Pyromancist Page 17

  “Are you all right, Clelia?” Bono said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

  Josselin narrowed his eyes. Did they really think he’d hurt her? Is that why Bono came charging in here? He came to his feet and placed himself in front of Clelia. The sound coming from his chest sounded very much like a growl.

  “Sorry,” Bono mumbled again. “I’m going.”

  He lifted his hand awkwardly in a gesture of departure and backed out of the cabin, closing the door softly behind him.

  “What’s with all this male testosterone?” Clelia said.

  Josselin inhaled deeply, staring at the door. Mine, his heart, mind, and body shouted, and like every time, it shocked him.

  When he turned to face her, he saw the goose bumps that had broken out over her skin.

  “You’re cold,” he said. It displeased him to see her uncomfortable.

  “Josselin, you should really stop growling,” she said.

  “Was I?” he said, feigning ignorance.

  “When you spoke just now, it sounded more like a tiger roaring than a man asking me if I was cold.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “You’d better change, anyway. I bought you some things.”

  Her eyes moved to the bag on the bed. “You bought me things? Why?”

  “I was in Vannes,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  Truth was, he could have easily stopped by her house, picked up more of her clothes, or have taken the dirty ones to the Laundromat, but he wanted her to have some pretty things he knew women liked.

  “You shouldn’t ... you mustn’t.”

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You can give it to someone if it’s not your taste.”

  “I meant ... you shouldn’t do nice things for me when...”

  Not wanting her to think more of harm coming to herself, he quickly said, “I went to see your animals.”

  The way her face lit up made him cringe for the injustice of taking her from the beings she loved.

  “They’re all fine,” he said. “I arranged for the local vet to take care of them.”

  Just as quickly, her expression changed.

  “Why? Because you know, you won’t let me go back anytime soon? Maybe never?”

  He saw in her face that she already knew the answer, but he owed her at least as much as to say, “Erwan is not coming, it seems. We have to take you with us, to Paris, until Cain comes up with another plan.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Clelia. He gave me forty-eight hours, but that time is up.”

  She looked frightened and worried and shocked all at once, so he said, “The fires have ceased. The French government has given us carte blanche only for a week. After tomorrow, they won’t let us investigate ... undisturbed.”

  “You mean they won’t turn a blind eye to your illegal methods.”

  “Something like that.”

  She hugged herself, and he crossed his arms so as not to wrap them around her.

  “I have a meeting with Cain,” he said, retracting to the door. “If you need anything–”

  “I’ll call Maya.”

  He almost flinched. It was what he had asked from her, after all. To deny the attraction. To deny the bond. As for him, he’d never deny his love. He’d just suffer it in silence.

  “As you wish,” he said, shutting the door and trapping her image behind it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clelia opened the boutique bag, curious about what Josselin had chosen for her to wear, hungry for the intimacy in the act he tried so hard to deny. There were black yoga pants with a red stretch top of the softest cotton. He paired it with ankle socks, black and white, and a red summer scarf wide enough to double as a shawl. It was a clever ensemble, practical, comfortable and pretty without being too revealing, and she wasn’t sure if he intended it as leisure or sleepwear. From the way he acted around her, it wouldn’t surprise her if he expected her to sleep in it. Then that thought flew out of the window when she took a long, white silk nightdress from the bag with a simple lace trim in the front. He had chosen two knee-length silk dresses–one in red and one in midnight blue. The footwear included lace-up boots in undyed leather and black high-heeled ones.

  She blushed when she pulled out the underwear. There were various matching sets in white, black, red, baby blue, and pink, all in sinfully seductive lace and silk. Its decadency surprised her, and the fact that he got her size right even more so, until she realized that he could have checked the label on the garments he packed. She felt the heat in her cheeks intensify.

  The last item was an exquisite mid-length gray silk coat with a delicate Japanese cherry blossom motif. The hem, priest-style collar, and cuffs were trimmed with speckled faux fur, as if he knew she’d never wrap herself in any real animal’s fur. She stroked her palm over the cool softness of the fabric and admired the craftsmanship of the tailoring. She folded everything neatly and put it back in the bag.

  Clelia changed into her denim shorts and a T-shirt. She rinsed out Maya’s bikini and hung it in the bathroom to dry. She sat down on the bed, feeling the sway of the ocean in the movement of her body. She didn’t fight it, simply let it be, allowed it to gently rock her while she gathered her thoughts. Josselin de Arradon had come for her. She knew it now. The fire’s call was becoming stronger. It was her Josselin was after, but he didn’t yet know it. In her dream, she didn’t know why he had come for her, but now it was clear. He was a hunter of dark arts, one of which she had inherited through birth. When Josselin was finally faced with the knowledge that she wasn’t the bait, but the prize, he would have no other choice but to kill her, to wipe out the lineage of fire that burned in her blood. It wasn’t something she was going to allow him to do. She wouldn’t let him add another death to his overflowing burden of guilt.

