Page 103 of Dark Flame

“Nothing will hurt you,” I reassure her. “Not even your own emotions.” Because I won’t allow them to.

For once, the bond isn’t sensing danger and a need to rescue her, but I do. And I don’t fucking like it.

I walk her slowly up the stairs, scanning the house that’s been modernized over the centuries. Before the coven was smart enough to put a barrier around the town, I had access to the Sinclair house and have been inside on the odd occasion. The walls weren’t finished back then, and the floors were an old, stained carpet. The windows couldn’t open and were often frosted. Heat inside was limited to whatever the fireplace provided.

The landing is now covered in a soft carpet our shoes track dirt over. The railing is a glass that overlooks the downstairs, melding into the white wall that carries into a stretch of hallway with three doors.

We stop by the first, the pink comforter on the bed catching my attention. A doll’s house, nearly as tall as Harlow, consumes one wall, and a bookshelf filled with picture books is beside it. A dresser on the other side, its drawers partially open with clothing spilling out. The scent of Harlow is faint—extremelyfaint—in the air.

“Oh my Goddess,” she breathes and steps by me, releasing my hand to tread inside the room. I remain in the doorway, ready to catch her should she fall victim to her own emotions again.

She walks around the room slowly, brushing her hand over every surface; along the books’ spines, the roof of the dollhouse, the bed’s headboard, along the edge of the mattress, the windowsill, and finally the top of the dresser. She completes a full circle before she looks at me, her eyes rimmed red.

“I, I don’t…I don’t remember any of this.”

And then she sits—crumples, more like it—her knees digging into the soft carpet. I’m right there, grabbing and positioning her beside me. Her side presses into mine, her skin hotter than usual, and she seems to have no control over her limbs, letting me move her how I want to.

I take her hands between mine and sit, waiting for her to speak first. Her breath hitches with every inhale before it’s harshly blown out between her teeth, like breathing is physically painful. Through the bond, there is no more sadness. No more grief. Only confusion.

“I hoped by coming in here, it would spark something. A memory—something. I mean, I lived here. Slept. Played. Why can’t I remember?” Her teeth slide together, the grinding sound making me wince.

“The mortal mind is delicate, or so I’ve heard. The enchantment the Hartmans used, combined with your body protecting itself, is likely why.”

She twists her head until it’s on my shoulder and she’s looking at me. “Insightful for a being who hasn’t been human in how long again?”

“A while.”

She doesn’t move away, and I find myself shifting my body to make her more comfortable. My arm curls her into my side while my free hand strokes through her red strands, satin gliding through my fingers.

“Bet when you took me you never thought you’d be sitting in my childhood bedroom, of all places.”

“No,” I agree, keeping my voice soft for her, “this wasn’t in the plans.”

“Life’s funny. From what Morgan’s told me, it sounds like everything was on track for me to have a normal life…until it wasn’t.”

I press my fingers just a bit harder into her skull, mimicking a massage while tryingnotto think about how she was robbed of everything she deserves and how I’d love nothing more to end the lives of the Hartmans if they weren’t already dead. “Life is unique,” I correct. “It’s one thing I’ve learned over my time. It continues to evolve. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes not.”

“Do you enjoy your life more now than you did as a human?”

“Yes.” It’s not even a question. The only thing that gave my mortal life a slight edge was my sister being alive.

“Do you enjoy your life more now than say…one hundred years ago?”

One hundred years ago, I was ruling from my castle, waiting for the living Sinclair to be bred, and passing time with whatever came along that sparked my amusement. I was bored and not thriving. A century ago, I never imagined having a Sinclair in my arms, let alonewantingher to be there.

Time passed quickly then. The world was modernizing. Cars were becoming mainstream. It was the time between World War I and II, and the world was coming out of what was referred to as the Great Depression. Mortals were so wrapped up in each other as even the cities grew from small villages with lots of farmland to massive cities of buildings that strove to reach the clouds.

I remained at home for most of it, missing the world that once was while dreading what was to come. Cedric was in New Orleans at the time, fucking and drinking everything that moved in one of his mindless rampages that he’ll go on every few decades when he realizes how long Cora has been gone from our lives.

There was nothing to do. Nothing to live for. No one to obsess over.

Until the witch in my arms came to be.

“Life is immensely more enjoyable than it was back then.”

“Which means you’re definitely older than one hundred years, which means you saw everything my history books would have taught me. Plenty of wars, the Roaring Twenties, the Titanic—were you on it?”

“The concept of being stuck on a ship in the middle of an ocean sounds horrendous.”