Authors: Erin Kellison

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

Fire Kissed (13 page)

BOOK: Fire Kissed

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“Consider it done.” He approached her slowly. “Now tell me why.”

Her gaze did not falter.

Neither did he. “Why does the contract matter so much? Or more specifically, why didn’t we marry?”

“My House burned.” A subtle dissonance there, so that wasn’t the real reason. She was lying.

“Before that. Why did your House burn?”

A subtle shift and her expression likewise went mean. Her chest heaved slightly, as if she were aching for air. Certainly in distress.

“Let’s have it.” He tried to sound kind. “What happened that night?”

Her pretty tongue went to her upper lip, a little tell that she was thinking. But whatever lies she’d been concocting were pushed aside by the very old anger she’d held in check.

“What happened?” Her breath puffed out flared nostrils. “You gave me these scars,” she said, turning her face slightly to the side so that her jawline shined, the scars going white. She didn’t take her gaze from him.

The sound of truth in her voice meant she believed it.

The fire snapped and crackled, a violent sound. And he knew he was in imminent danger of being lit up like a firecracker. She’d carried this pain for ten years, hating him all the while. He didn’t blame her; he’d seen a wraith at its prey before.

Besides, he liked the way she made his old heart pound.

“I wasn’t even there.” He tried to remain affable. He had to be man enough to stand her tempers if he hoped to have her. What would she be like in bed? He’d have to be man enough there too.

“Your sister, Zelda, was, in your name.”

Zelda was supposed to have been his proxy in the ceremony. Ten years ago, relations between the Houses had been strained, everyone ready to put a dagger in someone’s back. Each had been coming into the fullness of his or her Shadow. His aging had started to reverse, his own abilities heightening. It hadn’t been the time for him to appear in the open. The alliance with Brand House first, via marriage, and subtle deals with others—Maya, for illusion, Wright, for the making of tools of power, Terrell, for storm—a consolidation of resources and strength.

But he’d always intended to be good to his young bride. Her youth was everything, just as her fire was now. He’d wanted the children Penny wasn’t strong enough to bear. A girl of fifteen, and of fire, would have the strength Penny lacked.

“Go on,” he said. “That day should’ve—
would’ve
—been the happiest of my life. What went wrong?”

Through her dark eyes swam troubling thoughts, formless thoughts, until her mouth took on the shape of a sneer. Her hands flexed at her sides. “I refused you.”

Truth again. “You refused.”

He took a moment to assimilate that information, while his heart went
flutter-boom flutter-boom
.

Of course she’d refused. Why did it make him happy? Because Kaye, child or woman, would never be malleable or obedient. It was a wonder her father hadn’t warned him about the possibility for catastrophe when they had drawn up the marriage agreement. She’d probably burned her own house down in her rage. Breathless, he asked, “And then?”

“My father struck me.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. No one touched his Kaye, not even her father.

“And your sister set the wraith after me.” Her beautiful head, scars crawling, tilted to the side, a predatory, feline movement. “Which reminds me of a question I’ve been longing to ask these ten years.”

“Go on.” He gulped to find his mettle. Blood beat at his crotch. He wanted her. One hundred and two and he was getting hard.

“Why would she send a wraith, a soulsucker, after me?” Her next exhalation had the low quality of danger. “When we mages have no soul to suck?”

Ferro considered his answer. “I think, maybe ...” And then he opted for only half the truth. Had Kaye been doing the same? Speaking half-truths? Troubling thought. Though ... she had not hedged her answers at his most important questions—she was not colluding with any mage or human. If she had subtler interests, he’d simply have to learn them over time. The main issue was clear: she blamed him for her attack.

“You think what?” she prompted.

“I think that she was insulting you and therefore the Brand name.”

Kaye’s forehead gathered slightly. “Insulting, how?”

Damn Zelda. “By sending a wraith, she suggested that you were ...
human.
Or no better than a human. Or not good enough for a Grey.”

There was more to it, he was sure. Back then, Kaye hadn’t yet manifested such a facility with Shadowfire. Yes, there had been confirmed passive signs of magery within her, not unlike the now quickening blaze in his fireplace. But nothing like the river of fire she’d created a few nights ago. Obviously, at fifteen Kaye hadn’t finished developing her full adult power with Shadow. Likewise, she’d been rail thin, the awkward type. Even in photos—which was how he’d seen her—she hadn’t seemed to know what to do with her elbows. Zelda could have deemed her power too weak. Yes, too close to human.

