Burned (Keeper of the Flame) (7 page)

“Hmm…” His dark eyes meet mine and he brushes
a finger down my cheek. “I think you’re trying to avoid me.”

I laugh, though it comes out rough. “No.”

A shadow blocks the sun and his eyes are so
dark, they’re almost black. “Are you sure?”

I try to swallow, but it feels like something
is caught in my throat. My gaze is stuck on Logan’s and this is the
first time I’ve felt nervous around him. “Logan,” I whisper.

He smiles. “Yes?”

I finally break free and release a breath.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I just…I’m not feeling very
well.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, brows furrowing in
concern. “Like I said, we’re just finishing up the tour. I could
take you home.”

“No. No, it’s not a big deal.”

“You sure?”

I nod and pull my hand from his. “Sorry,” I
say again. “I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe I’ll check in on you tonight.”

I manage another nod and try to walk at a
normal pace to get back to the parking lot where my car waits. Away
from Selena and the cold and Logan, everything seems normal again.
And warm. And all the sudden, I have no idea why Logan made me
uneasy in the first place. Sure, Selena warned me about him, but
taking advice from a ghost?

That might not be my best move.

When I reach my car, I sigh and glance back
to the hedge maze. I see Logan’s group gather around him again. He
gestures, giving them more information, and I shake my head. He’s a
guide and I’m afraid of him?

Doesn’t make sense.

I open the door, hop in and toss my bag into
the passenger seat. As I do, the glint of metal catches my eye.

Shifting my bag to the floor, I spot a
necklace on the seat. The chain is brushed gold, dark and antique
looking. On the end is a stone, purple, almost the size of a
quarter. The exact stone I’d seen Selena wearing.

How did that get in here? As I scan the
parking lot, I feel the familiar chill return. Selena left me her
necklace somehow.

I pick up the chain and stuff the stone into
my pocket. I need the Book of Shadows. I need to figure out why she
left this.

Logan is a vampire.

There’s a picture of the lavender stone
Selena gave to me right in the middle of the Book of Shadows. And
next to it, in one of my ancestor’s cursive writing, it reads,
For protection from creatures of the night.

He’s got to be a vampire. With those
intimidating dark eyes and a specific warning from Selena telling
me he’s not who I think he is, followed by the gift of the
necklace.

I scoot my chair out from the desk and start
pacing. So far I’ve got vampires and werewolves here in Shadow
Hill, and a ghost giving me gifts. Shadow Hill is like some sort of
paranormal vortex.

And I’m some kind of key.

Despite Ryan’s secrecy, I trust enough of
what he’s said to get out of town tomorrow night. Just in case.
Better than causing a problem I don’t have information on.

I check my watch. It’s getting close to
dinner and I don’t want to be here by myself.

I grab my jacket and purse, shove the Book of
Shadows in my satchel, and head out the door. The sun blinds me and
I slip sunglasses on as a thought occurs to me.

If Logan is a vampire, how can he be outside
in the daylight? Or is that just a myth? I’ve seen him outside
during the day more than once, including this morning, and it
didn’t seem to be a problem for him.

I jog down the outdoor stairs, swing around
to the parking lot, and pull out my keys. Then freeze.

My front tire is flat.

“What the hell?” I step closer and then make
a noise of irritation. “Shit.”

All the tires are flat. Every single one of
them. I kneel down next to the front one and examine the tire for
slashes or nails or anything that might explain it.

“What’s going on?” a voice asks from behind
me.

I whip around. It’s Logan. He’s perched
against his car, legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

I grit my teeth. “Someone let the air out of
my tires.”

He straightens. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Logan strolls forward and does the same
inspection of the tires I just did. “Shit. That’s messed up. Why
would someone do that?”

“I have no idea. Why
would
someone do
that?”

He gives me a blank look like he has no idea
what I’m getting at. And I can’t flat out ask him if he was the one
who messed around with my tires. He hasn’t done anything
suspicious. Blaming him because of a ghost is going to make
me
sound crazy, not the other way around.

