Fire Kissed Read Online Free

intervention. But then, that’s a fire mage for you.
    The second photo was recent, taken at the Las Vegas Wake Hotel. Ms. Brand had a drink in hand, a man’s mouth at her neck while she laughed. Jack had to admit that The Order’s physicians had worked a miracle on her face. The intervention was against protocol, but every angel had been of the same mind on this point: Michael Thomas, angel and good friend, had died in the cellar of Brand House the same night of Ms. Brand’s attack. His last request, sent telepathically and suddenly after a silence of some weeks, was to save the girl if possible.
    Brand House had gone up in flames, taking eleven lives with it—six of which were representatives of mage families, including Ms. Brand’s father; four were human, the house staff; and one was angelic. According to her feverish babble, the violence had erupted because she’d refused to marry Ferrol Grey. Smart girl.
    Ms. Brand would have died in the woods some thirty yards from the house. Should have died, if not for Michael and the sentimentality of his brother and sister angels.
    Jack flicked the screen to page through the file. Angels served humanity, not magekind.
    And yet, Michael had thought she was worth it, but then he’d always stretched the rules where children were concerned, apparently even mage children.
    Foolish: A scorpion could not stop being a scorpion. Eventually she would sting.
    The girl was healed, though she never knew the nature of her benefactors. Of Michael, she professed to know nothing. She was released and, in due course, as expected, grew to live by her whims, her desires, her lusts.
    And this was the woman to whom the angels now looked for aid?
     
     
    Kaye swayed to standing. She realized she’d had too much to drink as she watched the conference door lever turn but managed to still the careening room with a hand to the table. She smoothed the creases in the lap of her slim skirt and did a quick upward tug of her dipping neckline. This was not that kind of peep show, though her father still would have called her a whore for selling her fire.
    A man entered, presumably her client, Hobbs. At least she thought that was his name. He was fiftyish, fit. He’d buzzed his balding head instead of trying to grow hair artificially, which she respected. Impeccable suit. Hard, assessing eyes. So what if his gaze lingered on her scars? Everyone’s did.
    The door shut with a loud, positive snap that assaulted her sensitive eardrums.
    “Mr. Hobbs.” She held out her hand for a shake, made him come to her. That last drink was hitting her a little hard for her to move much herself.
    Mr. Hobbs went with a double-hand grasp. The hand trap. “And what may I call you?”
    Kaye had to pull to extricate herself. “Merry.” Because that’s what she was. Happy to be there. Delighted to provide this most valuable service. Overjoyed to take his money.
    She gestured to the conference table. “If you’ll just have a seat.” She sure wanted hers.
    The table was wide, made of some beautiful deep wood. It glowed from the shifting lights off the Vegas strip, the horrible glare buffered by the concealing tint of the hotel windows. Black leather chairs with trim lines circled the table. The walls were textured, a neutral flax, easy on her mind. No city sounds penetrated the space, another relief.
    After Hobbs had relaxed into one of the chairs, she took hers, keeping the table between them. That way, she was close enough to reach, yet had a barrier in case he became difficult. They always became difficult.
    “So this is how it works—” she began.
    He held up a hand to quiet her.
    Kaye forced a smile, blinked hard to concentrate. After all, it was his fifty grand, briefly hers, then on to the hotel to pay her debts. Her keep didn’t come cheap. “Yes?”
    “I would like to make you a supplementary offer.”
    Kaye curled her toes in her shoes but kept an outward calm. They always tried, though usually after the