Fire Kissed (12 page)

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Authors: Erin Kellison

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: Fire Kissed
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“Gail,” Ferro said in warning.
The woman weaved forward, awkwardly dodging the lit candles, and the other guests backed away into a thick crowd to let her have her moment. Only those tall candle pedestals of fire stood between them.
“We’re here,” Gail said. “He made us all come.” She swiped the air with her arm to encompass all the guests. She was a little drunk, must have started early. She forced her voice over the music. “Let’s see what she can do!”
Kaye felt the other guests turn their eyes on her, expecting something.
“Gail!” Ferro was stern now. The song dribbled away to a lost beat on a snare. The room grew silent.
But Kaye would not have him protect her from any of them. Not again. It was too dangerous to be dependent. Dependent was stupid. Plus, she was a Brand.
A Brand
. She’d been taught since birth that her name meant something. Her name should command respect, not the derision of being challenged at her own party.
She had to answer, had to do something. Magekind was waiting. And how ironic that there was fire everywhere yet Kaye didn’t have a spark to work with. Sweat prickled at her nape, but her heart kicked up to a vindictive rhythm. She knew the drill: Someone strikes? You strike back harder. Yes, she was home.
“Kaye,” Ferro said, “simply ignore her. She’s suffered some recent disappointments, that’s all.”
Ignoring Gail was the wrong thing to do. Kaye couldn’t start by losing ground. Not to that weak woman. They were all insulting her. If she failed here, she’d be invisible. She’d be an outsider. No one would mention wraiths or anything important in her presence. Not to Ferro Grey’s pet.
When was she going to be finished proving herself to people? Jack, then Ferro, now this? Enough.
“Well?” Gail said, lifting both arms.
First Kaye sent Ferro a narrow look:
I can handle myself.
And he nodded slightly, a little amused, as if giving her permission to proceed.
She didn’t need permission. But as long as she had it ...
“You want fire?” Kaye asked. Anger laced her words.
“Bring it on,” Gail said as if she knew Kaye was tapped out.
“Fine.” Kaye held tight to the stem of her goblet, but she flung the dark, liquid contents toward the bitch. The alcohol skimmed the candle flames between them, igniting. And so with almost no effort, Kaye sent a fireball snapping through the air like a baby dragon.
Maybe not Shadowfire, but Brand fire all the same.
Gail screamed and ducked, shielding her head and hair with her arms. The fire didn’t catch, but it must have singed, because Gail whimpered and sniveled, choking on cries, while holding shiny, chapped arms away from her body as if they hurt her terribly.
Kaye cast her gaze over the rest of the crowd, as if seeking another challenger.
No? Okay then. She put the empty glass on the tray.
She turned back to Ferro, whose eyes were lit with excitement and some other emotion she couldn’t quite place....
The party, the candlelight, the Black Moll. Then this bit of trouble. His turn. “Why am I really here?”
Jack stood across the street, watching the mansion from the cover of earthly shadows. The lower levels were obscured by distance, and foliage, and the tall iron fence around the perimeter. The upper floor’s Tudor half-timbers and sloping attics were visible, massive wings falling back out of sight. He doubted that Kaye would be in those rooms. She’d be below, with the other guests. Among her kind.
And in his chest the urge to drag her from that place clamored like a devil. She was so close, but behind the House wards, absolutely out of his reach.
And yet he couldn’t contemplate any other course of action. Her entrée into magekind was necessary. This party was ideal. And her connection to Grey, the emerging leader, was beyond fortuitous.
There was no turning back now. What had Kaye said? No way out but
through.
A soft
pat
of a footstep sounded far behind him. Too far for human ears to pick up, and he was still supposed to be acting like a human. Wraith stink hit him next; two distinctly foul body odors. Still far off, only teased on the air. A scuff of a heavy step. Three of them? He had no choice but to stand and wait out the approach.
If it was bad out here, what was it like at the party?
What if one of the screams echoing in his mind should belong to her?
Finally, movement darted into his peripheral vision, and he backed into the street as a wary man might. His defensive posture was real, however, as was the pounding of his heart.
“Who’s there?!” he shouted. Was this a random attack, or more? More.
A wraith finally emerged fully from the trees. He was built like a mountain, but dressed rich and crisp, rather than in the foul rags most wore. He looked newly made, which was impossible. The demon who’d created the wraiths had been killed a few years ago by Adam Thorne’s wife, Talia. Either this one had had a plentiful diet of souls, or something even more foul was going on.
Jack thought of Kaye as he felt the other wraiths come up behind him, their stink wrapping around him. No human man could take on three at once, and few unarmed angels. Regardless, he had to remain passive or risk discovery, and then Kaye would be discovered too.
“We want you to deliver a message to the Little Match Girl,” the near-human wraith said.
“Who?” Jack played stupid, but he knew the fairy tale. Knew that it didn’t end well for the girl who saw visions in her fire.
“The message is for Kaye Brand.”
She’d drawn more than Grey’s interest.
“And that is?” Jack returned.
“She never should’ve come back,” the wraith said. Part of Jack agreed with him. “She’s to leave town and never conspire with the Houses again. The Brands are as good as dead.”
“And if she doesn’t leave?”
“Then the Brands
will
be dead. All of them. This is a mercy warning.”
Mercy. Magekind couldn’t fathom the meaning of the word. “Who do you speak for? Or does the mage cower in the dark?”
The wraith adjusted the neck of his coat, then threw a glance at his comrades behind Jack. “Explain it to him.”
A blow to his spine sent him sprawling at the feet of the near-human wraith with a shock of starburst pain that blackened his sight for a moment. The roar and screams of the battlefield filled his ears—his mind didn’t know what time he was in. Nevertheless, an answering tingle told him he was already healing. He found himself belly first on concrete. The wraith put a boot on Jack’s already burned forearm, and Jack yelled. The pain of Kaye’s accidental Shadowfire burn never subsided, and the wraith’s pressure drove the constant sear to a blistering intensity until Jack heard the bright, hot crack of the bone, the second time in this life that it was broken. Another wraith kicked Jack hard enough in the belly to jackknife his prone body and make him cough blood. He panted in a loose fetal position and hoped the blood was enough to fool them into thinking he was human.
The pain would pass, he told himself. His body would heal. This was not the time to defend himself. He didn’t matter at all in the great scheme. He had to let this happen.
“If she remains in the area, I’ll feed on your soul and I’ll kill her,” the first wraith said.
“I could feed on him now,” one of the others offered.
“Wouldn’t send the same message,” the first said.
“What’s the damn message then?” Jack gasped from the ground.
“That this warning comes from a friend.”
 
