Read Online Bound by Flame by Anna Windsor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Windsor
Ads: Link
clothes. Oh, yeah, they’d get some crap over that one, even if they did make it to report on time.
And she still didn’t want to leave.
She knew it was time to go. They did have work to do. But leaving the brownstone dragged at her. She felt rooted to the place where she stood. Stuck.
It’s time to go.
Her hands and fingers caught fire. She raised them and stared at the flames, pulling the fire energy back inside her one inch at a time until the outbreak waned.
The brownstone, like that long-ago Irish village and her blood family, like that judgmental mean-ass nun—what was her name? Sister Julia—was her past now.
Cynda knew she needed to surrender this home, let it fade from her heart, even though she had spent a few blissful days here, recovering from her battle wounds. Even though she’d just had the best kisses of her life in the living room.
No problem. I can do this.
No flames. No sparks. Not even a teensy bit of smoke.
I can handle this.
But she had trouble giving the brownstone one last look.
A lump rose in her throat, and she didn’t bother trying to make it go away.
“It’s only change,” she said out loud, to whatever powers and forces in the universe might be listening. “I didn’t have to leave this home because I did something wrong. Nothing’s ended, nothing’s lost. This is a new chapter in the life of Cynda Flynn.”
Part of her right tunic sleeve smoldered and started to melt. She swore and tore it off, then stamped it out beside the table.
It would leave a black mark on Riana’s new carpet, to go with the black marks all across Riana’s bedroom wall downstairs.
Those black marks would say, Cynda was here.
Cynda whispered, “And don’t you forget it.”
Then, before she could cry or set fire to anything else, Cynda collected her Celtic broadsword from the stairwell closet and made her exit from the brownstone.
4
Nick stared at the road as he guided the Jeep down the FDR Drive toward East Thirteenth, in Manhattan’s East Village. It was hard, keeping his mind where it needed to be, with Cynda in the vehicle.
With Cynda anywhere near him.
Had been since the day he met her, but now it was worse.
An announcer on the radio talked about the record amount of precipitation New York City was experiencing. Nick edged through the light snow and stop-and-go early-morning traffic, and squinted into the gray winter daylight. Cynda’s soft smell of vanilla and cinnamon kept distracting him from his view of the East River, but he didn’t mind.
Sonofabitch.
Was that why Creed hadn’t worked to change the brownstone into more of a guy space? Did his twin actually enjoy the feel and smell of his new wife lingering around every corner?
Wife. Shit.
Like I’d ever let a woman risk being that close to me.
His gaze drifted from cabs to buses and back to Cynda.
She was so beautiful with her wild red hair and burned-up tunic and jeans. She didn’t give a damn about all the burn holes. Just took them in stride. Being a fire Sibyl probably made her accept more than a lot of people.
Like me?
Crazy-assed thought.
He needed to take her to bed. Yesterday. But screwing was screwing. Sex didn’t have to mean relationships and futures and weddings. Besides, women who stayed too close to him for too long tended to end up dead. He didn’t need that kind of entanglement, and he didn’t think Cynda wanted it, either.
Except, he did want to kiss her again. Now. He wanted to pull the Jeep over, grab her, and look into those green eyes. He’d had his share of women, but no question Cynda put them all to shame.
All that spark. All that fire.
“Max Moses lives here?” Cynda asked as Nick pulled into a parking space near the Jacob Riis Houses and flipped his police placard onto the dashboard. “They’ve been fixing these places up, haven’t they?”
“Much as they can. Max’s mother lives in that building.” He pointed.
Cynda shot Nick an uncomfortable frown.
And she still didn’t want to leave.
She knew it was time to go. They did have work to do. But leaving the brownstone dragged at her. She felt rooted to the place where she stood. Stuck.
It’s time to go.
Her hands and fingers caught fire. She raised them and stared at the flames, pulling the fire energy back inside her one inch at a time until the outbreak waned.
The brownstone, like that long-ago Irish village and her blood family, like that judgmental mean-ass nun—what was her name? Sister Julia—was her past now.
Cynda knew she needed to surrender this home, let it fade from her heart, even though she had spent a few blissful days here, recovering from her battle wounds. Even though she’d just had the best kisses of her life in the living room.
No problem. I can do this.
No flames. No sparks. Not even a teensy bit of smoke.
I can handle this.
But she had trouble giving the brownstone one last look.
A lump rose in her throat, and she didn’t bother trying to make it go away.
“It’s only change,” she said out loud, to whatever powers and forces in the universe might be listening. “I didn’t have to leave this home because I did something wrong. Nothing’s ended, nothing’s lost. This is a new chapter in the life of Cynda Flynn.”
Part of her right tunic sleeve smoldered and started to melt. She swore and tore it off, then stamped it out beside the table.
It would leave a black mark on Riana’s new carpet, to go with the black marks all across Riana’s bedroom wall downstairs.
Those black marks would say, Cynda was here.
Cynda whispered, “And don’t you forget it.”
Then, before she could cry or set fire to anything else, Cynda collected her Celtic broadsword from the stairwell closet and made her exit from the brownstone.
4
Nick stared at the road as he guided the Jeep down the FDR Drive toward East Thirteenth, in Manhattan’s East Village. It was hard, keeping his mind where it needed to be, with Cynda in the vehicle.
With Cynda anywhere near him.
Had been since the day he met her, but now it was worse.
An announcer on the radio talked about the record amount of precipitation New York City was experiencing. Nick edged through the light snow and stop-and-go early-morning traffic, and squinted into the gray winter daylight. Cynda’s soft smell of vanilla and cinnamon kept distracting him from his view of the East River, but he didn’t mind.
Sonofabitch.
Was that why Creed hadn’t worked to change the brownstone into more of a guy space? Did his twin actually enjoy the feel and smell of his new wife lingering around every corner?
Wife. Shit.
Like I’d ever let a woman risk being that close to me.
His gaze drifted from cabs to buses and back to Cynda.
She was so beautiful with her wild red hair and burned-up tunic and jeans. She didn’t give a damn about all the burn holes. Just took them in stride. Being a fire Sibyl probably made her accept more than a lot of people.
Like me?
Crazy-assed thought.
He needed to take her to bed. Yesterday. But screwing was screwing. Sex didn’t have to mean relationships and futures and weddings. Besides, women who stayed too close to him for too long tended to end up dead. He didn’t need that kind of entanglement, and he didn’t think Cynda wanted it, either.
Except, he did want to kiss her again. Now. He wanted to pull the Jeep over, grab her, and look into those green eyes. He’d had his share of women, but no question Cynda put them all to shame.
All that spark. All that fire.
“Max Moses lives here?” Cynda asked as Nick pulled into a parking space near the Jacob Riis Houses and flipped his police placard onto the dashboard. “They’ve been fixing these places up, haven’t they?”
“Much as they can. Max’s mother lives in that building.” He pointed.
Cynda shot Nick an uncomfortable frown.
Similar Books
