Ember: A prequel to Firelight by Kristen Callihan

Author:Kristen Callihan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

London, May 15,1879

Miranda woke feeling as if she’d been plucked from her dreams, a hard forceful removal that had her body jerking in the bed as her eyes opened. Her heart pounded as she blinked up at a cracked ceiling, trying to place just where she was for several pained moments. Right, in the spare room. Her guest, one Billy Finger, was occupying her room.

He had roused the morning after she brought him here, and since then, had cursed her and this house seven ways to Sunday.

“How do you think I bloody feel, you stupid cow! I’ve been roasted like a market pig. I’ve got pain on top of pain!”

He’d thrown the water ewer at her when she tried to get near. “Get out.”

Miranda had ignored him, and ignored the temptation to tell him that it was her house and he was free to leave it.

While the rotten blighter had no qualms about insulting her, he seemed content to stay just where he was, ordering her about whenever she visited.

She sighed, wishing she hadn’t come fully awake. On the heels of full wakefulness came a bone-deep sense of loss. Her hands curled into the sheets, as if she could

somehow hold on to the dream. To Him.

For it had been him again, the dark stranger. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tight and tender. A blush of heat stole over her face as she remembered the feel of his mouth, so hot and wet, pulling on her nipples. Such a thing. Martin had never done that. Indeed, he’d never been given a chance. Their coupling was a furtive thing, not allowing for her to undress. Surely, Martin had caressed her breasts, touching her nipples through the thick layer of her bodice, but it had been nothing compared to what He had done in her dream. Wicked things. Wonderful things.

On a sigh, Miranda sat up, trying to shake the memory of his big, strong hands skimming up her thighs to grip her waist. Of being filled by his big, strong…

“Bloody hell,” she muttered and leapt out of bed. Today was her bloody wedding day. Vigorously, she splashed her face with icy water.

A violent shout brought her up short, sending water into her eyes. It was Billy, crying out in pain, and another masculine voice… Martin!

“Help!”

Billy.

“Who the bloody hell are you!”

Miranda scrambled to the other room, bursting in as Martin hauled Billy up by his shirt and gave him a shake.

“Martin!” Miranda grabbed his arm. “Let him go! You’ll hurt him.”

Martin dropped Billy as if the man had turned to live coals and instead turned his glare on her. “Who is this?”

“Billy Finger,” she said baldly.

When Martin’s brows rose, she grimaced. “He’s convalescing.”

“More like being held captive in a madhouse,” Billy muttered. But there was real and deep pain etched into the lines of his face. Gingerly, he eased himself into a better position on the bed. Miranda went to him and offered up a packet of pain powders.

“Why is he convalescing here?” Martin asked as she moved to pour Billy a cup of water.

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