Page 12 of Roaring Flames

At first, I think something happened. Was she hurt? Is it the killer? Then I fear Christian did something to her—and instantly feel like a piece of shit for having that thought in the first place.

I don’t have to wait too long for an explanation.

“You motherfucker!” she hisses, the noise coming through heavily clenched teeth.

I refuse to let my mask slip. “I don’t believe I fucked any mothers as of late,” I deadpan.

“When were you going to tell me?” She once again jabs a finger at my chest, and a tiny thrill shoots through me at the connection.

Warmth seems to emanate from her, as if she houses an internal fire.

“Tell you what?” I ask.

Now I’m confused. I glance at Christian over her shoulder and arch an eyebrow, but my older brother looks away with a frown.

“Tell me about shifters and witches and mating bonds and Hearts!” Her voice rises in pitch with each consecutive word she says, and I’m suddenly grateful I didn’t spot anyone lingering nearby when I walked through the hallways.

I don’t know how we’d explain a screaming female to the faculty.

Then her words register, and all thoughts of secretaries and principals overhearing us vaporize.

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. I can’t find the words to speak. I think this is the first time that has ever happened to me. I’m always eloquent, always articulate, always the first with a quip or a comment to ease the tension.

But not now.

“Care to explain this?” Isabella rolls up her sleeve and thrusts her bicep into my face, and all I can do is gape at her branded skin.

I’ve seen this image more times than I care to admit every time I look in the mirror.

I dip my gaze to my own arm for a fraction of a second before focusing on her—this tiny female full of unfettered energy, violence, and anger. She truly is a hurricane contained in a woman.

“It seems as if you don’t need any explanation,” I say carefully. Slowly. Cautiously.

I feel as if I’m approaching a rabid dog, one that’s foaming at the mouth and snarling. If I move too quickly, she’ll attack, and I’ll feel the full impact of her bite.

“You truly are an asshole. You know that?” Tears well in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall.

They hang there suspended, crystalline shards that refract the artificial lighting in Christian’s office.

“I’ve been told that on more than one occasion.” I cross my arms over my chest as I study my mate intently.

She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman—strong, fierce, protective of those she cares about, and kind. So, so kind, despite the shit hand she’s been dealt so far in life.

But I can’t have her.

None of us can.

She’s Little Red Riding Hood, and we’re the big, bad, scary wolves intent on chewing her up and spitting her out. What kind of life can she have with us? We’re beasts, monsters, creatures of the night, and she’s…innocent. Pure. Sweet.

I remember my father’s words from only two nights ago. At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of them, but now I can’t help but wonder if he knew, somehow, what Isabella is to us. To me.

“There are humans, and there are monsters,” he says, sipping idly from his teacup. Though his words are addressed to me, he doesn’t look away from the newspaper he’s reading. “And sometimes they overlap.” At that, he lowers the paperand gestures towards an article detailing the sexual assault of a college student. “But if you force a human to play with the monsters, what do you think will happen?” He chuckles, the noise devoid of any genuine mirth. “They’ll have no choice but to become one just to survive.”

He couldn’t have been referring to Isabella, could he?

My father says weird shit all the time—trying to divulge life lessons before I take over the Council for him.

And yet…

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