Page 29 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)
The next day, I wake up early and jog the length of my driveway, trying to clear my head. My mysterious friend has chosen to meet us at the diner outside of town, which unnerves me for some reason. Maybe, I’m just ready to get this over with.
I can’t explain why I’m so antsy, but dread has expanded in my chest, making it hard to think clearly. Meditation isn’t working, so I run faster. I sprint up the lane until I’m panting and out of breath.
Still, I don’t stop.
I push myself harder, running faster than I’ve ever run before. My lungs are burning from the exertion, my legs quaking with every pounding step. Yet, I keep going. I don’t stop until I’m back in front of my house, and practically throw myself in the grass.
I’m heaving, my chest rising and falling as I suck in breath after breath. The sky is dark this morning, like a storm is about to hit. I lay there for a while, catching my breath and watching the clouds roll by. For a moment, everything is still.
My head isn’t raging with all the worried thoughts, and my heart isn’t clenching painfully. I can breathe freely and soak up every bit of the light I’m feeling. It’s like a cleansing has taken place, and truthfully? Maybe it has.
I shoot up a silent prayer of thanks to my ancestors, to the Morrighan, and to anyone else that might be listening. A breeze tickles my face, sending my hair flying and the grass swaying. It feels like a confirmation. Of what? I can’t be certain, but I’ll take it all the same.
With that thought in mind, I head back to the house and jump in the shower. I take my time, using the water to cleanse my mind, body, and soul. When I’m finished, I take it a step further, wrapping myself in a silk robe and head down the hall to my office.
When I enter the room, I move toward my altar, lighting the candles I’ve dedicated to the Morrighan.
Grabbing hold of my smudge stick, I light the end and waft the smoke in the air, waving the stick around myself.
I bring it back up my body, and over my head, flowing back down again.
I do this twice, then head out of the room and into the rest of the house.
I go from room to room, saging every corner with a single intention. Protection. My hands shake as I wander through the house, my body vibrating with energy when I reach the space upstairs. Stepping into the room that houses Luke’s nightmarish altar, I waft the stick in the air.
With every step I take, nausea churns in my gut.
It’s a violent reaction, hitting me in waves.
I feel like any minute I’m going to expel the contents of my stomach, and it almost has me running from the room.
I grit my teeth, push through the discomfort, and finish the job.
I bolt from the room and back down the steps when I'm done.
Feeling satisfied, I return to my office and place my smudge stick back in its appropriate spot. I grab some pillows off the bench, lay them on the floor before my altar, sit, and cross my legs.
Reaching for my deck, I take the cards in my hands and knock three times. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and begin shuffling the cards .
I’m unsure what answers I seek, but it’s not up to me; the cards pop out independently. They’re called jumper cards, and I believe my ancestors and spirit guides are responsible for sending the message I need to hear.
When I flip them over, I gasp, my hands sweating as I trace the edges of the cards.
The first card is the three of swords. A bleeding heart sits in the middle of the card with three swords pushed through it.
It’s gruesome and often symbolizes heartbreak and betrayal.
Fitting, considering my husband is cheating on me, and I’ve decided to leave him.
The next card is the two of swords, which means a decision needs to be made. A woman sits on a throne, her eyes blindfolded, holding two swords. There are two paths, two options, two destinies that have the potential to collide.
It’s the third and fourth cards that have me shaking.
The third card is the tower, which signifies that great change is coming.
On the card, a proud tower stands tall, but a lightning bolt strikes its center, sending pieces of stone flying.
It means that change is coming, whether I like it or not.
It might be good, bad, or even terrible, and I can do nothing to stop it.
When my eyes hit the fourth card, I suck in a sharp breath. Death. A skull sits in the middle of the card, swathed in shadows. A ruby and onyx-studded athame sticks out of the skull’s eye, its blade cutting through a rose that rests along the left side of the card.
This card doesn’t always have a bad meaning, as it can and often does represent transformation.
A shedding of old mindsets, cutting ties with things or people that are no longer for your highest good, or even a new spiritual awakening.
