Page 101 of Dark Flame

By the time I turn onto Morgan’s road, the sun has finished setting and a blur streaks toward me, stopping only a foot away. There are numerous reasons I shouldn’t want to see him, but after a day of so much newness, Alec’s familiarity is a welcome sight.

Also…I missed him.

“Good rest?”

“Not at all. Fuckin’ hate daytime. What did you do?”

“Carina showed me the town. It’s really beautiful. So picturesque and quaint. And I met her cousin, Jasper, who’s apparently an old friend.”

His gaze drops down to my right hand, and he grunts. “That explains the stench. He touched you.”

He could tell that? Fuck, his senses continue to surprise me. “He shook my hand.” My words don’t seem to register. He grabs the same hand and lifts it to his mouth, his tongue dragging over my palm. For every reason, it should gross me out, but there’s a sensuality to it as well.

His black eyes flash red for a brief moment before he releases me. “Better. Can’t stand the scent of other males near you, let aloneonyou.”

In all the time I’ve known Alec, he’s never outwardly looked uncomfortable, but I can’t deny he is now as he stares at the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You actually mean that.”

“If you want your precious coven to not toss me out, then yeah, I do. It’s hard to ignore the instincts that have suddenly been controlling me.”

Sympathy rolls through me. After centuries of unfeeling, I’m sure having a Bride all of a suddenwouldbe different. Alarming to have your feelings controlled by something uncontrollable.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicker, and his smirk shows the tip of one fang. “I’m not. But have you noticed where you stopped?”

I face the house I stopped by once so far. When I passed it earlier with Carina, I kept my head down and refused to look.

The Sinclair house.

Alec’s cool fingers slide between mine. It’s unlike him to be so touchy, and the sight distracts me enough that I miss when he begins walking, my body pulled behind him as he approaches the start of the path.

“Wait, what are you—Morgan didn’t give me permission.”

He glances over his shoulder, one brow hiked. “It’syourhome. You don’t need permission.”

“It hasn’t been mine for a while. Alec, wait!” I jam my feet into the cement, nearly tripping when his immortal strength continues dragging me. “We can’t go in. We don’t have a key.”

On the porch, he taps the black mailbox hung beside the door. “SaysSinclair, does it not? What’s your name again? You have every right to enter, key or otherwise.” He pauses, turning to me. “It’s up to you, Hellion. Ready to face your past?”

“I think Morgan has a plan later…” I trail off when his expression says he doesn’t care.

“Fuck Morgan and anyone else. Harlow, this isyourhome. Your history. Do you want to go in?”

Do I? This home belongs to strangers. To the version of myself that is a stranger. The house, according to Morgan, is as it was last left, which means a bedroom that knows which toys I enjoyed, while I don’t. A living room that recalls the sounds of family time, while I don’t even recall the people involved. A kitchen with the scent of meals lingering, while it’s food I no longer remember the taste of.

It’s a home once owned by strangers, and while I hope after tonight they won’t be as unknown to me, it doesn’t change that my experiences with them were limited to eight years of life.

Maybe this will help trigger my memory.

Alec strokes his thumb over the back of my hand, his touch gentle. It’s ironic in a sickeningly wrong way that I’m about to enter the Sinclair house with the vampire who murdered most of them, but it feels right. Like he should be nowhere else.

Not sure what that says about me.

I nod, finally answering his question, and Alec reaches for the knob before I can second-guess my decision and twists abruptly, breaking the lock.

“I’ll have it replaced another time,” he murmurs, pushing the door open to the house that last knew ghosts. Two dead witches and a kidnapped child.