Pyromancist (22 page)

What? When it was over, when they had their
pyromancist, when the burning stopped, what then? He never wanted
to let her go, but he couldn’t lock her up in a glass cage where no
one could touch her. If he walked away from Cain, from his life,
from the only thing he had left—fighting for the one thing he still
believed in–would he be enough for her? Every day, he fought his
demons. Every night, he wrestled with his dreams. Without Cain and
the team to keep him on the straight and narrow, would the devil
inside of him find his way out? And if it did, who would be safe?
Would even Clelia be safe? If he inherited his father’s genes... He
trembled.

“What then?” Clelia said. “Will you kill me
at Cain’s command?”

“I will never harm you,” he said.

Never. He would never let anything happen to
her, even if it meant that he had to offer his soul to the devil
and walk away from the life he had built, day by day, hour by
painstaking hour, over the past nine years. He’d kill for her, but
he wouldn’t lift a finger against her. He would destroy himself, if
it could save her.

“What will you do when you find Erwan?” she
said.

He would bring him to Cain. They’d question
him. They’d find the firestarter Lupien was after, and eliminate
him to prevent such powerful magic from falling into the enemy’s
hands. Surely, with time, Clelia would have to see that there was
no other choice. But he didn’t say any of that. He didn’t tell her
of the killer he was, as he kneeled at her feet.

He moved the towel over her arms, her tummy,
her thighs, and finally her feet. Looking up, he saw what he didn’t
want to see in her eyes, the blossoming awakening. He didn’t want
to see it because he knew that some man had to claim it. God, she
took his breath away.

He dropped the towel and moved his hands up
her legs over her hips to rest on her waist. He could encircle her
with his hands, his fragile bird.

“I could worship your body forever, little
witch,” he said, his voice hoarse.

He recognized in her face, in the contraction
of her skin under his hands, that she wanted him, and it amazed and
confused him that someone like her could look at him like that.

Her hands went to his hair, her fingers
tracing the white strands that were a stark reminder of his past,
her touch like the feathers on the tips of the wings of an angel.
As he stared at her, she looked like a Madonna peering down at him,
offering him redemption. He caught her wrists and kissed the skin
on each one where his handcuffs had chafed it.

“I never meant to do anything to hurt you,”
he whispered.

There was a loud knock on the door and then
it opened abruptly into their moment, shattering the peace Josselin
had glimpsed, had gotten a taste of, for just a second.

Bono looked from Josselin, who was kneeling
on the floor, to Clelia who stood in front of him, the towel draped
at her feet as if she were a Greek statue, and cleared his
throat.

“Sorry, I brought this.”

He dropped a shopping bag on the bed. He
actually looked embarrassed, but he had the common sense to turn
his head away from Clelia so as not as to look at her scantily clad
body.

“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.”