Fire Watcher 3 by Saintcrow Lilith

Author:Saintcrow, Lilith [Saintcrow, Lilith]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Psychic Ability, Witches, Occult Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781933417028
Publisher: ImaJinn Books
Published: 2006-05-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

She came stamping down the stairs as Remy was finishing daily drill. The sky was turning the bruised purple-yellow that meant thunderstorm, a color he associated more with the hot, humid city of his childhood than this more temperate climate. He had even heard more faint rumbles of thunder.

His sword blurred through the last few complex moves and ended up back in its sheath, and he turned to find his witch standing in the living room doorway watching him.

She'd braided her red-gold hair back, and it was wet and dark from the shower. Small silver hoops glittered in her ears, she had traded the ruby stud in her nose for a silver ring, and she had tied the Trifero to another bit of ribbon, this time crimson. It just served to make her neck look even more slender and fragile. The Talisman itself seemed to pulse with dangerous Power.

Her black T-shirt said Princess in hot-pink cursive across her breasts, and she wore another pair of frayed jeans. Both shirt and jeans were artfully torn, the shirt with its neck ripped out and its sleeves clipped off, exposing pale satiny shoulders, her jeans showing flashes of pale thigh and one smooth knee. A pair of chunky scarlet sneakers completed the vision, as well as a thick leather cuff on her right wrist. She carried the coffee cup, and her eyes were wide and clear, the light green of her irises ringed with a darker, smoky green.

Remy's heart gave a leap that threatened to strangle him.

One coppery eyebrow quirked. She looked half-amused, half-amazed. “You were waving that sword around in my living room?"

He opened his mouth to apologize. Instead, what came out was, “Practice makes perfect."

"No.” She shook her head. Her braid bounced against her back. “Perfect practice makes perfect. That looks pretty cool. You think you could teach me some?"

His mouth went dry. “You mean, teach you sword fighting?"

"Yeah.” She shrugged. “And I should start carrying a gun, don't you think?"

Nothing in Remy's training had prepared him for this. The lump in his throat felt suspiciously like stone. “I thought witches practiced nonviolence.” He wanted to touch her so badly his hands burned.

"I don't get violent unless someone gets violent with me. That's practical nonviolence.” Her green eyes glittered for a moment, her perfect mouth twisting slightly. “And if you're going to be doing some ass-kicking to keep these guys away from me, I should be helping as much as I can."

How could he possibly explain this to her? “You don't understand. It takes Dark to fight the Dark. I can fight them because I can be as ruthless as they are. I can fight better if I don't have to worry about you catching a stray bullet."

She considered this, chewing her lower lip. “I need more coffee,” she muttered darkly. “Are you saying you won't teach me?"

"No,” he said. “I'll teach you all I can. But I want you to let me do my job. Fair?"

He watched her face go through a myriad of emotions—thoughtfulness, anger, worry, and finally a kind of acceptance.

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