And for those House-born more akin to humanity than magekind, death by wraith was accepted practice. The Houses couldn’t have any among their number who sympathized with humans, who, Shadow forbid, might even have a soul. They couldn’t have that soul crossing into the Hereafter and taking mage secrets, willingly or not, to the angels.

A soul was a dangerous liability. A fatal liability. He was so glad that Kaye didn’t have one. Her fundamental interests would always align with those of her kind. And now, soon, as fast as he could convince her, they’d align with his.

“I’m not good enough for your House?” Kaye held on to that insult as tightly as she could. She had to find a way out of responding to his declaration of interest, and “not good enough” seemed like an excellent way to be outraged.

The old man had asked all the wrong questions—because he feared magekind and humanity. One day she would laugh in his face and ask him, as if he were a child backed into a corner, whom did their kind fear the most? Who would gain the most from his House’s destruction? Heaven. The Order.
Angels.

She bet that he’d somehow found a way to divine truth from lie—an unusual property for Shadow. Bastian had warned her about that—to speak only the truth, unless absolutely necessary. They’d argued on a few points, specifically the truth that she hadn’t wanted to marry an old man, but Bastian had been right. Truth had power. Lies got awkward quickly. And apparently, she’d passed the test. She’d kept only one thing back.

Because no mage, ever, had cooperated with angels. For a mage, it was beyond thinking. It was a betrayal of self. Heaven had no interest in the fae or its human castoffs, the soulless mages. And when magekind used its magic, vying for dominion over the mortal world, the angels struck them down again and again in favor of humanity. No mage colluded with the angels.

Yet here she was.

She’d come tonight expecting a continuation of the flirtation Grey had started in the coffeehouse, but she hadn’t considered that his interest would be earnest. He wanted her to be his lady? Who said that these days?

“Zelda was a blind old woman,” Ferro argued, “and while she acted on behalf of my House, she didn’t act on
my
behalf.”

“She was sent to say
your
‘I do.’”

“No.” He shook his head. “She was sent for Grey House. She wasn’t there for
me
.”

Kaye stopped cold. His point went deep, and ... hurt a little as it resonated within. The distinction between herself and her family had been the impetus that had started her nightmare ten years ago.

“I am not my House,” he pressed. “Do you get that? Can you understand?”

She didn’t want to, but his claim was too familiar to reject. She understood, and worse, she related. That conflict had been in her heart all her life. To discover they
shared
the feeling was very strange. To realize she couldn’t blame him personally for the wraith attack was stranger still, because she couldn’t—the whole arrangement had been House business. How surreal to see him morph before her eyes, not in appearance, but much more dangerously—in character.

“Kaye?” he pleaded.

“Yes,” she allowed with difficulty. “I remember thinking something similar the night Brand House burned, about the difference between Kaye and Brand.”

Did admitting it give him power? What was his power anyway?

He stepped forward, wary, as if taming a wild thing. “Kaye, I’m happy to help you reclaim the Brand seat at the Council table. Your power is too great not to have you among us, as you demonstrated so ably in your trial. There will be trouble with some of the other families, but that’s to be expected. Eventually we will prevail.”

It was hard to maintain her ferocity when his words were going in, not bouncing back.
The difference between Grey and Ferro; Brand and Kaye. I am not my House.
He’d support her bid for a Council seat. It was as good as hers. Bastian’s information on how the mages were using wraiths was essentially hers as well. What was the catch?

“And the old marriage contract is void,” he continued. “I’ll get you papers to that effect immediately. Because I don’t want a marriage contract, an agreement between Houses.”

Kaye braced herself.

“I want a
marriage.
I want a partner. I want a lover.” His voice roughened. “I want a
wife
.”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested. There are many other prospects here for you tonight.”

“You don’t know me well enough to refuse.” Under his control lurked harsh longing. “Give me a chance.”

“I don’t want a relationship. They just complicate things, and right now my life is complicated enough.”

“Let me try. Let me take you out.”

“No.” She sold her magic, not herself. That was not the job.

“I swear I will harbor no expectations of a romantic commitment from you. I just want to earn your trust.”

“That’s not all you want.”

“Your trust is what I want most. I will work for it. Let me work for it.”

