Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 (22 page)

It should bother her that the species of werewolf her Fireborne line was apparently so tied to brought out her inner lush. That couldn’t be healthy. Talk about a dysfunctional relationship. She couldn’t help it—the Enforcers, their rules, their stupid Alpha—she really didn’t like them very much. Brandon, Hillary and Devil were the only exceptions so far.

Brandon’s father, it was clear, wanted to use what she was as a prop for himself. No surprise there. He was the Alpha in power when the Vessel arrived. He was awesome by association. That wasn’t what bothered her.

What bothered her were his eyes. And his mouth. And all the words that came out of it. What bothered her was that that short drink of Napoleon complex and snake oil knew so much about what she was supposed to be. Knew about her scene with Ram at Underbridge. Thought the Jiniyr were—what? Normal? He’d seemed more enraged by her conversational
faux pas
than he was by the idea that a group of Jinn and Niyr were conspiring against his world. He was…well, he was a dick.

Aziza reached up to trace the second mark that had formed on her forehead, as solid as the one on her palm. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it, now that Shev had told her the Jinn world and probably the Niyr were both affected by her abilities. There was no reason to hide from voyeurs frozen in a time bubble. She just wanted to make sure. To be alone with her thoughts. To finally have some damn privacy.

She wondered if there was a better name for this concealing power than Mayet’s Veil. Maybe she should make one up. “Mayet’s Privacy Curtain,” she mused, shaking her head. “Mayet’s Mind-Your-Own-Fucking-Business Barrier.”

And once again she wondered who the hell this Mayet was. They’d said the sand in her blood would tell her what she needed to know, but that was starting to feel like a convenient line to keep her in the dark about her strengthening abilities. What was inside her, talking in her head, guiding her actions, demanding experiences that would be impossible to explain to the man she was currently taking a breather from but still technically dating?

You need to listen.

What she needed to do was find a way to protect Greg and Penn from what she could feel coming. To protect Ram. She didn’t trust the Enforcers to do it now. She couldn’t rely on Shev. Aziza would be an idiot if she thought the Jiniyr would be satisfied dropping strangers’ bodies at her feet for long.

It struck her that she had the ability to protect them, to stop time and hide them all from prying eyes. She could do anything she wanted. Anything in the world.

And she was doing this.

“I am definitely going to hell,” she murmured, regretfully taking off the sunglasses, but leaving her two posed “mannequins” in place before continuing down the sidewalk toward Penn’s flat. She should call Brandon back and tell him about the meeting, about what she did at Underbridge and the upcoming party before he heard it from somebody else. She wasn’t sure what to say to him.

She should practice. “Hey, Brandon,” she said to the air, “I’m sorry your father is a tool and your species’ way of life is a little obsessive and prejudiced. Oh, and if you hear anything about me being handcuffed to a cross or Ram beating me with a whip until I screamed, that was just for the investigation—although, what happened later didn’t have anything to do with anything except the sand possibly turning me into a one-woman hormone factory. Would you still want to be my boyfriend if I invited Ram and occasionally West into our bed?”

Brandon.
God, what was she going to do about him? When they weren’t fighting, no one had ever made her feel so taken care of. He made her feel safe. Strong. Adored. And there was no denying he drove her crazy in the bedroom.

You still want Ram. You know him better than you ever knew the wolf. You haven’t told Brandon about the stables. Or Underbridge. You haven’t told him what you and Ram shared in his bed.

She didn’t have a response for that. She could say she was only human, but as Ram pointed out, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t something she was proud of—this continued desire, this greed for more. She hoped it
was
just another side effect of the sand and not a flaw in her character, because anyone with two brain cells to rub together and a pulse would know she’d won the man lottery with Brandon. She shouldn’t have a single doubt in her mind.

He lied to you. He believes what the other Enforcers believe. He would never understand how you feel about Ram. About Shev. Even Te.

