Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

But to do that, maybe she had to learn that she wasn’t the only one in the world with unusual talents.

He ignored the pain in her eyes and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with Eleanor to get to, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. Not when the lives of two children were at stake. They were more important than Maddie’s fragile emotions—or his own need to help her. He took a deep breath.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he said softly. “I can take on the shape of a hawk and fly. Now how’s that for being a freak?”

MADDIE STARED AT HIM, REELING UNDER THE IMPORT OF HIS words. “You can’t be serious.” Shapeshifters didn’t exist. He was making fun of her—just as Brian always had.

She bit her lip against a stab of pain. Up until a few moments ago she would have sworn that ghosts didn’t exist, either—especially those who could use a wisp of smoke to lash your shoulders and draw blood.

He sighed. “There are stranger things in this world than you could ever imagine. As far as freaks go, you don’t even make the list.”

There was something in his voice that suggested he’d seen more than his fair share of those freaks. Had seen them, and maybe even killed them. She crossed her arms and shivered. “And that’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Yes.” He glanced at his watch again. “I haven’t the time to discuss this now. I have a meeting to get to.”

Eleanor, she thought. “But you’re soaking wet.”

He shrugged. “I’d get wet walking there, anyway.”

“Well, then, you’d better get going, hadn’t you?” she said more tartly than she’d intended.

“Maddie …” He lightly touched her cheek. His fingers were like fire against her skin, his touch stirring something deep inside. “Eleanor means nothing to me. She’s just a lead.”

She snorted. How could he say that? She’d seen them together. If it was all an act, then he should win an Academy Award.

He dropped his hand, and a hard light replaced the warmth in his eyes. “I have to go. We’ll continue this discussion later.”

Memories rose to haunt her. In a more appropriate manner, Brian would have added. She shivered again. Jon hesitated, and she saw the brief flash of indecision in his eyes. Then he turned and walked toward the inn.

She watched him go. He was nothing like her husband. There was gentle strength in him, a confidence in every action that made him appear so much taller than he was. Brian had been tall—a mountain who had once made a frightened eighteen-year-old feel secure, and later terrified a twenty-year-old.

So

why did she keep drawing comparisons between them? Why did the things Jon said or did remind her constantly of Brian? It wasn’t as if they even looked the same—only the blue of their eyes was similar, and she’d seen more emotion in Jon’s gaze in the last five minutes than she’d ever seen in Brian’s during their six-year marriage.

Oh God, why couldn’t she just take Jon’s advice and leave this town and all the memories it raised?

She bit her lip again. She might have done nothing to save Brian or her brother, but she’d be damned if she’d run this time.

A bitter laugh escaped her at the thought. She was already damned. No one could save her, not even Jon.

She touched her cheek. Her skin still tingled from the slight brush of his fingers. Moisture seeped from one edge of the cut. She wiped it away, then stared at the blood on her fingertips. The ghosts had been real. She had the wounds to prove it. So why couldn’t shapeshifters be real as well?

She watched Jon disappear inside the inn, anger surging through her. It wasn’t fair. All her life, people had walked away from her. Or run, in some cases. And just when she thought she’d found someone who might at least understand, he, too, had walked away—to be with another woman.

Would a few more minutes really have mattered? She needed to talk to him, needed someone to understand her pain and guilt. Needed him to hold her, touch her, and tell her everything would be all right. Even if she knew it was all just a lie.

She had a sudden vision of Evan lying cold and still on the cabin floor, and took a deep breath. No, she was being selfish. Her nephew was the important one here. He was all that mattered. What she wanted—needed—didn’t count.

The fire engine pulled up next to the curb, and the other guests milled toward it. The red flashing lights washed across their faces, making them look like bloody specters. Maddie shivered and rubbed her arms. She hoped it wasn’t a premonition that more death was headed her way.

“You were lucky in there tonight.” The comment came from behind her.

She yelped and spun around. Hank stood near the seat, his hands in his pockets and a watchful gleam in his eyes.

She swallowed and put her hand to her throat. How long had he been standing there, listening to them? “I’m sorry. You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”