Burning Violet_Lick of Fire Page 4

  Without bothering to reply or look back, she took long strides toward the door. She half-expected a member of the squad to stop her—Ryan, maybe, or Petro—but when a hand caught her arm just below her elbow, it was instead the man who’d hugged the thief a moment earlier. She threw a glare at him and tried to wrench her arm free, but he wouldn’t let go. He watched her with narrowed eyes, as though looking for something on her features.

  Your name is Violet? Is that right?

  The words appeared in her mind like a whisper, quiet yet impossible to ignore. The man’s eyes, pale green and fiery, captured her gaze.

  Just what she needed. Another freaking telepath.

  Let go of me, she projected toward him, as loudly as she could, and she saw him wince.

  He didn’t let go.

  Please, just tell me. Are you Violet?

  The words were still as quiet, but a thread of excitement was coloring them. Unbidden, despite everything, the beginning of something like hope started growing inside Violet. She dropped her gaze to his wrist, and while he continued to hold her he twisted his arm, allowing her to read…

  Marigold.

  That hint of hope just vanished in a puff of smoke. It wasn’t her name tattooed on his skin. So why—

  Because my brother’s tattoo says ‘Violet,’ he whispered in her mind. Can I see yours?

  Why bother? You can just look for it in my mind, can’t you?

  Damn it, the hope was already coming back. She wasn’t that desperate to find her mate, was she?

  Of course she was. She’d fled Sanctuary and joined the squad in part because she hoped it’d bring her to him. And now…

  I could look through your mind, he said, and his lips twitched into a grim smile. But believe me, that wouldn’t be very pleasant for you. Can I please see your tattoo?

  Violet couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed someone to see her tattoo. When she drew back her feathers, exposing the skin of her wrist, she felt as though she was baring her entire body in front of this stranger—in front of everyone here.

  Were they still watching her, like they’d watched while she argued with Millie? Would they avert their eyes and give Violet some privacy, thinking she might have found her mate? She didn’t check, and didn’t care, really. When the man looked down, she kept her eyes on him, trying to read his expression as he took in the name she’d traced with her finger at least once a day since she’d been a little girl. He blinked twice. Was that a yes? Was that his brother’s name on her skin, put there by some strange trick of evolution—a clue as to who the person meant to complete her was?

  When he met her eyes again, he was beaming.

  Can I call you ‘little sister’?

  She snorted and looked away, blinking repeatedly to chase away the extra moisture in her eyes.

  “Where is he?” she said aloud, her mind suddenly too much in shambles for her to think directly at him. “Where can I find him?”

  His smile wavered, turning a little wistful.

  Yeah, about that. That man who just stole a bike? That was Idris.

  Without thinking, she looked at her wrist. The elegant black script flowing from the edge of her palm parallel with her tendons had been there from the moment she’d been born. No one knew how the mate tattoos came to be—but no one knew how anyone was born a shifter, a telepath or anything else, for that matter. It was just one of the truths of this word that every person was assigned a mate by fate, with matching name tattoos to confirm who they were to each other.

  Some people met their mate when they were still kids, and they grew up knowing that, one day, they’d be more than best friends. Others looked for their mate their whole life, and were only granted a few years with them before their deaths. Some didn’t bother looking and loved as they wished without caring about what the name on their wrist said, trusting that if they were meant to meet the love of their life, it would happen some day.

  Violet had had lovers through the years—two of them—but she’d ended things both times after only a few weeks because the thought had always been there: what if Idris was looking for her right now? What if she missed her chance at meeting him today, and only met him years and years from now because she’d settled for someone else?

  And now…

  Now she’d met him.

  She’d seen his face… but she’d been so focused on what she was doing at the time, she could barely bring it back to her mind now. It seemed unfair somehow that she had his name on her wrist but nothing, at the sight of him, had warned her that this was it—this was him.

  Although she did recall rather well how tight his abs looked. After being in that cell for who knew how long, he still had a freaking rocking body, and…

  The man—she still didn’t know his name—gave her arm a little squeeze before letting go. He coughed into his hand, but failed to fully hide his grin. Violet’s cheeks flamed up when she realized he’d still been reading her thoughts.

  “Sorry,” he said, speaking aloud for the first time. His voice was a little rough, but the same deep timber as the voice that had spoken in her mind. “I didn’t mean to hear that. My name’s Chris, since you were wondering. And there’s something you should know about Idris.”

  He paused briefly, and his expression turned rueful.

  “He doesn’t want a mate. He’ll try to run from you.”

  Another pause, and his words turned quieter still.

  “Please don’t let him.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It felt good to have clothes on his back, clothes Idris had chosen for himself—black leathers, mostly. He found they stood up to his accidental flare-ups better than other materials.

  It felt good, and he looked good, too, judging by the way the cashier was eyeing him as she scanned the handful of tags he’d torn off the clothes he was wearing. He hadn’t received looks quite so pleasant when walking in the store in his rags—the manager had even made vague threats of having security remove him, but some sap story about being in an accident and a flash of his cash-padded wallet as he’d offered the manager a gratuity ‘for his understanding’ had solved that problem.

