Page 28 of Spitfire

Something lifts behind the flames as I collapse to my knees, grasping my neck with distress, trying to get clean air. I can't take my eyes off of it. It's as if my brain knows that if I look away, something horrible will happen. A slender, pale arm forms, then a hand with misshapen fingers, and claws instead of nails. It seems to beckon to me, urging me to come closer, and despite my terror, my body is obeying, dragging itself across the floor as if I have no control. "You belong to the flames. You belong to the darkness. We've always kept you safe," a slithering whisper reaches me.

I'm almost there, close enough that I feel both the heat of the flames and the wetness of the blood. My own hand rises toward the shadow, and rivulets of blood run down from my fingers, now firmly holding a large dagger, as the red continues to streak my hand and arm. "No... I... don't know you. You're... you're wrong."

"Scarlett!" A harsh grasp on my shoulders breaks me from the spell, the shadow, flames, and blood instantly disappearing, and I'm confronted with Xavier's worried features. "Where'd you disappear to, pretty girl? I was worried?"

"What?!" Xavier releases me, and my gaze travels the restaurant, meeting the glances of patrons openly staring at me. Oh my fucking god, what just happened? I feel heat rising up the back of my neck and cascading across my cheeks. Did I space out again? Why the hell does this keep happening to me? Maybe Jasper is right, and this case is messing with me. There's no explanation for why I keep thinking of fire consuming me.

"I... I'm... so sorry, I guess... I spaced out thinking about what you said." Xavier regains his seat, but his expression doesn't change, and I notice his hands are clenched so tightly on the table top that his knuckles are white. Fuck, how embarrassing. No wonder this guy doesn't think I'm capable of catching a serial killer.

"I don't agree that we should be allowing Ashmaker to kill more men. There has to be a line between the monsters and us, Xavier, and I refuse to cross it, even if what he's doing rids the world of scum. They still need to be brought to justice, tried, and found guilty. That's how a civilized society behaves."

"Pity. I thought you were different, Scarlett." The disappointment on his face has my heart plummeting, and a sense of failure washing over me. "Do you have an answer for me, Scarlett? Will you take my offer for more information in exchange for one night, or will you hold to your moral high ground, and watch as more bodies drop?"

Fuck, what do I do now? I'm out of time, I'm no closer to figuring a way out of this, and I'm spiralling out of control. Everything in me that believes in the code I live by, in goodness, demands that I tell Xavier where to shove his inappropriate request, and haul his ass in for questioning, and for interfering with an FBI investigation. Yet, I know if I do that, he's right; more bodies will drop.

"One night?" I hear myself utter, as shock hits me like frigid water. I force myself to take a deep breath, my chest still feeling constricted. "One night, and you will tell me everything you know and suspect about Ashmaker, Xavier. You'll leave nothing out, or I won't play your games."

"You have my word, Scarlett." He instantly motions to the waiter and pulls out his wallet.

"Wait! Don't you want to finish your dinner?" I question with rising panic, as my hands go cold and clammy.

The corners of his lips rise in a devilish smirk, his glance meeting mine, and in his luminous eyes I see nothing but satisfaction that he's won. "No, Scarlett, what I'm ravenous for isn't on the menu. It's time we leave."

His words are not a question or a suggestion; they are a proclamation from an impatient conqueror. He won't risk me changing my mind, and he knows the longer we remain in this restaurant, the greater the chance I will. I watch, on the verge of my seat with panic and anxiety rising, as he pays the bill and stands, offering his pale hand to me. For a second, it reminds me so much of the image that it has me recoiling, like one does to a serpent. Is that what Xavier is in disguise, a poisonous snake, biding his time before striking? The thought causes a shot of adrenaline and fear to combine, and hit me like a lightning bolt. Yet, it's not only fear I'm feeling, it's excitement at the unknown.

