business feeling this way, no business kissing her—or even thinking about it—but everything about Vivien Cairn made him want to. The craving was a hot, primal need, coiling low in his gut. The attraction. The urge to keep her safe.
It was that damsel-in-distress thing again.
If he told himself that, maybe he'd believe it. Or not.
Because despite her shock, she wasn't acting the part of helpless maiden.
Vivien Cairn was tough. Whatever she thought of the things she'd just seen, her spirit was undaunted. He admired her for that.
So maybe that was the appeal.
He straightened, stepped back. Her eyes narrowed, and her sleek body tensed as she rallied, lunging for freedom with an angry cry.
He slammed the door, closing her in. "Stay put, Vivien. Stay safe. I'll be back."
The sound of her fists on the glass was a brief indicator of her displeasure. But she wasn't one to waste time on useless frustration. Instead, she turned her attention to trying all the doors and windows.
Dain shook his head. She wouldn't have any luck getting them open. He'd sealed them with magic to ensure she stayed inside—stayed safe—until he figured out the best course of action, because he couldn't be certain there were no other demons or hybrids in the vicinity, not with the damned demon bone in his pocket greasing everything with a dark smear.
Pacing away, he conjured his acacia staff and held it in an easy grip. He shot a quick look over his shoulder at the SUV The smoked-out windows blocked his view of her, but Dain knew she was in there. Freaking? Maybe. Fuming? Definitely.
He figured that if glares were bullets, Vivien Cairn would be shooting hollow-points.
There was a repeated clicking as Vivien methodically tried each door handle. Twice. She was a problem-solver, his Vivien.
The thought made him freeze.
She was not his Vivien.
His chest tightened. The heat and smoke from her burning house wafted over him, but he couldn't use that as an excuse for the choked feeling behind his sternum.
What the hell was this?
His heart, his emotions, were buried in the ground with his wife and baby daughter. For centuries, he had allowed himself no visceral connection, allowed for no other tragic mistakes. The only thing he let himself feel—deeply, richly, a powerful stimulant in his veins—was hatred of the goddamned demons.
He even held himself apart from his brothers in the Compact of Sorcerers. A wise tactic, it turned out; the Ancient had betrayed them, betrayed him .
The pain of that was still fresh enough to bleed.
But the worst of it was, the Ancient had been secretly laying the groundwork of his plot for decades, lured by the darkness over a span of a century, losing a bit more of himself each day until he was no longer the leader, the friend, Dain had known.
And Dain had failed to see it.
Just as he had failed centuries past to see the danger to Moria and Ciel.
Which meant he couldn't trust anyone. Not even himself.
Dain shook his head. He had lost his wife, his child, to the demons, and over the years, friends and comrades. Finally, he had lost his mentor, in effect, his father.
It was better not to care. Not to trust Not to feel.
A thud from inside the SUV grabbed his attention, and he glanced back. There was something about Vivien Cairn—some emotional draw he couldn't explain—that made him want to lower his barriers enough to hold her close, touch her, taste her.
Brand her as his.
He felt like he knew her, all the hidden depths of her. A primal connection.
How frigging messed up was that?
He'd known her for less than an hour. When exactly had she had enough time to become important to him?
A harsh bang rent the air as the fire blew out a window of the house. With a roar, red-orange flames soared through the shattered panes, brilliant tongues of light and heat. The power of it came at him like a blow.
He spun and scanned the perimeter, looking for Ciarran and Darqun. Time to get the hell out of here.
Vivien's
It was that damsel-in-distress thing again.
If he told himself that, maybe he'd believe it. Or not.
Because despite her shock, she wasn't acting the part of helpless maiden.
Vivien Cairn was tough. Whatever she thought of the things she'd just seen, her spirit was undaunted. He admired her for that.
So maybe that was the appeal.
He straightened, stepped back. Her eyes narrowed, and her sleek body tensed as she rallied, lunging for freedom with an angry cry.
He slammed the door, closing her in. "Stay put, Vivien. Stay safe. I'll be back."
The sound of her fists on the glass was a brief indicator of her displeasure. But she wasn't one to waste time on useless frustration. Instead, she turned her attention to trying all the doors and windows.
Dain shook his head. She wouldn't have any luck getting them open. He'd sealed them with magic to ensure she stayed inside—stayed safe—until he figured out the best course of action, because he couldn't be certain there were no other demons or hybrids in the vicinity, not with the damned demon bone in his pocket greasing everything with a dark smear.
Pacing away, he conjured his acacia staff and held it in an easy grip. He shot a quick look over his shoulder at the SUV The smoked-out windows blocked his view of her, but Dain knew she was in there. Freaking? Maybe. Fuming? Definitely.
He figured that if glares were bullets, Vivien Cairn would be shooting hollow-points.
There was a repeated clicking as Vivien methodically tried each door handle. Twice. She was a problem-solver, his Vivien.
The thought made him freeze.
She was not his Vivien.
His chest tightened. The heat and smoke from her burning house wafted over him, but he couldn't use that as an excuse for the choked feeling behind his sternum.
What the hell was this?
His heart, his emotions, were buried in the ground with his wife and baby daughter. For centuries, he had allowed himself no visceral connection, allowed for no other tragic mistakes. The only thing he let himself feel—deeply, richly, a powerful stimulant in his veins—was hatred of the goddamned demons.
He even held himself apart from his brothers in the Compact of Sorcerers. A wise tactic, it turned out; the Ancient had betrayed them, betrayed him .
The pain of that was still fresh enough to bleed.
But the worst of it was, the Ancient had been secretly laying the groundwork of his plot for decades, lured by the darkness over a span of a century, losing a bit more of himself each day until he was no longer the leader, the friend, Dain had known.
And Dain had failed to see it.
Just as he had failed centuries past to see the danger to Moria and Ciel.
Which meant he couldn't trust anyone. Not even himself.
Dain shook his head. He had lost his wife, his child, to the demons, and over the years, friends and comrades. Finally, he had lost his mentor, in effect, his father.
It was better not to care. Not to trust Not to feel.
A thud from inside the SUV grabbed his attention, and he glanced back. There was something about Vivien Cairn—some emotional draw he couldn't explain—that made him want to lower his barriers enough to hold her close, touch her, taste her.
Brand her as his.
He felt like he knew her, all the hidden depths of her. A primal connection.
How frigging messed up was that?
He'd known her for less than an hour. When exactly had she had enough time to become important to him?
A harsh bang rent the air as the fire blew out a window of the house. With a roar, red-orange flames soared through the shattered panes, brilliant tongues of light and heat. The power of it came at him like a blow.
He spun and scanned the perimeter, looking for Ciarran and Darqun. Time to get the hell out of here.
Vivien's
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