Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

He laughed. The sound startled her. It was gravelly, coming from deep in his chest. Wow. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh like that—not with sarcasm or mocking, but like he meant it. It had never occurred to her before that she’d not heard him laugh once during their shared childhood. He’d always been so serious, so tormented, that the broodiness had simply been a part of Joss’s natural disposition.

Turning to face her, he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “You look surprised.” He arched a brow. “Disappointed in my kidnapping skills?”

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she doing joking with Joss? There was no humor in her situation. Her tone was wry. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

He pushed away from the counter. “It’s past the haunting hour. We can go back to bed now.”

It wasn’t that she’d seen ghosts while Joss had been gone. It was more like she could feel them. She felt the menacing darkness that lurked between the walls, and that seemed worse than a smoky apparition. “That’s not funny.”

Locking his fingers around her arm, he pulled her back up the stairs to his room. Once inside, he let her go.

“Go ahead and use the bathroom.” He took a tablet from his bag. “I need to check the perimeter alarms.”

She closed the door behind her and quickly brushed her teeth with the toothbrush Joss had packed. When she walked back into the room, she stopped dead. Joss had changed into tracksuit pants. His chest was bare. With his hair loose around his face and the muscles rippling over his abdomen, he looked dangerous and wild. Too masculine. Too desirable. She’d never seen him without a shirt. In all the years they’d lived in the same village and gone to the same school, she’d never seen him swim in the ocean or lounge on the beach.

The memory of how the hard slab of muscles and grooves had felt under her palms sent a flash of heat straight to her lower body. He’d been inside her. The way it had felt, the bite of pain, the stretch… Flames burned under the skin of her neck and cheeks, a fire stoked by a memory still too fresh. She might hate him now, but her body still wanted him.

He was engrossed in whatever he was doing on his tablet, but she looked away quickly lest he saw her reaction. At long last, he darkened the tablet.

“Need anything?” he asked, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

“No.” At least, nothing he’d give her.

As he brushed past her on his way to the bathroom, she inhaled the clean smell of laundry detergent and the masculine scent of his skin.

“The door is locked,” he said, pausing in the frame. “Don’t even try.” He smiled down at her with those cold, gray eyes, a warning sparking in them, before vanishing into the bathroom, taking the tablet with him.

For good measure, she felt the door. It was locked like he’d said. Whatever weapons he had were in the bag he took with him. She sat on the edge of the bed with her heartbeat drumming in her ears as she listened to the water in the bathroom come on. At least Joss was honest about one thing. It wasn’t safe to go home. Did she want to run for the rest of her life? What if she was guilty? The troubling thought wouldn’t leave her alone. Wouldn’t it be better for the fires to cease before someone got hurt or killed?

The bathroom door opened. Joss exited, wearing the same tracksuit pants from earlier. The dusting of dark hair on his chest was damp, water still glistening on his skin as if he’d dried off in a hurry. She couldn’t help but drag her eyes over the hard lines of his body. Seeing him half naked with his wet hair brushed back felt like a forbidden sight, like looking at a lover.

He watched her through hooded eyes as he dumped his bag on the chair. “You shouldn’t look at a man like that. You may give him the wrong idea.”

Her face lit up with heat. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything.”

His gaze travelled over her cheeks, which had to glow like red lightbulbs, and settled on her eyes. “How many boyfriends have you had, little witch?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said, straightening her spine. “Why is everyone suddenly interested in my relationship status?”

“Who’s everyone?”

“No one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You never answered my question. Are you seeing someone?”

“Are you?” she deadpanned.

“I’ve already answered that.” He stared at her for two beats. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

“Don’t play that game with me.” He took a step closer. “The man who’s interested in you.”

She scooted up to put distance between them. “No one.”