Page 103 of Roaring Flames

Ansel may not know what they are, but he can obviously sense the threat permeating the air. He, too, shifts slightly, inching closer until only a wisp of air separates our bodies.

“Dyson,” Emery greets coldly.

I can’t see his expression, but Icansee how tightly he’s holding himself, like a loaded coil waiting to spring.

“How have you two been?” the man—Dyson—asks, cocking his head to the side. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Ethan murmurs, too low for them to overhear.

“I think you know why we’re here,” Dyson continues.

Michelle flashes me an evil grin and then turns to her brother, her lower lip wobbling and tears erupting in her eyes.

She sniffles exaggeratedly. “That’s the girl! That’s the one who punched me!”

“You punched her?” Emery’s voice bleeds incredulity.

“Not hard enough, apparently.” I scowl.

“I think I love you,” Emery says.

I roll my eyes and then shoulder my way through the two bodies blocking me. Both immediately try to pull me back, but I refuse to cower behind them.

“I wouldn’t have punched you if you weren’t being such a raging bitch,” I snap, putting my hands on my hips.

Witch or not, I’m not scared of her.

Okay, that’s a lie.

I’m a little scared.

Michelle’s eyes narrow, the tears drying up as if they never existed to begin with. “You’re going to regret what you did.”

“You going to have your big brother beat me up?” I taunt, unable to keep my mouth shut.

“Izzy!” Ethan hisses, his voice rife with horror.

Emery simply chokes on his own spit in surprise.

Dyson stares at me curiously, his gaze assessing, his eyes devouring me from head to toe. Interest sparks in his gaze. “This is the girl who got the best of you, Michelle?”

“She took me by surprise!” Michelle snaps, apparently giving up on her “weepy, sad” act.

Dyson continues to gaze at me intently, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched. “What’s your name?”

“What’syourname?” I counter, even though I already know it.

I just feel like being a bitch.

He chuckles and takes a step forward, his hand extended. “Dyson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I eye his palm like it’s disease ridden and very purposely look away without taking it.

I arch an eyebrow. “Izzy.”

He keeps his hand in the air, his expression amused, before lowering it back to his side.

“Izzy.” He says my name like he wants to savor it, like it’s something decadent for him to taste.

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