Bound by Flame (30 page)

“Oh, damn!” she said, only it was more a sob, barely understandable. “Yes. Goddess. Please, no, shit, yes!”

She trailed into gibberish and hit him some more and absolutely lost control, and that’s what Nick was waiting for. He slid his hands to her hips and forced her to match his rhythm, open to him completely. With every bit of controlled force he could muster, he drove them both home with deep, rocking thrusts.

The world left him as he came with a bone-jarring rush, keeping his eyes fixed on Cynda’s beautiful face.

Her screams filled his ears. Her heady woman’s scent filled his nose.

Fire roared over him and he pulled every bit into his own essence.

Give me all you’ve got, and then some. I can handle you. You’re mine, Cynda Flynn.

Did he say that out loud?

He didn’t care.

He’d back up that claim with fists and guns and whatever army he could muster. As he collapsed forward, rolling her to her side and pulling her with him as he flopped to his back, he knew he would do whatever it took to keep her.

Including standing down a bunch of old Irish crones who might just be meaner than Cynda.

As he cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair, kissing her head, all he could say was, “I love you.”

All she could say was, “Goddamn, I cooked the gym.”

Nick laughed.

Did life get any better than this?

She looked at him, her eyes misty and distant, yet completely with him. “I—I—” Her words choked away, then came back, forceful. “I love you, too.”

And he knew she did.

Nothing inside Nick doubted her, or mistrusted her, or second-guessed anything about Cynda.

He knew what a risk it was for a woman who had lost so much to offer her heart. He accepted her gift with a kiss, then another, and another.

She met his lips with hers, absolute softness and warmth, and he wanted to stay beside her, bound by flame, for the rest of his life.

As it was, it took almost half an hour for the fire and smoke and soot to settle.

Nick was happy to lie there with his woman in his arms and let all the popping, cracking, and hissing fade away. He could have done without the stench of burned rubber and melted plastic, but he’d get used to that. Probably eight hours of hard labor ahead plus a shopping trip to rectify the damage, but he’d scrub the gym and buy out the sporting goods store with a smile. Maybe he should just set them up on regular shipments.

Weekly?

Hell, no.

Daily.

I wonder if there’s any such thing as a fireproof bed.

When Nick eased to his side to face Cynda, she had the cutest streaks of soot trailing down her cheeks and dotting her freckled chin. Never mind the smeared handprints on both her breasts and the hip he could see.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “I, uh, never did this kind of damage before.”

Two emotions punched Nick at the same time—jealousy that she’d had any befores, and feral pride that he fueled her fire better than anyone else in the world. “I’ll buy a stone house.” He turned his head just enough to kiss her tattooed forearm. “We’ll furnish it with granite.”

She grinned, a little shy, eyes still half-closed. “You talk big.”

“I do a lot of things big.” He kissed her ear.

Cynda’s cheeks turned red. “I can’t believe after you wore me out so completely, you can still make me smoke. You’d think I wouldn’t have a spark left anywhere.”

Nick waited until the cloud of smoke drifted away from them, then met Cynda’s sleepy gaze. “We probably should have had this conversation before, but…what happens now? Does some coven of ancient Irish witches ride in here on broomsticks to castrate me?”

Her muscles tightened, and he immediately wanted to rub the stress straight back out of her body. “The Mothers don’t know, and they won’t know until somebody tells them.”

He gave Cynda a few seconds to relax before he asked, “And when they do find out?”

Her warm breath tickled his chin as she sighed. “I’ll be expelled. And if they catch me, they’ll force me to undergo a ritual to seal me off from my fire.”

Nick’s gut tightened at that thought. He’d been watching her this last week. He’d seen how she struggled, how vulnerable and off-center she’d been without that spark in her depths. No way that was right, for Cynda or anyone else. And no way he would let that happen to her.

He gazed at her steadily, determination flowing into every muscle and fiber. “If it comes to that, they
won’t
catch you.”

She smiled, but her expression was sad, almost resigned. “I’d like to believe that, but I can’t worry about it now.”

