Bound (Keeper of the Flame Book 2)

by Lila Kane

  Cheyenne turns the car onto my street. “Some people talk a lot when they’re drunk and some people don’t say much. Looks like we’ve got both in this car.”

  Myra laughs and barely waits for Cheyenne to park the car before getting out. “I’m pretty sure I need to eat something.” She helps me out of the back seat and slings her arm around my shoulders. “And I’m pretty sure it’s going to have to be pizza.”

  Cheyenne takes my other arm and pulls us to the door. She grabs my purse and finds the keys. “Let’s get inside first. Preferably sitting down. Then I’ll order pizza since they close in thirty minutes and you two can entertain me until you sober up.”

  We stumble inside and go for the couch. I feel better now that Logan’s gone. Selena is quiet again and I almost forget my feet are already bare when I reach down to take my shoes off. Cheyenne disappears into the kitchen to order the pizza.

  “This is very good,” Myra says, sitting next to me on the couch.

  “What’s good?”

  “I’m hungry.” She nods. “I haven’t been hungry much since I came to Shadow Hill. Logan worries and tries to get me to eat, but it makes me feel even sicker.”

  I grimace. “I’m so sorry, Myra. What can I do?”

  She sighs. “This has been fun. It was nice to get out‒and away from Logan, even though I love him.”

  “I should have done some research today,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “You had a long day, too. A few more days isn’t going to make a difference.”

  I try to take her word for it, but it’s hard to believe. I can tell she doesn’t feel as strong as she should. Even though she looks a lot better tonight, I know there are ups and downs.

  “I should be practicing. I need to be confident with my power if I’m going to help you.”

  Cheyenne returns to the room and perches on the edge of the couch. “What’s going on?”

  I look up at her. “I need to practice my powers.”

  “Right now?”

  I give a decisive nod. “Yes.

  “Willow, come on, it’s late. Let’s eat something and work tomorrow.”

  “The faster we figure this out, the faster Myra will feel better.”

  Cheyenne sighs much like Logan had. “This does feel a little like babysitting.”

  I nudge her arm as I stand. “Then stop acting like a grown-up.”

  “Someone has to.”

  Myra stands and sets her hands on her hips. “Okay, girls, stop bickering. How are we going to practice?”

  I look around the room for inspiration. “I’m supposed to be healing you, right? So…I need to figure out how to fix things.”

  Cheyenne lifts her hands. “Like what?”

  “Fix a wound.” I walk to the kitchen. “I need a knife.”

  “Whoa.” Cheyenne jogs after me. “Maybe not such a good idea right now. Drinking and cutlery are a bad combo.”

  Myra laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. It is like babysitting. We should play with fire next.”

  I nod. “We might have to. But let’s do this first.”

  I see my reflection in the window over the sink. It’s dark beyond the panes, making me shiver. I halfway expect Selena to show up, especially now that I’m going for a knife. But Logan is nowhere nearby.

  Shoving the thought aside, I pull out a short, sharp knife I recently bought for the cute rental home Ryan is letting me use.

  “Now what?” Cheyenne asks, folding her arms.

  “I’ll cut my hand and see if I can heal it.”

  Myra sits at the kitchen table with a grimace. “I’m not sure if this is the best idea.”

  “Yeah,” Cheyenne echoes. “No offense, but she’s a vampire. Vampire. Blood. See the problem here?”

  “No offense taken,” Myra says. “She’s right. Ever since I came here, I haven’t exactly been the most stable around blood.”

  “Well, how else am I supposed to test this?”

  Cheyenne lifts her eyebrows. “Fix a dead plant or something.”

  I laugh. “Okay, give me a dead plant to fix.”

  She frowns. “I don’t have one on hand‒I’m just saying, do something less drastic.”

  “This will be faster.” I point to Myra. “You stay there and don’t look.”

  Myra lowers her head to the table, mumbling, “My pleasure.”

