Fire and Flame

by Anya Breton

  The thud of Brent closing the door meant she was in a bedroom, alone with him. She hadn’t considered worrying about it until now. But her worry for what he’d do with a bed nearby fled when he spoke.

  “Your father is dead.”

  Chapter Two

  Brent hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt. He’d intended to ease her into the bad news. But when he’d seen the pair of boxers on her chair after having read the love note on the door, something inside him had snapped.

  Sara’s pouty coral pink lips parted slightly. The delicate tongue visible between her whitened teeth shouldn’t have made him wonder what she tasted like. Not at a time like this.

  Though her squinted, pale blue irises gazed in his direction, they were vacant. A strand of her honey hair fell against her upturned nose and across her blue silk blouse while she stood staring at nothing. He remained rigid in his spot by the door because doing anything else would unleash his urge to touch her hair.

  Sara’s soft soprano voice cut through the silence. “What happened?”

  “The priest from the Illiana coven challenged him.”

  He didn’t need to explain that the lesser priest had won. She’d understand her father had died in a power play. It was the way of their race.

  Nevertheless, her eyes cleared and sharpened on his face. Sara’s voice soon matched. “And where were you?”

  Brent’s entire body went stiff at her unspoken accusation.

  She went on in a lowered, derisive tone. “Where was my father’s faithful guard dog when he was finally needed?”

  He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, and shake her until she cried like an ordinary young woman who had just learned her father was dead. Brent most certainly didn’t want her to blame the passing of the most honorable man he’d ever known on him.

  “You know no one can interfere in a challenge once accepted.” He hadn’t meant his voice to sound as menacing as it had but there was no taking it back now.

  “You could have barred the priest from my father’s house!” Her shout echoed across the small room. Sara’s eyes were two finely squinted lines. Her lips vibrated with fury. She’d never looked more beautiful to him. “You could have persuaded him to postpone the challenge! You could have done something!”

  She was incensed with grief. There was no reasoning with her now. But it did his conscience little good to hear her rant things he’d wished he’d done. He had been Fintan McKenna’s faithful assistant during the five years since high school graduation. And he’d been unable to stop his mentor’s premature death.

  He drew in a slow breath, meeting her now wide and enraged gaze. “I did do something.” After a beat he concluded, “I killed your father’s murderer.”

  ****

  Sara sunk onto the bed when her legs gave out. The single phrase hammered the truth home. Her father was truly dead.

  She didn’t need to ask if his death had been painless. It hadn’t. But she could ask one other thing.

  “Was it quick?”

  “Yes.” Brent’s response was instantaneous, as though it were a small salve for his guilt.

  Sara squeezed her eyes shut. She supposed she could thank Brent for her father’s speedy passing. Brent wouldn’t have allowed Fintan to suffer long.

  Her gaze slowly fixed on Brent in his spot blocking the door. His handsome features were drawn tight as he stared at his feet and clutched himself. Good. She hoped his conscience was killing him.

  She spoke in a hollow voice. “So you’re the new high priest of the Ohio River Valley.”

  “It would appear so.”

  The upper half of her face crinkled. “Don’t play cute, Brenton. Someone challenged my father and won his position. Then you challenged them and won. Ergo you have the position.”

  “Maybe I plan to give it to someone else.”

  Sara tossed her hands out impatiently. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “It does for the Air witches.”

  Sara had had enough of his pointless responses. Even if he did give the position to someone else, whoever was foolish enough to accept it would be seen as weak, and would be quickly challenged.

  She tilted her head peevishly, a pose that was at odds with her feigned calm. “Thank you for traveling all this way to tell me the distressing news. I’m sure you have to be on your way now.”

  “You’re coming back.”

  Though it wasn’t a question, she treated it as one. “Send me the information for the funeral and I’ll be there.”

  It was the least she could do. Her daddy had rescued her from a dying mother. He’d raised her himself when few males of their race got involved with their offspring. Then Fintan had financed her every whim. In return, she’d treated him like a king.

  “The funeral is tomorrow at ten,” Brent reported.

  “I’ll be there.”

  In order to be in Indiana at ten in the morning she’d have to leave tonight. Given it was already past five, she had little time to get on the road.

  Brent understood as well. “You have an hour to pack your stuff while I get us dinner.”

  “I don’t need an hour to pack for a weekend.”

  Even as the words left her mouth, she knew what he’d say. The response was visible in his hard-edged gaze and tightly drawn lips. Brent expected her to pack up her entire room, and return to Indiana five weeks early.

  “It’s not for the weekend,” he replied predictably. “You are Fintan’s only living child. The priest who killed him has many offspring. They’re going to take vengeance. You need to be somewhere safe.”

  “You didn’t keep my father safe. What makes you think you can keep me safe?”

  Sara shouldn’t have said it. The situation had made her unreasonable. But she couldn’t muster the urge to care. Her father was dead, and his frustrating guard dog had come to collect her.

  Brent’s jaw clicked shut with a noticeable sound. He eased it enough to speak a moment later. “I kept your father safe from everything I could, but you know I was helpless in the face of a challenge.”

  She did know, but she needed someone to be angry with now that the priest responsible was dead. Brent was an easy target. “I’m not going back with you.”

