Circle Of Fire

Chapter Eleven

Maddie took a deep breath, then gathered her courage and walked across to the window. Pushing the curtains to one side, she looked out.

Jon was sprawled across the front of her truck. That must have been the crash she'd heard—but how the heck had he gotten there? He looked as if he'd been thrown there, and he certainly wasn't moving.

Her breath caught in her throat… was he hurt?

She ran for the door. He jerked upright when she rushed out, a smile touching his full lips.

"Maddie. Glad to see you."

There was a cut on his cheek. Though it didn't look deep, blood was smeared over the right side of his face. His speech was slurred, and his blue eyes were slightly unfocused. Great, she thought sourly, he's drunk. And he's dented my damn hood. She frowned and glanced upwards. To cause such a big dent, he'd have to have done a swan dive from above the car, but there was no overhanging veranda, nothing he could have leapt off. So how had he managed to land face first in the middle of her hood? Fly?

Her gaze widened at the thought. Ohmigod, he could fly. He had told her he was a shapeshifter. That his other shape was a hawk. She licked her lips, studying him nervously. She hadn't really believed him before. Something deep within had refused to, even though she'd been attacked by ghosts, whose existence she would have relegated to the realms of fairy tales right along with shapeshifters.

Her gaze slipped to the dent underneath him. If he could fly, you'd think he'd at least be able to land a little better.

She saw the old guy in the office peering out his window and offered Jon a hand. "Here, let me help you inside before we attract too much attention."

The last thing they needed right now was the old guy calling the cops.

He grabbed her hand and slipped off the hood, but his movements were unsteady, almost awkward. She frowned. Sweat beaded his forehead and darkened his golden hair, his breathing was shallow and rapid.

This had to be more than mere drunkenness—maybe he was ill. Worry snaked through her. Maybe she should just take him to the hospital instead.

She slipped his arm around his shoulders to hold him upright. His gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a warmth that cut through her soul. He touched her cheek, then ran a finger lightly down to her lips. She resisted the temptation to kiss his fingertips and jerked away instead. She had no intention of starting a fire she could not control.

His hand dropped back to his side. "We should get inside," he said shortly, looking away. "It's safer."

Safer from what? Eleanor? What had happened during their so-called date? Maddie frowned but helped him into the room. She sat him on the bed then went to lock the door.

His didn't say anything, but his gaze followed her as she walked across the room. Heat crept into her cheeks. She wet a cloth in the bathroom, then walked back to the bed. He hadn't moved. Was barely even blinking.

She frowned and carefully wiped the blood from his face. As she suspected, the cut wasn't deep. Had Eleanor attacked him with a knife? Or had something else happened… something in the heat of passion, perhaps? Maddie licked her lips. He was a shapeshifter, after all. Who knew what their mating habits were…

"Thank you," he said softly when she'd finished.

She nodded. Avoiding his gaze, she tossed the cloth into the bathroom and retreated to the middle of the room, as far away from the beds and any suggestion of intimacy as was practical.

"Did you find anything out about Evan? Or the cabin?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the back of the sofa, watching him warily.

"No."

His answer seemed edged with an incredible amount of anger. She frowned. "Why not? What happened?"

He rubbed a hand across his stubble-lined chin. Lines of weariness etched his face, and his smile held a slightly bitter edge. "Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing."

Again the anger was heavy in his voice. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. It almost sounded as if he was somehow blaming her for whatever it was that didn't happen.

"What do you mean?"

His gaze clashed with hers. His blue eyes were bright and fired with some emotion she couldn't define. "I mean I couldn't go through with my efforts to seduce her, damn it."

Relief and surprise rippled through her. She clenched her fists and looked away. While she was intensely glad he hadn't been able to go through with his seduction, she knew it was wrong to feel that way. She barely knew this man—why should she care if he slept with another woman, especially if it provided information to find Evan?

Besides, he'd already warned her not to expect anything more than a partnership from him. He was a loner. He wanted a woman to keep him company at night, nothing more.

And as much as she wanted Jon to hold her and kiss her and make love to her, she knew one night with him would never be enough. He'd shown her a tenderness, a caring that she'd never thought to see from a man. Because of that, she was beginning to realize she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone. She needed someone like Jon in her life. Only he'd already made it clear he wasn't available for anything more than friendship.

She returned her gaze to his. His arms were crossed, and his mouth was set into a grim line. She wondered why. "What went wrong?"

He grimaced. Annoyance ran across his face, thundercloud dark. "You."

"Me?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "How the hell did I stop you? I wasn't even there."

He ran a hand roughly through the sweat-darkened tangle of his hair "You were everywhere."

His words whispered through her heart. She looked away from the sudden intensity of his gaze. If she wasn't very careful, she could find herself believing that he actually cared for her.

Then she frowned. Something weird was going on here. He wouldn't willingly say something like that, not after warning her so often not to get involved. So why had he? And why was he answering every one of her questions? "Why are you acting so strangely?"

He grimaced. "Eleanor slipped me some sort of drug."

