Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

She swallowed hard and nodded. The brakes ground harshly as she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

“What did you see back there?” she asked softly.

He half shrugged, not wanting to scare her any more than necessary. “Nothing. Just spooked by the darkness.”

She studied him for a moment. He could sense her uncertainty—about him and the situation she’d been forced into. He suddenly wished there were more light so he could see her eyes. He had a feeling they would tell him a great deal. Then he frowned. He was in Taurin Bay for one reason: to find the missing kids and to stop the people responsible for their disappearance. He didn’t have time for diversions—even one as interesting as Madeline.

“I need you to take the arrow out of my arm,” he said, more abruptly than he’d intended.

“And I think you should let a doctor do that …” Her voice trailed off as she met his gaze. “Why are you so reluctant to see a doctor?”

Good question. “Walking into an emergency room with an arrow wound might attract the sort of attention I’m trying to avoid.” Which was the tr

uth, but not the true answer to her question.

“It might have hit an artery or something.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I might kill you.”

It was a normal fear, given the look of the wound, yet instinct suggested her fear stemmed more from something else. The tremor in her voice spoke of a past acquaintance with death—and that it was an acquaintance she had no wish to renew.

“You won’t kill me,” he said quietly, sensing it wouldn’t take much more to scare her into running. “If an artery was severed, I’d have bled to death by now.”

“But—”

“I’ll be all right. I just need the arrow removed. Every time I move, it digs a little deeper.” And killed him just a little bit more.

She swallowed and nodded. “There’s a first aid kit under your seat.”

He leaned forward and retrieved it. She turned on the overhead light, then took the kit from him. Her fingers shook as she sorted through the bandages and antiseptics.

“I don’t have a pair of tweezers big enough.”

“Just use your fingers.” He reached across and caught her hand. Her fingers were soft and warm against his, silk compared to sandpaper. “I’ll be fine.”

“I damn well won’t,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. “Try not to yell too loudly. We don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

Her smile lit her eyes and dimpled her cheeks. He closed his eyes, holding this image in his mind as the warmth of her fingers moved to his arm. White fire twisted through him—a living thing that could so easily kill if it were left too long. He held his breath, waiting, as she tentatively grabbed the shattered end of the arrow shaft. One, two, three.

As if she’d heard his unspoken words, Madeline wrenched the arrow from his arm. Pain ripped through his body and he jerked sideways, falling against the door, gritting his teeth against the scream that tore past his throat.

“Oh, hell …”

Her voice seemed a million miles away, the touch of her fingers suddenly so cold compared to the fire that raged down his arm and threatened to consume him.

He gulped down air, battling the urge to be ill—fighting the desire to just let go, to let the darkness in and take the pain away.

Moisture ran down his arm; then he felt the rough texture of a towel pressed against the wound. He bit back his curse and concentrated on the faint smell of roses, trying to build a wall around the pain and shut it away. She began to bandage his arm, and for an instant, the darkness loomed again. Then he took a deep breath and felt a wisp of magic running through his soul. Suddenly, he had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the white ash hadn’t done as much damage as he’d feared.

But there was only one way he was ever going to find out. And that meant he had to get out of the truck, and he had to leave Madeline.

And he wasn’t sure what was going to be the hardest to do.

“Jon?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was fear in her warm amber eyes and blood on her hands. What could he say? Thank you for saving my soul, if not my life?

“Do you need this?” she continued, distaste in her voice as she dangled the bloody shaft between two fingers. “For evidence or something?”

If he touched the white ash again in his weakened condition, it would probably kill him. And whatever clues the shaft might have held had been lost during his plunge into the water.