Blood Flame (Flame 1)

By long habit, Iris let her grief flow and to her surprise it didn’t feel quite as pressing as usual. She turned toward the doorway. Was it because of Connor?

She thought it might be. Despite the difficulties of the night before and no doubt more challenges tonight, his presence had reminded her of the good things life had to offer.

Turning away from the basinet, she could have sat down, paid some bills, checked her emails, but what she really wanted was a strong cup of coffee.

~ ~ ~

Connor sat on the end of Iris’s bed, staring at his fresh clothes in neat piles on the dresser to his left. He’d already shaved and showered and had come back to the bedroom to find his clothes laid out as well as his weapons. She’d also left a gun cleaning kit for him, which had made him smile. She owned a gun, so she knew. Before showering, he’d taken care of his Glock having fired it at Gary’s and several times earlier in the week.

He recalled when Iris had suggested he bring a couple of changes of clothes over and how right she’d been.

He’d thought the day’s sleep would have eased his head. Instead, he felt burdened all over again, maybe with guilt. Hell, probably.

He huffed another heavy sigh, probably for the tenth time. He put on clean, black leathers and his boots, another tank as well. He slid his reinforced belt through the loops and buckled. He checked his gun; it was good to go. But he wouldn’t clip it on until they were ready to head out.

Same with his short-sword, which was safe in its sheath. He hadn’t used it during his time with Iris so far. He hoped to hell he didn’t have to. Bullets were one thing. But when the fighting turned to blades, blood flowed. He was glad she wasn’t squeamish, but he hoped she didn’t have to prove herself ton

ight.

As he moved into the living area, he caught sight of Iris out in her garden and his frown deepened. She was sipping coffee and looked really perplexed. She then leaned over a spray of some kind of red flower and stroked the petals. Was it his imagination or did the flower bob as though there was a breeze when all the other plants remained static. Right. She was talking to her plants again and apparently they were answering.

She wore a flowery dress, snug at her narrow waist and flaring over her hips. A slight wind moved through the garden and lifted the hem of her dress, revealing long slender legs.

She wasn’t wearing a ponytail. Instead her dark brown hair hung almost to her waist. It was straight and gleamed in the twilight. All the species of Five Bridges preferred the night, a result of the alter drugs. Some could tolerate the early gray of dawn or twilight as Iris was now. Not vampires.

He pounded a fist against his chest a couple of times, trying to steel himself against his growing love for Iris. Once she knew the truth about him, she’d despise him. Which meant soon he’d have to tell her what he’d done, that he’d been involved in a witch massacre nine years ago. But he dreaded seeing the look on her face once she found out.

She’d never be able to be with him then, which was another layer of guilt. He should have confessed the truth last night, but all he’d wanted was to make love with her at least once.

Confession would end their stolen season as quickly as it had begun. He’d hinted about it, but he’d been unable to be specific. Even the thought of saying the words aloud, that he’d raped and killed women of her kind, twisted his gut into a knot.

His altered state had stripped him down to his bones. He had nothing to give Iris or any woman for that matter. He lived a loner’s existence, a night-hunting creature who had to get his blood-needs met on a regular basis, and who battled the drug infestation of their Five Bridges world. This was his life. And it wasn’t fit to be shared with a woman.

He debated telling her the truth right now because the more time he spent with her, the more he longed to have a life with her.

His decision arrived. He had to tell her. She would despise him, but it couldn’t be helped. Worse, she’d have to accept his continued presence in her life right now because he wasn’t about to leave her, not when some madman wanted her dead. His goal was simple, to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

He left the open French doors, moved into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He prepared his speech.

But as he returned to the dining area, she’d started back to the house, walking along the green patch of grass. She waved and a smile lit up her face. She was glad to see him.

His breath got stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “Oh, shit.” There it was again, desire raging through his body and attacking his heart. And worse, he loved her. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

He loved the witch, Iris Meldeere.

And he didn’t think he could tell her the truth, not now. Maybe, when they figured out who was hunting them and brought the man to justice. Yeah, maybe then.

“Good evening,” she said, moving across the threshold. “Sleep well?”

He nodded, but he knew he was scowling. He could feel his face pinched up. “Fine, thanks.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing much. Just worried about tonight.” Yeah, nothing much.

She shrugged, tilting her head. “Me, too. First, though, scrambled eggs and toast?”

His resolve shrank to nothing in the face of her simple suggestion. She’d ended their lovemaking with an offer of food and had begun the next night in the same way. He wasn’t sure a man needed much more than sex, food, and a woman he loved. “Eggs and toast would be great.”