Pyromancist Read online

  “What’s so funny?” she said.

  He looked at her for a moment. “Nothing.”

  She stifled a yawn.

  “Come on,” he said, “it’s after midnight. We can go to bed now. It’s past the witching hour.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Josselin picked her up and carried her through the house and up the stairs to his tower room. She was too tired to object. Once inside, he locked the door.

  “Go ahead and use the bathroom,” he said. He took something that looked like a small ePad from the desk. “I want to do a check on the perimeter alarms.”

  Clelia brushed her teeth and washed her face and hands. Courtesy of the alcohol, she still didn’t feel completely herself as she walked back into the room. Looking up, she stopped dead in her tracks. Josselin only wore tracksuit pants. His broad chest was bare. He looked irresistibly handsome with his wild hair loose around his face and the muscles rippling over his abdomen. She had never seen him without a shirt. Never. Not in all the years, that they had lived in the same area and gone to the same school had she ever seen him swim in the ocean or lounge on the beach. The sight made her heat from the bottom up, until she felt the blush pushing up over her breasts, hardening her nipples, and flushing her neck. She pursed her lips and quickly looked away, so that he wouldn’t notice the color flooding her cheeks. As he brushed past her, she inhaled the clean smell of soap and something exotic, woody. He paused.

  “The door is locked,” he said, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “Don’t even try.” He let the hair slip from his hand, smiling down at her with those very cold, gray eyes, before vanishing into the bathroom.

  Clelia sat on the edge of the bed, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears. The odd thing was that she believed Josselin. She believed him when he said it wasn’t safe for her to go home. But she also knew that he was after a firestarter, and that it wasn’t Erwan he really wanted. Could it be her he was truly after? If it was her, did she honestly want to run and hide for the rest of her life? Wouldn’t it be better to be stopped, for the horrible fires to cease, before someone actually was hurt or killed?

  The bathroom door opened and Josselin exited. Clelia’s mouth went dry. He was too beautiful to look at.

  His gray eyes flared. “It’s not a good idea to look at me like that, little witch. Not if you value your virginity.”

  This time the flush didn’t slowly spread from her loins to her face. It hit her in a flash. “I’m not looking at you like anything. And who’s to say I’m a virgin?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you denying it?”

  “Why is everyone suddenly interested in my sexual status?” she said, angry again.

  Instantly Josselin’s face turned dark. “Who is everyone?”

  “No one,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed. Suddenly he didn’t seem friendly at all. “Are you seeing someone?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds. “Who is he?”

  “Who is who?”

  “Don’t play that game with me. Who is interested in your sexual status?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Josselin sat down next to her. “Is someone bothering you?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “What do you care?”

  “Oh, you have no idea. There are many things I can tolerate, but not what Iwig did to you.”

  “Please.” She didn’t want to be reminded of the embarrassing event where Josselin most probably realized that she had been spying on him because she had a crush on him. Thinking back to that day always made her shiver. The way Josselin had tasted her blood... A thought crossed her mind.

  She jerked her head up. “You said something before about knowing I’m not the pyromancist because you tasted my blood.”

  “I knew you’d ask sooner or later. I was kind of hoping for later.”

  “What did you mean by that?”

  “I can tell things by tasting blood.”

  “You drink people’s blood?”

  “I’m not a vampire, Clelia. It only requires a drop.”

  “Let me guess. That is how you ended up investigating paranormal crime.”

  “Yes,” he said patiently. “We all have our special gifts.”

  “What are Lann and Maya’s?”

  “Maya is a hydromancist, someone who can manipulate water, and Lann is an aeromancist. His element is air.”

  “What do you call your gift?”

  “Mine is not considered a gift. It doesn’t have a name. It’s not one of the seven forbidden arts. It’s an anomaly.”

  Something bothered Clelia. Could he tell by tasting her blood that she had a crush on him?

  “What things can you tell?” she asked carefully.

  “Various things. It depends.”

  “What about diseases? Aren’t you afraid of picking up microbes by sticking other people’s blood into your mouth?”

  “I’m immune to infection via blood.”

  She hesitated, trying to gather her courage. “What did my blood tell you when you tasted it?”

  His eyes moved to her lips. “Back then, when we were kids, or yesterday?”

  “In both instances.”

  “That day in the forest, I knew you were good, pure, angelic. Yesterday confirmed it. You didn’t start those fires, despite what everyone says about your mother.”

  Clelia flinched.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I may be the one you’re looking for, Josselin,” she said.

  She saw her words take him aback, saw the shock for just a second in his eyes, the concern and the denial, before he composed himself.

  “No, Clelia. Blood doesn’t lie.”

  “You could have made a mistake.”

  “No.” His eyes were hard. “I don’t make mistakes like that.”

  “Cut me.” She held her hand to him.

  Josselin recoiled. “What?”

  “I want you to cut my finger, taste my blood.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to be sure.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Do it, Josselin.”

  “Clelia, you don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

  “I’m asking you to double check.”

  “This won’t accomplish anything.”

