Light My Fire (7 page)

Chapter Nine

Spending the entire day within a few feet of Dana and not touching her was torture for Aiden. Particularly when flashes of the previous night kept replaying within his head like an endless, X-rated movie reel. The softness of her skin beneath his hands. The tight, wet clasp of her pussy around his fingers. Her sweet cries bouncing off the walls. He’d nearly come right along with her.

He needed to get a grip before he completely lost it.

“Bro, what’s up with you?”

Aiden met Jace’s concerned expression and whistled out a breath. “Nothing. Guess I’m just a little restless.”
Jesus, that’s an understatement
.

“Why don’t you take a walkabout? You could use a change of scenery, since you’ve been stuck here all damn day.”

“No, I’m fine,” Aiden said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

Jace scowled. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

“I know that.”

“Then prove it and take a fucking walk.”

Gritting his teeth, Aiden pushed from the exterior wall of Dana’s booth and stalked down the narrow lane of artists’ huts. Though it was less than two hours until the close of the festival, the crowd remained at full capacity. Dana had received a steady flow of traffic throughout the day, but he hadn’t missed the way her shoulders drooped a fraction lower every time someone strolled away without purchasing anything. It killed him to witness her dejection.

Didn’t these people recognize talent when they saw it? Idiots, the whole lot of them.

The glint of metal across the way caught his eye. Taking a shortcut past the jousting field, he entered a wood-shingled booth nestled in the trees. Exquisitely crafted swords lined a long oak counter. A prominently displayed sign pronouncing
Touch and lose a finger at your own risk
hung nearby. For those who doubted its sincerity, a hawk-eyed vendor diligently patrolled the cramped space.

Aiden approached a wickedly sharp-looking double-edged sword, his gaze sweeping its elaborate dragon’s claw hilt. He bent for a closer inspection. The details were eerily realistic, right down to the texture of the scales. Without question, he knew he was staring at a larger representation of the silver claw his mother always kept around her neck.
What the fuck?

Straightening, he glanced toward the vendor camped in the corner. The man was dressed in Viking garb, complete with a fur pelt thrown over his wide shoulders and a formidable horned helmet perched on his head. Despite the fellow’s appearance, Aiden sincerely doubted the man spent his days pillaging villages. Or hanging out with dragons. So how the blazes did the man get his hands on a nine-hundred-year-old design for the Drakoni insignia?

He elbowed a path through the milling shoppers, making his way to the vendor. The man saw him coming and immediately ditched his menacing glower.

“Aye, milord, something I can help ye find?” The man’s thick Jersey accent destroyed the whole Viking vibe.

“No, I’m curious about one of your swords. The one with the dragon claw.”

The man nodded. “Isn’t she a beaut? Claud knocked herself out on that one.”

“Claud?”

“Yeah, the artist.” The man swiveled his head, nearly taking Aiden’s eye out with one of the horn tips. “Now where’d she go? Girl disappears faster than goddamn David Copperfield.”

A prickling sensation crawled along the back of Aiden’s neck. Jerking around, he locked gazes with a female standing across the way. She was tall, probably close to six feet, with jet-black hair highlighted with neon pink streaks. Her only concession to the Renaissance theme was the fur stole draped over her shoulders—an exact match to the one on the Viking. Unlike her comrade, Aiden didn’t doubt for a second that she spent her every waking second pillaging villages. Hell, Claudia Knoxville came from a wild, renegade line of dragons that’d reaped a small fortune pirating the seven seas, and she proudly carried on the family tradition. If there was a dirty deed needing done, Claudia was the go-to girl. If you could afford to pay her price.

Question was, why the hell was she here impersonating an artist?

Intending to get to the bottom of that mystery, Aiden started across the room. Claudia spun, her fur pelt flapping. Not about to let her escape, he zigzagged the opposite direction, closing the gap between him and the entrance to the booth. She’d have to walk past him to leave. Someone tugged on his shirt and he whipped around.

The old gal with the crazy purple hair beamed up at him. “See you’ve decided to take a break from our Dana.”