He brushed damp red curls off her forehead with his fingertips. “Riana and Merilee are on your side. We’ll fight this fight—and we’ll win. And after we do, how does a long trip to San Francisco sound—just the two of us? Or L.A.?”

That made her face brighten. She played with his hair again, and the warmth of her wrist heated him inside. “I’d rather do Tibet, or maybe Bali.”

“Bali.” He imagined wild fire sex on the beach, with the ocean to do his cleanup work. “I could go for Bali.”

Once more, Cynda’s expression turned serious, almost grim. “You’ve got to understand, I might have put us both at serious risk. I don’t want you in the Mothers’ hands any more than I want them to catch me. I have no idea what they’d do to you.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Nick heard the edge of anger in his response.

He wanted those old biddies to come for him. He wanted to understand what they had against him, and he wanted to tell them just where to put this whole expelling-Cynda idea. As soon as he could, he
would
be speaking with them.

She smacked his shoulder. “That scares me, because you should be worried. When they’re riled, the Mothers are more dangerous than a pit of saw-scaled vipers. If they get their hands on you, I might never see you again.”

Nick shrugged. “Creed went to Russia and came back in one piece.”

“Uh, no.” Cynda’s green eyes flashed. “Don’t even think about submitting yourself to that procedure. That could have killed Creed, and you don’t need it. You already have control of your
other
.”

“Gideon,” Nick said, his voice quiet because he’d never told anyone that before. “That’s what I call it—him.”

Inside his mind, Gideon made a noise something like a contented lion’s purr.

Exactly how Nick felt, save for his wish to stalk and eat a few Irish Mothers.

Cynda’s hand trailed from his face to his chest, then lower, to stroke his cock. “Most men name these, not their inner demons.”

Nick covered her prowling hand with his. “I’ll pass on that. Look, whatever happens, we’ll survive, Cynda. We. The two of us. We’ll do it together.”

She slipped her fingers out from under his and drew back a few inches. When she had enough room, she rolled to her back, scooted her shoulder into his chest, and looked at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m putting so many people in danger.”

He touched her still-damp hair and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “I made this choice for myself. So did your triad. You’re that important to us.”

Her lips trembled. “Even if I cook gyms?”

“
Because
you cook gyms.” He brushed away a tear that slipped through the soot on her cheek. “I’ll never let you down, firebird.”

Another tear, and another. Her chest heaved. “I know.”

For a time, Nick gave Cynda space and silence, keeping his body next to hers, stroking her face and arm.

He knew she was terrified of losing her life as a Sibyl, of being separated from her fire. It touched him, awed him, that she would take a risk like that for him. He had to find a way to protect her, not just from invisible demons and J. C. Downy, but from her own people, too. Whatever it took, he would figure something out. Nothing was ever going to hurt this woman again.

One threat at a time…

He dipped his head and kissed the corner of her eye, tasting the salt from her waning tears. “Did you and your triad figure out anything from those dishes?”

Cynda twitched and snorted. “Yeah. Sure. J. C. Downy’s an Irish Catholic woman with a bog-oak crucifix and weird cup and wand.” She smacked her palm against the exercise mat. “Those dishes reminded me of the last two houses we’ve raided. Something about the pieces looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I just can’t dig it out of my head. It pisses me off.”

Good.

He’d rather see her mad than sad or worried. Mad suited Cynda.

“Must be a long-ago memory.” He scooted her close to him and grinned at the smoke curling off her elbows and toes.

“That’s just it. I don’t have many memories before I went to Motherhouse Ireland. I was too young—not even six years old—and that was all…too painful.” She kicked a foot in the air, like she might be giving some perp a good head-bash. “Mostly I remember the few weeks before my father took me and left me with Mother Keara, and the last night I saw him.”

Nick went still, his mouth against the side of her head. “Your father…just dropped you off with a bunch of strangers?”

Cynda didn’t answer, but Nick could see on her face that he was right.

Who could do something like that?

He held her to him, understanding her attachment to the Sibyls a little better, and wishing he knew where this “father” of hers lived.

Nick wanted a word with that bastard, too.

“I couldn’t stay in the village where I was born.” Cynda frowned. “My fire—I was destroying things. Everyone was afraid of me.”