  “No. I’m going back with you. Pack. I’ll be back.” Brent twisted the doorknob then quickly escaped the room before she could argue.

  She grabbed the closest thing at hand and thoughtlessly hurled it at the door. A sharp scream tore from her throat as she released the object.

  Later she’d be upset she’d destroyed the candle her sorority sister had given her for homecoming, and that she’d given in to the famed Fire witch aggression. Right now, the only emotion she was capable of was seething.

  But seething was better than falling apart. Especially in front of Brent.

  ****

  Brent drove the rented sports car into the tiny town in search of a suitable meal. Sara disliked fast food. She preferred fresh vegetables, choice meat, and delicious real fruit smoothies. It had been nothing but the best for Fintan’s princess. His head throbbed with anger.

  Why was he here?

  He could have sent any of the witches subservient to the high priest. Sara would have preferred to hear the news from one of her friends. She certainly wouldn’t thank him for driving three hundred and fifty miles across the country to personally see to her safety.

  This had seemed like a task for him—for the man who had become Fintan’s closest confidant. Brent knew what Fintan had wanted for his daughter. It wasn’t a fiery death. He owed it to his mentor to see to Sara’s safety even if it drove them both crazy.

  But six hours in her Lexus were going to be nearly impossible to handle. She’d been unable to hold her tongue within seconds of hearing the horrible news. There’d be nothing keeping her quiet on the drive back to Indiana.

  Maybe he ought to drug her dinner.

  His mentor’s unsmiling visage flashed in his mind’s eye. No drugging the princess then.


  Brent ran a hand roughly through his hair then bashed his head against the headrest as he sat at the red light in the middle of the tiny downtown. He didn’t want to think about why the love note on her door had infuriated him. In truth, he already knew.

  Everything had always come easily to Sara McKenna. She’d stolen away his friends a half hour after she’d arrived from Chicago—friends he’d spent two years cultivating. All she’d had to do was bat her golden lashes and spare a few bright smiles. They’d been putty in her hands. And the pattern had continued through graduation.

  Sara had held an honored place as daughter of the regional high priest when Brent’s own father had never set eyes on him. That was how it was supposed to be. The only support a male witch was meant to give his children was money.

  Other mothers had died young. Their children had been sent to sisters, aunts, and cousins—never to the father. But Sara was charmed.

  Luck was her lady and Brent would always resent her for it.

  ****

  Sara could have been insubordinate. She could have failed to pack. She could have gotten in her crossover and started back to Indiana without him. But he would have tracked her down, and then she’d have been in a world of hurt. Instead, she’d play nice until Monday.

  Then she’d move to New York.

  Brent’s dark eyebrows lifted when he pushed through her door. The white paper sack in his left hand looked suspiciously like the bags she got from her favorite deli. But Brent wouldn’t have gone there.

  He pulled out a pair of familiar foil wrapped sandwiches, two packets of carrots, and a monstrous freshly baked cookie. He had gone to her favorite deli!

  Brent held out the pair, one in each of his outstretched palms. “Chicken salad wrap with walnuts, cranberries, grapes, and apples or roast beef on cheese bread with a creamy horseradish sauce?”

  Sara’s mouth went slack in surprise. Somehow, Brent had managed to track down the best restaurant in town and pick her two favorite sandwiches. Now she had to choose between them.

  Uncomfortable with his skill, she made a dismissive gesture then shoved her head back into her closet. “Whatever you don’t want.”

  He snuffled behind her, presumably in irritation, but didn’t speak.

  Sara concentrated on finding a few suitable black dresses to put in her overnight bag.

  Sara carefully packed her shoes while Brent consumed his sandwich at a startling speed. Once he’d finished his meal, he snatched up her keys from her desk then began taking her boxes and stacks of clothing out to the car. Sara relaxed each time he left her room. She managed to eat the chicken salad wrap he’d left her in between his trips, not because she was hungry but because she didn’t want to insult him by refusing his food.

  Too soon, Sara’s belongings were packed into her Lexus and she was turning in her keys to the housemother. Brent allowed her several minutes to hug her sorority sisters goodbye. His dark figure hovered while she received their sympathetic words for the passing of her father.

  No one mentioned how strange it was for her to be dry-eyed in the face of her father’s death. Or how she didn’t appear upset to leave behind everything she’d come to love in the past five years. Sara felt nothing but resentment and anger for the man who silently watched her say goodbye to her life. Those emotions filled her to the brim, making it easy not to cry.

  Though she’d had only three weeks left with these people before she’d have left anyway, there were many things she would be unable to do, people she wouldn’t get the chance to properly say farewell to thanks to Brent’s hurrying.

  However, there was one person even Brent couldn’t stop her from seeing.

  She faced her father’s guard dog on the back steps. He’d taken up the spot behind her as if he expected her to run back into her now empty room. Her chin lifted in preparation for the coming fight. “I have one more person to see before I leave.”

  “Who?”

  Sara shook her head slowly, signifying she wasn’t going to explain herself. “I need a half hour.”

  “No.” His answer was quickly snapped even as his expression darkened and wrinkled.