Kaye was so cold she was shaking, the air too thin for a real breath.

He wanted to date her. And that was just for starters.

His handsome face was a lie, so friendly, a little weary around the eyes. Most would think he was attractive, charming. She had to remember that everything about him was a lie.

Not everything,
her inner voice said.
He is just a man. And he wants you. Use it.

His face lit up, as if he had an idea. “Bring along your wraith fighter.”

She startled. “Excuse me?”

“Your wraith fighter, from the coffeehouse,” he said. “I’ll need to take a wraith anyway, House security, so I want you to be comfortable.”

She shook her head at the sudden absurdity. “So our date would be a party of four, including my bodyguard and your monster?”

He grinned. “If you’d like.”

Kaye was momentarily speechless as a vision of their group eating popcorn at a movie flashed in her mind. In the vision, Bastian watched her with hot eyes.

“How’s Tuesday?” Ferro asked carefully.

She came back to reality and shook her head. “I have a client that night.”

“Ah.” He seemed stricken, disappointed, as if her answer had been a version of “I’ll be washing my hair.”

Don’t lose this chance,
the inner voice said.
There may never be another. He’s met your demands, and then some.

Costs too much. And a seat on the Council is not what I really want.

Then why are you here?

She remembered the feeling of Michael’s angel light behind her as she’d fled the cellar to save her own skin. And no one was selling her this time, either. This was all her decision. A little merciless maybe, but she was a mage after all.

Right. Deep breath. “I’m free Wednesday, though.”

The light flashed again in his eyes. “Wednesday.”

“This is not romantic.”

“Not romantic,” he agreed. But he couldn’t have been smiling wider.

“And I’m not touching any Moll.”

“Certainly not,” he said gravely. “Foolish of me.”

Charming. She arched a brow and played a slow smile of reluctant humor across her face, as if amused. Inside, she was breaking into pieces.

He offered her his arm, the old-school gentleman. “Shall we, my lady?”

Chapter 6

“A meeting with Grey?” Bastian said. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You were too busy going on about someone beating you up,” Kaye said as she took a sip of her coffee. Dark goodness. She was sure coffee originated in Twilight, which was why the world was so mad about it. Funny that it was Bastian who made such a mean cup of something so seductive.

She watched him unpack a bag of supplies, just delivered, including medical tape, a plastic arm brace, and what she thought was a sling, though it was only folded cloth right now. “I thought you were all better.”

Last night, after accepting a light kiss from Grey, she’d summoned her car to leave. Bastian had been hunched in the backseat, blood all over his shirt and dried on his cheek and neck. She recalled the surge of fear and concern—a sickening combination—that had shot through her. He’d told her to get in quickly, and only when they’d departed did she understand that he wasn’t hurt. Or not anymore. That the blood was left over, and that he was whole and well. She’d gone from panic to anger as he delivered his message from the “friend” who wanted her to go elsewhere and leave magekind alone, lest she meet the same fate as the Little Match Girl: death via burnout.

“Yeah, but your ‘friend’ doesn’t know I’ve healed,” Bastian said. “If they’d hit me in the face we’d be in real trouble. I’d try makeup, but it’d have to pass close inspection. I doubt we could approximate swelling. More likely, you’d just get another angel to watch over you.”

Kaye chuckled. “I’d like to see you in makeup.” But really she was relieved he hadn’t been hit in the face. She didn’t want anyone else. She needed someone hard behind her, like a wall she could trust at her back. And Bastian was cold and implacable; he might get beat up, but he would always stand. And the Little Match Girl thing had scared her.

“When is your meeting with Grey? You have a client this evening.” Bastian pulled off his cotton T, right there in the kitchen, which made Kaye grin into her cup in spite of everything.

Bastian’s stomach was flexed, muscles delineated. He had the kind of body hair that speckled across his chest, concentrating between his pecs, then thinning to a line that disappeared at the end of his ribs, only to reappear at his belly button, leading straight down to the fastening of his pants. The sight made her happy for some reason. Bastian, half naked.

Threats seemed very far away in the kitchen of this house, with him near.

He opened the tape and started to wrap his torso, and she had to wonder for whom he planned to remove his shirt. Was this attention to detail necessary? Not that she was complaining.