Though, on the flip side, and with all the other cards I pulled …
My hands shake as I put the cards back in the deck, knocking three more times to clear it. I rise from my seat and blow out the candles, then return the pillows on the floor to their rightful place.
I can’t seem to stop the thoughts whirring through my head. They’re consuming, and worry coils in my gut like a rubber band about to snap. There’s nothing to do but walk back down the hall and get dressed. Jettson will be here soon, and I don’t have time to spiral.
So, I shove the fucked up reading to the back of my mind, and throw a pair of baggy jeans on. I pair it with a black crop top, chunky gold hoops, several bangles, and then work on my hair.
When finished, I head toward the living room and wait for Jettson to arrive. I’m just getting seated on the couch when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” I holler. A nervous wave of butterflies attacks my stomach, my heart galloping in my chest.
“Good morning,” Jettson says as he steps into the room and sits across from me. “You wanted to see me?”
I bite my lower lip, nervously wringing my hands in my lap. “Yes, but I guess it would be easier if I showed you.” Sighing, I unlock my phone, sliding it across the coffee table to Jettson. “Look in the chat inbox and at the messages from an unknown number.”
My cheeks heat, and I know a blush is climbing up my neck. I have no idea how much Jettson knows already. I watch his face go from confused to shocked then finally… pissed. “Who sent these to you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, and Jettson swears. “They agreed to meet in a public setting today, at the diner just outside town.” His eyes are burning with rage, his jaw clenched as he shakes his head at me.
“You’re not going,” he says, giving me a look that could freeze hell. “That’s way too fucking dangerous, and you have no idea what you’re dealing with. ”
His words send a ripple of frustration through me, and I narrow my eyes at him. I’m tired of being told what to do.
Something snaps inside me, and the anger comes pouring out. “Jettson Noxwood, you’re not my husband, and you damn sure aren’t my father. He’s dead and buried six feet under, so I know you aren’t trying to tell me what to do. Because that would be a poor decision on your part.”
Jettson stops mid-sentence, his rebuttal dying on his lips.
There’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s fighting an internal battle.
He’s staring at me with such intensity that I’m convinced flames are licking at my insides.
His mouth parts, his eyes darkening with an unspoken promise.
Jettson’s knuckles are white, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch he’s sitting on.
His lips twitch, and I see it the minute the mask drops.
Hesitation gives way to confidence, desire, and longing.
It’s heady, intoxicating, and I want to drown in it.
A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he says, “Careful now.” His voice deepens, taking on a husky quality as he leans closer.
“Don’t be a brat, babe, it gets me excited.
And unless you want to get down on your knees and take my cock in your mouth as punishment, I suggest you lose the tone and let’s find a compromise. ”
I suck in a sharp breath, anger rushing through my body at his presumptive attitude. My mouth hangs open, and I stare at him with wide eyes. I can’t believe he just fucking said that. “What the fuck did you just say to me?!”
Jettson’s grin deepens, taking on a wickedly sinful quality. He moves from the couch, prowling toward me with predatory intent. I jump up, desperate to put some room between us, backing up until my back rests against the wall .
Lava pools in my belly, sending a delicious wave of heat straight through my entire body, lighting me up from head to toe.
He stalks toward me, surrounding me but not trapping me in place.
He stares into my eyes deeply, his face inches from mine, his palms resting on the wall beside my head.
“You heard me,” he whispers. “And I think you like my dirty mouth, but just won’t admit it.
Come on now, you know we’ve been dancing around this for a while, both of us pretending we don’t feel anything for the other.
” He leans in closer, his mouth parted, and my heart pounds in my chest.
He’s about to kiss me. I feel how he shifts, his hand moving slowly, cupping my face tenderly.
“You and I both know resisting is futile… I’ve been trying to stay away from you for fucking weeks…
And just look at how well that worked.” The words are hushed, his voice deepening to a low growl.
“That fucker really doesn’t deserve you. ”
Jettson’s thumb brushes against my cheek, sending a ripple of pleasure down my spine. His words have me wondering why I’m fucking fighting this pull between us? What’s stopping me from giving in to this feeling?