"Is it dangerous?" She quickly pushed away from the sofa. "Do you need a doctor?"

"I don't think so." Again his answer seemed reluctant. "It's just screwing up my ability to see and walk properly and making me tell you things you have no right to know. And it's really pissing me off, Maddie."

She tried to ignore the accusation in his eyes. Evan was her nephew. She had every right, and every intention, of finding out all she could about the woman who'd taken him. And about the man who was helping her find him.

"So how did you escape if the drug is affecting you so badly?"

His smile was grim. "Hit her before the drug took hold."

He hit her? Images of Brian flickered through her mind, and she closed her eyes against them. Jon was no Brian. He didn't hit women for pleasure, that much she was certain of.

Still… "Is she okay?"

"Of course she is. I just hit her once to knock her out." He frowned at her suddenly. "Why the hell should you care? The woman probably sent those sylphs to attack you, and she sure as hell tried to kill me with that white ash arrow. She probably would have finished the job tonight if I hadn't escaped."

"I know, it's just that I—" She hesitated and shook her head. What on Earth was she thinking? Jon had no need, and probably no desire, to learn about her violent history with Brian. "Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I'm sure. The effects aren't as strong as they were."

He was still watching her warily. She frowned, wondering why. Then it hit her. He'd taken a drug that was making him answer questions truthfully. A grin twitched her lips. That was a temptation almost too good to resist.

"Don't go there," he warned softly. "You may not like what you find."

She scowled at him. He sat in the middle of the bed, a golden man dressed in black, with a past just as dark. He was as much as an enigma to her now as when he'd first appeared in her bedroom. That wasn't likely to change unless she seized this moment and ran with it.

"Who do you work for, Jon?" she asked softly.

She saw the struggle in his eyes, could see his irritation in the sudden tension knotting the muscles in his arms. She knew it wasn't right, but what else could she do? Jon hadn't exactly been forthright with any sort of information—this might be her only chance to learn something about him.

"The Damask Circle." His answer was ground out between clenched teeth. He was fighting the drug in his system, fighting answering her questions.

I'm not being fair,she thought, but she had no intention of stopping now that she'd started. "And they are?"

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His gaze condemned her. "It's an organization of psychics, witches and paranormal creatures such as vampires and shapeshifters. We hunt down the bad things, the creatures that hide in shadows and kill."

His voice was flat and cold. She stared into his eyes and saw the horror lying there. Vampires and shapechangers and God knows what else were an everyday part of this man's life, and it scared the hell out of her. As did the knowledge that there was actually an organization out there to fight these things.

And to think she'd spent the last six years hiding from the world because she'd thought her firestarting abilities were a threat to everyone. What a joke that seemed now.

She rubbed her eyes wearily, then looked up again. Deep down in the blue depths of his eyes, past the shadows and the death, she saw the hint of despair and wondered at its reason. "Things like the people who took Evan?"

"Yes."

"And Eleanor is one of those things?"

"Yes."

Sweat beaded his forehead. How much of the truth drug had he ingested? How much time did she have before he came out of its influence? What would he do or say to her when he did? "What is Eleanor?"

"A shapeshifter, and old magic. Evil incarnate."

And she had Evan, for God only knows what purpose. "Old magic? What do you mean by that?"

His fist slammed down on the bed. "Damn it, Maddie, just stop. You're putting yourself in greater danger by asking all this."

She crossed her arms and ignored his warning. "Just answer the question."

He made a sound that was almost a growl. "It means she can control magic. The older the magic, the older, more powerful the person."

"And Eleanor is both?"

"Yes."

A chill ran down her back. She clenched her fingers to stop their sudden shaking. Eleanor didn't look any older than she was, so how could she hold the sort of power he appeared to be talking about? "She doesn't look to be either."

"No, she doesn't. And that makes her all the more dangerous, in my estimation." And damn you for continuing this, his eyes seemed to add.

She licked dry lips. "But what would someone like that want with the blood of teenagers?"

Several seconds ticked by before he answered. "Blood rituals create powerful magic. It has many uses."

Blood rituals. It's all too hard to believe… and yet, staring into his eyes, she saw only the bleakness of truth. He couldn't lie to her, as much as he wanted to. She shivered and half wished she hadn't begun this line of questioning. He was right. There were some things she was better off not knowing.

She rubbed her arms lightly. "What sort of uses?"

"It can be used to raise the dead, to extend life, to enhance the power of certain spells." His replies were becoming more abrupt, the time between her questions and his answers longer. Maybe the truth drug was starting to wear off.

She pulled her gaze away from his and studied the end of the bed. The tension level in the room seemed to leap several notches in the ensuing silence. She took a deep breath, then asked the one question that really mattered. "Why couldn't you seduce Eleanor?"

He didn't answer right away. The silence seemed to stretch, jarring against her nerves. A whisper of sound made her look up quickly—and far too late to back away.

He stopped inches away, blue eyes unreadable and yet somehow compelling. She swallowed heavily.

The heat of his body rolled over her, mixed with the rich scent of his after-shave. Warmth spread through her. He was close, so close that her breasts brushed against his chest and sent flames of desire shooting through her soul.

