Pyromancist (30 page)

Clelia understood this part of the man she
loved. When she told him in the car that she didn’t know if she
wanted to go to New York, she had pushed the button of his
insecurity, his fear of losing her. She never wanted to be without
Josselin. She knew it with a certainty she had never known before.
He was the center of her universe, the point around which her life
revolved. What did it matter where they went? She didn’t care where
they lived, as long as she could be with him.

“I promise,” she gasped.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice predatory.
“I won’t let you go. Not for a minute.” He seemed desperate, his
hands matching his tone. “Having to let you go scares me more than
the ghosts of my past.”

A fire as large as the one burning in her
body consumed him. She could see it now, and feel it in the agony
she heard in his voice. He was frightened of losing her.

“I promise not to leave you, Josselin,” she
said, sensing his need to hear the words.

She heard his sigh and then his lips found
hers again in a kiss that mimed the heights his hands were taking
her to. She was so close. Nothing else existed as heat started
spiraling from her clit to her tummy, pushing her over the edge and
convulsing her body with a pleasure bigger than what she’d ever
felt. Her arms slipped around Josselin’s neck, holding him to her
while she poured her heart into their embrace. He kept the pressure
on her sensitive clit until the very last spasm had calmed, until
she thought she couldn’t take it anymore. A scream tore through the
night. Clelia recognized her own voice, but it felt as if she was
somewhere else, looking down on the unfolding scene. Trying to get
away from the torturous touch, she started wiggling, pushing with
her palms on Josselin’s chest, but he was relentless, holding her
in place with his body while his palm and thumb drove her
insane.

“No, no, please, it’s too much,” she
whimpered.

“Shhh,” he said, “you can take it. Just
feel.”

It wasn’t possible to feel that much. The
onslaught of sensory stimulation was overwhelming. She fought him,
vaguely aware of his penetrating stare studying her face, reading
her eyes. It was too much. Too intense.

“I can’t,” she said, the sound close to a
scream, pinching her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes, Cle. You’re so close again.
Let me see you come for me.”

She tried to focus on him, but she couldn’t
coherently command any function of her body. All that existed was
his touch and her body’s protest to the unbearable limit to which
he was taking her pleasure.

“Do you know how beautiful you are when you
come?” he said in a husky voice. She moaned. “Come again for me.
Only for me.”

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it
anymore, she felt the pleasure building again, but this time it
wasn’t a slow journey from her clit to her abdomen, it was an
explosion that hit her everywhere at once, a fierce convulsion that
ended as abruptly as it had started, but left her weak and shaking
in the arms of the man who was to become her lover. Josselin pulled
her against him and stroked her back. They stood like that for a
while, until she had regained enough strength to stand on her own
two feet again.

When he lifted his head again they were both
panting. Josselin rested his forehead against hers, his hands
moving up under the fabric of her dress to circle her waist. Their
breaths made vapor in the ancient forest. She should have been
cold, freezing, but she only felt the fire raging through her and
filling her heart.

He pulled away slightly to look at her. “You
saved me. In more ways than one. My life is yours, forever. My
heart belongs to you. Only you. You make my body and soul whole.
You have bewitched me and now I can’t live without you. Will you
marry me, little witch?”

Clelia caught her breath. Although Josselin
had vowed not to take her before their marriage, before some sacred
ceremony that was important to him, she had not expected a marriage
proposal so soon. And she was still battling to find her bearings
after the orgasms she had just experienced.

She became aware that Josselin was holding
his breath. He stared at her with his tortured eyes. She realized
that Josselin doubted her answer. The demons of his past that he
had claimed, the actions that weren’t his fault but that he had
adopted the blame for, still flogged his soul and made him doubt
his beauty, his purity, and her love.

She laid her palm on his cheek. “Josselin, I
love you. Of course I will marry you.”

The burden of his doubt lifted from his
shoulders like a knight’s heavy armor. He straightened and took her
hands.