  Before Cheyenne can protest, I slide the blade across the meat of my left palm, wincing. It’s deep enough blood wells up right away.

  “Willow.” Cheyenne’s voice is weary. “Really? I was thinking more like a paper cut or something.”

  She reaches for a hand towel as I watch the blood coat my palm. I hold my hand over the sink and close my eyes. “Hold on. Let me focus.”

  I try to even my breathing, picturing the cut on my hand. My brain is too muddled to think of words to a spell, so I whisper, “heal my wound” instead and hope that’s good enough. My hand starts to tingle, pinpricks all over my fingers and my palm like my hand fell asleep.

  Opening my eyes, I watch the bleeding slow some. Then the doorbell rings.

  I blow out a breath.

  “That was fast,” Myra says, lifting her head.

  A few drops of blood fall into the sink. I frown and take the small towel Cheyenne presses into my free hand. I tie it around my left palm and follow her into the living room.

  After she pays for the pizza, we sit around the coffee table, opening the box on the surface and eating from there.

  “Did it work?” Myra asks.

  “I could feel something. I’ll keep trying.”

  Cheyenne shifts from her spot on the floor. “How about we take a break tonight? Get back to work tomorrow.”

  “I agree,” Myra says.

  I don’t answer. I feel like we’re running out of time. And once we take care of Myra‒if we can even figure out a way to help her‒we still have to deal with the spell. And Selena.

  I have to figure out if there’s any way I can get out of Shadow Hill or if I’m stuck here forever.

  My cell phone chimes and I pull it from my purse where I’d tossed it by the table. It’s Ryan.

  Make it home ok?

  “That’ll be Ryan,” Cheyenne says around a mouthful of pizza. “Checking in.”

  It was nice of him to keep it simple. And I’m glad he didn’t stop by instead. I still don’t know how to handle my feelings for him, which were just starting and probably a large product of the situation I was dropped into. Not only that, I have to balance them with my feelings for Logan, emotions which seem to be coming against my will or my better judgment. But they’re still there nevertheless.

  We’re here. Safe and sound.

  I return the phone to my purse and finish my slice of pizza. Myra leans her head on the arm of the couch. “Thanks for the girl’s night,” she says.

  “Anytime,” Cheyenne answers.

  She shares a look with me. Myra went from being our enemy to our friend in a matter of days, but it wasn’t difficult. We can both tell she’s a good person. It’s probably harder for Cheyenne to accept, though, being that she’s a werewolf. Werewolves and vampires are the oldest kinds of enemies around here, though things have changed a lot since then.

  “You should get some rest,” I tell Myra, standing. “You can take my bed.”

  She waves off the offer before her eyes droop. “I’m fine here. I don’t want to move.”

  Cheyenne brings the box of pizza to the kitchen while I find a blanket to drape over Myra. She mumbles a “thank you” before closing her eyes again. When I’m about to join Cheyenne in the kitchen, Myra says my name.

  I turn to find her eyes still closed. But her mouth is turned down at the corners.

  “Yes, Myra,” I say, stepping closer.

  “I’m not ready to die yet.”

  I swallow hard, emotion stabbing me in the heart. I can’t think of anything to say before I hear her breathing even out, and she falls asleep.

  When I go into the
kitchen, Cheyenne says, “I heard that. Man, this really makes it hard to hate vampires. At least this one.”

  “She’s too young to be dealing with this. I want to help her. To fix this.” I rub the aching spot over my heart and then adjust the towel on my hand. “I guess I should find a bandage.”

  Cheyenne starts to nod, then lifts her chin, eyes narrowing.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Logan. He’s here.” I glance toward the front door, but she shakes her head. “Just sitting outside, probably in his car.”

  “I’m sure he just wanted to make sure we got back okay‒and that Myra is fine. I’ll go tell him she’s sleeping and we’ll bring her back tomorrow.”

  Cheyenne gives me a vague nod, but stops me before I can leave the kitchen. “Be careful.”

