Adrien spears his hand through his mussed locks. “These past few days, I’ve been doing research on curses for the Fire piece. Adiaoul—or demon—made of fire is one way the dark magic protects the Quatrefoil. When I saw her shirt in flames, I was sure it was a trick.”
“This is so freaking insane!” Alma blurts out at Bastian’s admission. “Magic is real. Curses are real. And you’re the chosen ones! Wow.” Excitement supplants her shock.
Cadence grimaces while I sigh and drop the last of the sopped paper towels into the ice bucket. “Adrien, do you have a mop? We need to rinse your floor, or it’ll get sticky.”
“I’ll do it later. Don’t worry.” For the first time since the showdown, Adrien looks at Cadence, and she looks at him. “Cadence, I’m sorry. About what she said,” he adds through lips that are so tightly wedged together I’m surprised he can produce any words.
She gives him a half-hearted smile. “Don’t worry. I know it’s not true.”
The hell it isn’t. I see the way he looks at her. It’s the same way I do.
He tugs on the hem of his baby-blue vest, then readjusts his rolled shirtsleeves, as though to look like those nerdy teacher models on the covers of romance novels.
I ignore the pain sawing through my chest, through my arms, through my entire body.Cadence thinks you’re scum, Slate.And I am. But, contrary to what Rainier told her, I empty pockets not hearts, and I don’t bed the innocent. The women who end up wrapped in my sheets are just as heartless as I am—there for one reason. The same one as me. No-strings-attached gratification.
Cadence is different. She deserves better. Better than me.
Zero regrets, Slate.
But she also deserves better than Adrien.
I grab the bucket of soiled paper towels and dump everything in the garbage. And then I turn around, about to suggest walking the girls home, when my knuckles whiten around the metal bucket and the ring spits out so much red light, it actually tints the air around me.
Putain de bordel de merde.
The stone chimney breast, the mantel, even the hearth are expanding and retracting like the fireplace is . . . breathing. Tongues of fire lick the fire screen before writhing and pinwheeling, becoming one enormous sphere.
“Look out!” My arm cramps and cramps. I ball my fingers.
Bastian grabs Alma and ducks behind the couch while I chuck the bucket and crash into Cadence, knocking her to the floor just as the fireball streaks across the living room, its smoke and sparks inches from my back. I tense over Cadence, making sure every part of her body is securely tucked underneath me, her hip against my groin, her head in the crook of my neck.
Even though the Quatrefoil is back, I feel nothing but the press of her body against mine. I pick my head up to check on her. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed, and her glossy-red lips only inches from mine. Damn, even amidst all this chaos, the first thing I think is how much I want her.
“Slate, we need to get up.”
I really don’t want to. I’m going to bruise her hip by how much I don’t want to.
Her eyes narrow, her palms flatten against my black button-down and then she shoves me. “We need to help Adrien.”
Nostrils flaring, I rasp, “Fine. I’ll go. You stay down.”
“The hell I’m staying down.”
“Cadence . . .” I growl.
“Slate,” she growls right back, punching me with my own name.
I want to lick the sound from her lips, then make her scream it for a completely other reason.
Zero regrets, my ass.As soon as this is over, I’m taking back the reputation I allowed De Morel to tarnish and setting this girl straight. Cadence and I, we’re probably going to crash and burn like Adrien’s house, but I’d rather go up in flames with her than douse the hissing blaze.
36
Cadence
As I glower at Slate, a groan erupts from the kitchen where a fireball is ping-ponging against the painted blue cupboards and grid of windowpanes, whizzing around Adrien’s head like a livid, sizzling bat. The sheers ignite, and then the fireball shoots back across the living room, slams into his thick walnut dining table before ricocheting against the oil portrait of his mother.
As flames chew through the canvas, melting Camille’s face, I slam my gaze back on Adrien who stands in the middle of his narrow kitchen, unmoving and dazed.
