Page 19 of Dark Flame

I have many. Humans usually retain memories from around eight-years-old, so why doesn’t she remember what was a big life event? Getting kicked out of a coven is major for witches, who trust their own above anyone.

“Homeschooled,” I muse, instead choosing a more direct topic. “Quiet life. You have a job?”

Another eye roll, this time making me twitch. “I’m twenty-four. Obviously.”

“Wasn’t sure, considering you still live at home.” This is solely a taunt because without a coven, no doubt her parents wanted to keep her nice and close and safe. Away from the vampires who’d descend, seeking the cure.

“Not all of us have castles, or whatever this place is.”

“What gave it away?”

She taps the bars at her back. “The row of cells for one. The fact this place screams torture chamber.”

“That’s down the hall,” I admit, thinking of the room so often used for prisoners during medieval times. It was a different world back then, and before vampirism, torture methods had to be more creative. My nose can still pick up the metallic scent of death that never quite left. “You’ve gone off track. Your job?”

“Yeah, I work, and yes I still live at home. Economy sucks, not that you’d know. I’m a secretary for an accounting firm.”

Certain jobs have existed as they are for centuries, but others are more recent, in the last two to three hundred years. A secretary being one of them.

“As in, you answer phone calls from rich mortals?” I verify we’re both speaking of the same thing.

“Ironic statement coming from a rich asshole.”

“The great, ancient bloodline of the Sinclairs has been reduced to working for another person. Amortalat that.” Stating the fact makes me chuckle as I picture centuries prior, dating back to Elizabeth Sinclair. How prideful the coven was. How they ruled above humans, not the other way around.

“It pays the bills. Besides, we were blending in, and it’s a pretty basic job.”

“Are they missing you?” I realize too late she may misconstrue it as interest when it’s…well, I’m not sure why the inquiry into her life.

She shakes her head. “I quit when my parents died.”

Yes, the mysterious fire that engulfed their house and took two witches whose power was fire while leaving the third alive and their house still standing. There are many things that don’t quite add up, but the questions die on my tongue when I catch the tear beading by the corner of her eye.

Her sniffle is nearly inaudible, if not for my enhanced hearing. She wipes her face before her hands rest in her lap, one wrapping around the other wrist, thumb stroking the scars on her skin. Those are a question for another day.

I understand theconceptof grief from losing a loved one, but the actual experience of it is different for vampires. After losing Cora, I thought of only destruction. I want to probe the subject, even if it results in her breaking down, but don’t.Can’t.

A Sinclair has never cried in front of me. All the years of murdering them, not one has shed a tear. Screamed, yelled, fought, yes, but none looked so…mortal as this one. It’s all the more reason to continue talking, but instead, I find myself across the cell again.

She stiffens, but I’m too occupied studying her to care about her feelings over my proximity. Coupled with that addictive scent I swear is lingering upstairs because it’s haunting me through my halls, there’s something not quite right about her.

“Don’t touch me,” she bites out, even though I haven’t lifted a hand towards her. Her deterrence only makes it more tempting. Miss Sinclair shouldn’t have made such invitations.

“Explain why I’d want to.”

Her heartbeat, which was already beating quickly, kicks off into marathon speeds. It’s a tune I could very well rest to, knowing it’s driven by panic.

“Your heartbeat is extremely fast,” I murmur, despite her not answering my latest demand.

She turns her face away. “Fear does that.”

“So does intrigue. Lust. Pleasure. Joy. Excitement. Adrenaline. Numerous emotions could be the explanation, each one as probable as the last.”

Her teeth grind against one another, the sound a bothersome disruptor to her heartbeat. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You have such a mouth on you, Sinclair. It’s alluring.” Grinning, I stand and head for the cell’s entrance. “Thanks for the talk. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait.” She scrambles to her knees, one foot resting on the ground. “I answered your questions. You promised me food and water.”