Fireborn

CHAPTER 2

The harsh sound of the alarm’s buzzer woke me just over six hours later. I opened a bleary eye and glared at the alarm balefully, but it didn’t take the hint and mute of its own accord. I slapped the stop button, then rolled onto my back with a groan. The already-tangled sheets twisted around me further, tugging free from the bed to expose my toes to the cool morning air.

But cold toes were the least of my worries, because my arm still hurt and I felt like shit. I had fallen into bed not long after two, but sleep had been elusive and my dreams were filled with blue eyes that were far too shadowed and filled with death. Death that would step my way if I wasn’t very careful.

Despite the warning the dreams had contained, the desire to find out what had happened to Sam rose like a ghost, insubstantial and fleeting. I shoved it back in its box. Dreams aside, I couldn’t afford any sort of curiosity about either him or the red cloaks. He’d made it abundantly clear what would happen if I did.

And why would I bother anyway? He’d told me long ago that he wanted me out of his life forever, and nothing I’d seen last night indicated he’d changed his mind. I was still a monster in his eyes, still someone he believed should be dead rather than living and breathing the same air as him.

I don’t know why I’d hoped for anything else.

I flung my good arm over my eyes, not ready to get up and face the world just yet. In the city streets far below our apartment, trams rattled and groaned, and the gentle hum of traffic mingled with the harsh cry of the gulls circling the nearby quay. A gentle breeze stirred past my toes, chilling them even further. Rory had obviously left the balcony doors open again.

I couldn’t hear him in the kitchen, though, and I should have, given he was on morning shift at the fire station.

I tugged the sheets away from my limbs and climbed out of bed. The cool air hit my skin like ice. I shivered and grabbed a dressing gown, pulling it on as I walked across the hall to Rory’s room. As I suspected, he was still asleep, sprawled naked and belly down on his bed, the blankets covering his butt and little else. But the air in his room held little of the chill that had greeted me, meaning he was in a deep enough sleep that caution had fallen by the wayside and instinct had taken over. He was radiating enough heat to warm not just his body, but the entire room.

“Hey!” I lightly kicked the foot hanging off the end of the bed. “Time to get ready for work.”

He didn’t respond, so I kicked the foot again. This time he muttered something I suspected wasn’t polite. I grinned and kicked him a little harder. He grunted, and this time the muttering was definitely a word. “Bitch,” to be precise.

“You’re on morning shift, remember, and your captain did warn you last week not to be late again.”

He rolled over onto his back, and the rest of the blankets slipped from the bed onto the floor. He worked out in the gym and ran around the nearby Tan Track—a 3.8-kilometer stone aggregate track around the beautiful Botanic Gardens—so he was slender but well toned, with long, lean legs, a flat stomach, broad shoulders, and well-defined arms.

And he was, I noticed with amusement, more than a little horny this morning.

I walked around the bed and flung open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, turning his red hair—which was a feature of all phoenixes—to copper and highlighting the dust and the mess. One thing Rory had never been was tidy.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his deep voice gravelly and harsh as he flung up an arm to shield his eyes. “That’s just cruel.”

“I thought you liked your job.”

“I do, but—”

“The only butt I want,” I said, unreasonably cheered by the fact that I wasn’t alone in feeling shitty, “is yours climbing out of that bed and into a shower pronto.”

A devilish light began to gleam in the warm amber depths of his eyes. “I’ve got a better idea.”

My grin grew, but before I could actually react, he lunged forward, grabbed my arm, and dragged me down onto the bed beside him. For good measure, he threw a leg over the top of mine to prevent me from escaping, though I hadn’t actually tried.

“How about you and I waste a little time and energy?” he murmured, as he tugged at the dressing gown’s sash.

“How about you try to keep this job a little longer than six months,” I said wryly, even as I gave in to temptation and let my fingers play over his well-defined arms. It would only encourage him, but the fires within hungered for closeness, warmth, and caring—no doubt to counter the cold darkness I’d faced last night.

“They won’t sack me.” His expression became distracted as the sash came undone. “I’m too good a fireman, and they know it.”

