Page 8 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)

Two weeks have passed since Jettson’s arrival into our lives. Fourteen days of absolute fucking torture. I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I certainly can’t fucking concentrate on anything but the thought of Jettson.

Never mind the fact that I’m still hearing sounds at night. Whispers that seem to haunt my sleep and make me question my sanity and reality during the day.

Even that is paling in comparison to the way Jettson consumes me.

I’m not even sure why I’m so enthralled by him. I hardly know the man. Still…

There’s something about his quiet, guarded demeanor that’s pulling me in.

What’s worse is that I’m relatively certain Luke is getting tired of my constant daydreaming. That is a surefire sign of trouble on the horizon. One that spells absolute disaster for me in so many different ways. Ways I’m long accustomed to by now.

This morning, I woke up early like I always do.

I took my morning walk and listened to my favorite podcast, loving all the new spooky supernatural things that Ashley had to share.

For the first time in several days, I was able to quiet my mind and forget about the strange things happening in the house and a certain carpenter.

When I returned home, Luke was up and sitting at the table like a petulant child, asking about breakfast. He couldn’t have been bothered to pour a bowl of cereal for fucks sake.

No, he all but demanded I fix his favorite ham and cheese omelet.

As I’m working on the omelet, he comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He squeezes my stomach and nuzzles into my neck before whispering, “I’m so happy you’re taking your weight-loss goal seriously. ”

The words are like a slap, and my face instantly drops. Why wouldn’t he go there? He’s been adding fuel to the fire left and right lately. It's like he's pushing every boundary and testing to see how much farther he can take it. Insufferable .

“Of course, dear. I’m beginning to enjoy the walks… and the morning quiet, too,” I say after a pause, voice lilting with practiced sweetness as I adjust my stance to flip the omelet, its surface already kissed with golden brown.

Luke releases me, seemingly satisfied, and sits at the kitchen table. After finishing the omelet, I take the meal to him and place it before him. “Can I get you anything else?” I ask, only to realize he doesn’t have something to drink.

“A drink would be nice, or is that not obvious ?”

Cringing, I quickly go to the fridge, grabbing the jug of orange juice on the top shelf.

The damn glasses are still high in the cabinet, even though I asked Luke to move them down to the middle shelf yesterday.

I turn, thinking of asking for his help, only to see him staring at me with contempt blazing in his eyes.

“Can you seriously not reach that? Jesus Christ, Averie.”

He shoves me out of the way, knocking me into the kitchen counter. A hiss escapes my lips before the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. My short stature proves to be even more problematic—back connecting with the edge of the counter, sending a surge of panic rushing through my body. Curse him !

Luke doesn’t bother to glance in my direction.

He leaves me to work through the panic, a tidal wave of fear clawing its way up my throat.

My body shakes violently, my arms clasped around my middle tightly as I fight the feelings raging inside me.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, my lungs expand, and I suck in a sharp breath.

I suck in another, then another, and before I know it, the fog is lifting from my brain.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Jettson will be here again today. I have to run to the power plant and make a few calls at the office. Averie, keep your distance. I don’t know his crew, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, precious. ”

His words slice through the air, startling me from my overwhelming thoughts. Precious ? After the way he just acted, I don’t exactly feel precious. I straighten myself to my full height, refusing to let him see how his actions affect me any longer.

“Of course, I’ll probably set up the office today. I need to get some writing done anyway before I send this section off to the editor,” I say with a tight smile.

He nods, rising from the table. “I’ll see you tonight. Dinner will be at six, yes?”

I smile, nodding enthusiastically. He crosses the room and plants a kiss on my cheek. As he crosses the kitchen again, he stops by the wide arch, turning his head back to me. My heart drops to my stomach, and I know whatever is about to come out of his mouth will tick me off.

He looks me up and down, a slow, cruel smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. “Make sure you change. I love the sporty look, baby, but your boobs are on full display again. I don't want to have to repeat myself about what’s appropriate for the third time. ”

“Of course, honey,” I mutter.