  Leveling a cool eye on him, she declared, “You owe me at least this much.”

  His voice went low and gruff. “It’s already nearly eight. It will be two by the time we get home if we leave now—”

  “Brent.” Impatience laced her firm voice. “I need a half hour.” Using only the pleading droop of her features, she silently willed him to agree. She didn’t want to get nasty to get her way, not with a six-hour drive ahead of them.

  A muscle in his cheek twitched as it always did when he was angry. He drew in a noisy breath through his nose. Then Brent flapped a dismissive palm toward campus.

  Sara wasted no time escaping him.

  Chapter Three

  The brief text message Sara sent John had him appearing at his room within seconds of her arrival. He gave her one of his megawatt smiles as he leaned in for a kiss. The kiss she gave him was admittedly cool, little more than a peck on the lips. Her handsome guy drew back, focusing his crystal blue gaze on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked with a worried expression creasing his clean-shaven cheeks.

  Sara had liked the look of him from the first moment she’d spotted him in sophomore year. Johnathon was the quintessential All-American boy. He’d been quarterback of his small town football team, head of the honor society, and president of his class. Sara had been all of these except she’d been a cheerleader instead of a football player. They would have been perfect for each other.

  If she’d been a vanilla human.

  “Sar.” He rubbed his thumb over her cheek in the soothing gesture he did so well.

  Sara nodded her head at the door. He murmured an apology even as he pushed his key into the lock. His expression was expectant but worried once they were safely within the room.

  With only a half hour to make her goodbyes, she had better get right to it. “I have to leave early.”

  “Okay. I can occupy myself tonight.” John gave her his softest of smiles.

  Sara hated that she had to do this. It didn’t help that she’d known it was coming for months. John was a great man. He was one of those individuals who would only get better with age. Why couldn’t she have been born normal?

  “I don’t mean tonight, John. I mean I have to leave school early. It’s an emergency.”

  “Okay.” John nodded as he fetched a pair of jeans. “I’ll get changed and we can leave.”

  “John.” Her pitch lifted with guilt. “I’m sorry but you can’t come.”

  He crossed the room so he could take hold of her fingers. John lowered his head until he captured her gaze. “Is this about your father? You still think he won’t approve of me?” He drew her into his arms for a firm hug before she could respond. “I’ll make him like me, Sar. You’ll see. I promise.”

  The warm breath puffing her hair and the soothing feel of him holding her steady weren’t helping matters. The situation was intensely unfair. Even if her father hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have been able to be with John. At least not until she’d done her duty.

  The notion of a witch’s duty had been drummed into her head from the start. Sara would have preferred it if her duty entailed some sort of community service, perhaps for a few years, before embarking on her life. But that wasn’t the sort of duty she had to do at all.

  No, as a pureblooded witch, Sara was expected to conceive a pureblooded child to maintain her race’s strength. She’d managed to postpone the obligation for college and had hoped it could be delayed longer still while she worked on beginning her career. With her daddy dead, she’d be at the whim of her high and local priests.

  She’d be at Brent’s whim.

  Sara shoved the image of Brent’s angrily twitching cheek out of her mind’s eye. There were pressing matters to attend to. She stared at the man in front of her and couldn’t help but compare the two now that she’d been i
n their company recently. Though they were only a year apart, John seemed boyish compared to the formidable witch. No doubt while accompanying Fintan, Brent had seen things John couldn’t begin to comprehend. It would have aged him.

  Struggling once more to focus on the present, Sara asked herself the all-important question: would John still want her if she had another man’s child?

  She wished she could explain everything to him. He deserved to know he was perfect…for a human. But she didn’t have the luxury. Her society was secret. It was meant to stay that way.

  The concern crinkling his features hinted it would be a mistake to tell him her father had died. He’d want to console her. He’d insist upon going with her. John would assume anything she said now was in an agitated mournful state. He’d discount it all.

  He couldn’t be allowed to follow her.

  So when John tilted her face to his then pressed his lips over hers, she took advantage of the moment. Getting lost in another creature, in a warm inviting body, for a few minutes might chase away the pain. And when they were finished, John would be sound asleep.

  She could make her get away then. The last memory Johnathon Thomas would have of her would be a sweet one. That was the best she could give him.

  ****

  Sara’s shower had been the fastest in history. She’d only had a few minutes left of her half hour and hadn’t wanted to risk John waking from his sated stupor. With damp hair and sticking clothes, Sara arrived at her Lexus at half past eight.

  Brent scrutinized her from head to toe. The muscle in his cheek began to twitch wildly. He said nothing when he wrenched open the driver’s door to a red Mustang parked beside her Lexus.

  He tossed himself inside, calling out only, “Follow me,” before firing up the engine.

  She settled into the driver’s seat of her crossover with cautious optimism. Six hours back to Indiana would give her time to think about what she was going to do now. The ride would be somewhat relaxing without Brent in the car.

  Sara’s thought lasted only until Brent pulled into the parking lot of a car rental company. She tapped an irritated staccato out on the steering wheel while she waited for him, hoping he was merely asking for an upgrade or an optional GPS. He emerged without keys and slid into the passenger seat beside her.