Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

He clicked his tongue. “I knew you’d take the self-sacrificing approach, but it wasn’t you.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve tasted your blood.”

“What?” She shook her head in confusion, a shiver running over her body when she recalled the day when he’d licked her blood from his thumb.

“You’re cold. We better get you warm and dry. How are your eyes? Are they still sensitive or can I switch on the light?”

She frowned at his consideration. It was confusing. “They’re fine.”

In the yellow light that washed over him when he flicked on the bedside lamp, the rings marring his eyes looked darker. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, but the fine red veins told their own story. Her heart squeezed at the memory of the night before and what they’d done. She’d used him while he was intoxicated.

From what she’d read, guys weren’t even supposed to get it up when they were drunk. That said a lot about Joss’s virility, which wasn’t the direction her mind should be taking. She should be, and was, ashamed of herself, doubly so if Joss had a girlfriend. Yet the way Joss behaved toward Maya didn’t strike her as a boyfriend in a loving relationship. He definitely acted the boss. Unless Maya and Joss were able to separate work and pleasure exceptionally well.

She dragged her tongue over the cut on her lip. “I assume Maya and Lann are your other team members.”

“Forget their names.”

“I was just wondering.” She looked at her hands.

“Wondering what?”

“About Maya.”

“What about her?”

“People say…” She looked up to catch him studying her.

“What do people say?”

She rolled her shoulders. “That you’re together.”

“Maya?” He chuckled. “Would you care?”

Guilt heated her cheeks. “Of course not. I’m only trying to figure out how the puzzle fits together.”

“Of course not,” he repeated in a wry tone.

“Is she your lover?”

He frowned. “I see this village hasn’t changed.”

“Some things don’t change.” Like her stupid feelings.

Tracing one of the cuts on her foot with a finger, he asked, “Where did these come from?”

She pulled away her leg.

“Why are you cut up?” he asked, the shadows marring his expression turning darker.

She swallowed. “I didn’t wear the right shoes when I walked through a field.”

“You should take better care of yourself. Are you still roaming the woods alone?”

When she didn’t answer, he uttered a soft curse. His gaze slipped to the mark on her neck, the one he had left. There was no question about what that bruise was. Only a hickey left pinpricks of blue and purple on the skin.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” A deep line formed between his eyebrows. “Is he one of the locals?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” she said with her heart thudding in her chest.

His look was diabolical. “Doesn’t it now?”

“It has nothing to do with your investigation.”

“Maybe not.” He went down on his haunches again, putting them on eye level. “But you and I, Cle, we go way back.” His lips twisted in a wicked way. “Don’t we?”

She stared at him, blood rising to her neck in anger and indignation. How dared he bring that up? How dared he enjoy her embarrassment?

After a beat, he stood, all traces of mocking vanishing from his face. “You need to get out of those damp clothes. A warm bath will do you good.”

He was proposing she—his prisoner—soaked in a bath?

Without waiting for her agreement, he entered an adjoining room. A moment later, the pipes creaked and running water sounded. She considered refusing a bath out of principle, but despite the blankets she was cold. Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs over the bed, but a dizzy spell made her grip the mattress.

“The weakness is temporary,” Joss said from the door.

She looked up to see him standing in the frame.

“I’m sorry I drugged you,” he continued, “but it was for your own protection.”

“How is drugging me protecting me?” she bit out.

“It’s best you don’t know where we are.” He crossed the floor and extended a hand.

She leaned back. “Don’t touch me.”

“I only want to make sure you don’t fall and hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Disapproval settled over his features as he dropped his hand. Her head was spinning, but after a second, her balance stabilized. Keeping one hand on the wall, she made her way to the bathroom, aware of Joss following within grabbing distance. Her legs were stiff from not moving for too long and her back aching from being tackled by a man three times her size, but she wasn’t going to show or admit any weakness.

She entered the bathroom, keeping an eye on him in the reflection of the mirror.

He crossed his arms and leaned in the frame. “Need help?”

The question was clinical, no double nuance evident in his tone, yet more angry heat erupted under the skin of her neck and spread to her face. The damn cheek. Did he think she’d let him help her undress? Glancing at him from over her shoulder, she said through thin lips, “No, thanks.”