He slipped a hand underneath the silky material and traced a line along the length of my hip with one heated finger, skimming the scars as tenderly as the rest of me. My breathing hitched a little and the pulse of excitement grew. But as much as I wanted to give in, I didn’t. Not only because he actually liked this job, but because he also liked the people he worked with, and it was the first time in the four years since Jody—his human fiancée—died that he’d actually cared about anything or anyone beyond those in our immediate circle. Despite his current nonchalance, I knew it would hit him hard if he was fired.

So I ignored those deliciously trailing fingertips and slapped his arm. “Enough. Go take a shower. A very cold shower.”

His gaze rose to mine, and a reluctant grin stretched his kissable lips. “You, my darling girl, are going to be the death of me.”

“Actually,” I said primly, “I believe I already have been. Two lifetimes ago, in fact.”

“Three,” he muttered; then, with a groan, he released me and climbed off the bed. “Fair warning, sweet Emberly. I intend to pick up where I left off once I get home tonight.”

“And I shall be naked and waiting.” I watched him walk into his en suite. Rory and I had been friends and lovers ever since we’d been teenagers, which was so many centuries ago now I could barely even remember them. He was my life partner, the spirit I was fated to be with forever, and the only man I could ever have children with. But we were not, and never had been, in love.

It was said that at the very beginning of time, a phoenix spurned the affections of a witch after taking her virginity. In her anger and shame, she cursed us with the inability to love one another, forcing us to forever seek—but never find—emotional completion outside our own race, thus ensuring that we would forever be left with little more than love’s bitter ashes, as she had been. I’m not sure I believed the whole witch-curse thing, but it certainly held more than a few grains of truth when it came to phoenixes and love.

As the shower came on, I bounced out of Rory’s bed and headed into the kitchen to make us both breakfast. He walked in ten minutes later, dropped a kiss on the back of my neck, then swept up one of the plates of pancakes and headed for the table.

“So, did you manage to save your soul last night?”

I glanced at him sharply, and he gave me a lopsided smile. “If I can’t read the signs by now, Em, something is seriously wrong. So who was it this time?”

Sam’s warning shot through my thoughts as I picked up the two steaming mugs and the other plate of pancakes and joined Rory at the table. “No one important. And yes, I did.”

His expression indicated he didn’t believe the lie, but he let it slide, asking instead, “What’s on your agenda for today, then?”

“I don’t exactly know.” I pushed one of the mugs across to him. “Mark mentioned something about discovering a critical amino acid in the molecules he was studying yesterday, so I daresay he’ll be in the lab all day and I’ll be transcribing his notes all night.”

“Ah, the exciting life of a research assistant,” he said, voice dry.

I resisted the urge to point out I wasn’t actually a research assistant, even if that was what they’d classified me as. Mark hated interference of any kind, even if it came in the form of help to set up and monitor experiments. After he’d gone through more than a dozen qualified assistants in less than two months, the powers that be at the Chase Medical Research Institute had given up and resorted to employing what amounted to a secretary. Meaning I transcribed his notes and generally ran around after him but otherwise didn’t interfere in whatever it was he was doing.

And Rory was right—it wasn’t exciting. But I’d done the whole exciting bit the last time around. Right now, all I wanted was something easy.

Besides, this lifetime was supposedly his turn to do the dangerous stuff, not mine. Not that that had ever stopped me from getting into trouble in previous lifetimes.

“You’ve never done well coping with a staid and boring life,” he added, obviously guessing my thoughts. “And I’m betting you won’t last much longer working for that crazy old man.”

“They’re paying me damn good money to run after that crazy old man, and that makes up for the boring. Besides, for an old guy, he’s not bad scenery—he has nice legs and an eminently watchable ass.”

“So have you,” he said dryly. “He made a play for it yet?”

I snorted softly. “He’s old, remember? Besides, I seriously doubt he notices anything not connected to his microscope or his books. Not everyone in this world is as randy as you.”

“That he’s in his sixties doesn’t make him dead from the waist down—a fact we’ve both proven over our many years together.” He glanced at his watch, then gulped down his coffee and pushed away from the table. “Five minutes to go. I’d better run.”

