She clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth.
“If you’re ready to listen,” he said, “I can tell you what I’ve found out about your art.”
“Why didn’t you just say so from the start?”
He leaned closer. “You really have to learn to trust me.”
“Then give me reason to.”
“Fine.” He threw an arm over the back of his chair. “I deserve that.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page for once.”
“Cut out the sass, Cle. We don’t have time.”
Her self-control snapped. “Cut out the bossiness. You’re behaving like an alpha asshole.”
A grin stretched his lips, but there was no humor in the gesture. “You haven’t seen that side of me yet, and believe me, little witch, you don’t want to.”
“Just get to the point,” she said, taking the glass and throwing back half of the champagne.
His gaze followed the action, disapproval written on his face. “According to my research, regressed art is awakened by intense practice of the art and the presence of a master.”
Her gut tightened at the mention of the master. “Lupien?”
“The records are limited. Firestarting hasn’t been practiced for many centuries. From what I could find, children inherit the art from their parents and are taught to control it from a young age. In the absence of a role model, the art becomes regressed. There’s no proof that a regressed art can be awakened, but the scripts suggest one could make the art resurface by constant exposure to said art.”
“The burning of the houses.”
“Maybe. I can’t come up with another plausible explanation.”
Despite her trepidation, her interest was piqued. “Where did you find these records?”
“Lann collects antique books. His private library was a valuable source of information.”
“If burning down fifty houses was supposed to awaken my art, the destruction was for nothing. It didn’t work.”
Izabell entered with two steaming plates of food she placed in front of them. “Grilled sea bass in a fern and salted butter sauce, and grilled vegetables on the side. It’s the best I could do with a grill on the kitchen fire. Tomorrow I should have fresh lobster.”
“This looks delicious, thank you,” Clelia said.
Izabell turned to Joss. “Would you like a Sauvignon Blanc with your main course?”
Again, Joss looked at Clelia for the answer.
“I’m fine with the champagne.” Her head was already spinning from the half a glass she’d downed on an all but empty stomach.
“I’ll leave your dessert in the kitchen,” Izabell said. “I’ll be on my way then, unless there’s anything else you need?”
Joss got to his feet. “Thank you for taking care of our dinner. I didn’t expect you to come in personally.”
“My regular chefs are all booked because of the peak season, but I enjoyed the primitive experience for a change. Leave everything as it is. My team will be in tomorrow morning to clean the kitchen.”
After Izabell had left, Joss took his seat again and carried right on where he’d left off. “Whether it worked or not, I have no doubt Lupien will come for you.”
“That’s why I’m here, right?”
His fingers clenched around his fork. “It’s the only way. Lupien won’t stop until he’s found you.”
“When he finds me, what then?”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if it does, there’s only one way to keep safe.”
She took a sip of water to swallow away the dryness of her throat. “How?”
“Lupien can only steal your art if he corrupts you. He’ll try anything to make you give in. He’ll kill, lie, burn, manipulate, and torture whoever he must. Whatever he does, you can never give in, do you hear me? You can never give in to the darkness he’d make you feel. If you do, he’ll take your art, and the only way for him to take it, is to kill you.”
“Who’s to say he won’t simply come back again and again, until he can corrupt me?”
Joss was quiet for a moment.
She went cold as the realization hit her. “You’re going to fight him.”
“It’s the only way,” he said again.
Anger tightened her chest. “You should’ve told me about your intentions.”
“Why?” His look was level. “It’s not like it would’ve changed anything.”
She jumped to her feet. “Because of that trust you keep on asking me for.”
He got up too. “I’m a skilled fighter and an expert on paranormal abilities. So, yeah. Trust me.”
“This is my life. These decisions aren’t yours alone to make.”
“There’s no other option.”
She squared her shoulders. “There is.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If you think I’d let you fight Lupien, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
“My life, Joss, my decision.”
He banged a fist on the table, making the plates rattle. “My responsibility.”
Her voice raised in volume. “Forced marriage or not, you can’t tell me what to do.”
Dragging his hands through his hair, he pulled on the roots. “For the love of every god that ever existed.” A moment of silence passed before he dropped his arms at his sides. When he faced her again, he spoke patiently, as if he were talking to a child. “If I don’t do this, we’ll never be free of him. Can you honestly live like that, looking over your shoulder every minute of every day?”
No, she couldn’t imagine living like that, but she also couldn’t let Joss go into a battle he had little to no chance of winning. “Why? Why are you so set on doing this? Is the team and the mission really worth it?”
He regarded her quietly. “This one isn’t for the team.”
“No? Then why?”
“This one is for you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m doing this for you,” he said, taking her hand.
She pulled away. “Why? You don’t owe me anything.”
His gaze was piercing. “I disagree.”
“Because we fucked?” she cried out.
His smile was faint. “Responsibility.”
“Damn you, Joss.” She spun away, staring at the window so he wouldn’t see the turmoil on her face as she tried to pull herself together. Her wry laugh masked her anguish. “Marriage? You didn’t have to take it quite that far.”
“You’re mine, Cle.”
“For that you have to die?”
A gentle hand fell on her shoulder. “I’ve