“Uh…” Aiden lifted his head and caught Claudia waggling her fingers at him before she stepped from the booth and slunk around the outside corner. Giving a silent growl, he returned his attention to the woman in front of him.

Oblivious to the interception she’d just foiled, the woman squeezed his arm. “Ooh, you’re a muscular lad, aren’t you? Our Dana is quite the lucky duck.”

He granted her a wry grimace. “
Our Dana
is far from thrilled at having me here.”

“Pooh, give her time. She’s got a strong independent streak, and she’s stubborn as a pack mule.”

Aiden couldn’t help grinning. “You’ve pegged her there.”

“I know, dearie. I’m a psychic. Maybe I should have it stamped on a sweatshirt. It’d save me the hassle of always explaining it to everyone.” She flicked back the edge of her cape with a grumble.

Worried he’d somehow offended her, he offered his arm. “Would you care to join me for the rest of my stroll…?”

“It’s Haddie,” she supplied, filling in the blank. Her eyes twinkled. “And you bet your hot diggity I would. I’ll be the envy of every woman here.” Slapping her hand on his biceps, she led him from the booth.

For the next thirty minutes she entertained him with stories from her youth and the occasional odd impression she picked up on people walking by. So far she’d filled him in on the portly guy in the incense shop who suffered from a herniated disc and the tattooed gal who debated whether or not to break up with her deadbeat boyfriend.

He shook his head. “It must be strange knowing all these intimate details about folks you don’t even know.”

Haddie shrugged. “No stranger than it must be for you dealing with that dragon living inside of you.”

Aiden stumbled in mid-stride. “How—” He stopped himself before uttering the words that’d earn her mulish glare.

“Dana told me,” she said, catching him off guard.

He let that piece of news sink in. Apparently he needed to have a talk with Dana. He’d assumed she’d see the danger in running her mouth about the Drakoni, but obviously he’d been wrong.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

There she went with the scary psychic shit again. Her mouth curled in a cheeky grin that let him know she was wise to the fact she’d just creeped him out. He didn’t have the chance to call her on it though because they’d arrived at Dana’s booth. Craning his neck, he looked for his aggravating sacrifice and Jace. He spotted both in the back corner of the hut. Jace appeared to be in full flirt mode. The sight of his brother toying playfully with Dana’s hair while she batted him away elicited a spike of jealousy inside Aiden’s gut. He turned his back on the pair, disgusted by his involuntary reaction.

Haddie was watching him with a pitying look. That stung more than anything. Intuiting his surly mood, she squeezed his hand. “You of all people should know things aren’t always what they first seem.”

Much as he wanted to concede that Haddie might have a point, there was also the irrevocable circumstances staring him in the eye. Jace desired Dana and he would eventually have her. There wasn’t a damn thing Aiden could do to change it.

Dana set her plan into motion the instant she coasted to a stop in front of her garage. Schooling a sweet, innocent smile into place, she waited for Aiden and Jace to climb from the Navigator. “How about if I make dinner for both of you tonight?”

To say they appeared stunned would be an epic understatement. Worried they’d become suspicious of her sudden change in attitude, she hurriedly dug for a reasonable explanation. “I have a package of steaks I’ve been meaning to cook.” At least it wasn’t a total lie. She’d purchase the steaks a few months ago, when her annual maybe-I-should-learn-to-cook phase coincided with the grocery store’s half-off-meat extravaganza.

“Hell, I’m not gonna say no to a steak dinner,” Jace said with a chuckle.

Aiden shook off his expression of bafflement and inclined his head. “Thanks, it’s real nice of you to offer.”

The genuine delight in his tone was almost enough to elicit a twinge of guilt inside her. She quickly shoved the emotion away. This was a battle for her life here. She couldn’t afford to get sappy. “I’ll call for you when everything’s ready.” Spinning on her heel, she jogged toward the house.

