Open Flame (Dragon's Fate) (3 page)

Madoc walked up to the next inventor’s display. An ornate wood-and-ceramic clock sat alone, displayed at the center table. He leaned toward it.

Tick

Tick tick tick tick tick

Tick

Tick tick tick tick tick

Tick.

Five and one. Otherworldly. Madoc glanced up at the average-height man dressed in fine crimson silk pantaloons and a white shirt and cravat. He stood a few feet behind the table and observed Madoc. The inventor.

“A fine clock, is it not?” The man came closer.

“Quite so. Do you use Franco for your parts?” The mention of the famous craftsman would let this man know that Madoc too was otherworldly.

“Never. I create my own workings.” The man stood taller and stuck out his rounded chin.

“That is capital of you. Though Franco is well known in certain circles.” Madoc stared at the man’s brown eyes.

His eyes slipped to eggplant-colored, then back to brown.

A timewear, but which of the wears? The wears had the ability understand time in a way that even the time benders did not. They were born from the womb of time itself and could alter the ticks of the clock to do their will. “What else does your clock do?”

The man stared, unwavering, into Madoc’s eyes. “This is a special one here. A clock for us and for humans.” He leaned in, and the scent of mint wafted on his breath. “A clock that, if instructed correctly, can be used by those without ability to bend time just as easily as we—”

“What a bucket of pig slop.” A soft feminine voice came from beyond his shoulder.

Madoc straightened his shoulders and raised an eyebrow to the inventor. “I don’t know, miss.” Madoc turned and gazed into eyes of blue fire. The purest of heat, and oh, the flame of her soul danced within them. A jolt of pleasure shot straight through his body and made the arches of his feet tingle. Heat spread through his chest.

“I’m surprised.” She scowled. “Don’t be taken in by all the foolery so many serve at these events.”

The gentleman pursed his lips as if holding in a line of remarks, then inclined his head and excused himself to talk to another who entered his display. Madoc concentrated his attention to the miss before him. Curly brown hair hung over one shoulder down to her breast encased in faded indigo muslin. Her angular facial structure was a perfect frame for the fire that burned in her soul. Familiar, yet her name eluded him.

She regarded him. “We have met before.” She inhaled deeply.

A correct observation. Now to figure out where. “So we have.” The convention three years past? “Are you enjoying the Spectacle of Time?”

“More like a skeptical of time, don’t you think?” She frowned and skirted the edge of the table, placing the clock between them.

He couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from his throat. Human through and through. “Skeptical, some would say. Others would say genius.” He stepped closer to her, needing to feel the heat between them. Her gaze dropped to his cheek. “You notice my cheek mark?”

“Quite so.” Hardness flashed in her eyes, bursting to heat molten. She had darkness in her. “That red crescent is how I knew who you were.”

Damn, how could he forget her? His throat tightened. ’Twas a pity. Her fire would never be displaced again.

Her hand shook as she ran it along her neck and flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

Beautiful.

“Do you wish me to take the skeptical out of time, miss?” He wanted to show her everything. He stared back into her eyes. If only he could read her soul.

“That is not necessary. I have been exposed to the workings of time all my life.”

He would show her the world. “All aspects of time? Or only the human ones?” That should make her pause.

She raised a disinterested brow. “Time is time. There is nothing so true or so false.”

“False?” He could not help himself. The need to touch her grabbed his every nerve. He reached out and ran his middle finger across the back of her hand as she dragged her fingers along the table’s edge. Smooth. Hot. Moist. She smoldered.

Her hand stilled beneath his touch. “There is no such thing as time.” She tilted her head to the side, then leaned across the table toward him. “We made it up,” she whispered, and her breath caressed his skin.

His heart pounded into his ears. No. She would push him out of control. No emotion. Logic. He pulled his hand away. “Apparently.” Saliva filled his mouth. He wanted to taste her. To run his tongue along her salty skin and suck her earlobe into his mouth.

He could not. Though he would show her his world of time. He blew out a stream of humid breath. The air between them misted.

She.

Full lips.

High cheekbones.

A pillow of soft brown hair.

Just a moment alone to show her.

Fire pulsed through his veins.

The ticks of the clock in the hall slowed, then stopped.

The humans in the room froze in motion. All except her.

He narrowed his eyes and stared into her fire-blues. “What do you think?” The words escaped his lips in a challenge before he could restrain them.

“Of what?” She held his gaze without wavering.

“Look around you.”

She tore her gaze from his eyes and looked left, then right. Her chest hitched and her chin shook. She whirled, her gaze back on his.

He raised his eyebrows and waited for her response. He hoped she’d challenge him.

“What do you mean?” Her plush lips thinned.

What a delight. He fought his urge to smile. He couldn’t hold this much longer or he would be scolded by the time council that put on the event. He quickly glanced about. An otherworldly man two tables down shot him a warning glance. Another who stood in the path just beyond him did so as well.

If only he could stop otherworldly time explorers. A gray raven swooped down to the carpet behind the miss.

He stared at the odd-colored bird on the floor behind her. A chill raced up his spine, and the room moved again. His brother, Jordan, had mentioned the gray raven. He had said that when he’d bitten his now wife and life mate, Celeste, the bird had appeared.

Madoc had only once bitten a woman.

Never again. Not until the watch was perfected. He couldn’t watch as someone he cared about died.

Yet, there sat a gray raven. No. The fowl couldn’t be
the
gray bird. There could be another odd-colored bird in the world.