His smile widens, and a sickening feeling churns in my gut.

Tonight will likely be one of those nights.

The type of nights where I force myself to stay still—to endure whatever terrible sexual fantasy he has in mind.

He strides toward the foyer, the jingling sound of his keys and the door closing behind him a welcome relief.

I grip the edge of the island counter, slowly breathing in and out, trying to find my center. A sense of unease snakes its way through my stomach, one that has hairs rising on the back of my neck.

I need to ground.

As the sounds of Luke’s car drift further away, I race to the room I’ve designated as my office. Flinging open the door, I scan the room until I find what I’m looking for. A small box sits in the corner, unassumingly named random book shit.

It’s anything but.

No, what hides in this box may send Luke over the edge. I’ve always been drawn to everything witchy. I used tarot cards and crystals to keep up with the more traditional pagan holidays, and I even once had an altar.

Now, most of this sits unused. Today feels different, and I feel a connection to the old me that I thought was dead and gone. Grabbing the scissors on my desk, I quickly cut through the tape, eager to look through it.

Opening this box feels like Yule morning, and I don’t fight the grin that creeps across my face. Three beautiful decks are set in the center, each unique yet part of a theme. Reaching my hands inside, I pull out my favorite.

The box depicts a woman in a billowing gray dress, her dark hair swirling around her, and shadows clouding the background. It’s her eyes, though, that drew me in. They are silver — piercing —and she holds a sword that seems to blaze with truth.

Snatching the deck, I rummage in my box for the amethyst, malachite, and rose quartz buried there.

When I find them, I do a little happy dance.

Setting my treasured items on my desk, I dig deeper into the box, seeing several of my candles.

I grab a black one to release negativity and banish it from our home.

The other candle is white, representing cleansing and new beginnings.

Scooping up all my ritual items and grabbing one of my thicker blankets, I make my way to the front of the house and head straight for the water. The gentle waves are lapping at the shoreline, and the earthy scent of the lake fills my senses, instantly grounding me in the moment.

I pick a spot far enough back that the water won’t catch my blanket, but close enough that I can really appreciate the view. There’s no one around. It’s quiet, blissful, only the sounds of the waves lapping along the shoreline.

I guess that’s the beauty of having private property. Slipping my shoes and socks off and pulling the bottoms of my leggings up, I take off toward the lake's edge.

Every thought in my head disappears when my feet hit the water. All that’s left is me, the waves lapping at my feet, and the earth and musk in the air.

The wind whips through my hair, sending it flying all around me. If that isn’t confirmation for a cleansing, then I don’t know what it is. I’m unsure how long I stand here, watching the water move softly in the breeze.

My Scottish and Irish roots have always called me to bodies of water, and I find I practice the ways of my ancestors who followed the Celtic pagan traditions .

A Druid, I suppose, is a more appropriate term for what I am and how I practice magic. I’m not sure why the thoughts of my ancestors come unbidden or why I feel such an intense desire to light those candles.

I return to the blanket and get settled, reaching for my lighter and the needed items. I lift the black candle and call upon The Morrighan, asking her to aid me in banishing the darkness I feel seeping into my life.

With the flick of the lighter, I light the candle, setting it in the wet sand.

Next, I lift the white candle, asking her to help purify and protect my mind, soul, and body.

Once both candles are lit, I rummage around for my smudge stick, coming up short.

I could’ve sworn I grabbed it.

I check my jacket pocket and search through the blanket again, only to find it empty.

I sigh dramatically, blow out my candles, and throw on my shoes.

It’s a short hike back to the house, and my mind wanders.

I’m careful to watch my feet, clumsy as I am.

I can't afford to sprain an ankle while no one is around.

Idly, I pat my right pocket, a sense of dread sinking like lead in my stomach when I come up empty.

Panic rushes through me, and I check the pockets on my legs and jacket again, frantically searching for my phone.

“Shit!” I yelp, taking off in a dash toward the house.

Curse my memory. I left my cell phone in the kitchen, and I’m sure Luke has called a dozen times by now.