  Even before coming aboard, she knew she would escape. Now, that moment was near. Accepting that the love she nurtured in her heart was futile would be her living agony, but it had always been as much, albeit not as painful. Before she had known the power of Josselin’s kiss, of his touch, her unrequited love had been more sufferable. Now, it would be a wound that could never heal, its longing intensified, but it was one she was prepared to live with, as long as it kept Josselin’s memory alive in her mind, living in her body.

  She had paid careful attention to their course. It was Lann who watched, or maybe even controlled, the weather and the clouds from behind the wheel of the yacht, but it was Maya who knew and loved the water, who determined the path of their cruise according to the tides. Instinctively, Clelia sensed Maya’s bond with the water. Even if Clelia’s own element was fire, and water was her natural enemy, she had the advantage of having been raised by a fisherman who read the sea like a chiromancist would read the palm of a hand. She had memorized their navigation, dictated by the slipstreams and the tides, and she knew that they’d pass Île aux Moines at sunset. Yes, she had it all worked out to the last, careful, physical detail. What was a lot harder to do was to work out how to carry on without Josselin, now that he had reminded her how empty her life without him had always been.

  When the engines powered up at the onset of low tide and the yacht started moving, taking them deeper into the Gulf, Clelia used the freedom granted her to go outside. Bono was, as always, standing on the deck, seeming uncomfortable. His smooth, dark skin had an ashen undertone.

  Clelia gave him a sympathetic smile as she paused next to him.

  “It’ll get better with the movement,” she offered.

  He wiped a hand over his face. “I can stand being flipped upside down and pulling G’s that would normally draw the average man’s gut through his mouth, but I can’t stand the gentle rocking of a boat.”

  “We’re all different. So is our biological make-up.”

  “If you and Maya are anything to go by, then women seem less affected.”

  “Don’t forget Lann. He seems all right.”

  “In my
book, Lann counts for a woman.” He grinned. “Of course, don’t let him ever find out I said that.”

  “He’s not feminine at all. In fact, he’s rather scary.”

  “I’m referring to his affinity for luxury and fashion. But I guess you’re right. Women find him very attractive in a geeky kind of way. He’s got steel claws under that elf-like appearance.” He flinched. “Don’t let him hear I said that either. He’s sensitive about his ears.”

  Clelia took an even bigger liking to Bono. If she were ever to have had a brother, she would have wanted him to be just like that.

  “How come you speak French so well?”

  “Don’t take the piss out of me,” he said good-naturedly. “I know I have a terrible accent.”

  “It’s not terrible at all. It’s kind of appealing, if you ignore the harshness,” she teased.

  “Ah, you see, I knew you’d jab me with an insult. I grew up in Senegal. Former French colony.”

  “Oh.”

  He interpreted her comment for ignorance correctly, because he said, “Never traveled outside of France?”

  “No. I imagine for you it’s the opposite.”

  “Sometimes I wish I could sprout roots somewhere,” he admitted.

  He seemed like a sincere person. Of the whole team, he was the only one who didn’t scare her. Lann looked like dynamite that could explode at any minute, Maya was as tough as nails, Cain as frightening as a storm on the sea, and Josselin was mercurial. Bono was ... well, just sweet. She couldn’t imagine why he would work in an environment of killing and practicing forbidden arts.

  “May I ask you something?” she said.

  “Go for it.”

  “How did you end up working for Cain?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t work for Cain. I work for Josselin.”

  That came as a surprise. “You do? I had no idea. How did it come about?”

  “It’s nothing glorious or romantic. I’m an aircraft fanatic. Built and flew my own helicopters and met Joss on a mission in China. He recruited me. Now you understand why I’m exceptionally ... er ... careful around you. Can’t afford to piss off my boss.”

  Clelia felt herself blush. She looked at her hands. “I’m sorry about that. He’s not really being mean. He’s just very protective.” She glanced at Bono nervously, wondering if she’d said something that would give him the wrong impression. It wasn’t as if Josselin and she were an item. “We grew up together, and I suppose the fact that he has known me for a very long time must be hard for him.”

  Bono laughed. “You can put as much icing sugar on it as you want. He’s fucking in for it head over heels.” His smile was broad and warm. “He’s jealous.”

  “He’s got his reasons for reacting so harshly,” she said.

  “Hey, you don’t have to defend him. I would probably react the same around any woman I considered mine.”

  “Just for the record, I’m not his, and I’m still sorry you had to take the brunt.”

  “Forget about it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

  She smiled. “Feeling better?”

  He nodded. “The movement definitely helps.”

  “I’m going to walk around the deck for a bit.”

  “Good idea. Important to keep up some exercise.”

  “Well, I wish you deep roots someday,” she said.

  He nodded, his brow pulled into a frown, and then she realized that her words carried like a farewell and she quickly walked away, before he had time to interpret its underlying meaning.

  It was only lunchtime, a long time still before she could put her plan into action, so she sat on a deckchair, watched the sea, and wondered about her future. Her plan before Josselin came along was to hand herself over to the authorities, but it wasn’t such a good plan any longer—not after what Josselin had said about people like her being secretly eliminated. If she could get away, hide out for a few months until she knew it was safe to return for Erwan, they could think of something together. What she didn’t yet dare face was what she was going to do if the fires started again.

