Pyromancist (16 page)

“Clelia.” His voice was a breath against her
jaw, his lips seeking the dip of her throat and the hollow of her
collarbone while his palms flattened on the skin of her inner arms
and trailed a path to her ribs. She knew where this was going and
suddenly she was scared. She froze.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m...” It would sound utterly foolish now
to say that she was frightened.

He stilled, his hands on the curve of her
breasts. “Forgive me.” He sat up, releasing her abruptly. “I got
carried away. I almost forgot.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Forgot what?”

“That this would be your first time.” He
pulled his hands through his hair.

“Is that bad?”

“By God, what a strange choice of words.”

Clelia bit her lip. The magic was gone. She
didn’t feel protected by his warmth any longer. She felt exposed
and vulnerable. “Does my lack of experience displease you?”

He jumped from the bed and shook his head.
“I’m the man your mother would have warned you about.”

“You don’t want me.”

“I’m the man you should hate, not give your
body to.”

He already had her soul, if he would only
care to see it.

As if that were exactly what he didn’t want
to do, he lifted her arms. He wanted to remain blind to her old
feelings and new, awakening need.

Tears stung at the back of her eyes. “No,”
she moaned, “please, no.”

He secured the handcuffs around her wrists.
“It’s better this way. I’m trying to protect you from a
pyromancist, from my team, but most of all, from myself.”

He turned off the light before he settled
back in the chair, casting them in the dark, dispelling her love,
and inviting the old ghosts in.

“Go to sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll take
you away from here.”

Chapter
Nine

Josselin didn’t wake with a start as he
usually did. The transition came softly, blowing him like a goose
down feather from the underworld of sleep to waking. Amazingly, for
a man who had spent hours in a hard, wooden chair, he felt rested.
Fresh. The ghosts of his past had been exorcised. They had been
absent from his dreams. Reluctant to break the spell or to look
away from the sleeping female, he sat dead quiet, at peace,
enjoying the sight of her.

During the night Clelia had to have tried to
slip under the comforter, because he could see the evidence of her
failed struggle, the yellow comforter crumpled under her hips,
goose bumps covering her bare arms and legs. Somehow, he got the
nagging impression that he had expelled his demons at her expense,
that they now invaded
her
dreams. The chair creaked as he
got up, but she didn’t move. Instead of pulling the sheets from
under her and risk waking her, he folded the comforter from each
side of the bed over her body. He stood watching her sleeping form
and felt a deep need eat a hole into his miserable existence.

He could not help it, even less prevent it,
but in that moment his restraints fell away, chains that had held
him captive in his past, broken by her pureness and beauty of
heart. His body burst into invisible flames. He became the fire
that was a firestarter’s magic. He didn’t possess one of the seven
forbidden arts, but he had a gift for telling by tasting blood.
When he took his oath with Cain to join the team, he swore he
wouldn’t use it unless it was for the good of humanity, yet, he
always knew the dark side that sheltered in his soul was as much a
part of him as the good he harbored. Now, he wanted to break that
oath just to taste her blood again, so that he could know her mind
and heart, but it would be like stealing her thoughts.

The fragile female he held in his power
frightened him. It scared him witless that he wanted her. He needed
her. And want and need in his book were synonymous with use. He’d
feed on her energy like a vampire, use her up and leave her
lifeless if he dared to touch something so pure with the evil he
held in the pivot point of his mind. His breath was labored now,
heavy with restraint, as he closed his eyes to block the image of
her pale limbs from his mind.

Conjuring all his strength, he turned his
back on her, walked from the room and closed the door. He stood
silently for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He wanted to
free and save her, and chain and keep her, all at the same time.
Josselin grabbed his head between his hands, his fingers kneading
through the silver strands that framed his face. God gave him the
strength to walk away. Her suffering filled his mind. He knew she
feared. He knew she worried. He knew she dreamt his dreams, had
seen his ghosts. It scorched his soul and burned through the hell
of his heart. He balled his fists, a silent cry trapped on his
tongue.