  At first, I think she’s warning me about Logan. After all, he’s been unpredictable in the past. But I realize she’s talking about Selena, and I give a nod.

  “I will.”

  Chapter 11

  I slip outside quietly, waiting for my eyes to adjust before I search the street for Logan’s car. In the time it takes to make it out, he’s at the bottom of the steps, chin lifted to look up at me.

  “Logan,” I breathe. I keep forgetting how quick he is now. “You scared me.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  I cross my arms against the chill in the air. “No, why would you think that?”

  “Because you’re out here instead of inside.”

  I hold my place on the porch, grateful he’s keeping some distance, too. “Cheyenne could tell you were out here. I thought you might be checking in on Myra.”

  “That’s partly why I’m here.” He props one foot on the bottom stair. “How is she?”

  “Asleep.”

  He gives a low laugh. “After all that wine, I’m not surprised.”

  “She needed it.” I smile. “Not the wine necessarily, but the night out. The company. A chance to forget about what she’s going through for a while.”

  “You’re right,” he says, voice low. He moves up one stair and my heart spasms. “Thank you.”

  I swallow. “Okay, you can go now.”

  He laughs again and the sound makes me shiver. I want to hear it again, which is a bad thing. Wanting to be around him, be near him, isn’t going to keep him safe. Isn’t going to make Selena go away.

  When he walks up another stair, I back toward the door. “I’m serious, Logan. You should go. Myra is fine and we’re going to go to sleep soon.”

  “I said we need to talk. We might as well since I’m here. I won’t keep you long.”

  I shake my head. “No, no‒that’s not‒” I take a breath. Selena’s making me feel crazy and out of control. I need to get myself together. “I’ll call you. Tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  My mouth drops open. “Logan.”

  “I want to talk to you now. I wanted to talk to you all night. God, look at you.”

  I frown, my gaze dropping to my bare feet. I’m still wearing the tight blue dress, and my hair is hanging in unruly waves down my back. I look like a woman who danced all night and had way too much to drink‒which is exactly what happened.

  He tops the stairs and pauses a few feet from me. “You look amazing. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

  “This is, uh…” I clear my throat. “This is a very bad idea.”

  “You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ when someone gives you a compliment like that.”

  Heat burns in my cheeks but so far it has nothing to do with Selena and everything to do with his words and the way he makes me feel. “Thank you,” I whisper, backing up. “Now will you go?”

  He closes the distance between us, and I realize I have nowhere to go. My back is pressed against the door and he’s right in front of me, close enough he’s almost stepping on my bare feet. Without shoes, I’m several inches shorter than him, and the width of his shoulders blocks out the light from the moon.

  “You’re keeping something from me,” he says, voice low, “and I want to know what it is.”

  “No, you don’t,” I blurt out. Anything to get him to go.

  The corners of his lips turn down. “Is it Myra? You’re not going to be able to help her?”

  “No‒I mean, yes. Yes, I’m going to try to help her still‒and no, this doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

  I lift my hand, nervously fiddling with the necklace Selena gave me.

  “You hurt yourself,” Logan says.

  He captures my hand in his before I can pull away. His fingers are warm and strong as he turns my palm face up. He starts to unwrap the towel.

  “It’s not‒I mean, I didn’t hurt myself‒”

  “Right,” he says, clearly unbelieving. His eyes flash to mine with muted humor. “I can tell you’re bleeding. Vampire, remember?”

  My throat dries. That’s right. But he makes it hard to remember because he acts like a normal human being. A normal human being who makes my knees tremble.

  “I did it on purpose,” I say, yanking my hand back. “It’s fine.”

  “You hurt yourself on purpose?”

  “Yes.” I hold his gaze. “I need to practice healing so I can help Myra.”

  I see him swallow, and try to ignore the subtle scent of cologne I can smell on him. Selena is still quiet and I’m almost tempted to keep pushing it further, to continue the conversation, because I want to be near him without fearing I’m going to hurt him.