I rise to my heeled feet and take his hand without hesitation. "My place, beautiful. I need to see all that dark hair and creamy skin against my sheets." He leads me out of the restaurant. At the last minute, I glance back toward our table, a feeling that I'm forgetting something settling within me. Xavier brings my hand to his lips, kissing my palm before biting down on the side of the soft flesh, and licking away the slight sting.

I lose track of my thoughts as my core clenches tightly, and I stifle my surprised gasp. I try to yank my hand back, but he holds it firmly in his grasp, as if he fears that at any moment I might run from him. "Xavier!" I admonish, but his bright smile takes some of the sting from my tone.

"I knew you'd taste delicious. You're about to be the best meal I've ever had, Scarlett."

Jesus fuck, I hope he doesn't mean that literally, and I haven't agreed to be a psycho's dinner. I should have told someone what was happening, and where I'm going, so that if I disappear, they know who to look for. Who would you tell? You have no family or friends? My mind snides.

Jasper.

I should have told Jasper, because he wouldn't rest until he found me. I shut down the thought. I can't have that type of relationship with Jasper or anyone. Something is happening to me, something I don't understand and can't control, and as this investigation drags on, and more men die, I seem to be getting worse. No, I need to do this, not only to catch Ashmaker, but to understand why he and his crimes are affecting me like this.

"If something happens to me, Xavier, the FBI will hunt you fucking down without mercy."

He stops mid-stride, pinning me against a dark parked vehicle, his fingers splaying against my neck in a promise of more, and my breath hitches as I stare at the heat in his eyes. "I promise my little Spitfire, nothing will happen to you, not pain or pleasure, without you begging me for it."

His term of endearment both surprises me and provides a hit of pleasure. He leans forward, trailing his nose against my jaw and inhaling my scent, before grazing his teeth against my sensitive skin. "You will beg me, Scarlett, I'm making it my mission to hear you scream my name in ecstasy."

Well, fuck, when he says it like that, what am I waiting for?

TWENTY-TWO

SCARLETT

He opens the large metal warehouse door, and waits for me to take a step inside the dark, cavernous space. Cool air immediately hits my exposed skin, and a chill settles in, but it's not just on the surface, it's bone-deep. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I don't even know this man. It's on the tip of my tongue to demand that he return me to the restaurant, or anywhere else but here, for that matter, but I also don't want to be in another confined space with him. The drive over was intense. We were both lost in our thoughts, and a thick silence filled the enclosed space.

He brushes past me, his body pressing against my back, and causing a shiver to slide down my spine with his proximity, as he reaches for something on the nearest wall, and suddenly the darkened space is flooded with light. My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline at the large warehouse space that's been converted into a masculine, minimally decorated loft space before me.

Aged, rustic, red brick covers most of the walls, which are devoid of any artwork. The ceiling is a patchwork of dark, metal beams and concrete, and in contrast, the floors are a rich, dark, amber-scraped wood that looks original to the space. He has only a few pieces of furniture I can see. A large, cognac leather sofa sits in the middle of the space on a charcoal rug that looks like it would be soft to the touch, and a reclaimed-wood coffee table, that must once have been a massive electric wire spool, is placed in front of it, with neatly stacked books and a laptop on its surface. To the side, there's a small kitchen with an island and dark wood stools, all done in matte black and chrome, with Edison-style light bulbs hanging above it. In fact, they seem to be spaced out, hanging from the ceiling throughout the loft. The space should feel sparse and empty, yet it doesn't. Instead, it's elegant.

I take a few steps farther into the area, my heels clicking loudly on the floor, noting the large windows covered with thick, chocolate velvet panels that hang from the ceiling to the floor. There's a chrome and glass bar cart to the side with an assortment of bottles, and my nerves are begging for a drink to steady myself, and keep from running for the hills. Two dark, metal doors grab my attention, both of them closed. Xavier must notice the direction of my gaze, because he clears his throat, the sound startling me and making me jump. "Bathroom and the only bedroom. This building was once a fabric cutting warehouse."

He moves past me, dragging his hand through his pale hair and ruffling it, and heads for the bar cart. "Drink, Scarlett? You look like you need one."