It was time to retreat, to stop asking questions and just move away from him, but she couldn't.

Something in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat and held her immobile.

"Tell me why," she repeated almost hoarsely.

And wondered if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.

"When I was doing this to Eleanor." He ran his knuckles down her cheek, his touch branding her skin even though it was butterfly light. "I wanted it to be you."

He cradled her chin with one hand and moved his head slowly towards hers. "And when I was doing this—" He brushed his lips over hers, then lifted his other hand to frame her face. "I wanted to be doing this to you."

His lips captured hers; his tongue parted them and gently explored her mouth.

Heat exploded deep in the pit of her stomach then burned through her veins, hot and swift. Dear God, it had been so long since she'd been held, been kissed, with any sort of warmth… and never in her life had she craved someone's touch as much as she now craved his. She moved into his kiss, deepening it, savoring the taste of his mouth as she molded her body against the heat of his.

His hand moved down her side and tugged up her shirt, then splayed against her lower back. He held her close, as if he never intended to let her go.

Heat and desire ran through her soul. She wanted this man to caress her, become one with her. Wanted him with such aching fierceness it was almost frightening. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tasting the salty sweetness of his neck, his ear.

"I need you," he whispered into her hair, his breath warm as it brushed along her neck.

His words jarred through her mind. Need, she thought with sudden clarity. Need was a long, long way from love. Oh God, I think I'm falling for this man, and he just doesn't care. It was a nightmare she'd sworn never again to relive.

She wedged her arms between them and pushed. His arms tightened around her, momentarily resisting, then he reluctantly let her go.

"I can't do this," she said softly. He was breathing just as hard she was, and he looked just as shocked by the sudden intensity of their kiss. "Though I won't deny I want to."

He took a deep breath, then ran a hand through his hair. He'd basically said the same thing to Eleanor less than an hour ago. And he didn't like having it flung back at him.

The red haze of desire still clung to her. Damn it, if she wanted him as much as he wanted her, what in hell was stopping them?

"This has not been my night," he muttered, then smiled wryly and stepped back. "But hey, you can't blame a guy for trying."

Anger and hurt spun through the swirl of her emotions and made him regret his words. But only for an instant. No matter how attracted he was to her, it could never amount to anything more than a fleeting moment or two of pleasure. It was too dangerous to want anything more.

She tore her gaze away and edged past him before retreating to the small table.

He sat back down on the bed. The farther away from her the better, he thought grimly. He was already aching with desire for her. The last thing he needed was to smell her perfume, the scent of her skin. To feel the close warmth of her body…

She cleared her throat, and he met her wary gaze. Her cheeks were still flushed, her mouth soft and inviting…

He smiled. One way or another, this was not going to be an easy night to get through. Particularly if the truth drug continued to linger in his system.

"You might not have had much luck finding Evan, but I did," she said quietly.

There was an endearing mix of wariness and pride in her expression. "Tell me how," he said. He knew she must have used her clairvoyant abilities, which was a big step for someone so afraid of her skills.

"I got tired of waiting," she said candidly, "and thought I'd try to find him."

He nodded. She met his gaze for a moment, then ran a trembling hand through the red gold tangle of her hair. Nerves, he thought, and wondered if it was her father who was responsible for making her so afraid of her gifts.

"He's in a place called Malkin Cabin. It's about fifteen miles from Jewell."

He didn't ask by which road, simply because she would have told him if she knew. It was a start, and certainly a whole lot more than he'd gotten. "Well done, Maddie."

A slight blush crept across her cheeks. She looked pleased and so very, very kissable. He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. It was well after midnight. "Why don't we turn in for the night, and get an early start tomorrow? With any sort of luck, we'll find them quickly and get you all out of here."

Her gaze skittered across the beds and evaded his all together. "Would you like a coffee or something first?"

She was avoiding going to bed, avoiding any appearance of intimacy. "I won't pounce on you," he said with a wry smile. He might want to, but he wouldn't. Self-control was one thing he'd learned all too well.

"I'm a fast learner. No woman has to reject me twice."

Heat stained her cheeks again, and a hint of annoyance flashed through her eyes. Then she rose and walked across to her bag.

He watched her until she shut the bathroom door, then stripped and got into bed. He turned off the light, listening to the night and the wind whistle through the trees outside the window. A soothing sound, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a bare ten feet away from a woman he wanted and couldn't have.

After a long delay, she came out and climbed into bed. He didn't look at her, didn't need to. The smell of roses surrounded him, and her emotions filled his mind with color. He couldn't block her out, even if he had wanted to.

He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. After a while, her breathing slowed, though something told him she wasn't asleep. He waited, wondering if she would ask the one question he feared.

"Jon?" she said softly into the silence.

"Hmmm?" This was it. And he had no choice but to answer her, whether or not he hurt her in the process.

"What do you really feel for me?"

I want you more than I've ever wanted a woman. I want you for more than just a night.But that was not the question she was asking.

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "I just don't know."

And that was what worried him the most.