So had I. If I didn’t hurry, I’d miss the train. Mark was a man who meticulously planned every minute of his day, and my being late would not only upset his timetable, but turn him into an unreasonable grump for the rest of the day. Although his somewhat unpredictable temper wasn’t the only reason I was getting higher pay; he believed I should be available to work whenever he wanted me, be that day or night.

Rory kissed my cheek, then headed for the door. Twenty minutes later I ran out of the building and headed for the train. I squeezed out at Footscray Station, then walked down to Byron Street and the big white building that housed the Chase Medical Research Institute.

Ian Grant—the day shift security guard, and a bear of a man with a close-cropped head of gray hair and very little in the way of untattooed skin—gave me a wide grin of greeting as I entered the foyer.

“Hey, Em,” he said, “Lady Harriet’s office has been trying to contact you for the last twenty minutes. You got your phone off again?”

Harriet Chase had founded the institute some fifty years ago, and it was still one of the biggest privately funded organizations for biological and medical research in Victoria. The old dear was also something of an elitist, hence the not-so-affectionate moniker.

But I had no idea why the hell her office would be chasing me.

I dug my phone out of my purse and, sure enough, there were seven missed calls. I glanced up at Ian. “I gather she’s been on the phone to you?”

“Well, it was Abby rather than herself, but she wanted me to get you on the phone the minute you walked in.”

Abby was Harriet’s overworked but not underpaid assistant. Ian duly picked up the phone and called her, and I suddenly wondered if I was about to get sacked. I couldn’t think of any other reason for Lady Harriet’s office to be ringing me, especially given she or her staff rarely spoke to anyone less worthy than the heads of the vari- ous research departments. Although the security guards did at least get a smile of greeting every morning, which was more than could be said for the rest of us.

“Abby, I have Emberly Pearson here for you.” He paused for a moment, then handed the phone across to me. I cleared my throat and said, “Sorry about the missed calls, Abby, but I was on the train and didn’t hear—”

“Never mind that now,” Abby said, her voice sounding more than a little harassed. Lady Harriet had obviously been in one of her moods this morning. “You need to get over to Professor Baltimore’s place. He’s due to make a presentation to some investors in half an hour, and he hasn’t arrived and he’s not answering his phone.”

I frowned. It wasn’t like Mark to be late, so something had obviously gone wrong. But why was I being asked to fetch him? Granted, I was the one being paid danger money to be his beck-and-call girl, but if this was so urgent, why not send someone else? It wasn’t like this place was lacking in research assistants. I said as much to Abby.

“We did send someone else,” she said, “but he’s not answering the door. You’re keyed into his security system, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then go,” she cut in. “Make sure you get him back here fast.”

She hung up before I could reply. I handed the phone back to Ian. “Well, there goes my peaceful morning.”

Ian grinned, his teeth spectacularly white against the inked darkness of his cheeks. “I’d run.”

I did. Thankfully, like many of the senior staff at the institute, Mark lived nearby. It saved time traveling back and forth and allowed them to work longer hours. Nothing like being addicted to your job—which was something I could never claim. Hell, I couldn’t even claim that I’d liked many of the things I’d done over the centuries Rory and I had been alive.

Mark’s brown brick building came into view. It was a squat, three-story building with vinyl windows that were double-glazed and butt-ugly. They’d been the rage about fifty years ago, and I could only thank the designer gods that the damn things had finally gone out of fashion.

A man with burnished auburn hair and the most amazing pair of emerald-green eyes I’d ever seen exited the building as I approached and, with a wide smile, he held the door open.

“Thanks,” I said, even as my steps slowed and my nostrils flared. The heat radiating off him was incredible, and it was all I could do to resist the desire to siphon it away. He had to be a fire Fae. No other nonhuman had that sort of heat signature.

From what I knew of the Fae, there were four groups, with each group controlling one of nature’s fundamental building blocks—earth, wind, fire, and water. This man, as a fire Fae, couldn’t actually create fire, but he could shape and control it. All Fae tended to be loners, preferring the solitude of empty countryside to the concrete jungles of this world, and each of them also had a need to be near their element regularly or they would fade away, becoming little more than a sigh on the wind.

