Page 25 of Love Fire

Nate grips my elbow, turning me back to face him. “And you wonder why dad is so suspicious. You are literally sleeping with the enemy.”

I try to pull my arm out of Nate’s vice like grip, but he won’t yield. “Erin, this is insane. You need to get the fuck out of here before shit goes sideways.”

Deep down I know he’s right, being here is dangerous, and not just for me. But when I’m with Brent I feel safe, which is a high-priced commodity to me.

“Nate, I ---” start to say but he shushes me.

“Do you hear that,” he asks in a barely audible whisper.

I turn my head to the side and listen. After a few beats I hear it, the click of the door, the shuffle of footsteps.

“Erin,” I hear. "Erin, are you down here.”

Shit, Brent’s come to find me. I turn back to warn Nate, but he is already gone.

“Stay safe sis,” I hear followed by the soft thump of the trapdoor swinging shut.

23

BRENT

Slicing my hand through the darkness, I find the rusty pull-chain and give it a firm tug. The basement snaps into focus in the dingy light. Not that my shifter senses even need the light.

Erin is kneeling on the floor sifting through a weathered cardboard box with the word “Tunes” scrawled on the side in black marker.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Erin holds several old CD cases in her right hand, her left continuing to plumb the depths of the box. “Looking for a sweater,” she responds. “I got cold.”

“You’re looking for a sweater?” I ask. “In the dark?” I can see her shoulders tense slightly before relaxing again.

“Well, I couldn’t find the light, so yeah.” She replies.

A thousand retorts run through my head. Why not ask me for a sweater? Why not use a blanket? Why search in the basement?

But there’s no point in asking. We both know that her reply will only be another lie.

My gaze shifts to the small basement window and convenient placement of the box. Was she trying to escape again?

“Erin,” I say with menace in my voice. "Were you trying to escape again?”

“What?” she asks. She stops rifling through the box and turns to look at me. She follows my gaze up to the window and back down to the box.

She shakes her head. “No,” she states. “I was just hoping the light from the window might help me.”

“Help you what? Find a sweater, in the dark, in a box of old CDs?” I ask angrily.

“Well, I didn’t know it was a box of crummy old CDs.” Erin replies. She gazes down at the case of some old rock band that I was really into like ten years ago before adding, “You really need to upgrade your taste in music.”

Her chuckle turns into a grunt as I fly across the room and yank her by the elbow, dragging her to the other side of the room and depositing her in an old patio chair. The wrought iron chair emits a low groan as it scrapes against the stone floor.

Erin massages her elbow and mumbles something about a dog getting better treatment.

“All you’ve done is lie to me and try to escape. How am I supposed to treat you?” I demand.

“Like a human being.” Erin retorts.

“Fine, let's give it a try.” I reply. “If you tell me who you work for, I’ll find you a sweater. Hell, I’ll even cook you breakfast.” I offer, but Erin remains silent.

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