Playing with Fire (5 page)

What he’d gotten was expulsion from school, a two-year sentence at a low-security federal prison, and a black stain on his career so big no reputable company would ever hire him.

Getting caught would have been bearable—worth it, even—if he’d gotten some kind of power out of it. Tests he’d conducted shortly after his release confirmed that the element was there in his blood, dormant and useless. Neil thought his abilities might kick in later, when he reached a certain age or got bitten by a spider, but Ian had lost hope a few years ago.

Once again, he’d been unable to stand up to his own ideals of heroism.

“Please, Fiona. Show me,” he said. This was his second—no, third—chance. He could make things right again.

“Okay.”

Fiona leaned over and started playing with the buckle of her sandal. Ian wasn’t a foot fetishist or anything, but when she slipped her foot out of the straps and cracked her toes with one quick movement, his mouth went dry. She took off the other shoe and tossed them both aside before finally looking up.

“What are you doing?” he asked, barely able to keep his eyes inside his head. Was she going to remove the rest of her clothes? Was this how it was done? Were the fates of human superpowers this cruel
and
this kind?

Something lit up Fiona’s eyes, and every drop of Ian’s blood flowed southward, tightening in his groin. The light might have been her powers charging up, but something told Ian it was much more primal than that.

“I—I’m taking off my shoes,” she said slowly, as if testing each word against his reaction.

“Oh.” He tried to mask his disappointment, but he doubted it was very effective.

“Why? What did you think I was doing?” Understanding flashed across her face, teasing and mocking. “Ian Jones, did you think I was about to get naked for this?”

He couldn’t help it. He gave her entire body a once-over before settling on her face. Naked superpowers did seem pretty awesome, he wasn’t going to lie. But she deserved better, especially from him.

He frowned. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

She laughed, low and sultry, tinged at the edges with a raw sadness. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m used to it.”

He stiffened. “Used to what?”

“Men wanting to see me naked.” She sighed. “Stop looking at me that way. I don’t do that anymore, so you can relax. Your purity will stay intact.”

Ian strode over to her, his whole body tense. “Don’t say things like that.” He gripped her hands, pressing them tightly before she pulled away, hiding them behind her back. “You’re a beautiful woman, Fiona, there’s no way to hide that fact. But there’s always been a lot more to you—even if you can’t see it.”

“Like what, Ian?” A furrow knit her brow as she studied his hands. When she looked up, her eyes were clouded. “That I make a perfect science project? That you think I’m some sort of terrible person who robs banks and kills people?”

He had no answer, and the second’s delay before he could form a response was all it took. Visibly flustered, she turned away, focusing all her attention on the horizon.

“Now, what would you like me to ignite again?” Her voice was thick, but she was obviously striving for a more lighthearted tone. “That rock? I’m warning you—I won’t be able to do much more than scorch it. You do know rocks aren’t flammable, don’t you?”

“I know.” Every nerve in every muscle strained not to pull her close, make another lame attempt at fixing things between them. It would have to wait.

“Okay. Here goes. Watch the rock face.”

Fire lit his vision. It began as a ball of flaming light, bursting from her with a speed that astonished him. It was trailed by a thin beam, not unlike the tail of a comet when seen by the naked eye. Like that elusive heavenly body, he imagined it was mostly gas and debris, and he’d have loved to take a closer look.

But there wasn’t time. The ball of fire hit the rocks with a loud crackle, and a few sparks flew harmlessly to the ground. And with that, it was done.

Done before he had a chance to examine the fire as it left her body. Done before he had a chance to break through the wonder of it. Of
her
.

“Well?” Fiona asked. She had crossed her arms over her stomach, and something like expectancy flitted over her face.

Well, what? He’d just seen proof positive of the work that had been his sole companion, with the exception of Neil, for longer than he cared to admit. He’d just witnessed a woman do what he himself had failed at, no matter what lengths he went to. He was amazed. He was excited.

He wanted to kiss her.

“That was pretty—”

“Freaky?” Her voice was strained.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Freaky. But in the best possible way. How did this happen? Why did you take the conversion serum? How have you gone for so long without anyone knowing? The Conversion Office can’t possibly know about this.”

She looked away. “It’s a long story.”

“One you’re going to tell me, right?” he asked.

She licked her lips, all uncertainty and innocence. Before he realized what he was doing, Ian reached over to offer his support, urgent in his need to be near her. She accepted his arm only briefly but then pulled away as though she’d been scalded.

“What?” Ian asked, whirling and gripping her wrists to keep her from retreating. “What is it? Does it still burn?”

“No.” She stopped struggling and gazed at his hands, which were still holding her, with wonder. “Don’t you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Besides the smooth skin rasping against his when he released her? “Are you going to shoot again?”

“No. No of course not. I have pretty good control over it.” Fiona studied the fields for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the area where they’d stood. “How close would you say you were to me while I shot? Five feet? Ten?”

Ian’s brows shot up. “I don’t know. Six or seven, probably. Why? Does that have an impact on your abilities?”

She ignored his question, and her hand came up to his forehead like he was an infant, even though she was definitely not his mother.

