by Rose Wulf
“Great,” Dean began, “apology accepted. Now tell me why you’re mad at me. ‘Cause being mad at me for the sake of it really sounds more like my kind of thing.”
She scrunched her face in the way that always meant she didn’t want anyone to see her amusement, but the expression faded quickly. Then she stepped into his personal space and poked a finger at his chest, saying, “I’m sick and tired of everyone treating me like a porcelain doll, okay? You’re just as bad as Mom and Dad! Has it occurred to you yet that maybe if I’d gone with you that woman wouldn’t have even been dragged into it?”
Okay, he had to admit he’d been expecting her to be angry with him for that conversation at the beach earlier. He just hadn’t expected it to come out like this. Holding her glare, he replied, “You think he wouldn’t have grabbed you instead? You really want him getting his hands around your throat?” Just the hypothetical suggestion had Dean’s hackles rising. “How do you think that would’ve gone?”
Angela sucked in a breath and retracted her hand like he’d burned it. “You’re so freaking impossible!” She made an exasperated sound, spun on her heel, and started toward the garage, where Hilary was waiting.
Needing her to understand, Dean reached out for her shoulder. “Angie—”
“No,” Angela interrupted, shrugging him away from her with a sideways glare. “I don’t even want to hear your voice right now. I know earth is Logan’s element, but I swear talking to you is less effective than talking to a brick wall. So go, tell your newest girlfriend all our dirty laundry, I don’t even care.”
Her Mercedes was pointed down the driveway by the time Blake’s hand landed on Dean’s shoulder.
“Just give her some space,” Blake offered calmly. “Let her cool down a little. We’re all frustrated with this situation, I know you know that.”
Dean flexed his fists and nodded. He knew his brother was trying to smooth the situation over. That was Blake’s way. But nothing his brother said could change the tone of disgust he’d heard in his sister’s voice. She’d never spoken to him like that, not even when she’d still been with Eric and snapping at him for the things he said about the guy. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like he’d said anything especially harsh lately. Did she really think he’d deliberately revealed their secret earlier? Or ever? Had he?
“Dean…?” Blake called, clearly realizing his brother was ignoring him.
Pulling in a breath, Dean glanced over at Blake and grunted, “Sorry. I’m gonna go. I’ll call later.” He started off, toward his haphazardly parked Camaro, before calling back, “Let me know if anything needs burning.”
****
Arianna brushed another wisp of dark hair from her face as she paced behind the couch. Now that a few hours had passed and the adrenaline had faded, she was almost certain she was doing something epically stupid. Twice she’d nearly called off their meeting, knowing logically that meeting alone with a man she didn’t know—who potentially had a big secret—was a recipe for disaster. But she’d never quite been able to go through with the smarter decision, and she knew it was because she was horrendously curious. With every hour that passed she was more convinced Eric had not been sporting a burn when he’d grabbed her, but she was equally convinced he’d been nursing one on his right wrist when he’d run off.
She didn’t know how that was possible, and she knew Dean was the only way she would get an answer.
She looked over at the clock above the mantle and her stomach rolled again. Two minutes. It was two minutes to six, and six was what they’d agreed on. Was it smart to schedule this for when I knew Georgia would be out? No, that was probably another mark against her intelligence. A witness would probably be beneficial. But at least Georgia knew Arianna was expecting company for part of the evening, and Georgia had been expecting to be home by eight or so. Dean knew neither of those things.
Snap out of it, Arianna. This isn’t another horror movie.
The muffled purr of a powerful engine caught her ear and she pulled in another breath. That had to be him, and that meant the moment of truth had arrived. Her hand slipped down to her pocket reflexively, brushing over the comforting lump of her cell phone. At least she knew it was fully charged and easily accessible if she needed it. Still, she held her breath when she heard the tell-tale shutting of a car door. Seconds ticked by before a hard, undeniable knock echoed from her front door.