When he stands, he takes my hand so swiftly,
I don’t have time to back away. “We should tell the police.”

My mouth opens, caught off guard. “What?”

“In case someone did this on purpose. You
know, just file a report‒or tell them what happened so they know.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Don’t you think?”

“I…” I’m confused. Why would he suggest we
tell the police if he’s involved? He wouldn’t. “Maybe we
should.”

He nods. “I think that would be best. Are you
okay?”

I frown. “Yes. Pissed off, though.”

He laughs. “I would be, too. The police
station is just down the street. Do you want me to drive?”

“Thank you.”

I get in the passenger seat, squeezing my bag
down at my feet. The car smells like Logan. Like pine and spice and
something mysterious I can’t define. Like secrets.

Logan eases into the seat next to me and
turns to me before starting the car. “Do you feel better?”

“Excuse me?”

“Earlier you said you didn’t feel well.
That’s why I came to check on you. To make sure you felt
better.”

I force a smile. “Yes. Minus the flat tires,
I’m doing fine.”

“Good to hear. The flat tires are a bitch,
though.” He starts the car and pulls away from the motel.

When he shifts to a higher gear, racing us
down Main Street, I tense in my seat. “Where’s the police
station?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Back
that way.”

“I thought you said‒”

“Relax, Willow. I have something I want to
show you.”

“I don’t want to see anything. I want to go
back.”

He laughs, a low and deep chuckle that
unsettles me. “To that hole in the wall? That motel is the
shittiest place you could have picked in the whole town. Wouldn’t
you prefer something better?”

Something better? What’s he talking
about?

“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” I tell
him, reaching slowly into my purse.

“That’s not what you told me.”

“Initially, I mean. At first I wasn’t
planning on staying for long.”

“Hmm…” He reaches out fast as lightning and
whips my purse from my grasp. “What are you doing?”

“Logan,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You
need to take me back.”

“Like I said, I have something to show
you.”

“Give me my purse.”

His jaw shifts and he glances over. When he
slows down, I almost think he’s going to do what I ask. But then he
makes a turn and heads away from the main part of town, the busy
streets. Away from people.

I grip the handle on the door, my breath
starting to come faster. He’s kidnapping me. He’s not taking me
back. And I have no idea where we’re going.

“Logan, please. Tell me where we’re
going.”

“Be patient.”

“I need my phone.”

In response, he stuffs my purse between him
and the door.

The houses taper away and the trees grow
thicker. Aspens and pines line the side of the road, which has gone
down to one lane both ways. The sun shines warm through the window,
and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

“Logan.” I watch his profile, calm and
unperturbed. “Logan, please stop. I don’t feel well.”

He barely glances at me. “That’s what you
said earlier, too. But it looks like you got over it.”

“I’m serious. I think I’m going to be
sick.”

He frowns, looks over with narrowed eyes, and
then finally slows the car. My mind races for a plan. Try to run?
Try to grab my purse and use the phone? I don’t have a weapon and I
don’t know where I am. Where’s my metal flashlight when I need
it?

The tires crunch on gravel when he stops on
the side of the road. I reach automatically for the handle, but the
door’s locked. I fumble for the lock, frantic to get out now. Logan
opens his side of the car and walks around to mine.

I lock the door again and reach for my purse.
I hear the click of the lock from the button on Logan’s keys and
yelp. He rips open the door.

“No!” I try to scramble away from him, but
Logan hauls me out.

He presses me up against the car. I try to
tuck the phone behind me, but he grabs my wrist and takes it from
me. “Willow.”

My eyes automatically fly to his and freeze
there. The irises are nearly as dark as the pupils, an ebony stare
I can’t break free from.

“You need to calm down,” he says, voice
smooth as honey. “You’re going to be just fine. We’re only going
for a ride.”

My heart’s racing but my body won’t move. “A
ride,” I echo.

He smiles. “That’s right. A ride.” He slides
one hand up my bare arm and then traces it back down my side, all
the way to my hip, where he finds a bare piece of skin between my
shirt and jeans. “See? It’s okay.”

