Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1) Page 23

“When this is over, I’m taking you back to New York.”

  She reeled in shock. He’d never mentioned his intention, and even if she managed to escape, there was a possibility neither of them could ignore. “If I survive, you mean.”

  “You will.”

  That wasn’t a promise he could make.

  He gripped the door handle, but she stilled him with a hand on his arm. “Even if I do come out of this alive, my home is here. There’s nothing in New York for me.”

  Matter of factly, he stated, “I am.”

  “You can’t just take me.”

  His expression was cool in the light of the car that came on when he opened his door. “I already have.”

  Without giving her time to reply, he got out and came around to help her from the car. She ignored his proffered hand. He was a piece of work, thinking he could use her as bait to finish his mission and then drag her off like a caveman to his lair.

  “Why would you want to take me home with you anyway?” she asked, getting out from the car. What use could he have for her when his mission was completed?

  “You’re mine, Cle. Better get used to that too.”

  She gaped at him. Was he serious? Indeed, there was no smile on his face, only hard determination. There was no point in getting worked up about it, seeing she had no intention of letting him take it that far. What she needed to do was keep vigilant, take in her surroundings, and be prepared when an opportunity to escape presented itself.

  She looked around the neglected landscape as he took her coat from the backseat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Warm enough?” he asked.

  She shivered, but not from the freezing cold winter’s day. When he took her hand, she expected him to lead her to the door, but instead he drew her into the forest.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her nerves getting the better of her.

  Dusk was already creeping up on them in a deep shade of violet. In another few minutes, it would be dark.

  She hung back. “Joss?”

  He gave a gentle tug, pulling her behind him. “I want to show you something.”

  Leaves and twigs crunched under her boots. Joss had to let go of her hand to move away branches in a dense part for her to pass. Even if she could’ve tried to run, she didn’t want to risk getting lost in the forest. It would be too difficult to find her way out in the dark, and there were plenty of wild boars around. Being ripped apart by a boar wasn’t a quick or merciful death.

  Joss’s coat blended into the darkness of the forest. The distance between them stretched as he increased his pace. Only his hair was visible every now and then between the leaves.

  She walked faster, following the sound of his footsteps, but she’d lost him from sight. Her breathing picked up. She hurried, going as fast as she could without tripping over the roots of the trees, until even the sound of his steps was quiet.

  She stopped. Hugging herself, she turned in a circle. Where had he gone? Fear rippled down her spine. He couldn’t be far. She started walking again with her heart beating in her throat, following what she hoped was a trail. The last swatch of purple vanished from the sky. The forest was basked in complete darkness.

  Leaves rustled somewhere above her. She froze, jerking her face toward the sound. A bird sitting on a branch flapped its wings and flew up into the sky. The noise tore through the quietness. A cricket chirped in alarm. She placed a hand over her heart.

  “Joss?”

  The only answer was the hoot of an owl. What was he doing? Why was he leaving her out here? It couldn’t be time already. Lupien would be close to Lamor, not out here. Wouldn’t he? She made her way forward carefully, feeling for sharp twigs in front of her face.

  After another few minutes, a light appeared through the thick foliage. It was small and flickering, like the light of a candle. As she came closer, the silhouette of a small building became visible. The light she’d seen from the distance was a lantern that stood on the steps. More light streamed around the corners from the back, illuminating the Celtic crosses of a graveyard.

  When she rounded the building, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. The light illuminating the graveyard came from inside, shining through the broken plate glass windows of a chapel. It looked as if the woods had swallowed the stone building. Creepers climbed up the walls and over the roof. Once domesticated rose bushes now grew wild at the entrance.

  She advanced slowly. Passing a tombstone angel, she almost tripped over the protruding root of a witch tree. She grabbed a branch to steady herself, and gasped when something pricked her finger. It burned with the sting of poison. Too late, she noticed the thorny parasite strangling the tree. A drop of blood pooled on the tip of her finger. As she shoved her other hand into her pocket for a tissue, a pair of strong arms folded around her from behind.

  She parted her lips on a startled cry, but fingers threaded through her hair, tugging the strands to pull her head to the side, and before the scream could escape, warm lips caught the sound.

  Joss.

  A mixture of relief, fright, and anger, but also undeniable desire, made her knees weak as he turned her in his arms to rest snuggly against his chest. She sighed into the kiss. Grabbing her wrist, he held up her bleeding finger and slipped his tongue inside her mouth. It was hard to think or resist when his lips molded hers with such expert skill.

  He moved his hand down her back, pressing her body against his and deepening the kiss. Her moan only spurred him on. She was bent backward into an uncomfortable position, but when she tried to free herself, he tightened his fingers around her wrist and threw an arm around her waist. Picking her off her feet, he carried her to a tree and braced her back against the trunk. He allowed her a moment to breathe, raking his teeth down her neck before nipping her shoulder. In a lustful, mindless act, she flexed her hips to find relief for the aching spot between her thighs.

