than most. He’d been a Templar Knight, for crying out loud. Not exactly the sitting by the fire with a good book type.

  “He’s scared, you know. He’s a warrior, always has been, and the last woman he loved was murdered. He couldn’t save her, for all his skills, and now he’s got you and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Yeah, life is shit, but wallowing in it doesn’t do anyone any good.” I stared at the toes of my boots.

  “You’re right about that. Life is for living and it’s the bad stuff that makes the good stuff so good. We know that, but Jack’s forgotten it. Nearly a thousand years of living sort of takes the immediacy out of things. He thinks he’s got all the time in the world to deal with this. To deal with you.”

  I didn’t tell her that he might be right. That I might be a Sunwalker, too. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself yet, I wasn’t about to admit it to Kabita no matter she was my best friend. “That still doesn’t change the fact that he ripped my heart out and stomped on it. Again.”

  A little girl with sunshine hair tripped by, holding her mother with one pudgy hand and a bright red lolly with the other. She beamed at me and I couldn’t help but smile back despite the pain in my heart. I wondered if I’d have kids one day. Hard to imagine with my life and job not to mention the whole Sunwalker and Key of Atlantis thing, but weirder things had happened.

  Kabita stood up. “Yeah, and he’ll keep doing it if you let him. I don’t think he knows if he’s coming or going. He wants you, but he can’t deal with the guilt so he’ll keep coming back and then freaking out. You’ve got to be the big brave adult and tell him to step off until he gets his act together.”

  “I did.”

  “Then you’ve got to mean it.”

  I thought about it and realized I did mean it. It was time to stop dancing around with Jack and move on. He would probably never be entirely out of my life, what with all this Atlantean weirdness, but he could be out of my heart. He just wasn’t good for me. Like those candies that are lovely and sweet at first and then hit you with a center full of sourness.

  I stood up, too. “Enough about Jack. I’ll get over it, and him. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

  Kabita nodded and we began walking along the wide path. The park was starting to fill up. It was the weekend, after all. A couple of pre-teens zoomed by on roller skates followed by an older man on a bike. A young couple pushing a stroller passed us, eyes glued on each other and still glazed with love. Part of me wanted to coo, but the other part wanted to growl out of sheer jealousy.

  “Anything else new?” Kabita asked.

  I was happy to get off the subject of Jack, so I told her about my dream of the dragon. “It was really strange. It felt real, almost more like a memory than a dream, but I haven’t been to Hadrian’s Wall in years and I’ve certainly never met a dragon.”

  Kabita paused, a funny look on her face.

  “Kabita, are you OK?”

  She waved me off. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking of something else. Listen, you haven’t forgotten our appointment with Ben Landry today, have you?”

  I blinked at the sudden change of topic. “No.” I totally had. “Of course not. He might know something important. Maybe something about Alison’s research.”

  “Exactly. It’s nearly ten. He should be at home now.”

  I followed her to the taxi stand wondering what was going on in that head of hers. As usual with Kabita, she’d tell me when she was good and ready, but I was starting to get the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me.

  ***

  Ben Landry lived in a fifth floor flat in one of the slightly dodgier parts of town. There was no elevator, so we took the stairs. Good thing I stayed in shape or I might have died. Well, not literally, of course.

  The air inside the stairwell was close and stuffy, reeking of garlic and curry spices and stale urine. There were a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, but they weren’t on and I didn’t see a switch. Only a tiny grime covered window on each landing shed a bit of light. It was also a good thing I had excellent night vision or I could have wound up falling on my ass.

  Kabita rapped on Ben’s door. We heard shuffling on the other side and then, “Who is it?” His voice was a bit hoarse like he’d been asleep. Or crying.

  “Kabita Jones. Alison’s cousin.”

  I heard a chain rattle, then a slide of the deadbolt and the door swung open. Ben Landry was just as tall and slender as I remembered. Up close, I discovered he was better looking that I’d realized. Cute in a kind of geeky way, with really pretty gray eyes and ridiculously thick black lashes, but his eyes were rimmed in red. Crying, then.

  Drinking, too, by the smell of him. Though he seemed sober enough.

  He smiled at us, and there was sadness behind the smile. “Come in, please.” He stepped back so we could enter.

  Ben’s flat was pretty much what I expected of a single guy, but a lot cleaner. Spartan furnishings and zero decoration. Surprisingly, there was no TV. The only things he appeared to have spent money on were a bank of computers along one wall and a really snazzy desk chair.

  “Welcome. Can I get you some tea? Coffee?”

  We each murmured our thanks and asked for coffee. He waved us to the kitchen table while he tinkered with the kettle.

  “Listen, Ben, I’m going to cut to the chase here.” Kabita’s tone was calm, no-nonsense. “What was your relationship with Alison?”

  A spoon clunked against the side of a mug as though she’d caught him off guard. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t want people to know.”

  “She’s dead, Ben.” I kept my tone soft and comforting. I guess we were playing good cop, firm cop. “Whatever you tell us can’t hurt her anymore.”

  He closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped even more. I hadn’t known that was possible. With a sigh, he picked up the tray of drinks and brought it to the table. There were only two chairs, so he wheeled over his computer chair and sat.

  I held back a smile as he handed me a mug. It had a bright red background with a white crown and the words “Keep Calm and Carry On.” One of my favorite Briticisms, it never ceased to amuse me.


  “Alison and I ... ” His voice broke a little. “We’d been seeing each other for about six months. We were in love.” The last he said a little defensively as though he thought we wouldn’t believe him.

  “And?” Kabita prompted.

  “She made me promise to keep it a secret.” He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “I couldn’t blame her. With what was going on at MI8, even being friends with me was a bad idea.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  His jaw clenched. “Ever since I heard about MI8, I’ve wanted to join. It’s all I ever wanted to do, but I knew I’d have to hide my true self if I wanted to work there.”

  “Why?” I had a feeling I knew.

  “I’m a Witch.”

  I watched Kabita’s knuckles turn white as she clenched her mug. Her voice was a little hoarse as she asked her next question. “How did you get away with it?”

  “I’m essentially latent. I have almost zero power. I can cast a minor finding spell, but that’s about it. It was easy enough to bury it since I rarely use it anyway. The only thing truly Witch-like about me is my religion, and they can’t ask about that. So, I don’t tell. I keep it hidden.”

  “Someone found out?” she prodded.

  “They must have. We’d just started seeing each other when Alison found a memo from her uncle ordering MI8’s internal investigators to open a case on me. She was afraid if Mr. Jones discovered we were seeing each other, it would be worse.” He stared into his cup, swallowing hard. “She also thought that as long as nobody knew we were together, she’d have a better chance protecting me.”

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  “It must have. Now she’s gone, I’m on suspension pending investigation.”

  The irony of an agency devoted to studying and understanding the supernatural refusing to allow admittance to Witches did not escape me. There was something hinky about Alister’s obsession with Witches, especially in light of his own daughter’s heritage. As far as I was concerned, being descended from a witch hunter wasn’t a good enough reason.