  He takes my hand again and his fingers are gentle on my hand as he undoes the towel. “You hurt yourself so you can try to figure out how to heal Myra?”

  “Logan.” He won’t let go of my hand. “That was the agreement, remember?”

  “Are you really trying to minimize what’s going on here?” he whispers. When the towel comes off, he makes a sound low in his throat. “Willow, look what you did.”

  “You shouldn’t look at it if it bothers you. It’s fine. I just need a bandage.”

  There’s roughness in his voice when he meets my gaze again. “The blood doesn’t bother me. It bothers me you’re so invested in this that you would hurt yourself‒and yet you’re acting like it’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s not‒”

  “Don’t you dare say that to me.” His free hand comes up and he brushes his knuckles on my jaw. “It is a big deal. And I was a jackass for going about this all wrong. If I’d had any faith in you, I would have trusted that telling you the truth would have been enough. Instead, I tried to force you to help me. All I needed to do was talk to you. But you’re helping Myra anyway. You’re helping me, and I don’t deserve it.”

  I can feel the flames start to burn. I pull the towel from his hand and grip the handle of the door behind me. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that, but you can’t say things like that to me, Logan.”

  Things that make me think he deserves a whole lot more than help. He deserves someone who wants to be with him and help him always. He deserves love. And for sure, without a doubt, he deserves to have his sister healthy and safe.

  He doesn’t deserve anything. Just death.

  I grit my teeth. “I want to help you but it will be easier if I have some space.”

  He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm next to the wound. “I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

  “That’s what I need, Logan. Please. You don’t understand.”

  Hurt him. Invite him in and find that knife…

  “Then tell me,” Logan says, mouth working its way up my wrist and to a sensitive spot on my forearm.

  Kill him, Willow, and you can be the most powerful witch Shadow Hill has ever seen.

  “No,” I hiss.

  Logan pulls back. “No?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  He glances behind him. “Then who?”

  “Selena.”

  He angles his head. “She’s still with you, isn’t she? Sin
ce you contacted her for help at my house.”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Emotion is thick in my throat now and it’s working its way to my heart.

  He leans in, careful to avoid touching the necklace. But he’s close enough I can feel his breath on my cheek, next to my ear. “Let me help you.”

  Kill him.

  “Logan, no.” I push against his chest, but he takes my wrists gently in his hands. “Logan‒”

  “Tell me.”

  “Selena wants me to hurt you.”

  He blinks, shakes his head. “What?”

  I lower my chin with a sigh. “She’s still angry and I think‒I know‒she wants me to hurt you. For her. For revenge.”

  Logan doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His eyes are dark in the dim lighting on the porch, so deep I can’t read the emotion there. Finally, he says, “This is why you’ve been trying to avoid me?”

  I nod.

  He smiles, which makes me frown. “So you can try to protect me?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I should go in now.”

  “No, Willow‒” He catches the door before I can open it. “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t go in.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Okay, right. I won’t keep you out here much longer. Willow,” he says again, catching my hands in his. I tense up, but he keeps hold. “I thought‒I don’t know. I thought you were still angry about everything that happened, and I wanted to show you that…I went about all this wrong, but I had my reasons. Instead, you‒you’ve been staying away from me so you won’t hurt me.” He laughs. “I’m kind of relieved.”

  I yank my hands away. “I am angry with you. You won’t listen to me. I’m trying to help you and you think this is funny.”

  “No, I don’t.” He props his hands on his hips. “Like I said, I’m relieved. I’m flattered‒”

  “All right, that’s enough,” I say, going for the door again.

  “Sorry. A joke, that’s all.” He holds up his hands. “It won’t happen again.”

  My lips twitch, but I fold my arms, the towel still in hand. “Now do you understand why I need space?”

  “I understand why you want space. But I’m not worried you’ll hurt me.”