  He lifted his head to stare down at her. His silver eyes shimmered in the light that came from the chapel as he inspected her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Just a prick from a thorn. Where did you go?” She wouldn’t admit she’d been frightened out of her wits or how relieved she was he’d come back.

  “Let me kiss it better,” he said, holding her eyes as he brought her finger closer.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away as he sucked on her finger, his tongue circling the tip.

  He was never easy to read, but the startling intensity with which he studied her sparked her concern. However, the desire he ignited was an effective distraction, muddling her thoughts. She was panting when he finally pulled her finger free.

  “Better?” he asked, lust thick in his voice.

  “A bit,” she lied.

  “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

  She could only swallow, afraid her voice would give away her desire. He buried his hands under her dress, cupping the back of her legs and brushing his fingers along the line where her ass and thighs met. Heat pooled between her legs. She throbbed with need.

  “This reminds me of the first time I tasted your blood,” he said.

  He skimmed his lips over her ear, barely touching her, but every inch of her skin contracted. Goosebumps ran down her arms. She shouldn’t let him do this, should push him—

  “That day in the woods, when I saw you bleeding,” he continued, “I wanted to kill him.” He continued stroking her thighs, his fingers a swipe away from her core. “I knew that day you’d haunt me. Did you know what I thought when I tasted your blood?”

  She shook her head, unable to look away from his mercurial eyes.

  “I wanted to make you mine. Just mine. My own little stalker. I wanted nobody else’s hands on your body but mine.”

  He brushed a finger over the silk of her panties, tracing her slit. Her legs trembled. She clenched her knees and leaned her head back against the tree. He traced her folds with a finger, up and down, light like a feather, before pausing on her clit. She gasped when he pr
essed down the pad of his thumb, massaging in slow circles. The pressure was delicious.

  “Open your eyes for me, Cle.”

  A part of her, the part that mourned her first and only love, was still eager to please him. She peeled open her eyes, trying to focus when everything was hazy.

  His breath fell warm on her face. “Look into my eyes. I need to see what you feel. Understand?”

  The only thing she understood was the hard-on that pressed against her stomach. Torturing her with one hand, he fastened the other on her ass and yanked her against him. Like this, his hand was trapped between their bodies. She gripped his forearms for balance, holding on as she spiraled out of control.

  His eyes darkened. “Promise me you’ll never wander the woods alone again. Promise me from now on you’ll never leave my sight.” He pressed harder against her. “Promise you’ll come with me wherever I go.”

  This part of him she understood. When she’d told him in the car he couldn’t just take her to New York, she’d pushed the button of his insecurity.

  “Joss.” She sighed, a sound of frustration and need. “You can’t ask me for a promise I can’t make.”

  “You’re mine,” he growled. “I won’t let you go.” The pace of his hand matched the urgency of his tone. “The thought of letting you go scares me more than the evil of my past.”

  The statement surprised her. Appealing to his reason, she said, “You can’t keep me against my will forever.”

  His chest deflated with a breath even as wildness invaded his eyes. She was so close. Heat erupted, pushing her over the edge and making her body convulse with pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him while the orgasm wracked her body. He didn’t let go. He kept working her clit with his thumb even when the aftershocks had passed.

  Too sensitive, she pushed with her palms on his chest. “It’s too much.”

  “Shh.” He leaned closer, trapping her against the tree with his weight. “You can take it. Just feel.”

  It wasn’t possible to feel that much. The onslaught of sensations was overwhelming. “I can’t.”

  He studied her face. “You’re already so close again.”

  “Joss,” she exclaimed. He was taking her pleasure to an unbearable limit.

  “Trust me.”

  She moaned as he moved his thumb in circles again. Trust him? Could she? After what he’d done?

  “You’re perfect when you come,” he said in a husky voice. “Show me again.”

  Despite how sensitive she was, the pleasure built again. It wasn’t a slow journey from her clit to her abdomen. It was an explosion that hit her everywhere at once, a fierce convulsion that ended as abruptly as it had started, leaving her weak and shaking.

  Pulling her against him, he stroked her back. They remained like that for a while with him simply holding her. When she could stand on her own again, he rested his forehead against hers. Their breaths made puffs of vapor in the dark. She should’ve been freezing, but her body was still burning up.

  He pulled away and gripped her chin, his stare intense as he searched her eyes. “You belong to me. You’re mine. I am keeping you forever.” His voice dropped with a note of warning. “It’ll be easier if you hold onto that love you’ve harbored for me for so long.”

  Still finding her bearings after the orgasms, she battled to process the statement. His lips no longer made white puffs in the air. He was holding his breath. For what?

  He offered her a hand. “Come.”

  The tenseness radiating from his body frightened her. “Where?”

  “The chapel.”

  When she didn’t move, he folded his fingers around hers and pulled her onto the path.

  Visions of obscure rituals conjured in her mind. Her heart started racing. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer or slow down.

  “Joss!”

  Without giving her as much as a glance, he pulled her behind him to the light.

