Page 8 of Roaring Flames

“Over time, the bond between the human and wolf evolved until the two became virtually the same person. They have the same thoughts, wants, fears, desires.” I offer her a brittle smile. “We are the wolf now. They are us. I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to unbraid ourselves from each other.”

And I’m not sure any of us want to. Despite my fear of the future—my fear of turning feral—I can’t imagine life without my wolf. He’s a part of me, the good and the bad.

“Are you all descendants of Letty?” Izzy asks, frowning.

“No.” I shake my head with a tiny smile. “Apparently, when Letty pulled her wolf to Earth, she also transported all of the other animals as well. Wolves and horses and cheetahs and lions and even a creature that resembles a dragon. They all latchedon to the nearest witch or warlock they could find—only humans with magic in their veins can survive the merging.” I spread my arms wide. “And thus, shifters came to be.”

Izzy seems to be processing the story. Her chin is tilted upwards in contemplation, and her brows are furrowed.

After a moment, she lowers her gaze back to me and says, her tone carefully neutral, “Why did you refer to me as yours? And what does a mate mark mean?”

Oh…fuck.

Three

IZZY

Mr. Montgomery stares at me as if I just whipped out a blue, tentacled, alien dildo and then taped it to my forehead like a unicorn horn. A potent combination of disbelief, horror, and reluctance lines his handsome face.

But I don’t back down, despite his silence. I refuse to.

My head reels from all of the information thrown my way. Wolves? Witches? Warlocks? Blood Companions? Hearts? This feels like something plucked straight out of a bad romance-turned-horror movie.

Instinctively, I lower my gaze to my arm once more. I can’t stop myself. Ineedto see the brand on my skin. Because that’s what it feels like—a brand. Owning me. Possessing me. Claiming me.

My sweater, however, obscures the mark from view.

Which is probably a good thing, considering I’m less than a second away from being homicidal.

Christian clears his throat and focuses on some of the papers scattered across his desk. There are even more on the floor, almost as if a tornado tore through his office before I arrived.

As I watch, my arms now folded over my chest, Christian begins the painstaking task of straightening the pages. His gaze doesn’t stray my way. Not even for a second.

“As I said before, a wolf’s Heart is similar to a witch’s or warlock’s Blood Companion. A fated mate, so to speak.”

An uneasy feeling swirls in my stomach. “And do these wolves…kill their fated mates to gain power?”

Christian’s head snaps up, and shock splays across his face. “God no!” He shakes his head vigorously. “No. It’s not like that. Wolves treasure their Heart.”

He blows out a heavy breath while simultaneously dragging a hand down his face. After a long moment of silence, he pushes the papers aside and focuses on me once more.

Being the object of his full attention is unnerving, to put it mildly. Unnerving…and arousing. A flush starts in my neck and creeps up to my cheeks.

“Explain,” I say at last, grateful when my voice doesn’t crack.

“As you probably guessed, wolves form packs when they reach a certain age. They can be as small as two and as large as ten or more. Most of these packs live together in a community?—”

“Like this one,” I interrupt.

Christian’s lips nudge upwards a quarter of an inch. “Like this one,” he agrees. “When there are a lot of packs in one place, they usually elect the most powerful pack to settle disputes. We call them the Council. They also deal with all matters concerning nearby supernaturals. They’re the spokespeople on behalf of the wolves, so to speak.”

I purse my lips as I think this through. “And who is your Council?”

A strange, indecipherable emotion flickers across Christian’s face. It’s too fleeting for me to gauge, but it almost looked like…grief.

“My parents’ pack, actually.” He pauses and then adds, “Well, theywerethe Council. Now, it’s my dad and a different pack.”

I feel as if there’s more to the story than what he’s saying, but I decide to drop it for now. I have a feeling that this is one wound that hasn’t yet scabbed over.

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