Page 27 of Burn for Her

As the plane skidded to a stop, her stomach flip flopped. She hated flying and not having control—even though she wasn’t a pilot, some survival instinct insisted if she was in the pilot’s seat, she’d be safer. Which was strange considering she wanted to have someone else take the reins from her for a little while.

That was exactly what she was after—and Lena needed to be bound in a safe space so she could unravel. With a professional supporting her.

Except Lena didn’t want to just be tied up and given an outlet to come undone. She wanted other things too…

The plane stopped and the door opened. Ahead of her, travelers stood and stretched before grabbing their bags from the overhead departments. She waited until the other two people next to her went down the aisle before she snagged her bag and moved off the plane.

Once she made it outside to the Uber line, Lena breathed in the hot air and scanned the airport. She had a few hours before hitting The Wicked Garden for a tour and hopefully, soon after, would be able to scratch the itch that had plagued her for so long, it was starting to drive her batshit crazy…

Mother. Fucking. Finally! Dorian leaned forward in the backseat of his Uber and gawked at the scenery. Georgia was nothing like New Orleans. Not in vibe, at least. The House of Bone had a little territory across the South Carolina border, and he knew for a fact a rebel pack of werewolves claimed territory in Florida’s northern region, which was too close to Lena for his liking. He needed to make this visit fast and not catch anyone’s attention.

It was nearly two in the morning when the driver pulled up to the Airbnb Dorian rented. “Thanks.” He tossed him a hundred-dollar cash tip. Getting out of the car, he grabbed his duffel and headed for the door.

Thank fuck for keyless entries and seclusion. The flight here nearly broke his self-control and endangering humans wasn’t something Dorian had interest in adding to his list of sins.

The sooner he got to Lena, the better.

Flicking the lights on, he scanned the house for trespassers out of habit. Dorian lived a life where threats were around not only every corner, but also draped in satin sheets, and sometimes served pancakes at the local diner. Between the Savag-Ri, Rogues, and the occasional assassin from another House, it was a miracle the vampire race hadn’t been killed off long before now.

Once he was sure the place was secure, he unpacked his outfit for tomorrow and was almost grateful he couldn’t see the number of wrinkles on his clothes in his poorly packed bag. Damnit, he was going to roll up to her house as wrinkled as a Shar-pei.

Growling, he snatched a hanger from the closet and made a half-assed attempt at shaking the wrinkles out of his shirt and pants. Then he groaned because he had no idea why the state of his clothes bothered him so much. Oh wait. Yes, he did.

“Damnit.”

Dropping the duffel bag onto the floor, he marched into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Catching his reflection, Dorian gawked at the blurry man staring back at him. Though his eyesight was poor, he could still see the darkness of his reflection. It wasn’t only in the color of his irises. It ran deeper. Blood deep. Soul deep.

“Fuck.”

He turned away from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed with his head buried in his hands. There he remained until he gathered the courage to find his mate…

Chapter 10

Lena cruised down Bourbon Street with a pep in her step, drink in one hand and a killer po’ boy in the other. So far, she’d hit an absinthe bar, a gothic boutique, and three voodoo shops. Already, she was making a mental list of the souvenirs she would go back later to buy after hitting Jackson Square tomorrow. Today, however, she was making a total pig of herself.

It couldn’t be helped. The food was insane. The gumbo, beignets, oysters… hell, even their pancakes were mind-blowing.

The streets were packed. Everyone was in a good mood.

Jazz music pumped out of bars and local musicians set up buckets and chairs at the corners of each intersection. Never had she been so enraptured with a city before. Talk about love at first sight. It was more like love at first bite. Something about this place was a perfect mix of happy and successful, artistic and creative, dark and sensual.

Sucking back the rest of her drink, she dumped her cup in the nearest trash can and pulled out her map again. She was looking for another shop - a boutique which sold authentic shrunken heads. Why that fascinated her, she’d never know, but it sounded cool.

Aha! One block to the left and two over. Lena shoved the street map back into her pocket and took another huge bite of her po’ boy while she walked. This one was grilled shrimp. The next one would be fried oyster.

Was it bad she was already planning out the one after that one too?

For all the money she had, she really needed to invest some of it here. She had a million ideas already.

Crossing the street, a sudden dizzy spell attacked her, and she tripped on the curb and nearly went ass over elbow on the sidewalk.

A man caught her before she faceplanted. His hands were strong and hot on her skin. “Easy,” he said with a crooked smile. “Don’t go busting that pretty face any more than it already is.”

She backed away from him. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.”

After the man tossed her another smile and kept walking, Lena stood on the sidewalk and stared straight ahead without really seeing anything. Not the stores, the signs, the cars, or people. Not the trash, the dogs, the mardis gras beads on the ground, or the jazz funeral making its way closer to her. Everything became a muted, colorless blur.

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