Fire and Flame (5 page)

For once she didn’t argue.

Their little caravan traveled further down the road past a dark gas station. The lot of an abandoned cafe seemed like the best place to drop a vehicle. Brent pulled the truck to a stop. After locking up, he stowed the keys atop the driver’s side back wheel.

Sara squinted at him though she didn’t open her mouth. She was angry? He could handle her anger. It was her disgust he didn’t want to deal with.

“Drive back to the other car,” he said without pulling off the knit cap he’d tugged over his hair twenty minutes ago.

Brent would keep the hat and gloves on until he was finished. Any stray fiber could be traced back to him. It was knowledge he’d gained as a Cleaner during the brief interval before he’d gotten his job with Fintan. He hadn’t been particularly good at Cleaning because he’d never been a detail-oriented guy.

Sara remained quiet even as he hopped out of her car and told her to follow him again. Her reticence didn’t worry him until she’d remained mute minutes after he joined her in the Lexus.

Though violence was their way of life, he didn’t like that she’d witnessed him engaging in it. Was that why she wouldn’t talk?

Maybe she needed a nudge.

Brent waited to speak until they’d merged back onto the highway heading west. “My new position
will
make you listen to me,” he declared as if he’d merely taken a breath since her roundabout statement that he wasn’t the boss of her.

She twisted toward the passenger seat. Sara’s expression was blank. “What?”

Brent’s cheeks warmed with what felt suspiciously like shame. He ignored it in the quest to rile her back to life. “You were telling me that my new position wasn’t going to get you to listen to me anymore now than it used to.”

She wildly gestured toward the back of the Lexus in between glancing ahead. “Someone just tried to
kill
us, Brent!”

“Three someones,” he corrected without thinking.

Sara made a sound of disbelief in the back of her throat. “You’re acting like nothing happened!”

“I’m acting like a Fire witch.”

“What? No—”

His mouth opened and out came worse. “Welcome to the real world, princess. Where violence and—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped with a lowered pitch.

“-aggression are the name of the game,” he finished his statement. “Why do you think your father had a guard dog in the first place?”

“Oh my god.” Her jaw went slack in horror. “This wasn’t the first time… Fintan’s challenger wasn’t the only one… You’ve done this before!”

“Of course I have.”

His mouth was running without permission from his mind as it often did. He’d never wanted Sara to know what he’d done to keep her father safe.

Fintan himself had forbidden them to speak of such unpleasant things to his beloved daughter. The man hadn’t wanted to worry her. But in shielding her from the worry, Fintan had created a woman who had no inkling of the danger around every corner.

Sara inhaled an unsteady breath as she righted herself in the seat. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, looking for evidence of her disgust.

Fintan may have tried to shield his only daughter from the dark portions of their race but Sara
had
surprised Brent by noting the ambush on the highway a second before he had. She wasn’t completely oblivious. Unless…

He twisted until he faced her. “How did you know we were being attacked?”

“I felt the stirring on the aether,” she replied without looking at him.

“Do you always sense what’s going on in the aether?”

Sara lifted her shoulders in answer.

Brent’s jaw set. The only reason she’d fail to speak a response was if she were trying to avoid lying. “Sara,” he said in the low, warning tone he’d picked up from her father.

“What?” she snapped as she shifted in her seat farther away from him.

“Why were you sensing the aether while you were driving?”

“Maybe I was worried there’d be an attack,” she parroted him.

His eyes shot wide. “You thought
I
was going to attack you?”

Sara’s pitch lifted defensively. “You smelled like smoke. I had a good reason to worry!”

“No, you didn’t,” he roared without meaning to. “I drove six hours to make sure you were safe! Why in Phoenix would I then attack you myself?”

“Because you hate me,” she shouted back in a voice that had begun to sound hoarse.

The answer stunned him. Enough that he didn’t tell her how ridiculous it was.