He would also never leave her. He would die for her. Claim her if he could. She couldn’t say the same about any of the others.

Aziza’s reverie was interrupted when she noticed a
not
-so-perfect man who seemed a little too desperate to recapture his adolescence, wearing a leering grin and a pair of saggy jeans that showed the top half of his underwear. He’d obviously been frozen by her ability while trying to come on to a woman who appeared more intimidated than interested.

Damn her photographic memory. There was no way to unsee that.

She set the cup of coffee down on the sidewalk and walked over to him, yanking his pants down to his ankles without hesitation, baring his rail-thin, pasty-white legs in the process. She chuckled wickedly. “You have to commit, buddy. Up or down. You should never do anything half-assed.”

She really was a bad person. Brandon didn’t know how bad.

What would he think if he knew what she was doing? That she was acting out, that her emotions were on a roller coaster that was only speeding faster along its looping track. That she honestly didn’t know who or what she wanted at any given moment, except not to be what she was, so she was taking as long as the hourglass on her palm allowed her to play college-style pranks on the innocent citizenry of London. A childish rebellion that accomplished nothing.

Ram would laugh.

Yes, but Ram didn’t have limits or rules. He wanted to give her whatever she wanted—and that could be dangerous for her too. Especially considering the changes she was going through.

She glanced at herself in the nearest reflective shop window and froze. Movement behind her caught her eye. Something was moving?

No.
Someone.

Impossible. That was supposed to be impossible. “No fucking way.”

Aziza turned around in time to see the back of a tall man in a black, hooded sweatshirt running down the street away from her, dodging frozen tourists and dog walkers with the skill of an athlete.

“Oh no you don’t.”

She ran after him, glancing down quickly to see the hourglass still branded into her palm. The dark sand was still active—it should be working, damn it.

As her bare feet slapped against the unforgiving concrete and cobblestone, she tried not to think about what might be on the street that she hadn’t been vaccinated against. Or what might be there soon if she didn’t stop shaking the contents of her stomach. Wasn’t there some rule about how long after drinking you had to wait before chasing someone? If there wasn’t, there should be.

Then her heel landed on a pebble and she stumbled to a stop. “Ow…fuck!”

Obviously she wasn’t as badass as Greg and West believed—if she were, cooties, pebbles and one medium-sized bottle of vodka wouldn’t have deterred her from getting her man.

“Wait!” she shouted breathlessly when he disappeared around a corner. “Damn it, I’m barefoot. I just want to talk to you.”

How could he be doing this? Unless…

“Joseph?”
she cried out. “Joseph, is that you?”

It couldn’t be him. She refused to believe it. Joseph would never run from her. This was someone new—someone who shouldn’t be possible. She’d never gotten close enough to see his face, only the basic shape of a tall man who favored ninja fashions.

A man who’d obviously been watching her.

“Well hell.” She limped to the corner, her mind a crazed jumble of possibilities. Maybe she should call for Te or Shev. Someone had to know how this could happen. Who her mystery man could be.
“Son of a bitch.”

“No, that would be your detective boyfriend. He’s the werewolf, not me.”

The warm, whiskey twang made her whirl around with a gasp.
“West?”

He was leaning on the building when she turned the corner, his smile apologetic as he looked down at her feet. “Are you all right? I didn’t realize you were barefoot.”

“West, what the hell?”

When he pushed away from the wall, she took a step back and held up her hand. “I’m fine, so you stay right where you are. How are you doing this? How do you know what I am? What are
you
?”

He unzipped his jacket and pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing her the scarification marks on his chest. “Come on, Aziza Jane. Think about it for a minute. You’re the Fireborne. Don’t you already know? Weren’t you told in a dream?”

Tarik. That dream again. She could hear him whispering in her ear as if he were right beside her.

“The Zhaman is hidden by the sand he wears, not in his blood, but in spells written beneath his skin. It tells him in visions when and where it must go. In return, his line and those they love who are marked dwell safely in shadows. Free from harm.”

