Pyromancist Page 13

  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.”

  Now she looked hopeful, like a little bird who had spotted a worm.

  “Anything else?” she said, narrowing her pretty, slanted eyes at him.

  He almost smiled. “Anything not pertaining to you going home.”

  “When you left, they said you went to New York.”

  “I ended up in New York, yes.”

  “Did you go there to join this ... these people you work with?”

  “I didn’t go there to find them. They found me.”

  “Why is this special task force of yours such a big secret?”

  “The use of the arts they possess are forbidden.”

  “Why?”

  “During the first Dark Age, many people practiced these arts for personal gain, to win power, and those magicians were not interested in humanity or goodness. It took many centuries to slay them, and the battle was long, hard, and bloody. To protect humankind, the church at the time burned all these ‘magicians’, seeing them as Satan’s disciples. A few survived, but had to go into hiding. For centuries after that, no one dared to even say the word ‘magic’.”

  “Surely someone can’t be burned on a stake in today’s world?”

  He smiled wryly. “No. They get eliminated.”

  Her eyes widened. “Killed?”

  “This is why they keep their ‘skills’ a secret.”

  “You’re not making a secret of yours. Neither is Lann or Maya.”

  “Mine is not an art and therefore not forbidden. Lann and Maya don’t advertise what they are. They’ve taken an oath to only use it for the good of mankind. Our team has powerful support from individuals in various governments.”

  “Why would they support you if everyone else would be killed for owning this ... this art?”

  “Because we’re just a group of people who believe in the good, Clelia. We’re trying to do it quietly without causing public pandemonium. It’s no different from any other group fighting crime. The only difference is that we operate on a paranormal level.”

  Her expression was shocked as she tried to digest the information.

  “We’re protecting the good,” he said.

  “The good.” She snickered. “And what is the good? Is kidnapping me and keeping me away from what I know and love good?”

  “In the greater scheme of things––yes.”

  “In the greater scheme of things, a small sacrifice to pay, right?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “No? I suppose now you’re going to tell me that justice isn’t black and white.”

  “In fact, justice is that simple. An eye for an eye.”

  “And you, Josselin, what are you, truly?”

  His eyes moved over her delicate body. “I’m a man, Clelia.”

  “A man? What you do isn’t human, Josselin. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you enjoy the taste of blood. And don’t lie to me about just getting turned on from the cocktail of my red blood cells. That’s insane.”

  Her words wounded him, even if part of it was true. He wasn’t fit to be called human. That didn’t make him less of a man, or diminish the feelings she evoked in him.

  “I told you last night, I’m not some kind of vampire, Clelia.”

  “Then what are you, Josselin de Arradon, if you’re not a vampire?”

  He rested his hands on his hips and lowered his gaze. When he looked up again, he saw the look of hope, of expectation in her eyes, and if he had been the vampire she thought him to be, it would have been a wooden stake in his heart, because he couldn’t give her the reassurance of normality she needed. No, it was best she knew the beast. He wouldn’t deceive her.

  “I don’t know what I am. I don’t know why I have this ability to taste blood. All I can tell you is that I honestly enjoy the experience, but I’ve never found it erotic, until I tasted yours. Maybe it’s because of the ... other things ... I taste in your blood.”

  She stood very still. Behind her the light made a halo around her head. Her voice sounded small when she said, “What things?”

  “Your arousal. Your desire. Nothing vulgar, just pure and beautiful in its feminine innocence.”

  She flushed so prettily that he had a hard time not kissing her. He wanted to go on his knees and taste the juices that spilled whenever he was near, but if he did, it would make him wild. Unstoppable. He’d have to claim her and make that lust his own, and he’d rather not stake a claim on something he didn’t deserve. She deserved better than him. He was wondering if she was going to deny it, but she just stood there, her blushing telling him she was embarrassed that he knew her secret.

  “You said you wanted the truth, always,” he reminded her gently.

  The red on her cheeks only intensified as she gaped at him, her lips slightly parted. How would her pretty mouth look after a night’s caresses? Would it be plump and swollen from his kiss?

  A flash of him in the cemetery invaded his memory, his head resting in Clelia’s lap, her lips pushed against his. His hand shot to his forehead. He was going crazy. Was he now seeing things simply because he wanted them to transpire?

  “Are you unwell, Joss?” Clelia said.

  “Josselin.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I prefer it when you call me Josselin. You’re the only one, except for Cain, who you’ll soon meet, who uses my full name.”

  “I think you should stop telling me the names of the people who you work with.”

  “I won’t harm you, Clelia. Stop believing that I will.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He took their bags. “Can you please get the tray?” He motioned to the untouched breakfast.

  She obliged, looking remorseful all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I wasted your breakfast. It was a kind thought. I’m just too...”

  “Emotional?”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “It’s a normal reaction from the drug. When it wears off, you should be really hungry.” He looked at her meager form. “It’s not as if you could do with skipping a meal.”

  “Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

  “It took me all of three minutes to prepare. I want you to stop being nice to me, please.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m only being polite.”

