Fire and Flame (13 page)

With care befitting a newborn, Brent carried her to his pickup. Then he went back for the witch he’d knocked out. Four metal zip ties secured the bastard’s legs and arms together. He tossed the Ena witch into the bed of his truck then covered him with a tarp. There would be plenty of time to have vengeance once he got Sara home.

Brent scrolled through his phone contacts until he found the number for the Healer Fintan regularly used. She was particularly good with fixing burns. There wouldn’t be any scarring provided the Healer attended the wound within a few days. That was a good thing considering Sara would be devastated if she scarred.

Though the call to the Healer was quick and an agreement was made for her to come at once, Brent’s gaze continually darted between the unconscious woman rested against his thigh and the tarp in the rear view mirror. Dark thoughts filled his mind.

He wanted to cut off the witch’s arms and feed them to him. Or perhaps he’d burn the witch within an inch of his life then keep him tied up for a few days to ensure a Healer wouldn’t be able to completely heal him. Brent would send the witch back to his brood scarred and blackened as a message.

No one touched his woman and got away with it.

One thing was abundantly clear: he couldn’t simply sit back and wait for the Ena witches to come to them. He had to destroy the entire brood before they could harm Sara again.

Chapter Sixteen

Though the room was dark, Sara suspected she wasn’t alone. Maybe she’d heard breathing or a shift in his position without realizing it. But someone was seated to her right.

“Brent?”

“I’m here.”

She found herself smiling. A week ago she’d have screamed at him for being in her room like this. But not today. Today he’d saved her.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she admitted in a sheepish whisper.

“You are.”

His flat answer made her teeth set. Moodily she replied, “You didn’t have to agree with me.”

“I’m not one of your sycophants, Sara. I’m not going to praise you just so you’ll like me. I don’t care if you like me. Someone has to tell you like it is.” He paused, perhaps giving her a chance to digest what he’d said. And then he proceeded to tell her like it was. “You did a stupid thing. You acted like an idiot. And I’m so damn furious with you.”

Blood rushed to her face in mortification. She couldn’t argue with him. He’d told her the Ena witches would want revenge and that they’d take it out on her. She’d personally witnessed an attack. Yet she’d still escaped her bodyguard. Though she wanted to cite his forcing kisses on her as justification, it simply wouldn’t hold up.

They sat in silence for what the amber beside clock claimed was a minute’s time. Why wasn’t she in pain? She wanted to check her chest for the burns but not while Brent was in the room. He’d know what had happened between the cemetery and her room. All she had to do was ask.

“Why don’t I feel the burn?”

There was no emotion to his response. “I called a Healer.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed hot in embarrassment. Not only had she inconvenienced Brent, she’d also interrupted a Healer’s Monday night to fix her mess. “I’m sorry.”

“Prove it by not pulling a stunt like that again.” He paused a beat. “You go no where without me or someone sanctioned by me until every Ena witch is dealt with.”

“Dealt with?”

The jingle of keys moving in a pocket heralded that he’d stood from where he must have been sitting on the floor. Brent took several steps away from her before answering in a flat tone. “Yes. Dealt with.”

Maybe it was because she didn’t hurt any longer but Sara didn’t like his dark answer. “What if they’re not all like that? What if some are peaceful?”

“Fire witches aren’t peaceful.”

“I’m peaceful,” she shot back.

“You’re…you.” The way he’d paused after his initial word implied Brent had wanted say something far different, probably something derisive. But it wasn’t like him to hold back. She wasn’t sure how to take it.

“Colin is going to stay with you for a little bit while I take care of some things,” he said as he remained motionless in the middle of her darkened room. “Your phone is on your left table. Call me if you need anything.”

“You’re going to kill him.” She’d hardly had the thought before the words escaped her mouth.

“Hell yes, I’m going to kill him.”

“Brent, I—”

“He tried to rape you! He burnt you, and would have left you to die if I hadn’t reached you first! I have to strike back or I’ll be seen as weak.”

