Claiming His Fire (8 page)

I looked down at the dish, completely in shock that she’d bring me food. That she was, in some small way, taking care of me. It was such a mate thing to do. “Why?”

When my eyes met hers, I almost rocked back on my heels. So much emotion laced through the green. Confusion, reluctance, something that looked a lot like fear. I wanted to protect her, to help her, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what I could do other than leave her alone, but with her standing at my door offering me food, that option took a major dive into the backseat. The cracks in her walls were showing, and I wanted to explore every one of them.

Scarlett shrugged, focusing on the doorjamb instead of me. “Because you’ve been helpful. Phoenix and Zuri couldn’t have laid all that flooring on their own, and it makes my sister happy to have one more thing ready for when the baby comes.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper and she finally graced me with her eyes again. “It’s our way of saying thank you.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say. No one had ever brought me food like this. And though there was no need for Phoenix and Zuri to thank me, their kindness brought Scarlett to my door. Something I hadn’t thought would ever happen.

“How?” I lifted the dish a little and raised an eyebrow.

She smirked a bit, obviously regaining some of her confidence. “How, what…to eat it? With a spoon…or maybe a fork. And definitely with some bread. I brought a loaf from the bakery for you.”

I grinned. “Thank you, but that wasn’t what I meant. How do I heat it up?”

“Oh, you’re one of those guys who can’t cook. Of course.” Scarlett rolled her eyes and took the dish from my hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

She walked past me, looking as if she belonged in my apartment, swaying her hips through my entryway and into the living room. I watched her go, practically hunting her with just my eyes. Jesus, she was in my den…my space…her scent mingling with mine. If she knew what that meant to the beasts within me, she’d probably run. My wolf howled in my mind with the excitement of getting our mate alone in our space. My tiger growled and stalked forward, ready to claim.

Scarlett looked back over her shoulder, almost catching me as I watched her walk away. She had a great ass; I couldn’t be the only man who’d been unable to keep his eyes off it.

“I’ll take care of this. Zuri would be pissed if you didn’t like it because it was cold or you burned it. She went to a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll make sure to thank her,” I said, closing the door. Scarlett hurried to my kitchen, which set off a ton of very inappropriate thoughts. Like her naked on my counters, ready for me to feast on her. The cabinets were the perfect height for me to kneel and—

“You like it hot?”

I jumped, my hand automatically moving in front of my groin, my palm brushing my hard cock and making me bite back a moan. Fucking sweat pants offered little in the way of support.

“Pardon?”

“Hot, as in spicy.” She cocked her head as if knowing where my mind had been. “Do you like your food spicy or not?”

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice rougher than normal, my eyes locked on hers so I didn’t stare at her…other parts. “Spice is good. I like heat.”

With a smirk and a shake of her head, she turned and started messing with the controls of the stove. She moved about my kitchen as if she knew it, like she’d been there a million times before. I sat at the little bar counter and bit back a cheesy grin, enjoying the view and the daydreams she inspired.

“So,” she said as she placed the dish in the oven. “Shadow. Where’d that come from?”

I grinned. “Your sister asked me that same question the other day.”

Scarlett lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “We can’t find the perfect curse if we don’t know anything about you.”

My face fell, and I sat back on my stool, that instinctual fear of witches flaring bright. But then Scarlett grinned.

“Kidding, wolf man. I’m just nosy.”

I snorted a laugh, relaxing once more. “You’re preying on my instincts.”

“What instincts?” She looked at me with a question on her face, as if she honestly didn’t know about the tension between our species.

“Shifters fear witches. It’s practically tattooed on our minds at birth.”

“So you’re afraid of me?” She looked up at me, her lashes long, her green eyes piercing my soul.

“Terrified.” My answer was honest but not entirely in line with what she’d asked. Not really. Her witch side made me nervous at times, but the bond I felt for her was what scared me. Was what had the power to crush me.

“Witches aren’t big fans of shifters either, you know.”

I nodded. “I assume because of the Hounds of God, though we’re—“

“Not werewolves, I know.” Scarlett leaned against the far counter, the curve of her hip attracting my attention for a brief moment. “Phoenix and Rebel were pretty clear about the distinction when we first met them. You shift at will, the witch-hunting werewolves are controlled by the moon.”