She went on with no help from him. “You resent me. You always have. You never wanted me here and now that Daddy is dead there’s no reason to keep me around unless I breed with you. And I won’t, Brenton. I won’t let you drag me down into your misery.”

He opened his mouth to tell her she was wrong—to explain he
did
want her here and with Fintan’s death, he had no reason to let her leave. But what came out instead was a rather ineffectual, “I don’t hate you.”

Sara dug her shoulders into her seat as she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal. The message was loud and clear. She wanted to get home as soon as possible simply to get out of the car and away from him.

He wasn’t about to argue with her on that. The sooner they were off the road, the safer they’d be.

****

She had too many clothes Brent decided after the sixth trip in from the Lexus. The mound of hangers in the back seat had been nothing compared to what had awaited him inside Sara’s pink closet within Fintan’s two-story colonial home. She could get away with wearing something different every day for six months. Yet today she wore the T-shirt she’d had on many times before. Maybe she wasn’t always fashion conscience.

Though the remaining two and a half hour drive had been quiet, it had been strained. They’d been wide awake after the attack. Brent’s excuse was his riotous thoughts.

Sara thought he hated her. When had he ever given that indication?

He did resent her. That much she’d gotten right. Everyone who knew Fintan and his daughter disliked the ease Sara got everything she’d ever dreamed of having. By the Phoenix, the man had even bought her a horse!

Several times Brent thought about her declaration that there was no reason to keep her around unless she bred with him. He’d thought about it more than he’d like to admit, this morning and many times before. And her declaration that she wouldn’t do it, that she didn’t want to be dragged into his misery had struck him deep.

Did her statement have a reverse meaning? She’d breed with him if she believed he wouldn’t make her miserable?

Oh, but he would. He wouldn’t be able to simply have her once and let her go as custom demanded. She would despise him for keeping her from her dream of the bright lights in the big city.

He needed to choose a witch for her, someone who
would
allow her to merely do her duty. And then she could move to her big city free of her obligation to them all.

With a force that surprised even himself, Brent tossed down the box of her shoes at the foot of the closet.

What had prompted the sudden display of angst? Was it that she wanted to leave in the first place? Or was it that he’d never be able to choose someone for her?

There wasn’t a single witch in the area covens worthy of her. Because the princess needed a prince.

And Brent was a mere man-at-arms.

Chapter Six

Sara roused groggily to the sun on her face. After last night’s attack, the strained drive, and the many trips unloading her things from the car, she’d fallen into her childhood bed and immediately passed out. Then she’d slept like the dead when she should have spent it tossing restlessly.

A half roll to the right gave her a good view of her digital clock’s amber glow. It was quarter after eight. Time to get ready for the day.

She vigorously scrubbed her skin beneath the steaming shower in her attached bathroom, trying to cleanse herself of her role in the killings last night. She’d never been involved in a situation that required the Cleaners—had never
wanted
to be.

A pacifist was a horrible thing to be in a Fire witch. As far as Sara was concerned, there was plenty of natural death in the world. Her race didn’t need to hurry it with violent ambition.

Sara stepped out of the shower, warm and clean. She took care with wringing the water from her long blonde hair. Moments later she stepped out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her torso. She spotted a sparkle on the dresser and halted halfway across her fluffy pink rug.

The tiara.

The golden, ruby, and diamond tiara held the place of honor on the right side of the surface within its black velvet lined cherry box. Sara slumped to the floor where she stood, unable to hold herself aloft a moment longer. Tears sprung from her eyes as rapid and plentiful as the falls of the Niagara.

Daddy was gone.

All she had left of him were artifacts—favors bestowed here and there like the king he’d surely been. She crawled to the dresser, clawing her way up the wood until her fingers curled around the delicate gold filigree. Clutching it to her bare chest, she fell to the floor, sobbing her grief with sounds that racked her body.

Somewhere was a pile of ashes that had once been a living, breathing, and radiant man. A brilliant man burnt on the altar of greed. Sara had never wanted to kill another creature until she thought of the individual who had robbed her of her beloved father. Now she could think of nothing else. Sara screamed in impotent fury.