Josselin stomped away from the room that
confined the female, down the hallway and stairs, to the kitchen.
He flung open the door of the fridge to make breakfast. For a long
time he stared at the meager contents, and then banged his head
against the freezer. Goddamn it. If he didn’t get a grip, they were
both goners, him and Clelia. He wiped his palm over his forehead.
Focusing on the task at hand, he removed bread and cheese for their
morning meal.

He went back upstairs with a flask of coffee
and grilled cheese sandwiches. He left the tray on the bedside
table and went down on his haunches next to the bed. The comforter
had fallen open again. Her back was turned to him. She was curled
into the fetal position. The bones of her delicate spine formed a
semi-circle through the cotton of her T-shirt. A butterfly. A
fragile hummingbird. Constrained like this, she seemed like an
angel with her wings clipped. Slowly, he reached out, letting his
fingers brush over the bare flesh of her arm.

“Clelia.” His voice was a whisper, her name a
plea. “Wake up. You have to eat.”

She didn’t react to his touch. She remained
still. Her skin was cold. Josselin lowered his head. His chin
dropped to his chest. For a moment, he contemplated the defeat, but
he didn’t have answers or solutions, so he simply pulled the extra
blanket by her feet up to her chin and sat down in the armchair
facing the bed. If only he could figure out what the hell was
brewing. He couldn’t shake the feeling of danger as he leaned his
head back and closed his eyes. He allowed the sentiment to wash
over him for a moment and got to his feet again. What they both
needed was strength. Food.

“I’m going for a shower and when I get back,
I’m going to remove the handcuffs so you can eat. If you don’t do
it yourself, I’ll feed you, bite for bite, but I won’t take no for
an answer.”

Although physically he felt better than what
he had in years, he couldn’t put his mind at rest. Leaving her
handcuffed a little while longer he had a quick shower. He dressed
quickly into a clean black T-shirt and pants. He zipped up his
boots, tidied up the bathroom, and dumped his dirty clothes in a
travel bag.

Relief washed over him when he stepped out of
the bathroom to find the tiny Japanese woman lying on her back,
staring at the ceiling. At least she had moved. They didn’t speak
as he removed the handcuffs and watched her take some of her things
from the bag he had packed. A blush crept over her cheeks when she
lifted out the underwear. She tried to hide it between the jeans
and the black tank top. Out of consideration, he turned his gaze
away, busying himself with pouring coffee, until she closed the
bathroom door behind her.

He sat on the bed, sipping his coffee,
listening intently to the sounds she made. When he heard the water
come on, he imagined her under the spray, naked. When it turned
off, he saw her wrap the towel around herself in his mind’s eye,
but what was missing from the picture was him at her back, his
hands on her wet skin, moving the towel down to the dimples above
her ass where her hips curved out. The images that flashed in his
mind assaulted his self-constraint and rewarded him with a painful
hard-on, which wasn’t where he was supposed to be going with this
mission at all.

Frustrated, he paced the room. He checked his
watch. It was almost time to make contact with the team. Cain had
requested daily updates on the situation. So far, there was no sign
of Erwan d’Ambois. There were a million places he could hide.
Eventually, with the means at their disposal, they would find him,
but it would take time. Precious time. The government demanded an
end to the fires. They wanted a culprit, someone to brand. The
quicker, the better. They had reckoned it would be faster to draw
the old man out using his grandchild as bait. Cain was very
specific when he asked about the probability of achieving success
with such a method. Josselin had said it was their best chance, and
now he regretted ever suggesting this strategy. He couldn’t know
how the little witch would affect him, or that Cain had more on his
agenda than simply solving another crime.

There were things that didn’t add up. The
rumors about Clelia’s mother still bothered him. It was too much of
a coincidence, but Clelia was clean. He’d tasted her blood twice
since yesterday. At that thought, his cock jerked again, his
hard-on an agonizing steel rod.