  “Then do it. You’ve got nothing to lose. Cut me, or I’ll do it myself.”

  His expression shifted. “All right.” He got up and walked to the chair on which his bag stood. He retracted a hypodermic needle sealed in plastic, removed it and came to stand in front of her. He pushed her legs open with his thigh, until he stood between her knees.

  “Give me your hand,” he said, his voice throaty.

  Clelia obeyed.

  He took her wrist and turned her palm up. “It’ll only be a prick.”

  His eyes held hers as he swiftly brought the needle down and punctured the tip of her index finger. Clelia flinched. Still holding her gaze, he left the needle on the bedside table and pressed just under the tiny wound until the droplet of blood grew big and plump. The gray of his eyes turned very dark as he brought her finger slowly to his mouth. He opened his lips and guided her finger inside, not touching her skin except with the inside of his lips, but already Clelia’s heart rate spiked from the contact. When he wrapped his tongue around her finger, circling it slowly and then gently sucking, Clelia felt like combusting. Josselin’s skin took on a deeper color. His smoky stare burned her as it held her eyes captive. Hot liquid gathered between her legs. She involuntarily tried to squeeze her knees together, but Josselin still stood between them, and the vulnerability of her exposure only added to the mounting heat.

  She swallowed, intoxicated by the predatory look that came over Josselin’s face as he caressed her finger with his tongue. Her breasts ached with heavy swollenness. Her breath came fast and hot. Allowing her gaze to
trail down Josselin’s neck and torso, she saw that his chest was rising and falling rapidly too, and that the bulge in his pants was impossibly big. Lust and astonishment washed through her. Josselin was turned on. By her.

  Abruptly, and to her great disappointment, he released her finger and dried it on his pants.

  His smile was almost a grimace. “Tasting blood can be a very erotic experience for me.”

  Clelia felt a jab in her heart. Did that mean he was turned on by blood, and not by her?

  Her eyes slid to his groin again. “Does this always happen?”

  When he didn’t answer, she looked back up. He watched her with uncertainty.

  “The truth?” he said.

  “Always.”

  He pursed his lips, seemingly doubtful. “Only with you,” he finally said.

  He took a step away and leaned toward her, placing both his hands on her knees. He brought his face down to hers, and under his brutal stare, she felt as if he could see right through her taut skin, her tensed muscles, and down into the place where the heat was gathering for him.

  She licked her dry lips and said quickly, “What is the verdict?”

  “It’s not you.” The passion in his expression dissolved and his gaze turned serious. “Like I said, pure, angelic, goodness.”

  Clelia frowned. “Are you sure? There’s nothing?”

  He lifted his hand and stroked her hair. “Nothing. Satisfied?”

  Clelia bit her lip. She wasn’t sure why she was so disappointed.

  “Can we go to bed now?” He pulled his hand through his long hair. “It’s been a hell of a day, and we can both do with some rest.”

  Her eyes went back to his pants, wondering if he was maybe suggesting...

  “I won’t touch you,” he said, shattering her hopes.

  Flushing for her thoughts, she lay down. “Are you going to handcuff me?”

  “No. I’m a light sleeper, so don’t try anything.”

  He got next to her onto the bed and turned on his side, pulling her back to his chest. His arm locked around her, heavy and secure. She could feel his erection pressing into her buttocks and realized that sleeping with Josselin wasn’t going to be as easy as she imagined. No, sleep would come hard.

  Despite her fear that Josselin’s body was too great a distraction, Clelia fell asleep almost immediately. Her dreams were filled with erotic images of her and Josselin. The pictures tortured her, making her breasts impossibly hard and her clit pulse in need. She woke up trembling, her back still pressed against Josselin’s chest. Her body ached from staying in the same position for too long, and trying to move as gently as possible under the heavy weight of Josselin’s arm, she turned onto her back.

  Instantly, Josselin’s strong hand clamped around her neck. His fingers pressed on her windpipe. Clelia’s arms flew up as her oxygen was cut. Her body lifted off the mattress with the effort to draw air into her lungs, but Josselin rolled on top of her, pressing whatever air she had left from her too. She dug her nails into his bare shoulders. The scream she tried to utter came out as nothing more than a choke.

  As she started seeing stars, Josselin’s eyes seemed to focus. In the blue light of the digital alarm clock, she saw his pupils contract as shock registered on his face. He withdrew his hand as if from a fire, giving her access to much needed air. Clelia gulped. Her throat burned. Josselin sat back and stared at her with wide eyes while she tried to steady her noisy respiration.

  He grimaced. “God, no!” He grabbed her to him and pressed her to his chest.

  She coughed from the violent movement. Josselin kept her up with his arm around her back while he tilted her head and wiped the hair from her face.

  His fingers brushed over her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  His hands slipped under her arms, but she was like a ragdoll, her body with no strength of its own. Clelia was too busy filling her lungs with air to care that Josselin was kissing her throat. All that mattered was oxygen. Slowly, as her breathing returned to normal, Josselin lowered her onto the mattress. He lay on top of her, but kept his weight on his elbows. He kissed her neck and her shoulders with soft, gentle caresses as he mumbled his apology over and over.

