Burned (Keeper of the Flame) (11 page)

“So you’re not, you know‒”

“Immortal?” He smiles. “Will it make you
happy if I say no?”

I give a wry grin. “Maybe.”

His laughter bounds off the high ceiling.
“But I still get the perks.”

“What are those?”

“You want me to tell you all my secrets?”

I lean in, my lips curving. “Come on, Logan.
You know
way
more about me than I know about you.”

He copies my motion, stopping when our lips
are just inches apart. “There’s
so
much more I want to
know.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

I frown. “Dodge my questions? You’re not
giving me much here, for someone who wants a hell of a lot in
return.”

Logan considers this for a long moment, then
says, “I can heal quicker than normal.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

That’s good information to know. Then he
takes it a step further with a grin.

“That means I have certain, uh…powers of
rejuvenation.” His tone is suggestive. “If you know what I
mean.”

And I can’t help but see a flash of him
shirtless, muscles toned and strong. Or think of him covering my
naked body with his, fingers racing like fire over my skin. Filling
me with everything he is. Over and over again.

My throat dries.

“I think we need to take a break,” Logan
says, tapping the journal. “From reading.”

I glance at my watch. It’s already early
afternoon. I don’t have much time, especially not if Logan wants to
spend the entire day in the library with me.

I wave him off. “You go ahead. I’m going to
keep reading.”

But he won’t give up. He grabs my hand and
hauls me to my feet, pulling me to the kitchen where he actually
makes pizza dough while I sip a soda and watch him with a mixture
of concern and amazement.

“I have to let it rise,” he says, dropping
the ball of dough into a deep bowl. He runs a thin white towel
under the water at the sink before settling it over the top of the
bowl. “That way I can make dinner for us in a few hours.”

I’m still torn between amazement and concern.
I can’t believe he’s making homemade dough for our pizza. I also
can’t get past the fact I have so little time to get out of here.
The full moon is tonight. How long do I have? All the way until
midnight? Or not even that long?

“You…” I shake my head. “How old are you
again?”

He laughs. “I’m legal.”

But he seems a lot worldlier than someone his
age should. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Logan looks away. “My sister.”

I shift on the stool at the counter. “You
have a sister?”

“And a brother.” He comes around to the other
side of the island where I sit. He puts his hands on either side of
me, trapping me against the counter. “It’s no fun talking about
family. Let’s do something else.”

His boyish grin reminds me that he is,
indeed, just a young guy, close to my age. And we both have so much
of our lives ahead of us. So what does he need this spell for
really? So he can be a vampire‒a true vampire like his
great-great-grandparents? Or is that even how it works?

But I can’t forget the fact he seems to be
hiding something. Even Logan Meyer has skeletons in his closet‒or
at least secrets‒that he doesn’t want others to know.

“We should be figuring out the spell, right?”
I ask.

He sighs like I’m way too serious, but
shadows me back to the library, where he hands me more history
books. It seems like he’s trying to stop me from reading the Book
of Shadows for now. Maybe that’s a smart move on his part since
I’ve already figured out how to contact Ryan once.

But Logan can’t know that, can he? Or does he
suspect something, and that’s why he’s following me so closely, not
leaving my side?

When he decides to make dinner, he drags me
along with him, setting me down with a beer and ingredients and
telling me to decorate my own pizza. Even as my mind is whirling
with ways to get out of here, I’m drawn into a conversation with
him. I’m drawn to his laughter as we work together to make
dinner.

“Here,” Logan says, sliding me another beer
when I finish mine.

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good
idea.”

“Why? It’s not like you’re going
anywhere.”

Asshole. Of course he’d have to go and
mention that. That I’m stuck here and I have no control over
it.

Outside the window, the sun is nearing the
horizon. It’s after seven. I bet if he thinks he can get us through
dinner and into the evening, possibly to bed for the night, he’s
home free. I cannot let that happen.

I stand from the counter, brushing my hands
on my jeans.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “You didn’t
finish eating.”

“I have to use the restroom.”

“Oh.” His shoulders relax, and he nods his
head to the hallway. “Out here.”