In a small voice she said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Brent sounded legitimately confused. But it lasted only a second before he launched into slow, derisive speech. “It’s okay with you that I murder someone to defend our honor, princess?”

The resurgence of cruel Brent made her realize how nice he’d been to her these past few days. Why had he begun acting like a jerk again?

“No. It’s not okay,” she said sourly. “But I understand why you feel you have to do it.”

“I don’t
feel
I have to do it.” His volume lifted. “It
has
to be done. Because you didn’t kill him to save yourself, the burden falls on me. No, we can’t expect the princess to get her hands dirty even to save her own life!”

Brent’s nasty shouts were infuriating. Mostly because she couldn’t refute any of them. If the Ena witch were allowed to live, Brent’s inaction would be seen as a message to every Fire witch in the river valley. They’d believe the new high priest was lax in his punishment. In a society that only respected power and violence, it would be a dangerous message to send—almost as bad as a high priest requiring more than one guard.

Regardless of understanding the situation perfectly, Sara’s temper shot through the roof because of his heartless handling. She jumped to her knees. “You want me to get my hands dirty?”

“You can’t
handle
dirty. Look at this place!” In the pale light the window behind him cast, Brent gestured down at the floor. “You have white carpets and pale pink walls! You’d probably shriek if so much as a drop of mud landed in here!”

“Oh, now I have to get my hands dirty
and
my bedroom? What else?” Sara shuffled to the edge of the bed and jabbed her finger at the window. “Should I go outside and get a bucket of dirt to toss on my bed? Would you be happy if I slept in the mud? But oh, no, you’d just accuse me of doing it for medicinal purposes!” She pointed toward the driveway. “Maybe I need to go get the bottle of oil from the shed. But I doubt sleeping in a big puddle of oil would make you happy because nothing makes you happy, Brenton!” Sara tossed her arms up, illustrating how utterly hopeless he was. “You’re the most morose—”

A low growl escaped him before he pushed off his back foot, stalking across the room. Sara’s exclamation cut off in mid-sentence when his lips smashed over hers. She shoved at the hard wall of his chest exactly twice. When his tongue invaded through the startled part in her lips, she gave up the fight.

Brent’s hands slipped behind her. One firm palm held her head steady while the other pressed her lower back, bending her toward him. His tongue echoed his mood. It slashed at her mouth ruthlessly with its heated roughness. Somehow this kiss was better than when he’d been delicate. He was all around her now, demanding her every sense be fixed on him.

Frissons of arousal crawled up her arms as his warm ebony and smoky hickory scent filled her nose. Deep groans rumbled out of Brent’s chest as if he actually enjoyed this. And god help her, she liked the sound.

Because of it, Sara didn’t knee him in the groin like she should have. Instead she let him fit her along his torso, failing to protest even when his hand strayed lower over her bottom.

Brent quickly withdrew his tongue from her mouth so he could transfer his lips to her throat. Desire ignited in her when he sucked her skin between his lips a hair too roughly. The soft shirt grazing her chest was proof her blouse and bra had never been replaced. No sooner had she realized she was nude from the waist up did Brent’s mouth close over her left nipple and his stubble gently scraped her tender skin.

“Brent,” she exclaimed in shock, not because the lips pulling on the sensitive peak felt bad but because it didn’t.

He rolled his head. Glittering eyes caught hers. “I’ll be happy if you’ll let me dirty you.”

A shot of surprised arousal traveled from her chest straight down to the junction of her thighs even as she inhaled a startled breath. Sara stared in disbelief at the face peering up at her in the dim light. Thanks to the beam of light from the blinds cutting through the darkness, she could tell it was
Brent
gazing at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“But I’m not fertile now,” she blurted out.

“I don’t care, Sara.”

He didn’t care? If this wasn’t about the inheritance then what was it about? Or was this his sly way of getting her to agree to do her duty when she was fertile? Did he think he was that good that she’d demand to be with him again?