“How do you feel? Hot? You don’t feel hot.”

Oh, he was hot all right, but it had nothing to do with the burst of fire that had come out of her hand and everything to do with her proximity. Stepping into her circle was intoxicating. The fresh scent of linen mixed with her sweat and wrapped around him with all the promises of what linens and sweat implied.

“I’m fine,” Ian muttered, stepping back, forcing himself to remember to breathe. “Are we ready to head back to the lab now?”

Disappointment flashed across Fiona’s face, but she nodded and moved toward his truck.

“I’ll tell you all about Patrick Veller on the way.”

“Patrick Veller?” Ian grabbed Fiona’s shoulder and turned her to face him.

She bit her lip and met his eyes. “He’s the man who did this to me—and the man I think might be trying to kill me.”

Ian’s stomach clenched. The bastard had a name.

“And all those other fires,” she added. “He’s trying to blame me for them.”

“Who would do something like that?” Ian asked. Fiona might be a walking flamethrower, but it seemed to him like she wasn’t dangerous. She had pretty good control over all this.

“You already know him.” Fiona pulled herself into the truck. “He goes by General Eagle.”

Chapter Seven

“Dude, she’s lying.”

“Neil, she’s in the next room. Lower your voice.”

“Lying. Ly. Ing.” Neil shook his head, though his voice did get softer. He sported a shiny red nose, blood still encrusted along the bottom. Not broken, but definitely close. Ian had a hard time mustering up any guilt.

“I get it, I really do,” Neil continued. “That chick is hotter than hell, pun intended. But you can’t take her word over all our evidence. I know we haven’t run the residue from the school yet, but her signature is all over that tree. And, dude—really? General Eagle is the big bad culprit? How could we even begin proving that?”

Ian’s jaw tightened. Fiona could probably hear every word from the living room couch, where she was resting—and he wasn’t about to subject her to Neil’s viciousness again. But the man was his friend and assistant, and he couldn’t punch him every time they butted heads. Ian’s hands would break.

“I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you to understand, but I refuse to believe she’s a killer or a thief. And it makes perfect sense. Who would want to harm her more than the country’s biggest anti-conversion advocate?”

“Everyone else in the whole fucking world.” Neil gulped down an entire can of root beer and pointed it at him. “She’s dangerous.”

“And you have to remember, this isn’t some random stranger. We know this woman. We grew up with her.”

Neil crushed the can with his bare hand and tossed it into the sink. “You’re wrong.” He spoke more to the sink than Ian, his words so low they were barely discernible. “When it comes to you and that girl, you’ve always refused to see straight.”

A feminine voice interrupted. “You forgot to mention that I haven’t burned down the lab yet.”

Ian and Neil both turned to find Fiona leaning on the doorjamb to the kitchen, watching them with a frown.

“What?” Ian asked, flushing guiltily. He didn’t think she’d heard Neil’s last remarks, but it was hard to tell.

“If you’re going to convince your friend here that I don’t have any evil intentions, you may want to remind him that I could reduce this place to ashes, taking the pair of you along with it. But I haven’t.”

Neil slammed his hands on the counter. “Dammit, Ian—if you can’t see how she’s manipulating you, then I’m out of here. Fiona is good for one thing, and you know it. The faster you fuck her and get it out of your system, the better for all of us. Then we can get back to work. You know, catching the Fireball? Saving the world?”

Ian bristled.

“I thought I was the Fireball?” Fiona asked. Her lips were spread in a grimace that didn’t bode well for the state of Neil’s nose.

“Exactly.” Neil grabbed his hooded sweatshirt, an Ed Hardy monstrosity. “And why the fuck is it like ten thousand degrees in here? Doesn’t that chick come with temperature controls?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before storming out the door, slamming it so hard the pictures rattled.

“He’s still an asshole.” Fiona tucked her hands into her sides and offered a wobbly smile. “But I’m sorry for causing so much trouble between the two of you. Do you want to open a few windows?”

Ian looked around. “What for? Does it feel hot to you, too?”

“Um…no. I rarely feel it.” She came toward him, her eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously telling me there is no shift in the temperature right now?”

A brief moment of panic flitted through his mind as her look intensified, but it was quickly replaced by an emotion much less ominous in purpose. Lord help him, but Neil was right. He couldn’t look at this woman and see science, chemical mutations, or anything even approaching danger. All he saw was soft expanses of sun-kissed skin and the red-hot pounding of his own blood.

“Give me your hand.” Fiona extended hers toward him.

Ian was instantly wary. “What? Why?”

She didn’t move. “I said, give me your hand.”

“Look, a lot has happened today. I’m not sure—”

“For crying out loud, Ian. I’m not going to hurt you. Just give me the damn hand.”

He placed his palm against hers. She let their hands rest tentatively at first, staring hard at their light grasp, and then gripped harder, as if it was the first time she’d ever made human contact. He didn’t question it. It felt so good to be touching her, even if it was just a handshake…or whatever it was they were doing.

“Will you dance with me?” Her voice tumbled out as a rushed breath. “I haven’t danced in so long.”