“Now,” he said, his voice urgent, “I want to
marry you now.”

“Now?” Clelia looked around. “Here?” Her eyes
fell on the chapel and then it became clear. She suddenly
understood why he had run ahead of her, why he had brought her
here. The hastiness of it all caught her off-guard. It frightened
her just a little.

“We don’t need to rush,” she said.

He tensed visibly. “Don’t you know how hard
it is for me to abstain from taking you?”

“It’s hard for me too. We don’t have to wait
long, but we don’t have to rush into it either.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re not
happy.”

“I am happy, Josselin. I’m very happy. You
took me by surprise. I didn’t expect this.”

“I wanted to ask you here, and if you were to
say yes, I didn’t want to wait.” He turned away from her. “I can
see now it was a mistake.”

“Oh, Josselin. It’s just that you’re so ...
so intense.”

He faced her again. “Am I too intense for
you?”

Clelia regarded him. No, he wasn’t too
intense for her. She loved him. She had loved him for a long time.
She loved everything about him. Josselin was intense, but that was
part of what attracted her to him.

She shook her head. “You seem to forget that
I may have my own ideas about a wedding, and about how I would like
to do it.”

He went onto one knee, grabbing her hands in
his. “Marry me now, little witch. I beg you. You can have a
celebration later, whatever you want. Just give me this one thing.
Just fulfill this one wish. I need to make you my wife and I want
the moment to be ours, and nobody else’s.”

“I already promised to marry you. I said I
won’t leave you. You have to trust me, Josselin.”

“Then trust me.”

She stared at him.

“Can I show you the chapel?” he said, his
eyes shining with a hopeful light.

Clelia hesitated. He straightened and kissed
her knuckles.

“I’ll never force you to do anything you
don’t want,” he said. “Just come inside for a look. Please.”

He looked so lost, so insecure, that Clelia
said, “All right, Josselin. I would love to see the chapel.”

She allowed him to lead her by both hands to
the stone church where the lights were burning.

Chapter
Nineteen

Josselin watched Clelia intently as he led
her up the three low steps. If she had any doubt, any hesitation,
he’d stop. They would wait. For her, he could wait as long as it
took. But he would never let her go. He needed her. He wanted her.
He loved her. And he wanted her to become his wife. He wanted it
more than he wanted salvation for his sins.

His little witch did not falter. She took
sure steps toward her new future, her tiny hands lying trustingly
in his. Her smile was brilliant and her eyes big but happy as he
led her to the door. Inside, the priest waited. It had taken a lot
of convincing for him to come out here, but he was an old priest
who knew the history of Josselin’s ancestors and who held to
tradition. Yes, he couldn’t wait another day, not another minute,
to make her his, here, in this chapel, where all of his
predecessors took their wives and made their promises. But if it
were her wish to wait, he’d wait. With her, he could finally face
the future, look forward to the rest of his days, and he wanted to
show her the enormity of her influence on his life.

At the top of the steps, she turned to him,
her eyes bright. “When did you organize all of this?”

“In Johannesburg, when I booked our flights.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Listen to me, Cle. I didn’t do
this in arrogance, assuming that you’d simply say yes and just go
along with everything. I did it with a wish, daring to hope that my
dream could be possible, that you could agree. But if you don’t, I
don’t want you to feel obliged because I jumped the gun,
understood?”

He let go of her hand, resting his on the
doorknob, but Clelia said, “Wait.”

He looked at her questioningly. She pulled
her hand from his to walk to a small window on the side. He watched
her peer inside, his heart in his throat. When she looked back at
him, her eyes were filled with something he hoped was wonder.
Josselin couldn’t be sure. Those pools of black he loved so much
were big and round, shiny with tears. Unable to speak, he simply
stared at her, waiting for her to make the next move.

“I want to give you an answer before you open
the door,” she said.

Her words almost made him choke. How would he
be able to bear her rejection if she said no?

“I want to marry you, Josselin. Now.”