Cop knock. He’s a fireman, remember? He volunteers to save people for a living, for crying out loud!
Her conscience bickering with the logical half of her brain, Arianna moved to the door and pulled it open. One corner of Dean’s lips kicked up when their eyes met and she immediately felt like a moron. This was why she’d decided to meet up with him later. The lingering fear and unease in her stomach vanished the moment he got near.
“Hey, come on in,” she offered, stepping back and aside so he could enter. “Make yourself comfortable.” She shifted awkwardly as he moved toward the far end of the couch, her gaze dragging slowly down the flexing contours of his back. Had a man’s back always caught her attention like that, or was it the tight shirt? More importantly, what was she supposed to say to start this conversation? Taking a deep breath, Arianna moved toward the couch and asked, “So, uh, how was the rest of your day?”
Dean looked back up at her after claiming a seat in the corner nearest the fireplace. He offered a slow, almost cautious shrug, and replied, “I’ve had worse.” He paused, watching her claim the opposite corner, and added, “Thanks for giving me the chance to explain things. I really am sorry about earlier.”
Her smile was easy, but resisting the urge to reach out and touch his nearest forearm wasn’t, so she leaned back instead. “Everyone deserves that much, I think. Don’t apologize. It was my fault for letting some idiot kid grab me.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he asked, “How did he do that, exactly?”
Arianna sighed, the memory still all too clear. She’d been trailing behind Dean, having seen his obviously deliberate flight toward the parking lot. It was apparent to her that something was wrong and her instinct insisted she find out what. Unfortunately, he’d been too far ahead of her, and by the time she’d gotten close enough to possibly call out to him without drawing too much attention the other guy was on her. He’d come out of nowhere, really. Leaping out at her from behind a large SUV with a growl of warning and a dark, dangerous look in his eyes. She’d been more shocked than overpowered as he’d dragged her awkwardly between the vehicles and closer to the very man she’d been following. In hindsight the story was a little humiliating, because her attacker had clearly been younger—and shorter—than her.
Dean said nothing as she spoke. He held her gaze with a smoldering, almost unreadable intensity that brought an unexpected, pulsing ache to her core.
“You pretty much know the rest,” Arianna declared when she was done, trying her best not to squirm or cross her legs. When was the last time she’d had to fight that need?
He inclined his head, took a deep breath, and a faint grin lifted his lips as he said, “That was impressive, by the way.”
She met his grin with one of her own, appreciating the compliment as much as the rumble of his voice, and admitted, “I lived in L.A. for a couple of years. Self-defense classes are a must.” He cringed exaggeratedly and nodded again, but it was her turn to ask the necessary question. She needed to get it out before she lost her nerve. “So … can you tell me what happened, exactly? That whole thing was strange, but his arm … how did you burn him like that?” She was sure he had, despite all the second-guessing she’d done over the past few hours.
Silence greeted her question for a long moment before Dean looked away and she knew in her gut he was going to answer her.
“You might’ve gathered this,” Dean began carefully, “but his family and mine are … not friendly.”
Arianna nodded, remembering their verbal exchange. “What are we talking about, some old-school fam
ily feud?”
“Something like that,” Dean allowed. He released another heavy sigh before returning his gaze to her and adding, “It’s not so simple, though. They’re actively trying to kill us, and they’re not afraid to go after anyone they think we’re close to, too.”
Eyes widening, Arianna sat forward and blurted, “Why don’t you go to the police, then?” She cringed as soon as the question was past her lips. Not only was that not really her business, but she didn’t know for certain they hadn’t. “I’m sorry,” she added, waving a hand to try and dismiss her previous words, “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” Dean interrupted calmly, shaking his head. “It’s fine. We don’t go to the police because there isn’t much they can do.”
Frowning, Arianna opened her mouth to ask the obvious question before her brain caught up to her. This was connected to that burn. Maybe Dean wasn’t the only one involved who had some sort of … secret. But she didn’t know how to articulate that question without sounding ridiculous, so she kept silent and waited.