  “I have to go to the mainland after lunch,” Josselin said behind her back.

  She didn’t jump because she had sensed him before he spoke.

  “Do you need anything? Maybe some personal things?”

  She turned in her chair. “No, thank you.” She offered him a smile, as she wanted their last hours together to be beautiful.

  Instead of evoking a smile from him, he frowned. “I don’t like it when you smile so sadly.”

  “Josselin, what will you do when you catch your firestarter?”

  “My mission will be complete. I’ll move on to the next one.”

  “Are they all that matter? Missions?”

  “Yes. It gives me something worth living for.”

  “You’re a good man, Josselin. I wish you could see yourself as you really are.”

  “I wish I could see what you see too, Cle, but I only see the truth.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t see what isn’t there, or what isn’t possible, just because I want to.”

  “Do you keep your promises?”

  “I do.”

  “Then don’t forget the one you made me about my animals.”

  He tensed. “I didn’t promise anything.”

  She looked at him to remember his older face. So much had happened in his life, and he deserved none of it. Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to feel his lips one last time came over her. She got to her feet and stood on tiptoe, giving him a soft kiss, one in which she poured out all of her love.

  “One day you will see the truth, Josselin de Arradon,” she said.

  She turned from him, but he grabbed her wrist. “Why are you talking like this?”

  She blinked back the tears. She couldn’t risk giving her plan away now, just because she was getting emotional.

  His mercurial eyes shined dangerously. “Are you planning on hurting yourself, Cle?”

  “No,” she said honestly, “I’m just suddenly ... sad.”

  He folded his arms around her and kissed her hair. “Come inside. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “Maya said she’s cooking,” she said in an attempt to escape his embrace, wiggling in his arms. She wasn’t sure she could be with him for much longer without bawling uncontrollably.

  “Maya tends to burn food, and her rice is soggy. I make a much more appetizing seafood pasta.”

  She knew he was trying to cheer her up, and it actually worked. Conjuring a picture of him in her mind, Josselin in a kitchen surrounded by pots and pans cooking her a meal, made her feel all fuzzy and warm.

  “I can’t picture the descendant of a Count slaving away in the kitchen, Josselin from Josselin.”

  There was a village in the Morbihan region named Josselin, after the son Josselin of the first Viscount of Morbihan, Guithenoc, and she mentioned it teasingly because she knew how endearingly embarrassed he got about his name. Everyone knew the Josselin Castle, dating as far back as 1020, was still owned by the descendants of the original Viscount Josselin de Arradon. She was staring at the latest Josselin in the long line of heirs.

  “Sometimes I forget about that title. I hate to hear it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not worthy of it.”

  “You are,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen. You can join me if you want. Otherwise, I’ll call you when lunch is ready.” He turned.

  “Josselin?”

  “Clelia?”

  “Thank you for the clothes.” She felt a renewed flush heating her body at the thought of him selecting her underwear.

  He watched her closely, measuring her with his gray eyes that now didn’t seem so cold, and then he smiled a rare gesture that lit up his whole face.

  “You have no idea how much pleasure shopping for you gave me.”

  He left her with this statement, not looking back as he made his way to the kitchen.
>
  * * * *

  Maya and Josselin had left after lunch to go to the mainland for whatever it was they had to go and do. Cain walked around the deck after lunch, asking if Clelia needed company, but she declined. She stood at the rail and watched the sea for a very long time. Then she went to the cabin and removed the bullet she had taken from Josselin’s revolver from the pocket of her denim jacket. Josselin had said that Maya had patted her down for weapons the day they had taken her from the jetty, after Josselin had injected her with a tranquilizer, but Maya obviously hadn’t gone through her pockets. She slipped it into the front pocket of her denim shorts and removed her shoes. The bullet would be her reminder of him, of his first kiss, of what could have been, of the fragility of life. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t supposed to wander around because the yacht wasn’t moving. Her heart beat furiously as she went back to the deck. It was time.

  The sun was setting behind the island. Lann came to greet her because they had anchored.

  “You’re not supposed to move around when the engines aren’t running,” he said. “I’ll escort you back to the cabin, or to the lounge if you wish.”

  “I’m feeling queasy,” she said, silently praying for forgiveness for the lie. “Maybe you can just stand here with me until we move again.”

  “I’ll start up the engine soon. We’re just waiting for Joss and Maya to come aboard.”

  “Where did they go?” she said, not expecting him to answer, and not really wanting to know. She simply tried to kill time.

  “To put out some fires.”

  Her heart jumped. “There was another one?”

  Lann smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. I meant it figuratively, but I guess my pun wasn’t in good taste. They went to deal with the media.”

  “What did they tell them?”

  A motorboat appeared in the distance, the noise of the engine interrupting their conversation.

  “Speak of the devil,” Lann said, grinning.

  Clelia gave him a stern look.

  “Sorry,” he said, “another bad pun.”

  He really had a very sensual mouth. His lips were full and wide, complimenting his square jaw. When he smiled, his eerie golden eyes didn’t light up, but his slightly pointed ears lifted, and Clelia got the impression that he really meant to be nice, even if he appeared frightening.