Logan opens the door to a small powder room,
with only a toilet and a sink. The walls are papered in deep
burgundy with gold swirls.

I flash him a smile, step inside, and close
the door. I wait for his footsteps to go away, and then sit on the
closed lid of the toilet with Ryan’s card. I don’t care anymore if
I pop up in the middle of a bar somewhere in front of a thousand
people, I need to get to him. He’s the only one I know here that
can help.

Picturing Ryan’s face, the day’s worth of
stubble at his jaw, I wait. It takes a moment but suddenly, I’m
whisked to his house. I sigh in relief when I realize where I am,
and I slump against the front door when I see Ryan slipping into a
jacket.

When he turns and sees me, he freezes. His
breath whooshes out. “Willow.”

“Ryan,” I whisper.

He strides forward, reaching for my
shoulders, and I’m surprised when his hands connect. They’re warm
and strong.

He’s surprised too, and even more so when I
collapse into his arms, clinging to him with all the strength my
incorporeal body has. My powers must be getting stronger
already.

Ryan’s hand traces down my hair, the other
around my waist, holding me close. “Where are you?” he murmurs.

I pull back, looking up into his eyes.
“Logan’s house.”

He nods. “I figured.”

“Can you help me? I’m stuck there, he won’t
leave me alone.”

My body wavers, going from solid to
transparent. My hand slips through his arm and he glances down.
Last time this happened it was because there was a noise or some
kind of distraction where the original me was.

“I have to hurry,” I say, my voice
fading.

“Willow.” Ryan’s grasps for me again, but he
can’t touch me anymore. “I can’t go on his property. It’s blocked
from other paranormal beings. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. Ryan, I can’t. Please‒”

“Stop. Willow.” His gaze holds mine. Steady.
“You can do this.”

“Can’t you leave? Leave Shadow Hill for
tonight so we’re not all here?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.
You have to get out.”

“I
can’t
. He won’t leave me
alone‒”

“You’re resourceful. You can do this. Willow,
look at me. You. Can. Do. This.” He nods. “You have to.”

I reach out, trying to make that connection
again, but I’m jerked away. I land back in the bathroom. I hear
footsteps out in the hallway and hurry to flush the toilet. While I
wash my hands in the sink, I even my breathing and search my brain
for a solution. I
have
to get out of here.

How am I going to get past Logan? Trick him?
And how do I do that?

After drying my hands, I walk back to the
kitchen where Logan is waiting. He lifts his eyebrows at me as if
to say,
Everything go all right in there?

“I’m curious about who did the initial
spell‒curse,” I say. “If I knew who did it, something they used or
what kind of spell it was, I’d be able to figure out more. I’d know
what I’m supposed to‒”

“Why are you so eager to figure this out all
the sudden?”

I avoid his gaze by walking back to the
hallway. He follows me all the way to the library and catches my
elbow at the door.

“Willow.”

I turn around. “I don’t want to be stuck in
your house forever, okay? As nice as it is, I have a life. I…” I
try not to say anything that will make him angry or suspicious.
“You’re going to let me go, right? After I do this for you?”

A muscle works in his jaw and he settles his
hands on his hips. “You really think I’m the bad guy, don’t you?
That I’m going to use you and then‒what? Dispose of you? Kill you
maybe?”

Those words make me pale. I don’t think he
wants to hurt me, but when he says those words out loud, it doesn’t
make me feel better.

I walk into the library, trailing my finger
along the table I’ve been working at. When I spot the letter
opener, shiny and pointed in a wooden box on the end, I
straighten.

Logan comes after me. “Listen, Willow. I’m
not going to hurt you.”

When I turn around, I let my hand fumble over
the surface of the table to grab the letter opener. He says he’s
not going to hurt me, but I can’t say the same. I might
have
to hurt him.

“Do you believe me?” he asks, gripping my
shoulders. His eyes are intense, starting to black out like they do
when he’s trying to influence me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I dip my chin, staring at his shirt. “You
shouldn’t try to make me believe that if it isn’t true.”