“You’re the Zhaman?” He did not look at all the way she’d pictured him. And she’d come on to him. Aziza groaned and cupped her cheeks in her hands. “
You
are the sand keeper?”

West laughed. “No way, and I’m probably the hundredth family member in line for that honor so I don’t see it happening anytime soon. Our current Zhaman is a very nice woman—when she’s not rocking in a corner talking to herself. I’m what they call a keeper’s child.”

She couldn’t believe it. “Bullshit. Ram practically lives with you, but he wouldn’t even be able to see you if you were from that line. Keepers are hidden from all of them.”

West grinned. “He can see me because he could always see me. Because I wanted him to.” He moved closer to her. “But even if I were having this close a conversation with him when he had all his Jinn mojo intact, he wouldn’t be able to sense what I am. The sand hides the places we choose to remain hidden and the people we choose to protect. It also conceals us from any attempt at detection, so we are free to walk through the world without fear. We’re just ordinary humans to them. And we are everywhere, Aziza Jane. Be Fruitful and Multiply is our family motto. We Hide, We Watch, We Wait is our other motto. At least, that’s the loose English translation.”

“We? Who is we? Is Chiye a keeper’s child as well?”

West bit the inside of his cheek. “No, we’re not related.”

Aziza was still a little skeptical—she’d assumed that the keepers were a single family line like hers, and that they lived somewhere in the deserts of the Middle East, not Atlanta or London. But she couldn’t
not
trust him. There was just something about him.

He’s different.

Yes, he definitely was. “Okay, that explains who you are, but not what you’re doing here. Why were you watching me? Why did you run? Come to think of it, why did you stop?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, I planned to accidentally run into you, but I couldn’t resist watching your little walk on the wild side for a while longer. You’re…unexpected in real life, Fireborne. And I’m not one who is easily surprised.”

“You planned to ‘accidentally run into’ me,” she said in a disbelieving tone.

Nodding, he said, “I ran because I hadn’t planned on you catching sight of me before I wanted you to—keeping secrets sort of runs in my family. It’s instinct now. I stopped because you’d been hurt, and because you thought I might be your missing brother. I couldn’t let you go on believing that.”

“And you were watching me because…?”

“Because it’s hard not to, Aziza Jane. You are fascinating.” He lifted one shoulder. “And because I have a feeling it’s time for you to meet Dern—I believe your Qarin told you about him? The man with the books?”

Aziza blinked at him. “This is crazy. How do you know what Te told me?”

He laughed at her again. “Because we were the ones who told their
source
. Dern’s been waiting to meet you, Aziza Jane. Has been ever since he found me in Cardiff. And wait until you see his traveling library. I know how much you like to read.”

“This is insane.”

He shook his head, studying her again. “Not any more than you’re used to by now. We should stop on the way and get you some shoes. It’s not too far, but you shouldn’t be walking around London barefoot.”

Ally. Keeper. Trust him.

Aziza sighed. She was definitely going crazy. Or she was already there.

“By all means, West, let’s steal me a pair of shoes before I step on something worse than a rock.” She looked down at her dress. “And maybe an outfit to go with them. I’m not meeting anyone new in this. I want it burned.”

He grinned as he took her hand and tugged it through the crook of his arm in a very courtly gesture. “Rough day?”

“I’ve had worse since I became the Fireborne,” Aziza said, feeling very much like Dorothy headed down the yellow-brick road as he steered her down the street.

Hopefully this wizard and his traveling library wouldn’t turn out to be another dead end.

Chapter Nine

“I
really
want to burn that dress,” Aziza reiterated as she slipped on hip-hugging jeans, black biker boots and a black baby doll T-shirt emblazoned with a pair of red lips, all stuff she’d picked out from the limited selection in the first clothing store they stumbled across. She turned to check out the fit of the pants and studied her boots. Maybe she should borrow a pair of running shoes instead.