Dean drew a breath and pushed to his feet, clearly restless. He dragged a hand through his hair as he said, “It’s going to sound crazy, but you need to know because that punk will probably want to come after you again.” He paused, turned to properly face her, and asked, “Remember when he was reaching for the sky earlier?” She nodded silently and he declared, “He was about to pull lightning from the sky, to throw it at us.”
It was a good thing she was already sitting down, because the very notion of what Dean had just said sent her reeling. All she could do was swallow and ask, “He was trying to do what? That’s impossible!” She’d thought the kid’s motion had been strange, but Dean’s claim was somewhere on the other side of absurd. Except… There was still the matter of that mysterious burn.
“Not in our world,” Dean said bluntly. He snapped his fingers and in the next instant a small, perfectly controlled sphere of fire barely the size of a tennis ball hovered above his open palm.
Chapter Three
Arianna stared, wide-eyed and short of breath, as she attempted to process the sight before her.
There was a flame, about the size of a tennis ball, flickering calmly mere centimeters above Dean’s bare hand. It should have been impossible. Only she’d yet to personally witness special effects quite so convincing, let alone in her own living room. And if what she was seeing was possible, that would certainly explain the burn on Eric’s arm. That much, at least, was easy enough to wrap her head around. What was tripping her up was the idea of people controlling, or creating, the elements. Yet Dean just stood there, looking more patient and calm than he had since he’d arrived, watching her. Studying her reaction. Only she wasn’t sure what her reaction was at the moment.
Her gaze was glued to the orange-red flame as it licked open air, the tips turning purple and green for a second here and there. It was beautiful, really. She could even feel the warmth radiating from it. Like a small, perfect campfire.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked as the fire blinked out of existence and his arm fell to his side. It was only then that Arianna realized she was on her feet and standing directly in front of him. Her arm was even partially raised, as if she’d been reaching for the flame. “It’s fire, Arianna, it will burn you if you touch it.”
She wanted badly to roll her eyes and assure him that she had basic common sense, but she knew damn well she had no leg to stand on. Instead her cheeks flushed like a teenager’s and she took a deep breath as she forced herself to meet his gaze. One of his dark brows had lifted and there was a flicker of confusion and uncertainty in his blue eyes. The blue was a wild contrast from the flame he’d been holding, and the contrast made them even more alluring. She licked her lips as she attempted to figure out what she was supposed to say. She was mesmerized by the beauty of the flame? Probably not.
“I’m sorry,” she finally offered. Awkwardly. “I just….” She paused, letting the sentence trail off, and shook her head. “I don’t have a good answer. I have no idea what came over me. That was … amazing.” Oh, god.
Dean’s lips twitched and his shoulders jerked as if he were restraining a laugh. Yep, he’d definitely gone there. To think, for a moment, she’d actually forgotten about the need burning between her legs. “Good amazing, I hope.”
Releasing a breath, Arianna smirked and replied, “It wasn’t bad, at least.” She knew full well this joking was potentially dangerous, and she wasn’t sure it was smart to be taking that risk, so she forced herself to sober up. “You mentioned that that kid might come after me … why? I mean, no offense, but we just met, so why would I be a target?” Yeah, that was a good, sobering question.
Grin falling away, Dean shifted so he could glare toward the fireplace without turning his back on her. “Put bluntly? Because he’s a juvenile moron. He’ll want revenge for that shiner you gave him is my guess.”
That makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Really? He was the one who grabbed me in the first place.”
“Trust me,” Dean began, his tone suddenly, startlingly dark, “self-defense is not an excuse they accept.” It couldn’t be more obvious there was a story—a bad story—behind that response. But she knew better than to ask for it. The things he was telling her were already not much of her business. Still, there was something about the severe frown in his profile that bothered her.