While Fae were loners at heart, they were also sensualists, existing to experience sensations both within and without their elements. Fire Fae, in particular, reputedly delighted in introducing innocents to the more seductive pleasures of this world, which was maybe why this Fae was here in Melbourne. In a city as big as this, there was a greater chance of finding innocence.

Deep in his bright eyes, recognition flared, along with curiosity. He might not know exactly what I was, but he sure as hell recognized another being of fire.

“Do you come here often?” His voice was gravelly, sexy as hell, and sounded as if it was coming from somewhere near the vicinity of his rather large boots.

If there was one thing about the Fae that most literature over the years had gotten very wrong, it was their stature. They were neither small nor winged, and the only ones that were ethereal in any way were the air Fae.

I smiled. “A couple of times a week, at least.”

“Then with any sort of luck, we’ll meet again, when I’m not in so much of a hurry.” With that, he gave me a nod and walked away.

The urge to chase after him rose, but I resisted the temptation and ran up the stairs to Mark’s apartment on the third floor. The hallway was shadowed and cold, the small, ugly windows down the far end doing little to let much heat or light in. Mark’s apartment was the second on the left. I leaned on the doorbell and listened to it chime inside. I waited a few minutes, then, when there was no response, flipped up the cover protecting the security system. After I keyed in the code, it scanned my eyes, and the red light switched to green. As security measures went, they were pretty over-the-top, but the institute had insisted on them after the homes of several other professors had been burgled.

The door slid open with a soft whoosh. I took three steps inside and stopped, my eyes widening in surprise. The place was a mess. In fact, mess was putting it mildly. The room looked as if it had been turned upside down and given several violent shakes. Furniture was dragged away from walls or upturned, books were scattered all over the carpet, and his precious research papers had been flung everywhere.

What the hell had happened?

“Professor?” I stepped over loose paperwork and around fallen furniture and made my way to the bedroom. The door was closed. I hesitated, then pulled a tissue out of my handbag and used it to turn the door handle to cut any risk of adding my own prints to whatever prints might be there.

“Professor?” I repeated. “You in here?”

Still no answer. I opened the door and warily peeked around the corner. The mess in this room was a mirror of the first; the sheets and blankets were torn from the bed, the mattress flung against one wall, the dresser drawers half-out and their contents strewn across the floor. Someone really had done a number on this place, but where the hell was Mark?

My gaze went to the small en-suite bathroom and I swallowed heavily. But just because it was closed didn’t mean he was dead inside—and even if he was, it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a corpse before.

I forced my feet forward, stepping carefully across the mess, and repeated the tissue process with the en-suite door. The destruction was repeated even here, but Mark wasn’t inside.

Relief slithered through me. I swung around, my gaze sweeping the room. Whoever was responsible for this had obviously been looking for something, but what? It wasn’t like Mark had a whole lot. He lived and breathed his work, and his apartment held little more than basic facilities and his mountains of leather-bound books. He had money—and plenty of it—but you wouldn’t think it looking at either this place or the man himself.

I moved back out into the living area and across to the kitchen. Same result—utter mess and no Mark.

Where the hell was he?

“Emberly?” His voice rose out of the silence behind me. I swung to see him enter the apartment and stop, his brown eyes going wide. “What the hell has been going on?”

His gaze came to mine, his expression almost accusing. I grimaced. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Professor. Ms. Chase sent me over here to find you, as you have a meeting with investors in”—I paused and glanced at my watch—“just over twenty minutes.”

“I know. The damn batteries in my watch stopped and I didn’t realize the time. I just came back to get my presentation notes.” Meaning he’d been breakfasting at the local café again. He raked a hand through his wiry gray hair and added, “Guess there’s no use looking now. I’ll have to wing it.”

He looked so out of sorts I felt sorry for him. “Do you want me to stay and attempt to clean up? And call the police?”

“That would be extraordinary if you could.” He gave the mess a somewhat despairing look. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

I smiled. I was used to mess, having shared my many lives with Rory. But for someone as meticulous as Mark, this had to be a harrowing sight. “It’s no problem. Just make sure you clear it with Ms. Chase.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Emberly. This is very much appreciated.”

