Chapter 15
Blaze ducked back behind the plant before the Knight of Flames could see her. Dammit, if he was here at Jean-Claude’s, he must be a major player in Portland’s magical community. Who the hell was he? Why hadn’t she ever seen him before?
Could he possibly be the ‘friend’ who’d wanted to meet her?
Ever so carefully, she stretched out her magical senses, trying to get a feel for who these men were without alerting them to her presence.
Were they sorcerers? Tainted by dark magic, like Jean-Claude? Or Silas?
Her aura touched theirs, and she felt magic. But it wasn’t the dark, oily feel she’d gotten from Jean-Claude, or the idol. And it wasn’t the fresh bright magic of her coven when she was a little girl.
This magic was… old. Powerful. Made of contrasts: black velvet nights and the hard bright glitter of gold. Deep still caves, damp with moisture, and the free wild sky.
A nature coven?
She peeked through the long leaves of the potted plant, trying to get another look at the man from her spell vision. She’d seen his face so briefly before the card burst into flames. It must have been completely destroyed—she hadn’t been able to find it the next morning.
Just looking at him made her swallow hard. He was so… beautiful was the only word for it. Temptingly, terrifyingly compelling. They all were, but he seemed to glow like the sun shone from within him
His hair was not just blond, but golden—on the long side, with a tousled I-styled-this-like hell-but-I-want-you-to-think-I-just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of look. His eyes were clear blue, like a summer sky. Chiseled jaw, faint laugh lines around his eyes, a quirk of humor on his firm lips.
Looking at those lips sent an unexpected rush of heat flooding through her, and a jumble of dreamlike visions that felt like memories.
Just like the other night, when the thief had kissed her.
Oh no. Hell, no…
He smiled, and she knew the impossible was true. The man from the Tarot card vision and her thief were one and the same.
The moment she recognized him, his head went up a fraction and he looked around the empty foyer, eyes narrowing slightly. As if he’d heard—or sensed—something.
Blaze withdrew her magical senses and pulled farther back behind the plant, plastering herself against the wall and holding her breath. The man’s attention returned to the butler, Blaylock, a small puzzled frown still creasing his forehead. She breathed a sigh of relief.
He was speaking to Blaylock in a low voice, and she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the ambient noise of the party, though she strained her ears. All she heard was the butler’s reply.
“Very good, Mr. Greystone.”
Blaze bit back a gasp. The man who had stolen her idol was Thorne Greystone? The reclusive dealer in magical artifacts who never went anywhere, never met with anyone?
The man who had been hounding for weeks, trying to get her to meet with him to talk about an ‘acquisition’? Had he been after the idol all along? Was that why he’d appeared in her Tarot card reading?
And where the hell did he get off breaking into her house?
Who was he working for? Or working with? Could he possibly be in the Silver Raven coven? No. The feel of his magic wasn’t remotely the same. And Greystone was well-known by reputation, even though he was a recluse. No one had ever said he was a sorcerer.
On the other hand, he’d jumped out of a freaking four-story window, and here he was tonight, un-splatted and without a scratch on him.
Anger tore through her. Who did this asshole think he was? He didn’t get to break into her house and steal the idol just because she wouldn’t return his calls. Did he even know how dangerous that thing was?
But if he’d taken it, why was he still looking for her? To gloat?
Or to capture her. Take her back to the coven, so they could revenge themselves on her.
Well, they could try. She wasn’t the innocent little sixteen-year-old who had stolen the idol. Whose only choice had been to run.
She had to find out what Thorne Greystone wanted. She hadn’t destroyed her life, left everything she loved behind, and hidden the idol all these years just to let someone like him snatch it away and set it loose in the world. If he was working with Silas and the Silver Ravens, she’d make him regret it. And if he wasn’t, then…
Then damn it all, she was getting the idol back. There was no way she was leaving it in the hands of an egotistical collector who didn’t know what he had. The coven would annihilate him, and then they’d take the idol and unleash its evil.
Not going to happen.
She watched the three men as they exited the foyer and walked down the shallow steps into the main living room, pressing herself further into the niche behind the potted plant. A reaction rippled through the room—Blaze could practically see the drool and hear the panties dropping as they passed. Other men puffed themselves up, radiating aggression.
No wonder Greystone didn’t go out in public much. He and his minions were a riot waiting to happen. She’d never seen men who had that kind of effect on everyone around them.
Except her, she told herself. Greystone could be as hot as he wanted, but if he had her idol, she was taking him down. She tossed back her hair, straightened her shoulders, and walked out from behind the plant and up into the foyer to talk to Blaylock.
“Ms. McKenna,” the butler said politely, as if she hadn’t just been hiding in the greenery. “A Mr. Greystone arrived, and he was asking after you. I informed him that you had been here, but you might have gone home.”
There was a subtle inflection in his voice—not quite a question. In Blaylock-speak, that meant he would tell Thorne Greystone whatever she wanted him to hear. For hefty tip, of course.
Blaze slipped a hundred-dollar bill out of her clutch purse and tucked it into his palm. “Thank you, Blaylock,” she said. “Please inform Mr. Greystone that I haven’t gone home. In fact, if he’s interested, you can tell him I’ll meet him on the terrace off the study in, say… fifteen minutes?”
The terrace off the study was where all the clandestine meetings took place at Jean-Claude’s parties. Back-room deals, black-market items changing hands, illegal drugs and elixirs being sold. Blaylock always knew who was meeting who, and at what time.
“If I may suggest, madam, twenty minutes would be a more salubrious timeframe. The terrace is occupied at present, but it should be free in about ten minutes. That would leave you time for any… preparations you might need to make for your meeting.”
Blaze smiled at him. A slow, predatory smile. His expression barely changed, but she saw him swallow hard.
Yeah. She might not be as pretty as Greystone and his friends, but she was as scary as anyone in this room.
“How thoughtful of you, Blaylock,” she said, handing him another fifty. “Now that I think of it, I will need time for preparations. Twenty minutes would be excellent.”
Blaylock gave a small bow. “Very good. I will inform you when the study is unoccupied.” He walked away, presumably in search of the thieving, conniving, hot-as-fuck Mr. Greystone.
In the meantime, Blaze would make her ‘preparations.’ Thorne Greystone had brushed off her spells like cobwebs last night. Never let it be said she didn’t learn from her mistakes.
This time, he wouldn’t see her coming.