  “I suppose you can’t help it. You’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

  “Nice?” An injured look came over her face. “I suppose all the ugly girls are ‘nice’. It must be ‘nice’ to be something more alluring, like enchanting, or bewitching.”

  If she only knew how much she had already bewitched him, she’d be a lot less nice to him, because right now, he felt like pulling her over his knee to show her just how ‘nice’ he could be.

  He sighed. “Just take the tray to the kitchen and load the dishwasher. And remember, I’m right behind you.”

  She actually managed to follow out his order with dignity and a bit of an attitude. Josselin grinned behind her back.

  Chapter Ten

  Josselin took out the trash and locked the front door, his hand firmly on Clelia’s arm. She watched him closely. She could tell he was wary. His muscles were tense and his eyes scanned the area as he guided her to the SUV waiting in the driveway. Lann got out from the driver’s seat and went around to open the passenger door. He wore white Bermuda shorts and a navy striped T-shirt. He could have been any holidaymaker intent on enjoying some sailing, but Clelia once more noticed the latent power under his graceful movements and remembered how natural the automatic rifle had looked in his hands.

  For a second she considered running, but there was no way she could outrun Josselin or an SUV. Besides, Josselin’s grip was like a steel vice on her arm. He handed their bags to Lann and motioned for her to get in. Clelia could see Maya sitt
ing in the back, her hand holding a pistol that rested lightly on her knee. She looked relaxed, as if she were about to go for a scenic drive.

  Something inside Clelia started shifting. She couldn’t say what it was, but she could feel it. Since Josselin had taken her captive, she hadn’t been herself, and it wasn’t just the emotional trauma of the kidnapping, the drugs, or Josselin’s effect on her. There was a new sense of power inside her that made her feel calmer and stronger. It was as if she suddenly saw more clearly, and experienced touch with a new intensity. Her instinct was fierce and lucid. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her, but she knew without a doubt that she would escape. It was a surety that had nestled in her mind, a tranquil knowledge, as if she could read the future.

  At the thought of leaving Snow and her other wolfdogs behind, a pang of sadness invaded her heart. Instead of ignoring it, she embraced it, allowing the intensity of the emotion to further strengthen her spirit. She didn’t dare explore her reaction to running from Josselin. That kind of hurt would cut too deep, weakening her when she needed her strength.

  Josselin nudged her from behind. “We’re an open target. We have to get moving.”

  She turned to him. “Promise me you’ll take care of my animals.”

  He frowned. “I already told you I will.”

  “Promise me. Regardless.”

  His frown deepened. Without replying, he gripped her hips and lifted her into the vehicle.

  “Joss,” Lann said, his voice eerily soft, “she asked for a wish. It has to be granted. You know the rules.”

  “We don’t have any rules,” Josselin bit out.

  “All right,” Lann said patiently, “you know the code of conduct. She has a right to ask. You should honor her wish.”

  “Let’s go,” he said to Lann, moving in next to Clelia, pushing her body with his into the corner.

  Maya smiled. She was the epitome of female sensuality in a bright red top with black crisscrossed laces left undone to expose her generous cleavage. She wore slick black pants and high-heeled boots.

  Maya swung her leg leisurely. “We’ll take care of your animals. Joss doesn’t want to promise because the grant usually pertains to last wishes, as in dying.”

  “Shut up, Maya,” Josselin said, resting his arm on the seatback behind Clelia. “I’m not making any last-wish promises.” He turned to Clelia. “Understood?”

  When she didn’t answer, he took her chin and turned her face to him. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  He sat really close to her and she could feel his breath on her face. His words were gentle, his touch tender. From the corner of her eye, Clelia saw Maya’s amused look.

  “I’m not hungry, thank you,” she said.

  Josselin gave an exasperated sigh, but he didn’t press the issue.

  Clelia looked out of the window. It felt as if her life had tangled with Josselin’s and had formed a new hybrid, that it was already too late to sever her roots from his without killing the tree.

  They drove to the old oyster factory that had closed down several years before, and set off in a small boat tied to the unused jetty in the bay. It was a clever spot to hide a boat, as the metal skeleton spikes of the rusted oyster camps hidden under the water made it dangerous to swim, and the stench of the decaying seaweed kept vacationers and fishermen at bay.

  They went several miles into the sea before they pulled up next to a big luxury yacht, of which there were many in the Gulf during the holiday months of July and August. An unusually tall man with a shaved head and eye patch, all muscles and teeth, waited on the deck. He had a huge diamond stud in one ear. His black skin and patch shone in the sun, making him look like some African god turned pirate. As he extended a hand to help them onboard, his muscles rippled under his open striped shirt. Designer jeans hugged his narrow hips. He pulled Maya onto the deck, but when he reached for Clelia, Josselin said, “I’ve got her, Bono.”

  Josselin kept his hands on her hips as he guided her up the ladder from behind. Without introducing her to the man he called Bono, he led her around the deck. She was aware of Bono’s puzzled glare when they passed him.

