Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

He turned back to face her. “Don’t you like children?”

“I love children, but…” She bit her lip.

The tenseness in his shoulders remained as he knelt in front of her. “But you don’t want a baby with me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

His gaze hardened. “Then say it.”

“We’re hardly in a position to bring a child into this world.”

“Position?” His eyes tightened. “You mean relationship.”

“Joss,” she said with an exasperated sigh, “I didn’t choose this relationship. We’re enemies, for crying out loud. Lupien is after me. I may not even live to see next week.”

“I’m not going to let you die.”

“You can’t guarantee that. No one can.”

“I’m not going to let you fucking die.”

“Fine, say all turns out honky dory, how can we bring a child into this?” She waved between them. “I can’t believe you’re even considering it. I should’ve insisted on using a condom. I got carried away and—”

“You’re right,” he said, taking her hand. “We haven’t discussed it and we should’ve.”

She chewed her lip, carefully considering her words. “There’s nothing to discuss. It can’t happen.”

His eyes darkened. The peace shattered. His fingers tightened on hers. “It could happen.”

She shook her head, swallowing the bitter taste of regret.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said with more urgency. “We’re married. We’ll have a baby. A child will make you happy, won’t it?”

The motivation behind his intention dawned on her. He thought if they had a baby, she wouldn’t want to run any longer. He believed it would bind them forever, and it would. How utterly warped, more so because she wanted it, really wanted it, but he’d ruined that dream for her with his twisted behavior.

He blurred in her vision. The burn behind her eyes built. No matter how hard she tried not to spill those tears, they finally spilled over.

His expression softened. Thumbing a tear away, he said, “Don’t cry, sweetness. You’ll make a beautiful mother. A good mother.”

The knot in her throat made it hard to speak, but she had to say it. Sex was one thing, but a child wasn’t a game. “Forget about it, Joss. I’m not doing this with you.”

“Cle, if you—”

“A child could inherit my genes,” she said, her voice rising. “Have you thought about that?”

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to his chest. “Why would that be an issue?”

“It’s not normal,” she said, too drained to fight the comfort he offered.

He lifted her chin with a finger. “What is normal? You’re a different kind of normal. That doesn’t make you less than others.”

Summoning willpower, she pushed her palms on his chest to create distance between them. “What if he or she combusts things?”

He grinned. “Will you be upset if our children like to taste blood? Maybe my genes will give you little vampires.”

Hold on. How did they go from arguing about a baby to children, as in plural? Even if she’d love any child of Joss, vampire or not, she remained quiet. This conversation was so unfitting for the kind of relationship they had. That he couldn’t see that frightened her. It meant he didn’t think dragging her to the altar was wrong.

He continued in a tender tone. “I like you fine for who you are. There. It’s settled. No more talk about this. We’ll wait if you prefer to, but if it’s a family you want, I’ll give you a baby without second thoughts. Whenever you’re ready.”

At a dead end, she only nodded. What else was there to say? She couldn’t make him understand. The smile that lit up his face and melted his eyes broke her heart.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s have that bath so we can get back to bed.”

She allowed him to help her into the water. His touch was gentle, but the tension of the conversation stretched between them as he washed her from head to toe.

After drying her body and hair, he took her back to bed and caged her in between his arms as if that was enough to keep her from running. Despite her turbulent thoughts, she fell asleep quickly, and when she woke with sunlight filtering through the windowpanes, Joss’s place next to her was empty. The sheets on his side of the bed were cold.

She reached for the clock on the nightstand to check the time and noticed the note. His handwriting was messy like his past and his burdens. The message said he’d gone to Vannes for business, and that she had to stay in the castle until he got back. He’d risked leaving her alone? Then she read the last part of the message that said someone from the cleaning service was there to keep an eye on her. So much for thinking he’d give her an opportunity to run.

It was already close to ten when she’d dressed in jeans, a wool sweater, and boots. Downstairs in the dining hall, she found a basket of croissants and a selection of tea bags. The remains of last night’s dinner were gone.