him against her, every ridge of muscle against her back, the strength of his thighs and something that throbbed and moved against her, which created an answering pulse deep in her core. Her breasts swelled. No. She wasn’t—she couldn’t—no.
She stiffened in his arms. “No, I loathe you,” she said through gritted teeth. She twisted her wrist until her palm could make contact with his muscular forearm, and she latched on, pouring every inch of her resentment into that contact. She whispered a spell. Heat seared between them, and she tightened her grip. He grunted. Hissed. His arm moved slightly, and she managed to move her other arm until her hand could press against the outside of his thigh, and she clutched him, focusing her power on those two points of contact. The heat increased. She could feel his skin blistering under her hand, smell the fabric of his jeans burning.
His breath hitched, then he let her go, pushing her away. She whirled, hands raised, and an invisible force threw him against the wall behind him, holding him against the brick surface.
“Argh!” He tried to pull away, tried to reach for her, and she curled her fingers until he threw his head back in pain. “Stop it!”
She’d captured him initially with the help of her brother—and that was only after Hunter had exhausted himself in a battle first against his brother, and then his Warrior Prime of a father. Keeping the pyro jerk imprisoned on her own was proving a challenge. If it wasn’t for the iron cuffs he wore that bound his light warrior magic, he would have already overpowered her.
Melissa retreated and didn’t let up on the force she was directing against him until she reached the door. She clenched her hands and shoved her fists in a downward motion, and her prisoner collapsed to the floor. He moaned as he clasped his head, curling up into the fetal position, and she stormed out into the tunnel. With a flick of her fingers, the door slammed behind her, the lock sliding home. She strode up the corridor, fuming.
She’d gotten too close. She should have known better. He was like a viper, waiting for you to get within striking distance. Five months ago she’d been tempted by him, by his devilish smile and wicked brown-eyed gaze when he’d walked into her store. He’d been so confident, so darn cocky, saying he’d heard she was the best witch in Irondell with the best supplies, best spells, best concoctions—and the best strain of wolfsbane, and she’d swallowed his flattery, hook, line and sinker. She’d taken him into her apothecary, just like he’d taken her in with his false compliments.
She’d been thinking how gorgeous he was, and was even returning the flirty banter as she’d opened up her order book. Then her world had exploded. Fire, heat, and those brown eyes shot with burning flecks of red amber as he’d cast his flames throughout her little store. Then he’d backed out and closed the door, closing her inside her inferno.
He’d used her. She’d found out later he’d been trying to turn to ash any evidence of his brother’s involvement in a murder. He’d smiled at her. Teased her. Tempted her.
Torched her.
She pulled herself up the steep staircase that led back to her apothecary, trying to shoot strength into her shaking arms. That comment, though...the one about her father...that was—weird. For the past few weeks she’d been dreaming of the night he’d left—and other nightmares. She hesitated. Could he...? She shook her head. She didn’t know that anyone could do that. She closed the door behind her, engaging all the locks and wards, and then sagged against its surface, craving the unmovable support.
Tears burned beneath her eyelids. For a moment, ever so brief...she shook her head. No. Not that guy. Not ever.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a woman’s voice murmured from the gloom.
Melissa startled, then peered across the room. A figure moved away from the wall, stepping into the soft pool of light. Melissa closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Mother,” she greeted the woman with resignation. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how your...” Her mother hesitated briefly, then continued “...project was coming along.”
For a moment, Melissa thought her mother was talking about the renovation. Then almost laughed. Right. The last time her mother had shown any interest in her life was five months ago, when they’d had a terrible argument.
Over the pyro jerk downstairs.
“Well, as you can see, the apothecary is coming along nicely,” Melissa said, deliberately taking the obvious direction for conversation.
Her mother’s green eyes flared briefly. “I meant our little light warrior,” her mother stated succinctly, folding her arms.
Melissa glared at her. “He’s not our little light warrior, Mother. He’s mine.” She frowned at the possessive phrasing, realizing it probably sounded completely different than the way she intended. “And he’s not so little.”
She closed her eyes. And yep, that could be taken out of context, too. Her heart still pumped at being held against that large body, so much stronger than her own. She told herself the elevated heart rate, the sensitive...she folded her arms over her chest. Adrenaline. That’s all it was, adrenaline.
“Please tell me he’s still alive,” Eleanor Carter didn’t bother to hide her exasperation.
Melissa faced her mother reluctantly. “What if he’s not, Mother? What if he’s dead? How would that make you feel?”
“Do not play with me, Melissa,” Eleanor snapped. “He is a light warrior, for heaven’s sake. Do you know how rare that is?”
“With the way they make enemies? Trust me, Mother, it’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you this one has survived as long as he has.” She walked across the room to the door and the stairwell that would lead to her shop.
“He would make a useful ally, Melissa. He’s in our debt. Use it to your advantage—and for God’s sake, don’t screw it up,” her mother ordered as she followed closely. “You know we have to nurture this relationship.”
Melissa halted at the door. “That is so ironic—you talking about nurturing.” She bit off a brittle laugh.
“Melissa! You never stand back to look at the big picture. He is valuable.”
Melissa whirled. “What about me, Mother? What value do you have for me?” Anger flared to encapsulate her hurt. “He tried to kill me, Mother, and all you can talk about is creating an alliance with the pyromaniac psychopath. What about me? Don’t I matter in this? Why aren’t you angry that he tried to kill your daughter? And if not your daughter, at the very least one of your coven. Why aren’t you knocking down that door to tear his heart out?” Why won’t you fight for me? She turned and stomped up the stairs.
The door at the head of the stairs slammed shut, and Melissa halted, pursing her lips. This is how her mother had dealt with conversations when she was a teen, for Pete’s sake. She turned around to face her mother, arms folded.
Eleanor Carter slowly walked up the stairs until they were on the same tread and they could meet each other’s gaze on an equal level. “Do not lecture me on defending my coven, Melissa,” her mother stated in a cold tone, and Melissa realized she was no longer talking to her parent. “You may be my daughter and a Coven Scion, but you are still only a second-degree witch, and I am your Elder Prime. Do not presume to discipline me on coven matters.” Eleanor lifted her chin. “You are popular with the humans, and you are gifted, but you still behave like a liability, whereas that light warrior is an asset. That is why I’m not tearing his heart out.”
Eleanor flicked her fingers, and the door opened. She walked into the bookstore, chin up and shoulders back, looking every inch the coven regent she was. Melissa stayed in the stairwell for a moment, blinking back the burn. God, she was so pathetic, always hoping her mother would for once put her daughter before her coven.
Should have known better.
She stomped up the steps and slammed the door shut behind