  Josselin took her down a few steps into a generously sized lounge. A striking man with a red birthmark on his cheek sat in a lounge chair reading Charles Dickens. Dressed entirely in white, he conveyed a dashing air, a mature kind of attractiveness, and instead of spoiling his features, the mark added to his enigmatic appearance. Upon their entry, the man got up and leaned casually on a cane with a huge brilliant stone head. Everything about him seemed to capture and demand attention. He took her fingers lightly in his and kissed her hand without touching his lips to her skin.

  “Clelia, an absolute pleasure to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Cain, your host. Has Josselin been treating you well?”

  Clelia glanced at Josselin, who stood close behind her. He gave her a hard look, but not a completely unfriendly one.

  “Maybe we’ll talk later,” Cain said, following the direction of Clelia’s eyes. “I do apologize for your ... detainment ... but unfortunate circumstances necessitated the extreme measure. However, I am happy to welcome you onboard our safe house. I dare say that you’ll feel less of a prisoner here than on land.” He smiled, but there was no mistaking the subtle warning underlying the gesture. “The sea is, after all, a prison in its own right. At least it will award you with the liberty of moving around.”

  Clelia looked at the flat surface of the water through the window. They were not moving. To some, the ocean seemed like a prison, holding a boat hostage in its countless miles of surrounding water, but for someone like her, who had grown up with the sea and been taught to read its tides like a map, it was an opportunity for freedom, to escape. She said nothing, however, as Cain waved at Maya, who waited by the door, to enter.

  “Maya,” Cain said when she walked up to them, “you can escort Clelia to her cabin. Get her settled in.”

  Josselin took a step in Clelia’s direction, his jaw tight, but Cain lifted a finger, shaking his head.

  When Maya took Clelia’s arm, Josselin moved forward, blocking their path, his body an arched bow.

  “Joss,” Maya said, lifting her brow, “you’re crowding us.”

  Clelia regarded Maya uncertainly. The cut on her lip still hadn’t healed. Josselin flexed his fingers, his silver eyes mercurial in their brooding intensity.

  “Josselin,” Cain said gently, “you’re forgetting your manners.”

  Josselin didn’t budge. In fact, it seemed that he hadn’t even heard Cain’s subtle rebuke.

  Maya rolled her eyes. “Joss, Clelia and I are just going to have a girl talk. Sometimes women need some space.”

  Josselin stared at Clelia, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed.

  “You remember what I said, Maya?” Josselin said.

  Maya gave him a syrupy smile. “Perfectly.”

  Only then did Josselin step aside for them to pass.

  They went back upstairs and took another set of steps at the back-end of the yacht. It took them below deck to a narrow hallway that gave access to the cabins. The first one’s door stood open, so Clelia glanced inside. It housed two single beds. They entered the second one that was a mirror image of the first. There were four doors all together, so Clelia deducted that the yacht could sleep eight people.

  As if reading her mind, Maya said, “Lann and Bono are sharing, and you, Josselin, and I each have our own cabin. Cain has the master suite on the upper deck, next to the lounge and the kitchen. This is yours. Cain asked me to give you a tour, but this is pretty much it. Not much else to see.”

  Clelia was surprised at the freedom they gave her. She had expected to be tied up or handcuffed again, at the very least sleeping under Maya’s wakeful eye.

  “You’re letting me sleep on my own?”

  Maya smiled. “Unless you want to share with Josselin.”

  Clelia could feel her cheeks burning.
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br />   “The attraction between the two of you is obvious.” Maya opened a door at the end of the cabin to reveal a shower and toilet. “Do you and Josselin have a romantic history?”

  Clelia looked away quickly, wringing her hands together.

  “Don’t worry. Answering personal questions is optional. Not so where Erwan is concerned. Sit.” Maya pointed at the bed.

  Holding her breath for the coming interrogation, Clelia sat down on the narrow cot, not because she wanted to, but because she knew that where physical strength was concerned, she was no match for the lean, sculpted woman.

  Maya poised gingerly on the edge of the bed facing Clelia. “I’m not going to pounce like a lion, so relax.” She crossed her legs, rested a manicured hand on her knee and elegantly folded one wrist over the other, making the simple act look sensual.

  “You look at me as if I’m some exotic creature,” Maya said with a glint in her eyes.

  Clelia lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “It’s all right. I’m used to it.”

  Clelia looked up quickly. “It’s not an insult. It’s just that you’re very unusual.”

  “Unusual?” Her beautiful lips stretched into a smile. “Most men say my beauty is beyond compare.”

  “Yes,” Clelia said honestly, “I can see how any man would say that.”

  Maya’s expression softened. “Just ask me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Maya started swinging her leg. “Just ask the question that’s on the tip of your tongue. I can see you trying to swallow it down.”

  Clelia looked at her hands. “All right. Where are you from?”

  “You mean you can’t tell by looking at me?” Maya smiled ironically.

  “No. I was referring to your accent. I can’t place it.”

  “I’m from Cape Town, South Africa.”

  “It’s distinct. Very strong, yet easy.”

  “Mmm. And you’re Japanese.”

  “Supposedly a mix. Japanese-Italian. Something in between.”

  Maya leaned back on her arms. “A mixed breed. Something we have in common.” She looked Clelia up and down. “I like your looks.”