He heard so much longing, so much need in her voice. There was no way Ian could stop himself from drawing her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other clasping her hand firm. She felt natural in the way she molded against him, accepting his nearness as though they’d never been separated by circumstance or time.

It would have been easy to feel silly, to overanalyze the situation, but Ian dropped his guard and let himself revel in the moment. And even though he heard no sound other than the sudden rush of blood through his body, he gave in. It was music enough.

They danced.

It was a simple waltz—the only dance Ian knew. He’d been a groomsman in a friend’s wedding once, and the bride had insisted the men live up to the promises of their black tuxedos.
One-two-three, one-two-three.
Even he could handle that.

Well, theoretically. No number of ballroom dancing lessons could have prepared Ian for the way Fiona moved against him, allowing him to take the lead so swiftly and surely that she was like a Claymation doll in his hands. A sound, low and soft, escaped her, and her head came to rest just at his shoulder. Her other hand balled up against his back.

He spun her out of the room. His living room was small and cluttered with kitschy pieces of furniture, but there was enough space for the two of them to continue moving—with each other and against each other.

The fabric of her tank top under his hand was incredibly warm to the touch, but so thin he could feel how soft she was underneath it. It bunched under his hand as he gripped her tighter, twirled her faster.

And just like that, they stopped, even though the room kept spinning. Fiona broke away, panting heavily, her oh-so-red lips parted and inviting. The space between them, a few inches at the most, felt like miles. Something was wrong.

“Fiona, I—”

She shook her head, and her arms wrapped around her middle. “No. Let me talk.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“All that stuff Neil said before, about me?”

“Neil’s an idiot. He has a hard time seeing past the work we’re doing, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t talked to a human being other than me or his mom in years. We’ve been at this for so long—looking for you, the Fireball, for so long. Do you have any idea how special you are? Do you have any idea what your existence
means
?”

He felt a familiar excitement mounting in his chest. Fiona was special. She was proof that humans could be so much more than what their genes dictated. They could grow, adapt, improve—reach unheard of potentials. It was all he’d ever wanted. He reached toward her, ready to tell her all of this, but her eyes filled with tears, cutting him off.

“Oh, I know what it means, and it’s not even close to glamorous, having these powers. The whole idea of the conversion serum looks good and sounds good—from the outside. But the reality sucks, Ian. Do you know what I’ve given up? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be me?”

“Tell me.” His words were hoarse.

She pulled her hands out from her sides and held them palms up, looking at them with so much loathing it hurt to watch. Just above the surface of each hand, a little ball of light hovered, yellow and burning, the air around them warped with the waves of heat.

“I can’t touch anyone,” she said, closing her fists and her eyes simultaneously. “The fire, it comes whenever I experience strong emotions. Anger. Frustration.” Her eyes popped open and she looked at him. “Lust.”

“I don’t understand.”

She laughed, but there was a dearth of humor to it that was almost scary. “I can’t touch anyone and no one can touch me. The fire burns too high. I voluntarily put something in my body that has made me incapable of having sex—of participating in any normal human relationship. For eight long years. I have been without anything for eight years.”

“But I was just touching you.” Ian moved closer, trying to make contact again, but she jumped away. “Fiona—I was just touching you, and it was fine.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I think you must have a higher tolerance or something. It’s only a matter of time before I hurt you, too. I always do. Didn’t you see how red Neil’s face was before, how hot he was? He was getting a first-degree burn just being in the room, and he wasn’t even touching me.”

Ian didn’t feel hot at all. In fact, there was a sudden chill to the air that made it difficult to breathe.

No. There was no way. It wasn’t possible.

“You’re saying everyone has this reaction to you?” Ian asked carefully.

“Yes.” She paused, her eyes stricken. “This is my life now.”

“Touch my shirt,” he ordered, tugging at the sleeve and holding it out. He tried not to notice the way he was shaking. “Use your flames. Make it burn.”

Her brows came together, but she did as he asked, careful to keep their skin from making any contact. The cotton of the shirt warmed up instantly, almost as though he’d put it on right out of the dryer. She intensified the heat. A hole formed and spread, charred like it was under a magnifying glass. Predictably, the flaming cloth burned his skin—but that was it. There was no other sensation at all.

It had to be a trick.

“Now my hand. Touch my hand.”

Light, grazing fingertips moved over his wrist. A sharp breath filled the air—his and Fiona’s, coming together as one. She pulled away and shot a small spark at his arm. It bounced off and fell, crackling, to the floor.

“You don’t feel anything at all?” She asked breathlessly. “You’re immune to me?”

This time, it was Ian who broke away. It was too much—it was all too much. For years, he’d gone through life believing he was powerless, a conversion serum reject, unable to have the one thing he wanted most in the world…when all along, it was right in front of him.

She
was right in front of him.

“I think we need to talk,” Ian said. He sank to an overstuffed armchair, his head in his hands. “There’s something I think you should know about me.”

“What?” She fell to her knees before him, looking up with an earnestness that was almost painful. “You can tell me anything.”

“I think I know the reason I’m immune to you, Fiona. The truth is, I’m a Converted, too.”