Page 57 of Angel's Temper

The woman truly had no idea of just how important she was to him.

“So, your angel fire doesn’t need to be recharged anymore?” Her question drew him from his thoughts.

Ah. His fire. That, at least, he could address. “No. I have all my full celestial fire available to me once more. It’s no longer drained away with each passing hour.”

She squeezed the hand that held hers, pumping his heart as well. “That must be wonderful for you.”

“It is,” he agreed. “More wonderful still that you were unharmed. My fire will never harm you, Molly. It recognizes you now. You have to know that.”

An adorable wrinkle formed between her brows. “It’s sentient?”

“More like emotionally charged,” he clarified. “When I experience heightened bouts of anger or fury, it acts on my behalf. It protects me even when my mind may otherwise be distracted.”

“You make it sound like it’s some kind of flaming dog or something, like it has unending loyalty even while it’s . . .”

When she didn’t finish her thought, Brass peered down at her. “Is everything all right?”

“Loyalty,” she said distractedly into her coffee cup. “And it acts on your behalf.”

Brass sat up slowly, still not letting go of her wrist. “Yes . . .”

What was she getting at? Of all the things he prepared himself to answer for, his fire was way the hell down on the list. She knew it was one of his powers, after all, so at least on the surface, its appearance shouldn’t have been that unusual, except for the literal flaming orgasm bit. Did she really have no questions about his mark, though, about the soul bond, hell, even the fact that they’d made love to begin with?

A new fear gripped him then.

Mages, did she regret what they’d done?

“Is it possible,” she continued, “that your full fire could act on your behalf even through, let’s say, the rage of a goddess’s ancient curse?”

He shook his head in relief, though still regretting the way he’d robbed some of the brightness from her eyes. “I already told you, Ragana is a goddess of the elements. Fire is as natural to her as the lunar tides or the chlorophyll in a blade of grass. My fire has no effect on her. I already tried, remember?”

“Wait, here me out!” Molly sat up straighter, a curious excitement highlighting her features. “Your fire isn’t of the elements. Not anymore, right? You said you don’t have to charge your power beneath the ground each night. Before our”—she looked down at her wrist, and a delicious blush crept up her cheeks—“well, that, you always had to rely on the elemental energy of the metals and minerals around you at night to feed your fire. But now it’s pure celestial power, right?”

That time, it was Brass who let go of Molly’s wrist. “Celestial power requires balance.” He repeated his earlier explanation for the benefit of no one but himself. And certainly not for the hope that had begun to put the light back in Molly’s smile.

Hope for him, for a way to end the curse.

“And so does rage,” she reminded him.

Brass quickly lifted the coffee out of Molly’s hands and brought it to his lips. It took the span of three scalding swallows for the idea to surface and a plan to form. Silently, he reached inside himself to test the strength of his power. It was there, all right. All of it. Every kernel of celestial fire that had ever roiled within him floated within his core, ready to do his bidding. A spark of elation lifted his chest. He sensed no elemental nuances or signatures in the flames. The only connection to the earth that still lingered was his metallic power and that he knew to never use against an earth goddess.

Molly was right. His fire may just be enough to stop her, perhaps even temper the effects of the curse long enough to prevent it from fully taking hold before he had a chance to destroy the witch.

“Yes,” he stated slowly, still processing the possibility of having finally found a way to end his torment once and for all. He searched inward again, double-checking the energetic makeup of his power. In this, he couldn’t be wrong. Only absolute certainty would be enough to propel this plan forward. However, upon further inspection, another component lurked in the shadows of his flames, inking tendrils of temptation around the seed of hope that he’d hastily begun to nurture.

Fury. It remained in his soul like a deeply rooted weed, as alive and active as it had ever been.

It raged like a silent predator lying in wait among the shadows, with infinite time and patience. It was the king cobra slithering about his mind and had no qualms about going weeks or months in between feedings. Sooner or later, it would strike. Hard.

Would it end with Ragana? If he destroyed her, would his rage, which had been his constant mercurial companion for centuries, truly be destroyed with her?

A trickle of doubt crept into his mind, turning his head toward the woman who’d planted it there, along with his hope.

“Do you feel any different?” he asked.

She balked. The question had clearly taken her by surprise. “Uh, now that I think about it, maybe a little? It’s from the mark though, right?” She offered him her wrist like a summer camper offers up a boo-boo to a counselor for bandage duty.

She still doesn’t know about her magic. Or does she?

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