I shrugged. He gave the mess around me another sweeping, somewhat despairing look, then muttered something under his breath and walked out.

I closed the door, then called the cops and basically did nothing until they arrived. Abby rang to confirm that she’d clocked me in and all I had to do was come back to clock out whatever time I finished. The cops took some pics and my statement, then dusted a couple of items and basically left me to it. They weren’t expecting any evidence to lead them to the culprit and neither was I.

By the time five p.m. rolled around, the place was more or less respectable, and the only item I could see missing was his desktop computer. Interestingly, they hadn’t found his laptop—it was still safe in its hidden compartment in the desk. I had no idea whether all his paperwork was present, but I left it stacked in piles for him to go through at his leisure. After washing my hands, I picked up my jacket and returned to work.

I found Mark back in the lab. He looked up somewhat distractedly as I entered the secure, sterile environment and blinked a little before recognition surged.

“Emberly,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I had completely forgotten about you and the apartment.”

“No problem.” I said it wryly, having figured as much. “I tidied everything up as best I could, and I think the only material thing missing is your desktop computer.”

“What about the laptop?”

“Still safe in its hidey-hole.”

He sighed. “That’s all right, then.”

I nodded. Not only was most of his important work typed up by me on that laptop, but it was also the computer he used to shift his reports to his cloud service—a procedure only he and I knew about. The desktop was little more than a ruse in the event of a robbery. Or a ransacking, in this case.

“I’m about to go home,” I said. “Do you need anything else before I do?”

He reached for the five notebooks teetering on the edge of the table. “I wrote up my notes for both yesterday and today.” He glanced at me over the top of his glasses. “You do still have the secure laptop at your place, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need these transcribed overnight.”

Of course he did. I guess it was lucky I had nothing more than a leisurely loving session with Rory planned.

Once I’d stripped off all the protective gear and signed out, I headed home. Rory sent me a text saying he was doing an extra couple of hours and wouldn’t be home until nine, so after a shower, I re-dressed in sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, then pulled out my laptop and started on the notebooks.

By the time nine rolled around, I’d transcribed four of the five notebooks. I saved them onto a USB—Mark’s need to be extra careful was somewhat catching—then bounced up and shoved it into the planter box filled with plastic flowers for safekeeping. Once I’d started dinner, I poured myself some red wine and wandered out onto the balcony. A helicopter clattered past, searchlights sweeping the buildings opposite. Light briefly glinted off a round object in a window one up and one across from our apartment, and I snorted softly. The old fart in 61B was obviously using his telescope again, hoping to catch me naked. Of course, it didn’t help matters that I did periodically walk around sans clothes, but I figured the more he was watching me, the less he was watching other unsuspecting women. And it was certainly no skin off my nose if he got his jollies that way—although that didn’t mean I hadn’t had him checked out to make sure he wasn’t anything more than a harmless old man who enjoyed spying.

I finished my wine, went back inside to see how the roast chicken and potatoes were going, and then somewhat reluctantly sat down to transcribe the final notebook. Rory rolled in just as I rose to check our dinner. “Hey,” I said, grabbing a pair of tongs so I could turn the potatoes. “You’re late.”

“Not only late,” he said, dumping his bag on the table before coming up behind me. He slid his hands under my T-shirt and snuggled close. His fingers were hot against my belly, his erection like steel against my rear. “But terribly disappointed.”

“Oh yeah?” I nudged him away with an elbow, then put the chicken back into the oven. “Why’s that?”

“Because you promised to be naked and waiting.” He pressed close again and kissed the back of my neck. My skin tingled in response, and desire unfurled within me. “This, clearly, is not the case.”

I smiled and drew in the scent of him. He smelled of smoke and flame—aromas that were both delicious and intoxicating to spirits made of fire. “Nakedness happened at six. You’re the one who decided he needed to work overtime.”

“It got me back into the boss’s good books, and that was worth the extra hours of frustration.”

His fingers moved down my belly and played with the elastic in my sweats. Anticipation curled through me, and my breathing quickened. “Meaning you worked all day with that rod out the front of you? Bet that caused some ribbing from the rest of the guys.”