Knowing there was nothing she could do about the memory he was reliving, she did what she could to pull him out of it. “Okay, so … he can shoot lightning or something? Can the rest of his family do that, too?” She wanted to know if Dean’s family all had superpowers, too, but that felt too much like crossing a line. At least knowing about the people who might try to attack her seemed reasonable.
Dean released another breath and turned to face her again. “Yes to both. Eric’s the youngest—we think—but his older brother and their old man can all shoot lightning. They control the weather, though, so they can do more than that. They’re fans of unexpected hail storms, for starters.”
The conversation just kept getting stranger and stranger. That was something she just never expected to hear, and it made it hard to wrap her head around what he was telling her. But she was a smart woman. She could adjust her worldview. Especially if doing so would keep her alive. So she nodded, took a deep breath, and asked, “Any suggestions for how I protect myself from the weather? Do they happen to have a purse-sized Kryptonite or something?”
A choked chuckle escaped him, lighting his face for an instant, and she had to fight a smile. He was criminally handsome, damn him. “Unfortunately, no. Not that we know about, anyway. My best suggestion is just to be aware of your surroundings.” He paused, his jaw flexed, and added, “And if you’re comfortable with it, put me on speed-dial. If Eric or his bastard brother give you trouble, you can call me.”
She wasn’t particularly surprised by his answer, but it was less than encouraging all the same. Except for the part about calling him. That part definitely had a certain appeal. Ugh, get a grip, Arianna. “And how will I recognize Eric’s so-called bastard brother? Or their father?”
Dean hesitated. Apparently he didn’t have a convenient photograph of her potential stalkers to share. At length he offered, “Jacob, Eric’s brother, is in his late twenties, about as tall as me, and … well, dark. I’ve never seen him not in black clothes, he has dark hair and the same dark eyes as Eric. He basically looks like an arrogant jackass. Their old man is in a wheelchair now, so he probably wouldn’t be alone.”
Lips twitching again, Arianna teased, “No offense, Dean, but your descriptive skills could use some work. I think you just described Dracula.” She let that hang in the air while he grunted and rolled his eyes in acknowledgment—or at least that was how she chose to take it—before adding, “Thank you, though. For being honest with me, and for giving me this heads-up. I appreciate it.”
He held her gaze for a long s
econd in silence, and all of a sudden the desire still churning in her blood was begging her to touch him. She wanted to brush her fingers over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, pull his hand into hers just to see if his palm was still warm from the flame, or trace the outlines of the muscles she could see through his shirt. He was standing too close and her body was far too worked up in long-neglected places. She’d never known anyone who’d affected her as quickly and deeply as Dean Hawke.
“Arianna,” he finally said, drawing her—slightly—out of her distraction. “I know it’s not fair, but I need to ask you not to tell anyone about this.”
She pulled in a breath and nodded slowly. It made sense, she supposed. If his ability—and their family feud—was public knowledge, he wouldn’t have made a big deal of telling her. She could respect that. So she smiled and said, “I don’t even know who I’d tell.”
The corner of his lips lifted again and he replied, “I don’t know that I buy that. A woman like you can’t possibly be without friends.”
“I never said I don’t have friends,” she assured him, unintentionally taking a partial step closer. “But, fortunately for you, I’m really not the gossip type.” She reached down, succumbing to her urge and wrapping his hand between hers. His skin was warm to the touch, but not abnormally so. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Dean’s gaze flicked down to their hands as she held them just above waist height, and she swore it wasn’t her fault that her fingers were brushing lightly over his palm. Heel to fingertips and back again, slowly, as if searching for the unnatural warmth that should surely be there. He exhaled as her fingers slid over his lifeline, and his voice was thick when he grunted, “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”
The rough vibrato of his voice dragged over her skin and her lips parted as she drew a breath. She lifted her gaze back to his, letting it travel the length of his perfectly muscled arm and over his strong shoulder. There was a heat in his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time she’d looked into them, and she liked it. She liked it far more than she should. “I never used to,” she whispered before she could think better of it.