“The meeting with Grey is tomorrow night,” she said, watching the left-right flex of muscle with his circular motion. “He’ll have a wraith present, and I’ll have you.” She really didn’t want to think about Grey’s intention to court her, so she concentrated on the aroma of her coffee, the warmth of the mug in her hands, and the man in front of her.

“Where, damn it?”

His mood was foul, however.

“All I know is he’ll pick us up at seven,” she said. “He’s planning the evening’s activities.”

Bastian frowned, cutting the tape and tucking the end under one of the bands of white. “That’s not an appointment.”

“It’s a date.” She had to force the last word out of her mouth. “He wants to court me. He talked about us trusting each other, getting to know each other.”

“And you’re going along with it?” Bastian’s motions started to get sharper, brusque. He attempted to start on his forearm, but the wrap wouldn’t stay put. He needed two hands.

“You’re the one who suggested that I use the marriage contract as an opening.” She put her cup down and took the tape from him. “Let me do it.”

“I’m rethinking that strategy,” Bastian said, holding out his arm. “The salve first.”

Salve? For a fake injury? Kaye turned his forearm slightly and saw a large wound on the underside. The blistered white and red flesh screamed pain. A burn. She flushed when she realized that she’d been the source. Had to be. And she remembered when: the night of her trial, on the steps, with the wraiths surrounding them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t careful.”

“It’s fine,” Bastian grumbled, clearly angry at her.

But when she looked up, it wasn’t quite anger she saw in his expression. The air was hot around him. Between them.

Her mouth went dry. “Why didn’t you heal rapidly from that too?”

“Shadowfire,” he said, by way of explanation. “It was an accident. It doesn’t bother me.”

Words collected in Kaye’s mouth, but she was too ashamed to sort them into the right order. Truth was, she’d taken his well-being for granted. Her childhood was riddled with stories of the strong and terrible angels. Bastian had been beaten brutally, but the one hurt that remained, she’d given him.

“I don’t want you dating Grey,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. I was wrong to suggest the marriage contract was the way to go.”

“Means to an end,” she said. They both knew it was too late to back out. She was right where she needed to be. So she spread salve on the wound and wrapped his arm carefully. Tucked the end of the cloth. All the while breathing in his smell, feeling the air beat between them. His head bowed over hers.

“Revenge?” he growled.

Yes. And no. “I don’t want to run,” she said carefully, without looking at him. “And that’s all there is left. I have to be strong among them. Magekind is my world. I’ve always known it. And they trampled on me.”

She had to be inside Grey House for good reasons.

When she was done with the bandage, she glanced up at him while reaching for his shirt to help him on with it. Buttons meant he had to flex that wrist and arm. “Can I ... ?”

She stalled midmotion.

Bastian still looked down at her, and the slight reach transmuted to a different, deeper movement. She was pulled beyond the blue-green-brown flecks in his eyes into a fuzzy, dangerous space, a pocket in the universe they’d made by accident. Particles of energy zapped between them, and she knew if she stepped closer, the particles would accelerate. They’d been reaching like this for a while now.

“You’re shorter,” he said.

She liked his mouth so much.

“I’m not wearing heels.” Didn’t need to around him.

“You have to get out of the date,” he said, his voice getting lower, his expression hard. Her Bastian, begging.

He really needed to put on that shirt. Even if it hurt.

It was everything Kaye could do to wrench her gaze away. “You know I can’t.”

The trouble with being an angel on Earth was that he was still a man.

He got hungry. He thirsted. His lungs clamored without the draw of air.

And for this woman, the only one in a thousand years, his body and soul ached.

The trick was to will his mind to ignore the Earthly sensations, as he’d done so many times with pain and trouble. Desire was no different, a call of the flesh. He could divide himself—acknowledge the lust, but act on intellect.

But see, the trouble with being an angel was that he was still a man.

The receptionist at Kaye’s client meeting opened a set of double doors and stepped back for Kaye to enter what appeared to be a large conference room. Four men and one woman dressed in smart, expensive clothes gathered at one end of a long, narrow table. They represented the partners of Ballogh & Johnson, a law firm specializing in international trade. Something about the group reminded her of dark birds with sharp beaks.

Bastian entered behind her, and when the partners’ gazes fixed on his cast, his arm in a sling, Kaye explained neatly, “Wraith.”

One of the men circled the table, his hand outstretched, but before he reached her, Kaye continued, “I only see clients one-on-one. The rest of you will please leave.”

