Page 17 of Bride of Death
“Stars!” I scream as I dart toward the sink, only the fire shoots toward me in an irregular arc, forcing me to jump backward. My towel whispers around my legs, the cotton loosely tied against my chest. I grab the fabric, thinking about maybe using it to smother the flames, when a loud boom echoes from the front door.
I spin toward the sound, my attention torn between the growing heat and the pounding coming from outside. I’m about to ignore it when Pip zooms toward the door in a furious flurry. Or maybe he’s panicking. I don’t know. I also have no idea how to put out the fire.
“Thorns,” I hiss under my breath as I dart after him, my hand clutching my towel against my sternum.
When I throw open the door, I find Ghost standing just outside with his arm resting against the hinge and his head angled down. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he mutters at me.
I blink. “What?”
He sighs. “I’m beginning to think that’s your favorite word, mystery.” Then he lifts his head to look over me at the chaos in my kitchen. His eyes narrow, his back straightening. “What in the Styx are you trying to cook?” he demands, his hands suddenly on my hips as he moves me out of his way and saunters into my house.
Pip has completely disappeared, leaving me alone with this lunatic fae who… who appears to be wielding a shadow…
I stare, my lips parting as smoke whirls all around Ghost, the source seeming to be coming from his arms.His tattoos, I think, suddenly realizing that he’s shirtless and wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. The ink along his arms and back shift, leaving his tan skin behind.
Along with a lot of muscle.
Holy fae, this male really is stunning.
The perfect specimen of a man, really.
Not that I’m noticing. Or observing. Or ogling.
Nope.
No.
I’m just watching him put out the fire with his shadows.How in the fae is that even possible?I wonder, half convinced I’m dreaming now.
Because there’s only one other male I’ve ever met that is this good-looking or this powerful, and he only exists in my head.
A head I now shake as I try to clear it and figure out what in the thorns is going on.
In a blink, my kitchen is fire-free and smoke-free, and all I can see is the expanse of Ghost’s defined back as his tattoos writhe back into place. The swirls are mesmerizing, their pattern seeming to form skulls all over his skin.
“Wow,” I breathe, hypnotized by the magic.
“Understatement,” Ghost replies. “What the fuck were you trying to make? Charcoal pancakes?” He turns toward me, allowing me to admire another vast landscape of muscular lines.
So many abs.
So defined.
Yet oddly tattoo-free.
Hmm.
“Sera.” My name from his mouth has my eyes slipping up to his lips, which are forming a thin line. “What the hell were you doing?”
My brow furrows. “Taking a shower.” The words seem to leave my lips on autopilot. This guy’s body has temporarily fried my brain.
“While your pancakes burned?” he asks, one of his eyebrows inching upward.
The condescending quality of his voice has me frowning.
Which slowly brings me out of my stupor.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes out slowly, my mind still surfacing to override my errant hormones.
