Cold Fire (Spiritwalker #2)

The sight of the jagged tooth marks bruising my forearm and the blood leaking sluggishly along my skin made me clumsy. I fumblingly fastened the cane to its loop. With a hand pressed to my back, he steered me to a sandy path that led into the trees. Birds clamored in a brazen assault on my ears. Where it was bright the sun was a lance piercing my eyes and where it was shadowed the earth was a monstrous presence trying to devour me. I could not get my balance despite my companion’s solicitous hand and respectful silence although I would have liked it better if he had talked to drown out my whirlpooling terror.

We came to a clearing around a circular pool filled to the brim with water as intensely blue as James Drake’s eyes. Next to the pool rose an unwalled shelter, just a roof thatched with dried fronds that shaded a table and bench. He sat me on the bench and gave me a second gourd of rum.

“What’s this for if it won’t cure me?”

“It’s to numb the pain and the fear. We don’t know each other, Cat Barahal, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

“Why does it matter if I trust you? I’m going to die. There’s no cure, and every bitten person dies.” Shaking, I took a long swallow of the rum. It was better than thinking.

A pot and several baskets hung under the eaves. He took down the pot, filled it with water, and hung it from a tripod. Then he put his hand on the wood beneath it. His lips parted, and flames curled up.

“You’re a fire mage,” I said, intelligently I am sure. I was finding it challenging to put words together because, between the rush of alcohol and fear to my brain, words wriggled away as soon as I had them in sight. “But fire mages all burn up when their fire runs out of control. Unless they learn the secrets of the blacksmiths.” I pressed my fingers to my brow, trying to reel in my scattering thoughts lest I start babbling secrets. “That drink went straight to my head.”

He came over, caught my chin with a hand, and looked me over carefully. “My apologies. I’m going to have to ask you to kiss me.”

“Kiss you!”

He offered a rueful smile. “As you so astutely observed, I’m a fire mage. If I press my lips to yours, the contact will allow me to know if the teeth of the salt plague have gotten into your blood.”

“Because you’re a fire mage, you can tell if I’m infested with the salt plague if you kiss me?”

“That’s right. And if I catch it quickly enough, I might be able to heal you.”

“Heal me!?” I sucked in a shocked breath, mouth parted, heart pounding, blood pulsing through my veins and horrible, horrible death spreading through my blood. “Don’t mock me. There’s no cure.”

“In Europa they believe there’s no cure. Here in the Antilles, we know better. Healing is one of the gifts of fire mages. There are certain diseases we can heal by killing them within you before they kill you.”

If he was lying, I was no worse off than before. But what if he was telling the truth!

I leaned into him, and I kissed him on the mouth. He returned the kiss decisively, his lips warm at first, and then his kiss turned hotter until its heat coursed like sun through my body. I forgot I was dying and felt quite astoundingly alive.

He released me abruptly.

Panting, I sank back, hands propped behind me on the bench to hold me up. I was very confounded, warm and tingling all over. The liquor was making my head swim.

He stared at me as intently as if he saw something odd.

My bodice had been pulled askew, exposing half of my left breast. Blushing, I straightened the cloth. I could not catch my breath, and there was a part of me that badly wanted to kiss him again, as if his kiss or his magic had roused a slumbering beast within me.

He carefully eased my torn sleeve back and with a finger traced the bite mark. The jagged wound had gone pink at the edges, with ragged clots of darkening blood and clear oozing plasma. “It broke the skin.”

“Can’t you help me?” I whispered. I grabbed for the gourd of rum and drained the last of it.

“I can’t quite tell…but if I had your permission to try again…”

Why not? The last thing I wanted now was to be alone. When I nodded, he caught me close with another kiss. He was fire, and I burned into the core of me because I was being caressed by tendrils of sweet flame along my skin, and within my skin, and against my lips. Was this fire magic? For as it twined through my body, I wanted nothing more than to run my hands along his back and do more of this kissing; much more; much, much more. He broke off the kiss.

“Cat! Your claws are out.” He grinned. “Desire suits you. You’re all flushed.”