Once inside, she bypassed her stash of Lean Cuisines in the freezer and chiseled the package of steaks from its igloo of ice. She threw the container into the microwave to defrost. Trekking to her bedroom, she stripped from the wench dress and tugged on jeans and her favorite fuzzy sweater. With that accomplished, she returned to the kitchen and checked the status of the steaks. Ten more minutes left on the defrost cycle.

Humming, she scrounged in the fridge for enough fixings to make a salad. All she found was a head of celery—the same one she’d thrown into the crisper two weeks ago and promptly forgot about. Other than a little wilting of the upper foliage, it looked exactly the same as when she first bought it. “Wow, this stuff is like the Teflon of produce.” Tossing it on the counter, she went in search of a knife.

The microwave dinged. She pulled out the container and noticed the steaks were already starting to get cooked around the edges. “Hmm, what’s the point in dirtying up the oven? Might as well let ’em keep roasting in here.” She scanned the buttons on the display, looking for the one that said steak. No dice. What the hell was up with that? There was one for popcorn. Shouldn’t steak have some precedence over freakin’ popcorn?

Frustrated, she punched forty-five minutes into the timer and brushed her hands of the matter. Snagging a knife from the drawer, she picked up the celery and chopped off the top leafy part before rinsing the rest of the stalks in the sink. That done, she carefully diced the celery and sprinkled the portions evenly between three bowls. As far as salads went, it looked pathetic.

Perfect.

Balancing one bowl in the crook of her arm and the other two in her hands, she carried them to the kitchen table and plopped each in front of a seat. She opted for using cloth napkins rather than paper. Hey, nobody would accuse her of being a total heathen. With the table set and the steaks sizzling in the microwave, she journeyed into the living room. Yanking the entertainment section from the Sunday paper, she settled on the couch. The second she spread the paper in her lap, Ms. Whiskers pounced in the middle and stretched out in a lazy sprawl.

Before she knew it, the microwave dinged again. “Okay, show time.” Shooing the cat down, she walked to the door and swung it open. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Jace was the first to pop his head out of the tent. “Mm, I can taste it already.”

More than likely he’d be tasting it for the next week. Ignoring the guilt trying to insinuate its way inside her, she wedged the door open wider. Jace bounded up the steps. He stopped and tucked his hands deep in his pants pockets in a way that was boyish and oddly endearing.

No, I will not find him gorgeous and freakin’ adorable. Understood?
Hopefully her libido would get the point. “Come on in.”

He scraped his boots on the mat before stepping inside. “Nice place. I didn’t have a chance to tell you so last night.”

Her heart filled with a warm glow. Her house might not be palatial or luxurious, but it was home. The only one she’d known. Out of nowhere, an icy sliver of realization slid down her spine. If she accepted the sacrificial bond with Aiden and Jace, she’d be forced to give up not only her freedom but this house as well.

“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

She swallowed past the bitter lump congealing in her windpipe. “I’m fine. Why don’t you go wash your hands in the bathroom?” She probably sounded like his mother. Oh well.

Abandoning him for the kitchen, she grabbed three plates from the cupboard and removed the steaks from the microwave. They seemed considerably smaller than they were forty-five minutes ago. And sort of rubbery. Stabbing them with a fork, she dropped each onto a plate. “Hmm, are they supposed to bounce like that?” Uncertain, she sprinkled each steak with a healthy dash of La Luna’s signature five-pepper-blend seasoning and transported them to the table.

The tread of boots thumped on the linoleum behind her. She turned, the blood pumping faster in her veins when she spotted Aiden. Damn it, why couldn’t he be humpbacked and covered with warts? It’d go a long way toward fighting this urge to tackle him to the ground and lick him like a big ole lollipop.

To stop herself from stroking a finger over his bristly jaw, she fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Jace is washing up. Feel free to do the same after he’s done.”

He nodded, his attention drifting to the table. She couldn’t be certain, but she swore he gulped when he saw the steaks. Whistling floated from the hallway and Aiden snapped out of the stupor the sight of his dinner had trapped him in. “Sounds like Jace is finished.” Granting the table one last wary glance, he pivoted and made tracks for the bathroom.