  Chapter 29

  With wide eyes and cheeks pale, Clelia took in the candles that burned on either side of the chapel aisle and the white roses on the stone pillars along the path. She hung back, trying to free herself from his hold, but he couldn’t afford to let her go. She’d run. He also didn’t slow down to still her fear. There wasn’t time. Besides, he doubted he’d be able to still it now that she grasped why they were here.

  The priest waited at the ruins of the altar. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him out here, but he was an old priest who knew the history of Joss’s ancestors and who valued tradition. This was where all his predecessors had taken their wives and made their vows.

  She flung herself sideways, a move that forced him to stop and look at her.

  “What’s going on?” The high pitch of her voice gave away how close she was to hysteria. “Why the hell are we here?”

  Squeezing her hand, he gave her as much reassurance as he could. “You know why.”

  Her eyes grew even larger. “You bastard. You planned this right from the start, from the moment you found me.”

  “I made arrangements in Johannesburg when I booked our flights,” he said. “Not before.”

  The black pools of her eyes glittered with tears. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? It’s been your plan all along. Admit it.”

  There was no point in confirming what she already knew.

  Yanking her hand from his, she took a step back. “You can’t force me.”

  Tension rippled up his spine at the small distance she created between them. He narrowed his eyes, remaining within grabbing reach. “Think again.”

  A wounded look invaded her eyes. “Why go to all this trouble for something that’s forced?” Her next words were bitter. “A certificate from the marriage office would’ve served your purpose.”

  “The marriage office is closed.” Plus, he wanted to uphold the symbolic tradition of his ancestors. In a warped way, he also wanted to make it beautiful. Forced or not, she deserved at the very least a memory of a white dress when she thought back to this day.

  The priest cleared his throat, but Joss didn’t look away from her face. Gripping her shoulders, he steered her toward the side room that had served as nursery back in the day. “I thought you’d want to look like a bride.”

  She dug in her heels on the threshold as her gaze lifted to the white dress hanging on a silk-covered hanger from a hook on the wall. It was a thick but intricate Breton pattern, handknitted from cashmere wool. The creation was both eccentric and unique. He’d chosen it with the weather in mind, but the fitted shape would hug her slim figure and make her look feminine. The simple dress would enhance her natural beauty. Clelia wasn’t one for frills and lace.

  “How considerate,” she bit out, her slender frame shaking in his hold.

  He couldn’t tell if the tremors were from anger or disgust, but neither sentiment was going to make a difference. “Need help changing?”

  She spun around to face him, her cheeks red and her nostrils flaring. “Are you for real?”

  He brought his face close to hers. “You better believe it, little witch.” Nothing would ever be more real. “You have five minutes. Don’t make me come fetch you.”

  It was hardly a love declaration, definitely not words one would expect from a groom and most definitely not fit for a bride, but it was what it was. They were who they were. Maybe they weren’t fated soulmates or anything romantic like that, but circumstances had brought them here and there was no going back.

  Closing the door on her gorgeous face, a face filled with a stunning display of emotions that covered every dark one in the spectrum from loathing and injustice to disbelief and hate, he gave her privacy. If she was wise, she’d value that time. It was the last privacy she’d have.

  Chapter 30

  There was no denying the dress was beautiful, but Clelia hated it. She hated everything it represented. As she stared at the intricate knit, shaking with indignation, it was hard to believe there had ever been
a time she’d love the man on the other side of the thick, wooden door. How could she have been so stupid? She’d been naïve, in love with an idea, not a man.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared at the symbol of many a young girl’s dreams. She’d had dreams, all right. A white dress, roses, and candlelight had featured in those dreams, as had Joss. Just not like this.

  She looked around the small room. A lantern standing on the floor provided light, casting long shadows. Other than a chair and full-length mirror that had been considerately leaned against a wall, there was nothing. No window to escape through. No candlesticks to use as weapons.

  Battling to come to terms with what was happening, she stood motionless in the center of the space. The earlier heat had evaporated, leaving her cold. The iciness inside this horrific prison emphasized how frozen she suddenly felt. Trapped.

  There was no way out of this. She couldn’t escape the fate waiting outside the door. In less than five minutes, Joss was going to open that door and drag her to the altar. He’d dress her himself if he had to.

  Furious, helpless tears slipped free as she shrugged off the coat and let it drop to the floor. More tears ran over her cheeks and plopped on the front of her dress, the wetness bleeding into the silk, but she let them. They were appropriate. Joss might be dressing her up in white and pretty, but she’d wear her tears. They’d be her truth, the reflection of her wedding day.

  Her wedding day.

  Her heart shriveled. Her knees buckled, but she pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress and let if fall on the discarded fabric of her coat. She abandoned the clothes in a sad heap on the floor as she stripped the dress roughly from the hanger, careless of the stitching or pearl buttons at the back. Indeed, a tearing noise sounded, but she didn’t pause to examine the damage. She stepped into the silk-lined wool, hating how the softness caressed her skin and how warmth bled into her body as the long sleeves covered her arms.

  A knock sounded on the door. Joss’s voice carried through the wood. “Ready?”

  Only then did she dry her eyes on the back of her hands and swallow back the rest of her tears. They were for her, not for him.