  “I’ll need to remove the security tags on the pants and jacket,” the cashier said, raising some kind of wand attached by a long chain to her desk. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

  She gestured for him to walk to her side of the register. He complied with an easy grin, passing his tongue over his lips and watching her eyes follow its path. He’d had a peek at her tattoo; James, it said. Well, he’d been ‘James Watson’ for years, now, so he wouldn’t be lying if he said it was his name, would he?

  She fumbled a little with the tag attached to the bottom of the jacket, but she soon was done with it. The tag on the pants, on the other hand, was a little below the waist, and there was no way she could remove it like this.

  “Would you mind?” she said, and, her cheeks filling up with a lovely pink, gestured vaguely toward the pants.

  “Not at all, darling. Anything for you.”

  He popped the first button with a flick of his thumb. The girl lowered her gaze to his crotch, and it remained there as he slowly, ever so slowly worked the second button. He hadn’t tucked the black tee in the pants, and when he raised his left arm to curl it behind his head, the tee-shirt rode up, exposing his abs. Another button and he pulled the right of the leather pants to the side, where the girl would be able to access the back of the tag. Her flush deepened a little more when she realized he was going commando under there.

  “Ah. Mm. If you’ll excuse me…”

  Warm little fingers reached in, the back of her knuckles brushing against the skin of his lower belly.

  “You have to know,” he said very low, leaning a little to whisper close to her ear, “I don’t usually drop my pants quite so easily. But there’s something about you…”

  Five minutes later, he was walking out of the store with his now lighter stolen wallet in one pocket, and Theresa’s phone number i
n the other. He didn’t have a phone yet, but he intended to remedy that fact before the end of the girl’s shift. Revenge was still on his mind, but it could wait for another night while he satisfied other needs.

  Whistling an old tune absently, he strode past the corner of the store to the shaded area where he’d left the bike—and blinked when he realized a woman was leaning against the seat. She wore a deep crimson dress that flowed around legs as long as the way home, even longer still from her high heels. Sleeveless and with a plunging V neckline, the dress caressed lovely curves and made him long to do the same. Dark, luscious locks waved in the gentle breeze, and she raised a delicate hand to brush away a strand that had fallen across her face. Plump lips painted a dark red curled in a wry smile. Idris finally met her eyes—and groaned as he recognized them. He’d wondered what hid beneath Ladybird’s catsuit and mask; now he knew.

  “Fuck. How did you find me?”

  “She’s mine,” she said, patting the leather seat of the bike as she might have patted a beloved pet’s back. “I’ve got my ways to find her.”

  Idris mentally chastised himself. When he’d run off, he’d stopped after a few miles when he was sure he wasn’t followed and had checked the bike for tracking devices. He’d learned the hard way to be careful about that kind of things. Still, he must not have been careful enough. He’d obviously missed something.

  “How much do you want for it?” he asked, pulling his still loaded wallet from his pocket.

  Ladybird shook her head.

  “She’s not for sale. And I’m not in the habit of accepting stolen money from fugitives from the authorities.”

  Idris glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around who might have heard her, then glared at her.

  “Do you want a megaphone, make sure everyone around hears you?” he hissed. “There’s a police car driving down the street over there, do you want me to flag them down? For that matter, it’s not exactly legal to spring paras from…”

  That police car he’d followed from the corner of his eye as it drove away suddenly made a U-turn, its lights flaring briefly to life although the officers didn’t turn on the sirens. Maybe it was something else, maybe they’d just caught someone speeding, maybe—

  He saw one of the officers in the car looking straight at him from behind the low hedges lining the parking lot.

  “Damn it!”

  Ladybird followed his gaze and swore. She pushed off from the bike and held her hand out to him.

  “So you did steal that cash, huh? Come on, let’s get out of here. Give me the keys.”

  There was a tone of absolute authority in her words that stirred something in Idris’ belly, made him want to grab a handful of her hair, tilt her head back and taste the crook of her neck where her skin looked like buttery caramel. No time for that right now, alas.

  He put the wallet back in his pocket and pulled the key out. It dangled from a leather cord long enough to be worn around the neck—the same kind of cord that wrapped multiple times around Ladybird’s wrist like a bracelet, hiding her tattoo. He didn’t give the cord to her, and instead climbed onto the bike, shoving the key in the ignition.

  She swore again, but rather than arguing she climbed on behind him, her arms closing around his waist just a second before the engine came to life. The police cruiser was entering the parking lot, now turning on lights and siren. Idris launched the bike full throttle, speeding off to the other end of the parking lot and the second exit there.

  A car was pulling in, the driver clearly unaware of the bike. Ladybird’s arms tightened but she didn’t make a sound when Idris maneuvered the bike out of the car’s way. The tires skidded on the asphalt, leaving marks as they tilted dangerously to one side. Idris accelerated again and the bike righted itself. They tore into the street in a cacophony of honking and sirens.