  All she wanted was some space. She pushed meekly at his chest. Finally regaining his composure, he rolled from her and switched on the bedside table lamp. When he looked back at her in the light, he froze.

  He pulled his hands through his hair. “Fuck.” He swung his legs from the bed, turning his back on her. “I almost killed you.”

  There was silence as she tried to find her equilibrium.

  “I bruised your skin.” He shook his head. “I’ve only had you for a fucking day and you’re bruised everywhere.”

  Something in his voice reached out to her. Pushing her own anguish aside, she laid her hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t jump or move, she gave him a light squeeze to let him know that it was all right. His left hand cupped hers, holding it in place, while he rested his head in his other hand. Clelia felt him tremble under her palm. She remembered him, as he was when he left Larmor-Baden for the first time, just a boy pretending to be a man, so strong, and so vulnerable. Clelia wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head on his back. She ached to take away his pain, his agony. At her touch, Josselin hung his head. She wiped his hair away from the side of his face and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “I almost killed you.”

  “I’m all right. You had a fright.”

  His arms went around hers, hugging her to him. His voice was harsh when he said, “It won’t happen again. I can’t stay with you. I’ll sleep in the hall.”

  He tried to pull away, but she held onto him. Even if she couldn’t hold him by force, she held him by compassion. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to startle you so.”

  He turned abruptly to face her. “And getting strangled is the normal reaction you would expect from startling someone?” he said bitterly.

  “Josselin, please, it can’t be easy for you being back here after all these years.”

  His look was one of pure agony and it sliced her heart in two.

  “It was the dream,” he said.

  She took his hand and stroked his palm in slow, soothing movements. “The same dream as earlier?”

  “Always the same,” he said tightly.

  “Your family?”

  He nodded, his face pulling into a mask of pain. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t help them.”

  Clelia suppressed the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. “You can’t stay here, Josselin. It’s too much. We have to leave. You have to leave.”

  “Don’t you see? There’s nowhere else to go.”

  “We can go to your safe house. I’ll go anywhere you tell me to. Please just don’t torture yourself any longer.”

  He laughed. It was a cold and bitter sound. “You won’t even be safe at the safe house, Clelia.”

  The full impact of his words hit her like a blow in the face. Suddenly, she understood. She wasn’t safe with his people. Josselin kept her here to protect her as much from his own people as from the people who attacked them yesterday. Chills ran over her body.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching for her, but she backed away.

  She covered her face with her hands.

  “Clelia,” he said, “I’ll never hurt you intentionally. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t understand anything. Not anymore. All she wanted was to get away, to curl into a ball and to hide in a hole until all of this was over, until she could pretend it never happened.

  “I shouldn’t have come back,” he said. “It was a mistake.”

  His words were a knife in her heart, even if she understood his reasoning.

  “I can’t beat these ghosts,” he said. “You said you’ve seen them. You know they’re invincible.”

  “No, Josselin, not invincible, just undealt with.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes filled with regret. Slowly he reached o
ut to touch her neck. “My fingers are imprinted on your skin,” he said. “I would have easily killed someone else for doing this to you. This is the monster my past has made me.”

  “You have to let it go,” she said softly.

  He laughed. “How can I let it go if it won’t let me go?”

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I’ve done enough damage. I don’t need to bruise your soul too.”

  “Nothing you can say can bruise me.” She stroked her palm over his back. “Did it happen here? Is this why we’re sleeping in your room? Is this where you lock up your ghosts?”

  “Do you think I’m totally fucking nuts? Do you believe that I’d ever be so twisted?”

  “I don’t know, Josselin,” she said softly. “Are you?”

  He groaned. He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he shook his head and said, “No. It should have started here, would have, if I hadn’t slipped out that night. At least that’s what the police said afterwards. They said he ... my father ... first broke down my locked bedroom door.”

  Clelia’s heart started galloping. Pain for the man facing her infused her. He was quiet again and she didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

  “I was rebellious. It was a difficult time. He was violent and my mother wouldn’t tell anyone because of the shame. It had always been like that. Since I could remember. We lived in fear. Never knew how he’d come home. If he’d be drunk or sober. He’d tie me up in the basement and whip me with his belt, making sure the buckle caught my skin.”

  Clelia flinched at the picture Josselin was painting. She remembered his haunted eyes, his wildness, and the pain she more often than not saw in his defiant ways. She wanted to put her arms around him, but she stayed dead still for the fear of splintering the fragile moment.

  “I knew the day would come that I’d be stronger than him and I counted the hours, biding my time so I could kill him.” He laughed his voice cold. “That’s when I knew I’d be a killer one day. I knew I could do it. Was capable of taking a human neck in my hands and squeezing until I could hear bones crush. Just like I had your delicate neck in my fist tonight, little witch. That’s how I felt the day I saw Iwig with his hands on your body. If you hadn’t been standing there, watching, I would have ripped him to pieces.”