At eight sharp, he connected the
communication system and punched in the code that would give him a
direct, secure line to Cain.

“A beautiful morning,” Cain said. “I’m having
breakfast on the deck. I could get used to this. May try my hand at
some fishing later.”

Josselin scoffed. “Any new info?”

“Has Erwan made contact?”

“Not yet. I’ve left a secure number with a
message from Clelia with the fishermen and in various brasseries.
If any of them had contact with him, he would have called by
now.”

“We need to get her out of here.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got eyes trained on you.”

“Someone’s watching us?”

“Picked up a little spying eye in the sky. It
was piggybacking on a weather satellite. Clever disguise.”

“Fuck. Lupien?”

“Hard to say. But not every jackass can
afford private satellite time.”

“So, you know where I am?”

“Courtesy of your peeping tom. I guess you’re
running out of time as we speak.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you contact me as soon as
you got the information?”

Cain chuckled. “I enjoyed spying on you too
much.”

“Cain,” Josselin said, his muscles bunching,
“this isn’t a fucking game.”

“No, it isn’t. But you seem to be playing it
nicely.”

“Say what you have to say. Don’t speak in
riddles.”

Cain chuckled. “I see you’re alternating
between warming her up and frightening her properly. Part of a
special tactic for obtaining information? Is it more effective than
torture?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Josselin hissed.

“I’ve never heard you emotional before.”

“Cut through the crap Cain. The fires could
be a screen, a set-up, to get you, all of us, here. It could be a
trap.”

“Maybe. Most probably. Which is why we have
to act even faster than what we thought. Time has run out. Lupien’s
power has grown. A firestarter was found dead in Normandy this
morning. I don’t have to tell you how many of them there are. Now
we’re left with two–Lupien and whoever he’s after. Lupien is now
officially the most powerful firestarter in existence. He would
take great joy from burning you alive.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Bring the girl in to the safe house. You
need to keep her on the water. Lann can use his art here to
counteract any possible attacks from Lupien.”

“Then what?”

“Then you better hope that Erwan loves his
granddaughter very, very much.”

“I need your guarantee that you’ll honor our
agreement even if we have to change location. You still owe me
forty-eight hours to do it my way.”

“I’m a man of my word, Josselin.”

“Fine. We’ll come in. Can you cover us?”

“I’ll have the team ready. Lupien is lying
low after the killing of the Norman firestarter, probably biding
his sorry-assed time. It’ll be safe to go, but not for long. Where
must they meet you?”

“My house.”

“One hour.”

“We’ll be ready.”

The bathroom door opened just as Josselin cut
the link. Clelia stood in the door, dressed in a clean pair of
jeans and a strappy black tank top. He found the black straps of
her bra that showed with that top alluring, even if he knew it
wasn’t the intention of her attire. The fabric was tight, pulling
over her breasts and stressing their curves, so Josselin had to
look away. He poured another cup of coffee from the flask and held
it to her.

“It’s warm. Sugar?”

She shook her head. She took the cup and held
it between her palms, but didn’t drink.

“You don’t drink coffee?”

She shook her head. “I prefer tea.”

“I should have asked.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s not like
I’m a guest or something.”

He chose to ignore her comment. “The
sandwiches got cold, so I suggest we pick breakfast up on the
way.”

He was looking forward to hand feeding her,
but that now had to wait. He needed to be sure she was safe.

“Where are we going?” she said, her voice
marked with panic.

“A safer place.”

She left the coffee on the desk. “When will
you let me go home?”

Never. The answer came to him in a flash and
took him off guard. But he didn’t want to upset her more. “That
question is off-limits from now on.”

“So, I’m not allowed to have questions about
my fate?”

He sighed. “I didn’t say that. But it won’t
accomplish anything to keep on torturing yourself with answers you
already know.”

She looked away and bit her lip. Tears
brimmed in her eyes again. He was too damn weak where this woman
was concerned.

Hating the expression that had come over her
face, he said, “Ask me anything else. I promise to answer it.”