Read Online Pyromancist by Charmaine Pauls - Free Book Online Page B

Clelia.
    “Boss said on the double,” Maya said, giving
him a questioning look.
    He nodded. “Take her to base and don’t let
anyone near her until I arrive.”
    Maya already had her hand on Clelia’s arm.
“We’ve made arrangements for ground transport when you land on the
island. You better go by helicopter. It’ll be quicker.”
    Josselin nodded again. He looked at Clelia’s
wet hair and legs, her injured knees, the cuts and bruises on her
hands, droplets of water still running from her thin jacket and
pooling by her small, red boots.
    “Make sure she gets dry,” he said, surprising
himself more than Maya, who stared at him with unconcealed
astonishment.
    With another quick glance at Clelia, he
turned and pressed on the link in his ear to cut off the noise from
the blades.
    “Don’t kill the engine, Bono. We’re up again.
Île de la Jument,” he said.
    “Got it, Joss,” Bono said, his voice happy.
Bono was always happy, but never as happy as when he could fly.
“Got the blades rolling. This baby’s spinning and ready for
you.”
    * * * *
    When she saw the dream unfold in front of
her, Clelia’s first sentiment was relief. Josselin was unharmed.
After that, panic hit. She could have made a run for the forest,
but then the journalist appeared in the path and a black vehicle
pulled up in the road. Both her escape routes were blocked. Defeat.
She was trapped. It wasn’t as painful as the defeat she felt when
the beautiful woman stepped from the vehicle. This had to be the
woman Josselin brought home.
    For the month that the dream tortured her,
she willed herself to see the end of the scene, the outcome, but it
never transpired. How could she have been so foolish? What she saw
for the end was only the beginning. It had only just started. The
fear of the realization froze her. As in the dream, she couldn’t
move.
    It hurt so bad that he didn’t remember their
kiss. He only recalled her as a child, nicknamed a witch, and he
called her the daughter of a fisherman to remind her of the
difference in cast–he from royalty, she from nothing. To add insult
to injury, she was being kept captive by Josselin’s woman.
    The house they were keeping her in was close
to the harbor. She still didn’t know the woman’s name, but the
other man in the house was called Lann. He had greeted them by the
door. He was very tall and of slender but muscular build, with
long, straight blond hair and yellow cat-like eyes. With his
slightly elongated ears, he looked like an elf. While everything
about his appearance seemed gentle, Clelia wasn’t deceived by his
good looks. He wore a midnight blue dress shirt and black tailored
slacks. His shoes were polished shiny. The nails on his long,
supple fingers were neatly trimmed and filed, and he wore a gold
thumb ring on his right hand and a pinky ring with a ruby on his
left. He spoke English with a heavy Russian accent, asking if
Clelia wanted a cup of tea, which she declined, before he busied
himself with a kettle and a mug while the woman handed her a
towel.
    Clelia removed her wet jacket and bundled it
into her backpack. Clutching the towel to her chest, she sat down
in the chair by the kitchen table as they had told her to. She was
desperate to come up with a plan of escape.
    The woman turned to her now, her head
slightly tilted as she scrutinized Clelia. Her skin was a beautiful
brown–a smooth, spotless cappuccino that made a striking backdrop
for her green eyes. She had high cheekbones and a prominent nose.
Her lips were lush, painted a dark shade of red, the same color as
her long fingernails. Her dreadlocks fell over her shoulders down
her back. A red tank top and stretch pants showed off her perfect
curves and full breasts, eliciting Clelia’s envy. Around her neck,
she wore a huge, purple pendant–maybe an amethyst–and she had the
same stone in a pear cut on her index finger.
    “I’m Maya,” she said, her tone unfriendly.
“You’re Erwan’s granddaughter.”
    It