The man slowed while she spoke, then resumed, undeterred. “Yes, of course. Horace Ballogh”—he gestured to the patriarch of the group—“will be having the actual session with you. But first we were hoping you’d answer a few questions about your services. About Shadow.”

“I’m not here to educate,” Kaye said. Talking about the nature of Shadow with a human was too dangerous.

The man opened his hands. Friendly. “We only want to know how the session works.”

“Mr. Ballogh can describe it to you after,” she answered.

The man didn’t waver. “The future is the specialty of your House, is it not?”

Oh. This was a fishing expedition. Goody for them that they knew about the Houses—the knowledge would either save their lives during the turmoil to come or end them sooner. The future, however, was not her specialty—that was only good for humans and no help to magekind at all. Shadowfire was her power. But she still wasn’t going to correct him. “Either I begin now, or I leave.”

“We have clients interested in making a deal,” he said, ignoring her once again, “similar to the one Urlich made with one of the Houses. Can you facilitate the contact for such a venture?”

So they knew
of
the Houses, yet were not in contact with any. The arrangement with Urlich? She had no idea what he was talking about and didn’t want to.

She smiled. “I’ll reimburse your fee.” Then turned to Bastian and said, “Let’s go.”

She stepped forward just as Bastian moved to the side to let her pass, and they almost collided. The sudden close proximity sent an electric current zapping between them. They’d been doing this awkward dance for the past two days. You first. No, you. It was driving her crazy. Him too, if she had to guess.

“Ms. Brand,” the man said behind her. “Forgive my questions, please.”

She turned, waited for his cooperation.

“We’ll leave you and Mr. Ballogh alone immediately.”

“Thank you.”

The room cleared as she and Bastian approached the old man, who had seated himself at the far end. He had sparse white hair, a quaver in his swollen joints, but his eyes were sharp. His gaze flicked to the side of her face, then back. “Ms. Brand.”

Bastian placed a timer on the table at her side.

“Mr. Ballogh. I’m going to cast a fire and hold it in my hand. You have no reason to fear; I’ll make certain that it doesn’t burn you. Look into the fire, and you will see a vision of a possible future. I cannot interpret it for you. You will have a full ten seconds. My associate will start the timer on my mark. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes,” he said, direct and certain. “What is Shadow?”

Kaye looked the wily old man in the eye. “You’ll know the answer when we are finished.”

She closed her eyes to search for the spark in her blood. And felt it answer in a shock wave awareness of Jack Bastian’s presence, just to the left and behind her, his banked light simmering on her skin. She flushed against the surge of coarse desire for him, for his touch and his strength and the soul in his eyes, and pushed the feeling into a molten bloom on her palm. She cracked her lids to find the Shadowfire had flared to life and danced in an erotic shimmer before her. Her eyes filled with tears at its beauty; they soon skated down her cheeks, only to get caught in the riddle maze of her scars.

Nothing ever felt so good, so why,
for the love of Shadow,
did she want more?

“Magic,” the old man said, answering his question.

“Yes,” Kaye said, with the last of her breath. She paused, then ground out, “Start the fucking timer.”

Bastian reached around her and the sensations intensified.
Beep.

Figures were already appearing in the flames. Kaye prepared herself for an advance preview of the world’s destruction—the desolation, the collapse of buildings, the furtive misery that would be this man’s life in the years to come. But the Horace Ballogh phasing in and out of the firelight seemed calm, wealthy, salting his dinner at a table laid with good food. The dinner guests were scattered at intervals around the table, but there were blurs of darkness warping the vision at the empty chairs, especially the one on Ballogh’s right.

Beep.

So Kaye knew his future, even as she fisted her hand and killed the flames. Unfortunately, her clenched hand didn’t kill the fever inside.

She knew Ballogh would find the Houses he sought. Why did that frighten her?

“What was that?” he demanded, standing. His hands were trembling harder.

And she knew he would make a deal like that Urlich the other lawyer had mentioned.

“Fifty thousand dollars to see myself at dinner!”

“Looked delicious,” Kaye said, also rising. And in an undertone, “Bastian,” to signal the time to leave. She wanted to be out of there. Get her out of there.

“I demand another,” Ballogh said.

A steady hand on her elbow. Safe. A one-winged angel at her back.

BOOK: Fire Kissed

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