He laughed softly. His hands slipped past the elastic, then around to my hips, his fingertips barely brushing soft curls along the way. Pleasure trembled through me.

“Well, the frustration wasn’t that bad, although we did put out a big warehouse fire.” His voice became dreamy. “You should have seen it, Em. Fierce, orange-white flames leaping for the sky. It was beautiful, truly beautiful.”

He brushed kisses along the nape of my neck again, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. “I hope you were careful when you drew them in, Rory.”

His hands slid out of my sweats. Disappointment swirled, but only for a moment, because his touch slid under my T-shirt and up toward my breasts. “I was. And, god, it felt glorious.”

Fire to a phoenix was like chocolate to most women. Totally unnecessary as a fuel source, but sinfully pleasurable all the same. It was a wonder he was controlling himself this well. Had our positions been reversed, I probably would have had my wicked way with him right here in the kitchen, the consequences be damned.

His hands reached my breasts and cupped the weight of them. His skin was so hot it might as well have been flames holding me. It felt good, so good.

I licked my lips, then reached back with one hand, sliding it between us until I found the zipper in his jeans. As his clever fingers began to gently pinch and pull my nipples, I slid the zipper down. He wasn’t wearing underpants—he rarely did when he was this horny—and his cock came free, thick and hard and pulsing with need. I played my fingers along the length of it, and he groaned.

“Not like this,” he murmured, even as his body instinctively pressed harder against mine. “I want the real thing, Em. Flame, not flesh.”

And with that, he pulled away, caught my hand in his, and tugged me after him. We all but ran to the apartment’s third bedroom, only there was no bed in this room. There was, in fact, no furniture at all. Just four thick, fireproof walls and a bare concrete floor that had been treated with fire retardant.

I kicked the door shut behind us, but the utter blackness of the room didn’t hold sway for long. Anticipation danced from his skin, tiny fireflies that spun brightly through the room.

He stopped, then caught my other hand, his amber eyes glowing with heat as he raised my fingers and kissed them gently. “Flame for me,” he said. “Please.”

I smiled and let the heat rise. Fire erupted between our joined hands, primal and hot. He threw back his head, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in the fierceness of it. His skin began to glow and the heat of it rolled over me, a siren song that was so sweet, so enticing.

“More,” he whispered.

I allowed the flames to grow, let the molten fingers reach for the ceiling. He gasped, shuddering, and the delicious waves of heat and desire became more intense, fueling the urge to fully become flame rather than flesh. But not yet. Not just yet.

“Rory,” I said, needing more than just the caress of heat and desire.

He responded instantly and erupted into flame. It tore through my body, enticing my own fires to life with such force that it was hard to tell where his flame ended and mine began. This was no caress, no tease. This was a firestorm that ripped through every muscle, every cell, breaking them down and tearing them apart, until our flesh no longer existed and we were nothing but fire.

He was fierce and bright in the darkness, a being that radiated strength and passion and caring. All I could think about, all I wanted, was his heat and energy in and around me. We began to dance, entwine, wrapping the fiery threads of our beings around each other, tighter and tighter, intensifying the pleasure even as it rejuvenated and fed our souls. Soon there was no separation—no him, no me, just the sum of both of us, and oh, it felt glorious.

But this wasn’t just sex for us—this was something a whole lot more vital. Phoenix pairs needed to regularly merge flames, or face diminishing—in some cases, even death. And this was the reason so many of our relationships had turned to ashes. No matter how much we might love someone else, we could never remain faithful to them. Not if we wanted to live.

The dance went on, burning ever brighter, ever tighter, until it felt as if the threads of our beings would surely snap and implode.

Then everything did, and I fell into a storm of feverish, unimaginable bliss.

I’m not entirely sure when I came back to flesh, but it was to the awareness of a distant but determined pager buzzing away madly. I swore softly, but didn’t move. In the aftermath of such an intense joining, my legs usually refused to support me. Professor Baltimore could wait for a change.

After several moments the page stopped. I stared into the darkness, listening to Rory’s breathing, feeling good and happy and whole.

And yet . . .

