Page 55 of Shrine of Fire

Stefan scooted all the way back on the couch. “You didn’t, it’s me, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for not being ready for…more.” Something was bothering him. I wouldn’t push him, not with that haunted look on his face.

Stefan shook his head, his cheeks flushed. “It’s not lack of desire. Dear saints alive, it’s not lack of wanting you.”

He looked tormented and desperate, like something was hunting him.

“Okay.” I took another steadying breath in. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I can’t. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

I laughed. “I kissed you.”

“And I kissed you back.” He gave me a look of pure heat. “You’re incredible. I can’t do more.”

“So, it’s okay if I kiss you again?” I blinked, trying to understand what he needed.

“Yes, but maybe not now.” He looked at me again with longing. “It’s hard enough to resist you as it is.”

I bit back the question of why he needed to resist me at all. It hurt that he’d pushed me away, even though it wasn’t anything I had done. But maybe it was best to take it slow, to let Stefan set the pace.

Now I needed to find a cold bath to jump in.

Tired, I headed back to our quarters. I’d assumed that everyone else would be off researching or chatting up the chiefs, but when I opened the door, Kalahar was sitting on the couch, books spread out on the table.

“Oh, sorry.” I paused. “I can leave, you’re concentrating.”

“I’m not.” He waved his hand at a yellowed notebook. “The omega, Liafa, shared some journals. Unfortunately, it is nothing I didn’t already know.”

I sat down on a chair close to the couch, pressing my legs together. It was impossible not to be drawn to the shock of red hair tumbling over Kalahar’s shoulder, or to feel how his quiet serenity filled the room like a cleansing balm.

A heavy make-out session with Stefan didn’t help matters. I pulled my yarn bag out and began working on another scarf. Maybe with better things to do with my hands I’d manage to keep them off the spirit phoenix.

His heat and fire called to me, but I was already two for two today, having been rejected by Cuan and Stefan. Kalahar had shown nothing but polite interest, so I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself again.

I had no right pursuing men when I wasn’t ready even to bond Hashir. It was better this way.

Kalahar glanced at my work, and then back at his books. “The Shrine of Rolling Clover might yield more information but, from what I understand, it’s been untended for hundreds of years. A holy site, but no one to see to the daily workings.”

He glanced at me again. “How are your dreams? I haven’t felt you being yanked into the spirit world again.”

“Nothing like before.” I flipped my work over and started another row. “Just the normal bad dreams.”

It was amazing, the level of grief a person could get used to. The pain was constant, like my heartbeat.

“You will see your old pack again,” Kalahar said. “Stop me if you do not wish to speak of things, for your pain is great. But such is the way of the world, the cycle of death and rebirth.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but I nodded. “It’s okay. I’d rather talk plainly about my pack. They died so I could live. They’re in the Land of the Dead, waiting for me.”

“The pain you feel is of transformation.” Kalahar looked deep into my eyes, like he could see straight into my soul. “The fire inside you can cleanse some of that agony, if you would let it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I will show you. At the Shrine of Rolling Clover, where it will be safe to perform such magic.”

I bit my lip. “You sound like you know about the pain of transformation.”

“Every death hurts.” His burning eyes held mine, and the air around us stilled. “Each death is felt as exactly that—the pain of separating from the mortal coil.”

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