Kiss of Fire Read Online Free Page A
Author: Deborah Cooke
convenient for you?â
They were closer to Maynard, but Sara didnât like how dark and quiet it tended to be. She wasnât going to jump from the frying pan to the fire. âState Street,â she said, gesturing to the other, more distant, exit.
He indicated for her to precede him, a gentlemanly gesture that might have been intended to put her at ease.
Instead, it made Sara nervous. She didnât like her pervasive sense that she was safe.
It was illogical, after all, to trust a stranger.
Even if she sensed that she should.
Sara walked to the end of the arcade as fast as she could, feeling his presence behind her. Her own footsteps echoed, the heels of her sandals clicking so loudly that she couldnât hear his steps at all. She was hot and tingly, as if sparks were dancing over her flesh, and she was pretty sure it wasnât just adrenaline.
Would he want something from her? Her name? Her number? A championâs kiss?
Sara stepped out of the arcade and took a deep breath in relief. The streetlights gleamed brightly. There were students in the Diag and a few more on the street. The all-night coffee shop was busy and two couples were coming out of the Mexican restaurant at the end of the block. The organizers for the art show were chatting as they chalked booth lines on the sidewalk and road in preparation for the show the next day. One glanced up and smiled at her.
It was like another world. It was hot enough for the sidewalk to melt, because evening hadnât brought much relief from the heat wave. But still, this was all familiar.
And safe.
Sara was safe. Her knees weakened.
She turned to thank her savior for intervening, but there was no sign of him.
Where could he have gone so quickly? Sara looked down the street. She peered into the arcade. She even looked up into the glass ceiling covering the arcade.
He was gone. He might have vanished into thin air.
But he had been there. He had helped her. Sara knew she hadnât been hallucinating.
Well, except for the dragon bit. There was a bit of blood on the floor of the arcade, which convinced her that she hadnât completely lost her mind.
That was when Sara realized that the golden glimmer that had been in front of her shop was gone, too.
Had she imagined that? Or had it rolled out of sight?
Sara wasnât going back to check.
It was time to go home. She gripped her book and her purse, stepped out to the curb, and hailed a cab.
One thing was for sure: herbal tea wasnât going to settle her nerves on this night. Sheâd pour herself a single malt Scotch, from the bottle sheâd gotten from her parentsâ home. Sheâd salute the man who had helped her and the one who had taught her not to give up without a fight.
Then sheâd savor every drop.
Even if she choked on it.
If nothing else, the Scotch would help her sleep.
Quinn was too old to believe in coincidence.
It wasnât an accident that he had met his destined mate right when someone had tried to kill her. He had no doubt that the assailant was a Slayer , and not a random thug.
His mate needed his protection.
Since she didnât yet know that they were destined lovers, he didnât want to frighten her. He would protect her without her being aware of what he did.
Quinn followed the cab that she had taken, moving like a shadow on the side streets. He didnât have to keep her in sight, not now that he had caught her scent. He was aware of her presence, as long as she was within his proximity. He let his intuition guide him and caught up when she was stepping out of the taxi on a quiet street in the west end.
He lingered in the shadows of a hedge, remaining so still that he didnât attract mortal attention. She looked tired and a little jangled, and he wished he could have anticipated the attack before it happened.
She had fought back, though. He liked that tenacity.
She might need it before the firestorm had passed.
She pushed
They were closer to Maynard, but Sara didnât like how dark and quiet it tended to be. She wasnât going to jump from the frying pan to the fire. âState Street,â she said, gesturing to the other, more distant, exit.
He indicated for her to precede him, a gentlemanly gesture that might have been intended to put her at ease.
Instead, it made Sara nervous. She didnât like her pervasive sense that she was safe.
It was illogical, after all, to trust a stranger.
Even if she sensed that she should.
Sara walked to the end of the arcade as fast as she could, feeling his presence behind her. Her own footsteps echoed, the heels of her sandals clicking so loudly that she couldnât hear his steps at all. She was hot and tingly, as if sparks were dancing over her flesh, and she was pretty sure it wasnât just adrenaline.
Would he want something from her? Her name? Her number? A championâs kiss?
Sara stepped out of the arcade and took a deep breath in relief. The streetlights gleamed brightly. There were students in the Diag and a few more on the street. The all-night coffee shop was busy and two couples were coming out of the Mexican restaurant at the end of the block. The organizers for the art show were chatting as they chalked booth lines on the sidewalk and road in preparation for the show the next day. One glanced up and smiled at her.
It was like another world. It was hot enough for the sidewalk to melt, because evening hadnât brought much relief from the heat wave. But still, this was all familiar.
And safe.
Sara was safe. Her knees weakened.
She turned to thank her savior for intervening, but there was no sign of him.
Where could he have gone so quickly? Sara looked down the street. She peered into the arcade. She even looked up into the glass ceiling covering the arcade.
He was gone. He might have vanished into thin air.
But he had been there. He had helped her. Sara knew she hadnât been hallucinating.
Well, except for the dragon bit. There was a bit of blood on the floor of the arcade, which convinced her that she hadnât completely lost her mind.
That was when Sara realized that the golden glimmer that had been in front of her shop was gone, too.
Had she imagined that? Or had it rolled out of sight?
Sara wasnât going back to check.
It was time to go home. She gripped her book and her purse, stepped out to the curb, and hailed a cab.
One thing was for sure: herbal tea wasnât going to settle her nerves on this night. Sheâd pour herself a single malt Scotch, from the bottle sheâd gotten from her parentsâ home. Sheâd salute the man who had helped her and the one who had taught her not to give up without a fight.
Then sheâd savor every drop.
Even if she choked on it.
If nothing else, the Scotch would help her sleep.
Quinn was too old to believe in coincidence.
It wasnât an accident that he had met his destined mate right when someone had tried to kill her. He had no doubt that the assailant was a Slayer , and not a random thug.
His mate needed his protection.
Since she didnât yet know that they were destined lovers, he didnât want to frighten her. He would protect her without her being aware of what he did.
Quinn followed the cab that she had taken, moving like a shadow on the side streets. He didnât have to keep her in sight, not now that he had caught her scent. He was aware of her presence, as long as she was within his proximity. He let his intuition guide him and caught up when she was stepping out of the taxi on a quiet street in the west end.
He lingered in the shadows of a hedge, remaining so still that he didnât attract mortal attention. She looked tired and a little jangled, and he wished he could have anticipated the attack before it happened.
She had fought back, though. He liked that tenacity.
She might need it before the firestorm had passed.
She pushed
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