“Exactly.

“Good to know.” Her smile was small but bright, even a little sarcastic. “So back to this nickname—”

“Road name.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but the smile tempered her sarcasm. “Why Shadow? Why not Rex or Fluffy?”

“I’m not a dog.” I rolled my eyes back at her, making her chuckle. “I’m fast and quiet. People don’t notice me until it’s too late, and I’m sneaky. Gates said at my naming ceremony that my enemies wouldn’t know I was there until the shadow of death fell upon them.”

“Huh,” she said, biting her lip and watching me. “I guess I can see that. So is that what you do? You…kill people?”

I swallowed hard, watching her, feeling her tension from across the room. Fuck me, how was I supposed to explain this?

Scarlett jumped and turned to check the oven, shaking her head. “Never mind, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” I interrupted, leaning over the counter, afraid she’d run. “It’s okay. I just…can’t talk about a lot of it.”

“Secret-agent-shifter stuff?”

“Sort of.” I sat back and ran a hand through my hair, pulling it back. “Technically, I’m a doctor, so I’m usually involved in things that could go wrong so I’ll be there to patch up any of the guys who need it. But lately, I’ve been working on another type of mission for the president of our group.”

“What kind of mission?”

“One I can’t talk about. One that makes me use my sneaky side more than my doctor one…for the most part.”

“Oh,” she said, looking wary and slightly defensive. “So you…sneak around?”

I shrugged. “I spy a bit when need be.”

“And what would make there be a need to spy? What…some rival shifter gang edging in on your turf?”

I shook my head. “No, nothing that simple. I spy because there are lives at stake, innocent lives. And many of them. I do this to keep good people safe and to find out all I can about the bad ones.”

“Huh.” She checked the oven again, turning her back to me but not before I saw the way the tension left her face, how her shoulders relaxed. “I guess that’s okay.”

We didn’t chat much more as the dish heated, only bits of small talk. Weather, the upcoming ride, weather, den members who’d made an impression on her, more weather. Boring stuff, normally, but I wouldn’t have traded a single second of that time. I spent half an hour with my mate in my kitchen talking about
the weather
, and it was perfect.

“How’re your fingers?” I asked when she finally pulled the dish out of the oven, her hands tucked inside the black oven mitts I’d never used. She pulled the gloves off, the slight coloring of the tips of her fingers catching my attention and making me itch to examine them.

“Fine.” She shrugged and grabbed a wooden spoon, dishing the stew into a bowl she’d grabbed out of my cupboard. “I’m an elemental witch with an affinity for fire. Seriously, my temper’s been setting my fingers on fire since I was a teenager. It’s no big deal.”

She laid a full bowl in front of me that smelled like the food version of heaven. Warm and spicy, with just a little sweetness, it reminded me very much of her. But when she tried to back away, the food became a secondary concern. Without thought, I grabbed her hand, frowning at the scars and the new burns still visible in the reddened skin of her fingers.

“It’s a big deal if it hurts.” I traced along the edge of a scar, the mottled skin smoother than I thought it’d be. Perhaps a quick healing response ran through witches like it did through shifters. My fingers traced the marks, examining the texture and the heat below it. Her skin burned to the touch, not just the damaged portions, but all of it. As if there was a fire inside of her. As if her affinity for fire was more than that, was something deep in her blood. In her makeup. She didn’t just like fire or favor it, she
was
fire.

Scarlett’s hands shook and her breathing sped up as my fingers stroked hers. I wondered if anyone had ever touched her like this—gently, and with concern for something that was simply a part of her nature.

As my finger ran over the base of her nail, she snatched her hands back. “Everything hurts eventually.”

“Not everything. I don’t believe that.”

“That’s been my experience.” Scarlett took a deep breath and handed me a spoon. “Try it.”

I glanced at her fingers, my brow pulling down. “What?”

“The picadillo.” She caught my eyes, smiling stiffly, imploring me to move on from what was obviously a personal subject. “Quit worrying about things neither of us can control and try the food, Shadow.”

I took the utensil she offered, goose bumps erupting on my arm when our fingers brushed. They appeared on her arm as well, both of us obviously affected by the casual touch of the other. Interesting, and altogether confusing. I was still staring at her arms and thinking over what all this could possibly mean when the first spoonful of stew hit my tongue.