  As he wove through traffic, Idris couldn’t see the police car in the mirror. He wished he could have glanced back to see if they were hanging on, but at the speed he was going, it would be the same as begging for an accident.

  “They’re losing ground,” Ladybird said, right by his ear so he’d hear her despite the roar of the wind. Her lips touched his earlobe and he shivered. “They must have called for backup. We’ve got to get off the street. Take the next left.”

  Giving him orders again… She was very good at that it seemed. On general principle, Idris would be inclined to turn right just to show her how much he liked being ordered around, but he had to concede she probably had a point. They needed to get off the street and fast before more police cars got involved, and Idris wasn’t familiar with the city. He gritted his teeth and took a hard left, following her directions into progressively narrower streets until she finally demanded, “Stop by the red door.”

  They were in a one-way street, and said red door was the garage door of a narrow two-story townhouse. She jumped off the bike before he’d even fully stopped and ran to the door.

  Idris blinked. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt… What the hell had happened to her dress? Was it an illusion? Chris could do shit like that, project images at people, but he had to actually touch them.

  She banged on the door with her fist twice, then one time, then twice again. A man opened and she motioned for Idris to bring the bike in.

  He looked back through the street, then ahead where an intersection was visible. Without the girl at his back and the worry he’d be responsible for her death if he made a mistake, he could ride faster, get on a highway, get away…

  Or could he?

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said, coming back to the bike and punching his arm lightly. “Now get in, you idiot.”

  He glared at her for all he was worth, but he wheeled the bike inside, killing the engine as soon as he was past the doors. He recognized the blue sedan already parked in there; it’d been in the garage last night close to the bike.

  It might not be the same house, but he was basically back right where he’d started, in one of the safe houses of whoever these people were. Wonderful.

  He pulled the key from the ignition and shoved it deep in his pants pocket, throwing Ladybird a smirk as he did so. He expected a protest or another order, this time that he return the key. All she did was sigh and roll her eyes before turning to the man who had closed the door.

  “Full house?” she asked.

  The man shook his head. “Nah, just a couple of shifters. They’re resting now. We’re putting them in a plane tomorrow.”

  “We?” she repeated. “Who else is there?”

  The man barked out a laugh.

  “The person you want to see the least right now. But she’s asleep, so you have at least a moment to think of what you’ll say.”

  Ladybird grimaced. Idris couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about.

  “Hungry?” she asked, looking back at him even as she started toward the staircase in the back of the garage.

  That had been Idris’ second order of business this morning—the first being to acquire some cash. He didn’t enjoy using his power for this kind of things, but people’s innate fear of fire was a very convincing argument when asking them for their wallets. Without shoes or shirt, he’d ordered fast food from a drive-through window, earning himself some weird looks. He’d quelled the worst of his hunger, but had intended to sit down in a restaurant after getting clothes on his back. It was now more than time for breakfast.

  “Famished,” he said, following her upstairs, and once again being treated to the sight of her lovely backside molded into tight pants on the way up. She glanced at him as though she could feel his gaze on her. Amusement drew a coy little smile on her lips.

  All right, then. It didn’t look like she was all that upset that he’d stolen her bike if she could look at him that way, or offer him food for that matter.

  The first floor consisted of one large room roughly divided into a kitchen and a sitting area. While Idris wandered toward the wide windows behind the sofa, L
adybird went straight for the fridge. She peered in and announced, “Eggs, sausages, bacon, hash browns, pancakes… Any preference?”

  Just hearing those words made him salivate, but he tried to sound unconcerned when he replied, “Whatever you’re doing for yourself. I’m not picky.”

  She let out a quiet snicker but didn’t comment. While she busied herself at the stove, he stood by the windows and drew the sheer curtains to one side to look out. He couldn’t see much more than the facades of the houses across the street, all of them gray and nondescript, but above the roofs, the sky was a blue so light it would have seemed white if not for the presence of a few clouds.

  “How long were you ‘in custody?’” Ladybird asked over the sounds of utensils hitting pans.

  The contempt she injected in those last words matched Idris’ own. The government program to study paras had been in effect ever since the existence of humans with paranormal powers had become general knowledge almost forty years prior. Countless lawsuits that had gone not only to the highest court in the land but also to the International Court for Human Rights had yielded no change. The only good thing that could be said was that at least in this country paras weren’t killed outright—although there had been days, in that cell, when Idris hadn’t been far from wishing for a quick end.

  “Hard to tell,” he said absently, his eyes following drifting clouds. “I lost track of time for a while. Somewhere around a hundred and fifty days. What’s the date?”

  “June twenty-seventh.”

  “I was taken in January.”

  The words scratched his throat. Taken? No, he hadn’t been taken. He’d been sold out. Wolf shifters were common enough that they weren’t always taken into custody for studying… especially if they had a more interesting para to offer in sacrifice.

  “Must have been hard not to stretch your wings for that long,” Ladybird said, her voice notably softer although she sounded closer now. “I bet you can’t wait to fly again.”