But…hadn’t I just been doing something? I
need to be somewhere. Somewhere that’s not here. I remember my
purse and my phone, and then getting into the car with him and
passing the police station. What is he
doing
to me? It’s
like he’s trying to erase my memories.

I hike my knee up between his legs as hard as
possible, feeling a flash of triumph when he grunts and doubles
over. Then I run. My feet crash down on weeds and twigs, and then I
reach the trees and the shade of the forest.

“Willow!” Logan calls. There’s pain in his
voice, but he doesn’t sound too far behind me.

My hair catches on a branch and I gasp,
pulling away. The ground grows moist where the sun hasn’t dried it
yet. My foot sinks into mud and I nearly lose my shoe. More
branches tear at my arms and my shirt, scrape my cheeks.

When I hear footsteps behind me, I freeze.
Then I glance over my shoulder. Nothing is there. A bird chirps
overhead. When I face forward again, Logan is right in front of
me.

My breath catches.

His face is calm but steely, lips pressed
into a flat line. “Willow, why are you trying to make this
difficult?”

“Make what difficult?” I pant.

“Helping me out with my plan.”

I step back and a branch cracks under my
foot. A flock of birds flies from a nearby tree.

“I don’t…” I grit my teeth, hating the tremor
in my voice. “I don’t want to be part of your plan.”

“Sorry, Willow,” he says, almost as if he
regrets it, “but you already are. That’s why you’re here.”

“What?”

He steps forward, so close the tips of our
shoes are touching. “That note that told you to come here for
answers? I sent that.”

“But‒”

“I had to get you here somehow.”

“I thought…” My chest heaves with a sharp
breath. “I
did
come here for answers.”

Logan scoops an arm around my waist, pulling
me to his chest. “And I promise I will give them to you.” He
brushes his mouth across mine gently. Once. Twice. Then his lips
find my ear. “I just need you to come with me.”

I press my hands against this chest, trying
to get him away from me, but he’s too strong. I can feel the tremor
of his muscles as he squeezes, see the veins in his forearms as he
holds tight.

“Logan, please. Don’t hurt me. I’ll help you,
I promise‒”

“Of course you will. And no, I’m not going to
hurt you. You’re a part of this. Once you get your answers, you’ll
come around.” His fingers slide under my shirt in the back, tracing
my spine. “I’ll help you. I’ll show you how to use your
powers.”

Back at the road, I hear a car coming and I
squirm in Logan’s grasp. If I can just get free‒if I can get to the
road, maybe I can wave someone down.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,”
Logan murmurs.

A smile traces his lips when he reaches in
his pocket. He pulls out an ivory cloth and lifts it to my
face.

“No. Logan, don’t‒”

He presses it against my mouth. I struggle
against the pressure, but he doesn’t ease up. My hands claw at his
shirt, but they get weaker and weaker. A haze creeps into the
corners of my vision. When I start to slump, I hear Logan blow out
a breath.

“See now,” he says quietly, brushing a hand
along my temple, “that wasn’t so bad.”

Then I fall into darkness.

My cheek is pressed against a fluffy pillow.
It feels so nice, I roll to my side to caress the soft
material.

And then reality kicks in.

I open my eyes, my heart already pounding
when I remember where I am. Or rather, where I’m not. I’m not in my
motel room. I’m not in my car which can’t go anywhere because
someone‒Logan‒let the air out of the tires.

I am not somewhere I recognize.

I’m on a plush bed with maroon linens.
There’s a soft throw pulled over the top of me, and I shove it
aside as I sit up. The room spins around me for a long moment
before it finally settles into place again.

“You should really take it easy,” a voice
says.

I yank in a breath. Logan is sitting on a
chair across the room, one ankle crossed over the other knee. He
looks like he’s been sitting there a while. His hands rest on the
arms, long fingers lightly tapping on the surface.

“Where are we?”

He smiles. “Home.”

I stand slowly, gripping the bedpost for
support, and look around. “This is your house?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.” He gets up from the
chair and I retreat, the backs of my thighs hitting the bed.
“Stop.”