“Holy shit.” I stared up at her, wide-eyed.

“If Zuri hears you call her food shit, she’ll kill you.”

I shook my head and loaded up a second spoonful. “This is…amazing.”

She shrugged a single shoulder. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

“No kind of about it.” I dug in, enjoying the way the heat and the spice balanced so nicely with the underlying sweetness. The flavors warmed me more with every bite, making me wish my meal would never end. Though the company could have had a hand in that want as well.

Scarlett stood on the other side of the counter, watching me, smiling.

“Have some.” I nodded toward the kitchen.

She shook her head even as her eyes darted to my bowl. “I’ll get some next time Zuri makes it.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed her hand, dragging her around to my side of the bar. “Have some pickle-dilla with me, Scarlett.”

“Pic-a-dill-o,” she said, stressing each syllable.

“Picadillo,” I whispered in response, mimicking her pronunciation. Scarlett stared at my mouth, all flushed and hungry. Needy. Attracted. Walls crumbling.

Giving in to my need to take care of her, I picked up a piece of the bread she’d sliced earlier and dipped a chunk in the sauce before holding it up. Offering it to her. Feeding her.

“Open wide.”

She glanced at the bread. “Well, now you sound like a doctor.”

“Because I am one. Now open.”

She parted those kissable pink lips slowly, obviously fighting her own reservations about trusting me. I placed the bite of food carefully on her tongue, keeping my eyes on hers and fighting back a growl.

She smiled and nodded as she swallowed. “It’s good.”

I stared, completely focused on a single drop of sauce clinging to her mouth. I wanted to lick it off. Craved the taste of her on my tongue. But instead, I ran my thumb over her bottom lip, capturing the drop.

“It’s perfect.” Holding her gaze, I brought my thumb to my mouth and licked off the bit of picadillo there, nearly moaning at the way her green eyes practically glittered with heat.

She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to my mouth before giving me a slow shake of her head. “Nothing’s perfect.”

“Why so negative, Scarlett Weaver?” I asked. I held up another piece of the bread dipped in picadillo, smiling when she immediately opened her mouth for me. Trusting me more than the first time. But my smile fell when her lips practically wrapped around the bread, millimeters from my fingers. Such a sexy visual. I was going to be hard for a week.

When she swallowed her bite, she shook her head. “I’m not negative, and you never told me your name.”

I gave her a raised eyebrow again. “You know it’s Shadow, and you’re definitely negative.”

After accepting and swallowing another bite, she rolled her eyes. “I’m a realist, that’s all.”

“You’re scared.” I offered her another bite, one she didn’t take. Instead, she stared at me, her gaze intense and deep.

“Maybe, but I’m not weak.”

“I never thought for a second that you were.” I lifted the bread to her mouth again. This time, she allowed me to place the bite in her mouth, closing her lips around my fingers before I could pull away. The growl I released came out of nowhere, a deep and animalistic sound that made her shiver.

I yanked my hand back. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Growling. I…didn’t mean to.”

She shrugged, taking my spoon from my hand. “It’s okay. It’s who you are.”

“Part of,” I whispered, watching her. Waiting for her to run. “It’s only part of who I am.”

She froze, watching me for a long moment before collecting a spoonful of picadillo. She lifted the utensil to my mouth but held it just out of my reach.

“What’s your real name, Shadow of the Feral Breed?”

I opened my mouth for the bite, but she held the spoon away. Waiting. Wanting answers before she’d give up the stew. Before she’d give in.

“Zeev,” I whispered, the name not something I’d heard or said since I’d become a pup within the Feral Breed several years before. “My name is Zeev Rimau.”

“Zeev Rimau, a guy who growls, sneaks up on people, and likes picadillo.” She smiled, eyes soft as they held mine. “I think I’ll stick with calling you Shadow, though. It fits you. Now open.”

Her voice was little more than a whisper, but it screamed in the tense air between us. Called to me. I opened as directed, reaching up to hold her wrist in place as she guided the spoon into my mouth. The food barely registered, only green eyes on mine and soft skin under my fingers. Skin I wanted to feel more of. A warmth grew within me, one brought on by the feel of her accepting my touch, radiating down my arm and outward through the rest of my body.