This was the way it had always been. She knew it. And she wanted to kill someone for the injustice.

Their society shouldn’t
be
this way. No other faction was as bloodthirsty as hers, apart from vampires. Why couldn’t they become civilized?

God preserve her, she wanted so badly to be human!

****

The strangled shout above him sent Brent’s heart into his throat. His pulse hammered wildly as he charged up the stairs to vanquish the foe. As if he’d flown over the thirteen obstacles, he burst through the door to Sara’s bedroom with murder in his eyes.

But there was no witch to fight.

There was only Sara.

She trembled on the floor at the foot of the dresser with her tiara gripped within white knuckles. Tears bathed her face in moisture. Clumps of her honey hair stuck to her cheeks. Her beautiful blue eyes were red from misery but hard from an emotion he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on her familiar features.

Brent tried to ignore her nudity since the towel from her recent shower lay discarded just feet from him. A tremor shook her body. Ignoring her state of dress was a whole lot easier after noting that. He crossed the room and gathered the soft pink blanket off the bottom of her bed. Gingerly he made his way to her.

Had she recognized his intrusion? Surely she would have screamed at him to get out if she had. In any case, she’d notice him in a moment.

Carefully he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Before she could protest, he lifted her from the floor. Her sobs went on even as he carried her pressed against his chest to the nearby bed.

The sturdy weight of her felt too right in his arms. A shiver of sensation shot down his limbs, stirring all manner of things that had no right stirring when she shook from grief. Faster than he’d have liked, he set her atop her bed beneath the blush pink sheets and warm comforter. Brent took hold of her special bear where it had fallen to the floor. She barely noticed when he set it beside her on the pillow.

Her eyes squeezed shut as he stepped away. A powerful shudder swept down her frame, perhaps revulsion from his touch. Brent’s jaw snapped tight. He swiveled on his heels. He’d save her the distaste of his company.

“Why?” she moaned aloud when his fist had closed around her doorknob. In between her plentiful sobs, she demanded, “Why does it have to b…b…be like this, Brent?”

She was speaking to
him
. She knew who had been in her room—who had touched her.

He didn’t dare answer her, not until he knew what she was bemoaning specifically.

“Why c...can’t we be d…democratic like the Healers? Or at l...least autocratic like the Water witches?”

Brent didn’t bother arguing that the Water witches hadn’t been autocratic until recently. “I don’t know, Sara. If I had to guess, I’d say it was delicate egos and wounded pride.”

He had plenty of both and knew what it did to a man.

“Everyone says it’s,” she paused for a snuffle, “in our nature to be violent. But
I’m
not violent.” Sara inhaled a ragged breath. “I wasn’t violent.”

The words echoed in his head:
wasn’t violent
. Did she mean her hand in last night’s events? Did she resent him for what had been done?

“I want to kill someone.” Her whispered declaration was followed by a bare choke. “God help me. I don’t want to feel this way.”

Brent’s heart stilled for a mere moment. By the Phoenix, she was awakening from her lifelong stupor. And she didn’t like it. Neither did he. He’d wanted to save her from this as much as Fintan had.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift herself to her elbows. “I don’t want to be f...furious with you because you d...did it before I could.”

Was she comfortable being furious with him for other reasons? Now wasn’t the time to ask. And he wasn’t sure he could look at her without wanting to cross the room again.

Brent could only think of one thing to say to her. “I’m sorry, Sara.”

He twisted the knob before he did something he’d regret.

Chapter Seven

The sting of Brent’s rapid departure shouldn’t have sliced through Sara’s grief like a fiery iron. But it had.

He wouldn’t even
look
at her. She wasn’t beautiful by witch standards. Her lackluster appearance was why she’d reveled in the human world. She was dazzling in their eyes. But Brent hadn’t had to be so obvious about it.