Okay. Maybe he needed to speak to Cynda’s entire hometown. His list was growing.

“My father took me to Kylemore Abbey, this big convent. Since fire Sibyls are usually born in the United Kingdom, local priests know to direct them to Kylemore, because it’s close to Motherhouse Ireland. The nuns at Kylemore know how to summon the Sibyls, but even they were scared of me. This one bitch in a habit called me a devil. I’ll never forget her.”

Nick was adding the Kylemore nuns to his shit-list when he felt Cynda go absolutely stiff in his grip.

He gazed down at her.

Her eyes had gone wide.

Her mouth was open.

For a moment, she didn’t even breathe.

Then she yelled, “Shit!”

Before Nick could react, Cynda shoved his arm off her chest, rolled away from him and jumped to her feet. Smoke washed over her shoulders, curled around her head and legs.

She started walking back and forth, waving her hands. “I’m so stupid. I can’t believe this took me so long!”

Nick pushed himself to his feet, still feeling loose and spent from their earlier session together. “Uh, firebird, can you clue me in, here?”

“I have to see the dishes.” Cynda waved her hands again. “Only they’re not dishes. I am such an idiot. Dishes!”

When he approached her, put his arms around her, she banged her fists against his chest, but out of frustration, not to push him away.

“The convent,” she said, eyes flaring even brighter than usual. “That stuff is from Kylemore Abbey.”

Nick kept hold of her and wondered if he looked as clueless as he felt.

Cynda shook her head. “These houses we’ve raided, what’s familiar is how they smelled. How they looked. That unnatural
clean
thing. Every time I ever had to go to Kylemore, I hated the place because it was so friggin’ spotless and sterile.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

He well remembered how ill at ease Cynda had been during the raids, how she had sniffed and searched with her eyes, obviously reaching for something and coming up short. He agreed. Not that he’d ever been to a nunnery, but yeah, those houses had been convent-clean and convent-quiet.

He tried to steady Cynda and keep her focused. “And the dishes?”

“The crucifix.” She gripped both of his forearms. “Probably off Kylemore’s walls. And that bowl. It’s a font. You know, to hold the holy water Catholic parishioners dip their fingers in before they cross themselves.” More smoke swirled in the sooty gym. “And the cup, too. It’s a pot and sprinkler. The priests use them to bless the congregation.”

She twisted away and started walking again, this time toward the gym door, in all her naked, fire-lined glory. “This
isn’t
about the Legion. At least not directly. What if Ri and the other triads have already sent that stuff to Russia?”

Nick trailed after her. “If the stuff ’s from Kylemore, what does that mean?”

She spun to face him, her face bright with heat. “I get it now. Jake’s message. I understand!”

She smiled, only it wasn’t anywhere near gentle and sweet.

Nick actually took a step back, respecting that furious, carnivorous expression.

“I know exactly who J. C. Downy is,” Cynda said. “And I think I know how to find her.”

20

Cynda ran up the stairs from the basement, kicking over stacks of books she now knew had been left by spying Astaroth demons.

“Uh, Cynda,” Nick called from below her. She ignored him. Let him catch up and keep up, if he could. This was too important.

Downy’s been at the back of my mind all the time.
Her heart punched her ribs as her feet pounded across the tile and wood of the townhouse’s downstairs floors.
Right in
front
of me. How could I have missed something so obvious?

“Cynda,” Nick called again as she started up the steps to her bedroom.

“Come on!” she yelled back.

Her stomach ached like she was starving—and she was hungry like a wild thing, to hunt this murderer and catch her before she killed another fire Sibyl. Cynda was up the steps to her bedroom, after passing at least three OCU officers and Sal Freeman, too, when the cold air hit her, head to foot. Bare breasts, bare ass and all.

I’m stark naked.

She stumbled to a fast stop outside Nick’s bedroom door and swore a few more times. The energy cooking through the third-floor hallway told her that Riana, Merilee, and the other visiting Sibyls had to be close by. No doubt they had gone to Cynda’s bedroom to use the projective mirrors and communications platform to open channels to the Motherhouses.