He snapped his hands to his sides, perhaps angered by her indecision, and then he stalked several paces away. With a deliberately cold voice, he barked, “Stay here with Colin. I have to go kill someone.”

And then he stomped out of the room.

****

Brent officially had no control over himself. Sara had infuriated him. And then when she’d flailed her arms around the room while half nude, he’d lost it.

She’d been into his kiss until the end. Had it been wishful thinking on his part? Or was Sara sending mixed signals?

Wishful thinking. It had to be. She wasn’t willing to have sex with him unless it was in exchange for a few hundred million dollars. And even then she resented her father for demanding it of her.

He pounded down the stairs, pausing only long enough to tell Colin that he was to protect Sara with his life. Then Brent slammed through the door on the way to the prisoner in the pickup’s bed.

Brent had knocked the Ena witch out good when the Healer had arrived. He’d also gagged the witch and made certain he was trussed up so there’d be no movement. Quiet and motionless, Brent figured the guy was still unconscious. He tossed the tailgate shut, and then stalked to the driver’s side. One of Fintan’s other properties was his destination.

Thoughts of Sara invaded his mind the moment he was enclosed in the truck’s cab where her warm amber scent still lingered. Why couldn’t he let her go? The woman wouldn’t sleep with him for millions! It should be sign enough for him. He really needed to give up, to accept one of the countless invitations he’d received since ascending to the position of high priest.

But he didn’t want any of those witches. He wanted Sara. She’d been his obsession since grade school. Over the years the obsession had grown, had become perverted by lust, until it now threatened to consume him. He needed to have her, to possess her once and for all. And then he could let her go.

But he was scared. Of a
woman
. Of a pacifist no less! Sara could hurt him like no other. He’d do almost anything to avoid that kind of hurt, including living with his obsession until he died.

Brent wished he’d meant what he’d said—that he didn’t care if she liked him. But he did. With Fintan’s death, she was the only person left whose opinion mattered to him. She’d made her opinion clear tonight. In her eyes, he was simply a killer who was incapable of being happy.

Maybe she was right. Perhaps that was all he really was. In any case, he wouldn’t force his presence on her anymore. His failure to control his temper tonight meant he needed to protect her from himself as much as he needed to keep her safe from the Ena brood.

He’d focus on ridding the river valley of their taint and when they were gone, he’d let Sara go.

****

Sara paced the bedroom with increasing agitation. It was past midnight. And Brent wasn’t home.

He’d had the element of surprise in his favor when he’d attacked the Ena witch in the cemetery. But the witch would be prepared for attacks now. If Brent tried to prolong the guy’s death, it could end up messy for him.

She shoved her fingers between her teeth in worry. Brent wouldn’t be in danger now if she’d defended herself in the first place. Why hadn’t she had the guts?

Would it really have been considered part of a Fire witch’s violent predisposition if she’d burned the hell out of the guy for trying to rape her? The point was definitely debatable.

Sara tried to concentrate on thoughts of Brent’s safety and if her inaction had been stupid, stubborn, or righteous. She needed the musings to avoid thinking about what had happened on her bed. Inevitably her mind strayed back.

Her fingers brushed her tender lips. Brent had kissed her enough now that she had to admit he was good at the act. And he was better when he was angry. Sara wished she could have peeped into his brain to learn why he’d done it.

She couldn’t forget his words,
I’ll be happy if you’ll let me dirty you.
A reference to her crack that he was never happy. She’d almost let him.

And then he’d said he didn’t care if she were fertile. There was no reason for them to be together otherwise.

Was there?

Sara had assumed the kisses over the past few days had been because Brent was trying to warm her to the idea of doing her duty with him. But if he had been telling the truth, then those kisses were something all together different.

When she’d consider that maybe, just maybe Brent wanted more than a night of meaningless sex in the pursuit of a stronger race, she’d recall Vanessa Aine. If he truly wanted more from Sara, he never would have been with Vanessa.

She paced a little faster until the thoughts came round to the beginning again. Consideration of her stupidity certainly upset her less than his being involved with another witch.

Chapter Seventeen