Burn For Me (Phoenix Fire 1)

No, he wasn’t, but they weren’t just talking about your average paranormal predator, either. “I’ve seen him burn men alive. Don’t let him touch you.”

Silence.

Trace’s eyes weighed her. “And what happens when he touches you?”

Eve’s heart raced faster in her chest. I burn. Only the fire simmered inside her, igniting a hungry lust that she could barely control. “It doesn’t matter. I’m working on a story, doing my job.” Stopping other paranormals from being exploited. Hurt. Killed. “He’s long gone now and—”

Trace’s head cocked to the side. “I’d guess again,” he murmured, taking a step away from her, heading toward the door.

“What?” He’d lost her. Then she heard the sound of breaking glass, and Trace’s alarm system began to beep.

“Company’s calling,” he threw the words over his shoulder as he hurried from the room.

Company? Cain? No, he wouldn’t follow her. He’d left her at that truck stop, not the other way around. She hadn’t been the one to ditch their new partnership.

But Eve rushed out of that room because whoever was breaking in, well, she wasn’t leaving Trace to handle them alone.

He was already down the stairs and—

Arms wrapped around her. Strong. Hard. She was hauled back against a body that, yes, dammit, she already recognized by touch. Rather hard to mistake those abs. They left quite the impression on a girl’s memory.

“Cain.”

The alarm stopped beeping. She heard footsteps coming back toward her. Trace would know exactly where the intruder was. That shifter nose of his would lead him right back to them.

And, sure enough, she saw Trace’s blond head appear at the bottom of the stairs. He stared up at them, eyes angry, intense.

Trace wasn’t attacking, not yet, but his jaw was locked tight as he ordered, “Let her go.”

She could feel the tension running through Cain’s body. The scent of smoke clung to him. His face was near the side of her head, and when he spoke, his breath blew over the shell of her ear, sending a shiver through her.

“You’re not safe,” he whispered.

Eve swallowed. Her body fit against his too well. “Is that why you decided to do some breaking and entering?” She turned easily in his arms. His hold hadn’t been meant to keep her immobile, but . . . to do what? Pull her close? “The last time I saw you, the bullets were flying. Seems to me, you’re the one who isn’t safe.”

“We’re being hunted.” His gaze narrowed on her jaw and then he caught her chin and carefully lifted it up, swearing when he saw the tender mark on her flesh. “That f**king ass**le bruised you.”

Yeah, well, when a bear swung at you, that hit tended to leave a mark. The graze on her leg hurt worse, but she wasn’t about to point that injury out to him.

“Don’t worry,” Trace said as he headed up the stairs. “I damn near gutted him.”

She glanced back over her shoulder and found Trace staring up at Cain with icy eyes. “And I can do the same to you . . .”

Okay, now she swung back around and deliberately planted her body between the two men. Seeing those two battle wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun time.

Trace was the only family she had. And Cain—

Cain could seriously hurt Trace. Burn him.

She didn’t want him killing her only family. So when Trace charged up those last few steps, she shoved one hand on his chest and one hand on Cain’s. “Stop.” They weren’t enemies.

You’re being hunted.

She had the bullet wound to prove it.

“Is this the cop?” Cain demanded in a voice that vibrated with a leashed fury. “The one you told me about?”

Her gaze swung between the two men.

Trace kept glowering. Right. As if he’d ever be confused with a cop. He’d spent too much time behind bars for that to happen.

When he’d been sixteen, Trace had killed a man. That had been the day his claws had first broken free.

“Trace isn’t a cop,” she said, proud of the way she kept her voice steady. And really, what was Cain even rambling about? She hadn’t told him about any cop.

“Then where’s the boyfriend?” Cain wanted to know. “The big, tough-cop-badass you told me about when we were back at Genesis?”

Eve’s face flushed as she finally figured out what he was rambling about. When Wyatt had thrown her at Cain, she’d told him about her fictional lover. My cop boyfriend is going to hunt me down and kick your asses!

That had just been for show. If she’d really had a badass boyfriend, she wouldn’t have been screwing around with Cain. Just what kind of girl did he think she was?

The easy kind.

Obviously. Jerk.

She shoved against his chest. Hard. “There’s no boyfriend,” she gritted out. “That was a lie, okay? It was kind of a desperate moment.”

His lashes flickered. She could have sworn that some of the tension seemed to ease from his clenched jaw.

“As fun as this shit isn’t,” Trace said, bringing her attention right back to him, “wanna tell me why you just broke into my house?”

“I’m here for her.” Cain’s voice was flat. “I came back for Eve.”

Like she was some kind of package he needed to pick up. She dropped her hands and headed back to the bedroom. “La di damn da. Isn’t that fantastic?” She was pretty sure no violence was about to wreck the stairs, so she felt safe walking away.

She paused at the threshold of her bedroom and told him, “In case you didn’t know, I have a life—and a story to write. One very big, important story. I was going to talk to Vance tonight and get more material, but then you—”

Cain tackled her. Her body slammed into the floor even as the window near the bed exploded and glass flew into the room. Glass . . . and smoke.

“Are you all right?” Cain’s voice.

She blinked and managed to open her eyes. She wanted to talk and say that, yeah, except for having a two-hundred-pound male crushing her, she was fine.

Only . . . she couldn’t talk.

And she wasn’t fine. And that wasn’t smoke filling the room. It was some kind of gas. Choking her. Making her body feel limp and dizzy and . . . dammit, she remembered this feeling from Genesis! They were trying to drug her again.

She coughed and pushed at Cain’s chest.

“Get her out of there!” Trace yelled.