He couldn’t help himself. He jumped forward
and hugged her to him, folding his arms around her. Relief washed
through him as he cuddled the small body that he wanted to protect,
to hold, and to have forever. Holding her at arm’s length again, he
said, “Are you sure?”

When she smiled, the radiance of the gesture
filled his heart. “Take me inside.”

He didn’t hesitate. He opened the door for
her, and selfless as she was, she didn’t stop to think about more
appropriate attire, or guests. He, on the contrary, was a selfish
bastard, but this was a moment that he couldn’t share. She could
have a celebration later. Anything she wanted. But this moment was
theirs. He noticed her pleasure when she looked at the candles lit
down the row that divided the seven aisles, their light soft enough
not to drown the brilliant white of the roses that stood on the
stone pillars between them.

The appreciation he saw on her face made
every secret arrangement worth the effort. He wanted their union to
be symbolic, exclusive, but he also wanted to make it beautiful for
her, to fill her mind with precious memories. The priest nodded at
them, looking mighty relieved, not that Josselin could blame him
for fearing the gamble wouldn’t work. The old man glanced at this
watch, but Josselin was not to be hurried. Not tonight.

To the side was a room that had been used for
mothers with small children to sit comfortably during mass when the
chapel was still in use, and inside hung the dress he had ordered
for her. He urged her forward with a kiss on her hand, but remained
in the door.

“I thought you would want to look like a
bride,” he said. “I know it’s something you would want to do
yourself, to choose your own wedding gown, and I promise you’ll
have that too.”

She turned to look at the white wool dress
that hung on a hook on the wall. It was made from the softest of
cashmere, pure white. He had chosen it with the weather in mind,
but knew that the knitted fit would hug her figure and make her
look alluring, like an angel.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

She kissed him softly and he let the kiss
linger. He pulled away from her with much effort.

“Do you need help changing?” he said.

“Josselin, I’m not a child.”

Her voice held a light reprimand, but he
loved the way her cheeks flushed. Smiling, he left her in the room
to change, softly closing the door behind him. For every agonizing
minute he had to wait, he focused on the future they would share.
He tried not to think about the danger awaiting his bride.

* * * *

Clelia undressed and slipped the simple dress
over her head. It seemed appropriate. She didn’t want a big wedding
or a large reception. What she wanted was right outside. There was
a box with a pair of white satin shoes and a single white rose that
she held in her hand. Glancing in a swivel mirror, no doubt placed
there courtesy of Josselin’s attentiveness, she hoped that she
looked like a bride deserving of her groom.

Opening the door, she waited at the top of
the aisle for Josselin to notice her. He was turned to a window,
looking into the dark night, his hand balled into a fist and the
knuckles pressed against his mouth. His back was straight, but his
shoulders hunched forward. She knew that stance. Josselin was
tense. She could only guess what he was worrying himself about. It
had to revolve around Lupien, and their safety.

He moved then, as if he sensed her presence,
turning slowly to face her. When he did, everything vanished from
his face, except for the tenderness she recognized as he smiled at
her, the rare gesture promising more than the words they were going
to speak in a few minutes. He extended his hand in silent
invitation and she didn’t hesitate to walk forward to place her
palm in his. He folded his fingers around hers firmly and kissed
her tenderly on her cheek.

“You look like an angel, little witch,” he
whispered in her ear.

Suddenly, she felt very nervous. As if
sensing her emotion, he rubbed her arms gently while his smile
turned reassuring. “Ready?” he said softly.

She nodded. She had always been ready for
this. The thought hit her with an overwhelming certainty, making
her suddenly feel emotional.

Josselin kissed her long and tenderly, only
releasing her when she heard the priest clear his throat.

“I love you Clelia d’Ambois,” he said, taking
her arm.

She smiled at him. “I love you, Josselin de
Arradon.”

Together they faced the priest who performed
an old ritual, binding them together as husband and wife, but in
her heart, Clelia knew she had always been Josselin’s, since long
before.