 
Ferro shut the door to his off ice, his mind racing to find the right words. Kaye Brand was a goddess—power, beauty, intelligence. She wasn’t broken, as he’d thought all these years. One couldn’t break a woman like her. If it were possible, the wraith attack ten years ago would’ve done it. But that violence had only made her stronger, and she’d been a child then. Look at her now, throwing fire in Gail Meallan’s face. He about burst with pride to have her on his arm.
Kaye could have his children. He was sure of it.
The flames in the fireplace roared approval.
There was no better partner for him during the remaking of the world. None compared. And to think she’d almost been his. Brand fire, he’d known he needed it from the beginning.
Now all they had to do was trust each other, the reason he’d borrowed Alistair Verity’s Shadow. Thus far during the party, she’d only delivered polite lies, revealed by an atonal dissonance under her
it’s-very-nice-to-meet-yous
. He couldn’t fault her for the lies of pleasantries and manners. He didn’t like most of his guests either.
“I know Shadow is infamous for concealing true intentions,” she began. The black of her eyes churned with temper. She wore a deep red dress that skimmed her body, dipping deliciously at her small waist, then loving her hips in a straight fall to the floor. Effortless grace. He’d marry her now if she’d say yes. “But I am more fond of light,” she continued. “Why have you gone to this trouble, when you can’t possibly want to give me a seat at the Council table? Why do you serve the Moll, when I will
not
swear my House to yours?”
Only an honorable woman would defy him to his face. This was love.
“You say you want to know my intentions.” What a perfect opening. They were already working in tandem. “Then let’s each make ours clear. Are you colluding with any other House or stray mage against me?”
She stood for a moment, unblinking, seeming to wrestle with her anger.
He stopped breathing in anticipation.
Then, “No, I am not.”
Spoken with the harmonic of truth. She would be his, then.
But just to be careful ... “Have you had any contact with magekind since you ran away at fifteen?”
“No.” Not even the brittle delivery could mask her truth.
“Are you an agent of a human interest in magekind?”
“No.” This said like the concept was beneath her. Amazing woman.
One last try. In her own words. “Why are you here, then? Why did you come back?”
Her lids lowered halfway, but her glare grew stronger. “I came back to see to and advance my
own
interests. Beyond that is none of your business.”
Again, she spoke true. Finally—an upwelling of relief threatened to unman him—he’d found someone whom he could trust. A woman, and a formidable one. Her motivation was ambition, just as he’d hoped. And who better to further her interests than he?
Ferro grinned. Kaye Brand was the woman for him. He was in pursuit, and for once
felt
young again.
“Your turn,” she said, low and silky. Dangerous. “Why am I here?”
He opened his hands as if he were opening his heart. “I’m courting you.”
She flinched.
“I’d like you to be my lady.”
Her expression went stony, emotion throttled. The flinch was more authentic.
“A feeling you apparently don’t return.”
Yet.
Maybe she’d heard the vampire thing. Or maybe the Black Moll had been overkill. But Moll was rare, and Kaye was rare—both full of Shadow. Serving it tonight had seemed symbolic, a tribute to her return, and to the start of their future together.
“You said you’d torn up the marriage contract.”
“And so I did,” he confirmed. This seemed a very important point to her, curiously so since mage children were raised not to romanticize marriage. Something important had to have happened the night Brand House burned. He’d never known the particulars, since no one but Kaye had survived. All was turmoil afterward. Mages who had gone to attend the ceremony were dead, the girl had disappeared. It was time he learned what had happened. “The contract does not exist. I would be happy to draw up papers to that effect, if it would ease your mind.”
“It might.” All ice. Yet the leaping fire three paces away attested otherwise.

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