And yet, as good as it was between us, I always wanted more. I wanted what Rory and I had and an emotional connection. But that wasn’t my lot. Not in this lifetime. Not in any future lifetimes. The best I could ever hope for was a man who was willing to share—and men who understood the necessity of my being with Rory were few and far between.

Sam’s image rose like a ghost to taunt me. Sam certainly hadn’t been one of those few. He’d been furious when he’d found out about Rory’s presence in my life—furious and betrayed, and justifiably so in many respects. I’d tried to explain what I was and why Rory was so necessary to me, but Sam had refused to listen.

I sighed and rubbed a hand across my eyes. After all this time, you’d think I’d be used to the pain of disappointment. But it never got any easier.

Ever.

Rory eventually rolled onto his side and dropped a kiss on my lips, soft and lingering. “I hope that page wasn’t urgent.”

I took a deep, shuddery breath that did little to ease my aching heart. “Knowing Mark, he probably just wants coffee.”

“Then I better let you go. I know what it’s like to suffer caffeine withdrawal.” A grin I felt rather than saw teased his lips. “It’s almost as bad as sex withdrawal.”

“Which is not something you suffer very often.” Amused, I pushed upright, then walked into the living room and grabbed my handbag, rummaging through it until I found the pager. There was no message, but the little light on the side of the small screen was flashing, which usually meant he wanted to see me but was too busy to tell me why.

I threw the pager back into my bag, then headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. Urgent or not, I wasn’t about to head to work smelling of smoke and fire.

“The chicken should be done in another twenty minutes,” I said, walking back into the kitchen once I was dressed. “Don’t wait up for me—I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

He nodded, then wrapped his arms around me and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Catch a taxi. Public transport sucks at this hour.”

I relaxed against him for a moment, but as the air began to burn all around us again, I pulled away, grabbed my bag and coat, then got the hell out of there before desire got the better of common sense.

I arrived at the institute about twenty minutes later. Lights shone from various windows, including the one Mark usually operated from. I swept my ID card through the slot, then walked across the foyer to the security desk. The guard, a thin man in his mid-forties, watched me impassively from under heavily set brows.

“May I help you?”

I grabbed the sign-in book and nearby pen. “Is Professor Baltimore working in his usual lab tonight? He paged me about half an hour ago.”

The guard—Ryan Jenkins, according to his name tag—frowned. “I think the professor left about two hours ago.” He paused and checked the other book. “Yep. You can see his signature right there.”

He swung it around, then pointed at the appropriate spot. Sure enough, the professor had signed out at 8:52.

I grimaced. Not only had he called me from home, but he’d left the lights on in the lab again. Lady Harriet would not be amused—although she’d hardly say anything to him because he was her top scientist. It would come down to me instead. “Could you arrange for someone to go into his lab and turn the lights off? Her ladyship’s got a bee in her bonnet about saving energy of late.”

The guard smiled, and it oddly reminded me of a crocodile. All teeth, no sincerity. “Sure will. You need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

I turned and walked out. I could feel the guard’s gaze on me the entire time and, for some weird reason, it had chills skating down my spine.

I jogged down the street to Mark’s place. From the various apartments on the first two levels came the sounds and smells of life—voices, music, late-night pizza, and even a baby crying. The third floor, however, was shadowed and silent.

I paused, the unease that had lingered after the guard’s attention suddenly flaring again. There was only one other tenant on this floor besides Mark, and he was a man in his mid-twenties who was probably out partying, given it was a Friday night. The old woman who’d lived in one of the other apartments had died last week, and the remaining apartment still hadn’t been rented out. So it wasn’t surprising the floor was hushed.

And yet something felt wrong.

Wrong is better than boring, that inner voice whispered. I flexed my fingers, then walked forward. When I reached his door, I pressed the buzzer. It rang inside, echoing softly. He didn’t answer, and there was no other sound to indicate whether he was there or not.

If he was asleep, I would resort to violence.

I stepped across to the security panel, entered the code, and had my iris scanned. The door opened. It was dark inside. Real dark. He must have drawn the curtains; otherwise the glow of the streetlights would be filtering in.

I swept my hand across the light switch. Light flared, the sudden harshness making me blink.

And I saw him.

Professor Mark Baltimore wasn’t asleep.

He was dead.