“No, I’m not‒” His jaw clenches and he grips
my chin, lifting it so I meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to,
sometimes I can’t help it.” His eyes return to their usual shade of
blue. His fingers soften, brushing over my cheek. “I’m not going to
hurt you. I just need you to do this. You’re the only one who
can.”

Oh, shit. He’s being nice‒he’s actually
trying to comfort me, and now I have to go and ruin it. The letter
opener is only inches away. All I have to do is grab it. And stab
him.

“I believe you,” I whisper at the compelling
look in his eyes.

“Good.”

He lingers, thumb brushing my cheekbone. He
won’t kiss me. He won’t because he promised me, and I believed him.
I still believe him because he’s holding back, making me lean
in.

My lips part. I can distract him this way. I
can get under his defenses, and then I can escape.

I slide my hand over his shoulder and up to
his neck. I grip his hair in the back and he yanks in a breath. But
he still waits for me to make the first move.

With a moan, I fuse my lips to his. I can
hardly draw a breath before he pulls me to him, hard, so the entire
length of our bodies touch.

“Willow,” he groans. His tongue mingles with
mine, making desire shoot through me.

My hands clench on his shoulders, digging
into his muscles. He grips my thighs and hikes them up, setting me
on the table. Logan attacks my mouth again, lips like a fever
against mine. He’s touching me everywhere, slipping his hands over
my thighs and then running them up under my shirt.

I arch my back, chest pressing against his. I
grip the bottom of his shirt and pull. He lifts his arms as I yank
it over his head. His body is a feast, toned and strong and tan. My
hands are like magnets to him, racing across his chest, and then
down his abdomen.

And when he smiles at me, I almost forget the
letter opener. I almost forget everything.

Then I feel the fire building inside.

Logan’s hands go for the button on my jeans,
fingers dipping inside the material.

“Logan,” I say, voice breathless.

“Hmm?” He’s focused, eyes on his task.

“Be careful.”

His hands freeze on my zipper. “What?”

I try to force my heartbeat to slow down, for
the flames to subside. “I just…”

Realization dawns in his eyes. “This isn’t…”
He props his hands against the desk on either side of me. “Are you
a virgin?”

“No. No,” I say again, my voice coming out in
a laugh. “It just‒didn’t go well for the other guy last time this
happened.”

His eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t look angry.
He doesn’t even look confused. Instead, he brushes my jaw with his
knuckles. “What happened?”

“The fire,” I say simply. “He tried to force
me and I…I couldn’t control it.”

Logan leans in. He sets his hand low my back
and scoots me to him, so my legs are on either side of his hips.
“I’m sorry.”

There’s unexpected tenderness in his voice,
enough that I lower my chin to compose myself.

“You can’t hurt me like that,” he says. “It’s
okay.”

“I caught you on fire pretty easily
yesterday.”

He smiles. “And I’m fine. See?”

He’s right. There’s no scarring or redness on
his arm. I didn’t hurt him. At least not permanently.

Logan takes the hem of my shirt and pulls it
up and over my head. His eyes dip to my breasts, covered by a
simple black bra. He curls his finger under one strap and draws it
off my shoulder.

His lips make a slow path across my
collarbone. I can feel the flames inside, but they’re only
simmering. Almost as if the slower he goes, the less chance they
have of coming out. I reach to unbutton his pants, and find the
zipper. They ride low on his hips and I can see the definition in
his abdomen all the way down.

He cups one breast, hiking down my bra so he
can brush his thumb on the nipple. Then he takes it in his mouth,
tongue flicking back and forth and pushing me closer to the
brink.

“Logan,” I gasp.

He reaches down and yanks on my jeans,
leaning me back against the cool wood of the table.

“I want you,” he whispers, fiddling with the
lip of my underwear. Tugging it down just slightly. “I want you
here. And upstairs. In the shower. Over and over again.”

His hands grip my wrists and pin them to the
table. And then his mouth begins the slow descent down my neck,
over my breasts, and to my stomach, where he lingers. The whisper
of breath on my skin makes me shiver in ecstasy.