Page 16 of Watch Me Burn

No.

Just like what happened down that empty cross street, a rush of fury slams into me, chased by a hint of fear that I’m about to die. Only it’s Elise he’s threatening, and though she’s another vampire, I’ve already learned that while she can probably live asuper long time—especially since she’s in her seventies and looks like she’s in hertwenties—she’s not unkillable. She can die.

I can’t let that happen.

Suddenly, and without any conscious effort, my hands are engulfed in flames. They looks like a pair of twin fireballs, ready to be launched. The room feels warmer than it did, and the lemon scent has been replaced by the choking stink of smoke, but I wouldn’t know that my hands were burning if I didn’t see it happen with my own two eyes.

No time to marvel at that. Raising my hands, prepared to throw the fire at Thorn if I have to—and hoping I miss Elise—I glare at the vampire. “Get away from her.Now.”

I almost expect him to dare me to do it. Hey, he’s the one who told me to use my magic on him, right? And if Elise wasn’t frozen in his embrace, almost waiting for his bite, I might’ve.

But then he releases her. She immediately straightens, tottering away on her stilettos, trying to put some distance between her neck and Thorn’s teeth.

He smiles. It’s the sort of smile you’d expect from a toothpaste commercial, the type that has a computer-generated sparkle added to it. “Just what I thought. Did I make you frightened? Did I make you angry?”

Through gritted teeth, I snap, “You locked me in your dungeon. You threatened Elise. Of course I’m pissed off.”

And frightened? I thought he was going to drain her on the spot. Hell yeah I was scared.

“Remember that.”

Trust me, I don’t think I can forget.

He nods over my head at something behind me. Only when I follow the gesture and notice that Jasper is back, and that he’s brought someone with him, do I realize that we’ve had an audience for the Cadre leader’s little performance.

I have no doubt in my mind that, if he felt he needed to, he would’ve bit Elise. He wanted a reaction out of me, and he showed his ruthless side by proving how far he’d go to get it. And I think I understand. I’m a threat. If I can walk around Clarity, setting fires and incinerating people at will, I’m a danger to the safety that Thorn promises to all of us.

At least now I know what sets it off. Control my temper, keep out of life-or-death situations, and I should be fine.

And I allow myself that delusion for about two seconds until I notice the look of surprise mingled with horror on the new arrival’s face.

I don’t even want to try to guess her age. Even if I did, I’d probably be wrong. Her hair is a mix between dark brown and pure white strands woven through the top. She wears it pulled back into a short, low ponytail with a few thick braids beginning near her brow mixed in. Her face has that ageless sort of beauty; she could be thirty or sixty or anywhere in between.

Wearing a long black dress covered with a matching trench coat, she’s nothing like what I expected when I hear ‘witch’. Then again, neither am I.

She’s staring at me. It takes me a second to remember that both of my fists have flickering flames surrounding them.

Whoops.

How to get rid of them? Now that Elise is safe, they should be gone. I don’t need the fire anymore, and I give each hand a small shake, hoping that the flames will get the hint and snuff out instead of growing.

Yes! It works!

Then, because she’s still focusing on my hands, I shove them into the front pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.

Her fingers inch up until she’s pressing the tip against her lips. Speaking around them, she says, “You said she was a witch.”

Thorn nods. “I think that’s been established.”

No shit.

The woman—thewitch—sucks in a breath. “When you called the coven, you reported that you had one of mine in your city. That she used magic to protect herself against a witch hunter. You didn’t say it was fire.”

Thorn raises his dark eyebrows at her. “Would you have come if I had?” When the witch doesn’t answer, he gentles his voice. “My line goes back to Southern Germany. I know the history, and why witches are uneasy around a flame.”

“The witch hunts,” she murmurs, speaking more to herself than to the rest of us. “A dark time, especially when so few of the victims were true witches. It gave the witch hunters the idea that they had a divine mandate to hunt us. Five hundred years later and here we are. They’re still hunting us.” A sigh, and she finally meets my eyes. “Hello, there. My name is Celeste Montvale.”

“Bridget Hayes,” I supply.

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