He tore his attention back to the pretty miss.

The other side of the table stood empty.

He spun about. She was nowhere.

The bird hopped to the place where she had resided. Its gray head jerked to the side; then it pecked at the carpet.

The stupid bird had distracted him from her. His heart beat in his ears and sweat touched his brow. That damn bird. He would find her. He couldn’t resist her draw.

Fire raced through him once more. The ticks slowed and stopped, everything in the room stilling with the sound.

He circled and walked to the right. Stall after stall, human beings stood motionless in time. The man to his left held his hand up with a pocket watch in his palm. The woman next to him slipped another watch from the table into her skirt pocket. The next stall was filled with otherworldly who went about their business as if nothing had happened.

Her pretty brown hair and indigo dress were missing.

He returned to the table where they’d met, then set out to the left.

Still nothing. Madoc set his jaw. Panicked.

To hell and back. His heart pounded faster than he could recall. Otherworldly beings started toward him.

The raven hopped closer to him and the spot where the girl had stood. He stared at the raven. The bird cocked its head to the side and cawed.

The energy in the room warped, and pain ripped through his ears. He cringed and bared his teeth.

“Madoc, what is going on?” A familiar tenor voice came from over his shoulder.

“Do you need our assistance?” asked another from somewhere beyond the bird.

That damn bird. Gray feathers, green eyes and black bill.

He lunged at the fowl and grasped, catching nothing but air. The bird flew off, and Madoc landed with a thud on the rough-carpeted floor. The air pushed from his lungs. His world twirled out of control—as did the hold he had on time.

“Are you well, Madoc?” Slender icy-white fingers extended in front of him. He grasped the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

Franco stood before him, dressed in his typical pale gray suit. “What is all this time flutter about?”

He released Franco’s hand. “I am uncertain.” Madoc glanced around the room. Where was that damn bird?

The odd gray raven had to be the reason his elements and emotions twisted into a bumblebroth. He needed logic where none existed. The image of the girl’s creamy skin, brown curls and full lips filled his mind. His throat tightened. No. He closed his eyes and opened them. He needed to find her.

Sweat ran down Fina’s neck and between her breasts. The air in the hall thickened until she choked.

Fresh air. She needed fresh air. She ran out the door of the hall and into the sunlight. She blinked, unable to see. Wheeling to the right, she headed toward the gardens.

That evil man. First he gave her pa a stroke, and now… Now he played with her mind. A witch. The evilest kind of witch. She gritted her teeth. She had hoped to run into him again one day, to tell him what a cad he was. To call him out herself and kill him. She would not fear him. Inhaling the crisp air into her burning lungs, she shivered. Strength. Her pa deserved better than her running away.

Yet she had not expected him to be here in Paris. She would catch her breath and then find Jonathan. He would help her focus. They would save her pa’s shop and find new inspirations to take back home.

That dreadful man. She covered her mouth with her hand and fought back tears.

The red mark on his cheek and the long, shiny hair. She shivered. Once again, she wanted to touch him. His lingering touch on her hand in the hall… Her nightmares crashed back into her mind. Long, muscular legs entwined with hers. Their bodies joined at their cores, sweaty. Passion. Salt, spice and something sweet and unknown from his skin danced on her dream’s tongue. Each time the dreams came, the details lingered longer and longer.

Heat pulsed through her body, and she stumbled, catching herself on the stone wall beside her.

“Pfft.” She blew out a breath and mentally shook those thoughts from her mind.

That same man had almost killed her pa and stolen his year’s work. That needed to be her only consideration. She rounded the corner and headed down the arched entry to the alley that led to the hall’s garden. She would recover her wits, then return to Jonathan and tell him her bad fortune of running into that man.

She stepped out into the garden. A large shadow blocked the sun.

“Are you going somewhere?” The smooth tone of the man from the hall echoed in her ears. Oh no. Her stomach pitted. How could he be before her when she’d just run from him in the hall? Her head grew light, and she swayed.

He grasped her shoulders. Heat shot through to her bones. How dare he touch her?

He stepped forward. The cool air of the wall behind her nipped at her backside and trapped her.

She stepped back. The sharp edges of the rough-hewn rock of the archway bit into her spine.

The warmth of his body ignited the air like the sun beating down on the hottest of summer days. Sweat formed on her upper lip, and her jaw trembled.

He pushed his knee between her thighs.

How dare he? She stared up into amber eyes. The eyes she had never forgotten. The eyes that penetrated her mind at night and promised scandalous things. He’d not aged a day in the five years past. All his oddness remained. His strange vest atop his lace shirt. His ink-black hair that hung free about his face and shoulders, then landed in a wave on the swell of his beautiful bottom.
No. Don’t think of that.

She had learned a womanly trick or two the hard way since he saw her last. The suggestion of pleasurable interest melted a man’s thoughts. She would outwit him with her mind. She slipped out her tongue and gathered the sweat that pebbled on her upper lip.

He watched her tongue, and the center of his eyes grew and eclipsed the amber sun within. A male, and no gentleman.

Her throat tightened. The metal of the knife Catherine had given her burned cold against the skin of her forearm.

The sliver of amber that remained in his eyes flared a deep red. Her breath caught. He leaned in, and his lips pressed hard to hers.

Smooth lips moved with determined strokes against hers. Pleasure spiked to her toes.

His moist tongue traced her lips, following the path her tongue had touched.

She could do this.

She would lure him in, then stab him with her knife. Her heart pounded hard in her chest.