Flameout (33 page)

I abruptly pulled away. His skin was almost translucent with heat, and alarm washed through me. The lack of control wasn't mine, but rather
his
, somehow seeping through the link between us.

Jackson
, I said, trying to put as much urgency as I could through our silent connection.
Control it.

He blinked; then awareness of what was happening hit, and he cursed softly. The color in his skin immediately banked, but I could still feel the fires burning deep within him. While fire fae generally couldn't produce their own flame—they could only control fire that already existed, even if it was little more than a spark—Jackson had gained that ability when our spirits had merged.

But it was an ability he was still struggling with.

He cursed again and thrust a hand through his short hair. “Damn, I've spent the last few days practicing fire control but it looks as if the results aren't quite what I expected.”

I touched his arm lightly. “It takes a phoenix years to gain full control. You can't expect similar results in a matter of days.”

He snorted. “I'm a fire fae.
That
should give me some sort of an advantage.”

“It will. But remember, while you're able to control fire, it wasn't an intimate part of your being until after we merged.” I squeezed his arm and sat back down. “You're not used to having to control flames twenty-four/seven. Up until now, you've only had to exert control when fire was already present.”

He grunted and sat down opposite me. “It's still fucking annoying. Especially if I now have to think about every little thing I do, lest I set something on fire. Or someone.”

“Control
will
happen. But in the meantime, I can teach you how to leash it in more intimate moments.”

He took a sip of his coffee then snagged a fry. “That sounds promising. Can we start now?”

I laughed. “Jackson, we're in the middle of McDonald's.”

“And I have a van parked outside.”

“I don't think either the staff or the patrons would appreciate us doing the horizontal tango out in their parking lot.”

“Sadly true.” He paused, and that wicked gleam reappeared. “There might, however, be room enough to do a vertical tango.”

I threw a fry at him. “We haven't the time.”

“It's been more than three days since my last loving. Trust me, it won't take long.”

“It's a sad day when a fire fae admits to so little control.”

“Woman, you have no idea just how much control I'm exerting right now.” He snagged the fry from the table and munched on it. “How's Rory doing?”

“He was reborn without incident and is currently recharging in front of a roaring fire.”

Jackson grunted. “How long will it take him to get back to normal?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning, how long do I have to remain with him?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“It depends. Once he's fully refueled, he'll at least be capable of looking after himself even if he's still physically weak. But right now, I can only leave him for small periods of time.”

“Small periods are better than nothing.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“You know that itchy feeling you get? The one that says we're about to hit a truckload of trouble?”

“I get dreams, not itchy feelings.”

“Same, same, just a little more detailed.”

I smiled. There was a
vast
difference between getting prophetic dreams that
always
came true and simply feeling the approach of something ominous—and he knew it. “What is this premonition telling you?”

He hesitated. “Just that something bad is happening.”

“Happening? As in, right now?”

He nodded, expression serious. “I don't know what, I don't know where, but whatever it is, it's bad.”

“Until we get a little more detail, it's hard to do anything about it.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Why don't we grab Rory's burgers and get back—just in case he's the reason for the bad sensations?”

“No one knows where he is, so I doubt it.”

Even so, I finished off my tea and quickly rose. The drive-through queue had tapered off by that time, so it wouldn't take long to get Rory's order as well as a couple of extra burgers for the two of us.

As we headed out, I added, “It might be worthwhile leaving the van—and your phone—here. I don't want to risk anyone tracing us to the cabin.”

He nodded and jogged off to the van. I climbed into my car and drove over to pick him up, then ordered at the drive-through. We swung back onto the road that would us to Trawool and the cabin.

Jackson was silent the entire trip, but I could feel the tension in him. Whatever he was picking up, it was growing in intensity. I parked in front of the door again, then grabbed the bags of food and hurried up the steps.

The heat once again surged over me as I opened the door and stepped inside. Rory was not only unharmed, but also awake.

“That was quick,” he said. Though he sounded brighter, I could still feel the tiredness—the weakness—in him. Refueling was not happening at any great speed, which was
damn frustrating. Not that there was anything he could do about it—it was just way things were playing out this rebirth.

“That's because I'm well aware how grouchy you get when you don't get fed in a reasonable time frame.”

A smile tugged his lips. “Says the woman who once threatened to cinder me if I didn't present chocolate immediately.”

“A statement any reasonable woman would understand.” I squatted down beside him then unwrapped one of the burgers and handed it to him.

“Jackson didn't appear?” He took a bite then closed his eyes, his expression one of utter bliss.

“Jackson did,” he said as he stepped into the room and closed the door. “Fuck, is it hot in here or is it just me?”

“It's hot.” I continued on to the small kitchen table, depositing the rest of the burgers and the second tub of fries onto it before shrugging off my coat. “And I won't object if you strip down.”

“I will,” Rory muttered. “Keep your pants on, mate.”

Jackson chuckled even as he stripped off his jacket then began rolling up his sleeves. “Never fear, I have no intentions of giving you an inferiority complex when you're still so new to the world.”

Rory snorted. “Dream on.”

Jackson pulled the chair away from the table and sat down, but his grin quickly faded as my phone rang. “Who's got that number?”

Tension ran through me, especially after his recent comment about something feeling off. “No one but you and Rory.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. The number was a familiar one. “It's okay. It's a rerouted call from the office.”

Jackson snorted, his relief palatable. “It's probably one of our other clients, wondering why in the hell we've failed to give them progress reports in recent weeks.”

“Probably.” I hit the answer button then placed the call onto loudspeaker so he could hear it.

For several seconds, the only sound coming from the phone was whisper-soft breathing.

“Crank call,” Jackson muttered. “Hang up.”

“I wouldn't advise that,” a pleasant and unfortunately familiar voice said. “Because that might have dire consequences.”

Sparks danced across my fingers and it was all I could do to control them and
not
melt the phone. And this time it had nothing to do with Jackson and everything to do with anger. And, if I was being honest, more than a little fear.

“What do you want, Rinaldo?”

“You know what I want,” he replied, voice urbane and ultrapolite. “And you have not been holding up your end of our bargain.”

“I've been calling you every fucking night,” Jackson growled.

“Yes, but your reports have been scant when it comes to information.”

“Hard to give what we haven't got,” I bit back.

“If that were true—and it isn't—then perhaps I might be inclined to forgive.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake—”

“I told you what would happen if you failed to play by my rules, so you
will
now pay the promised price.” He paused, and I could almost envision his cool, cold smile. “Or rather, your precious friends now will.”

Keri Arthur
,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Souls of Fire, Outcast, Dark Angels, and Riley Jenson Guardian series, has written more than thirty books. She's been nominated in the Best Contemporary Paranormal category of the
Romantic Times
Reviewers' Choice Awards and has won a
Romantic Times
Career Achievement Award for urban fantasy. She lives with her daughter in Melbourne, Australia.

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