Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 (2 page)

She took his hand as they walked across the street and went down a set of stairs off the sidewalk that led to a dimly lit, cozy Greek hideaway. This was one of her favorite things about London—the food. Not English food. Other than breakfast and those tiny sandwiches they made for tea, she wasn’t a fan. But the Greek food? The Italian and Indian restaurants? To die for. The food here was better than any she’d had back home. The only thing they did better in Texas was barbeque, and it wasn’t something she missed.

As soon as they walked inside she knew she loved the place. It was like a different world down here—intimately lit and relaxed, with none of the rush of most restaurants. The distinctive bouzouki music playing softly in the background made her think of intoxicating drinks and hot, sandy beaches… And billionaires with secret babies, but that could be due to that one summer she’d spent on a romance-reading binge.

A busty hostess with short, curly hair picked up two menus and led them to a quiet corner booth, her twinkling brown eyes focused on Greg every step of the way.

“Our best table for you,” she said with a suggestive smile. “Very private.”

Greg smiled back, just as suggestively.
“Efharisto.”

“You’re welcome, and the accent is cute,” she said with a pleased expression and a thick accent of her own as she held out the menus. “But it needs work.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“He really is.” Aziza took her menu absently. “It’s too bad he can’t find the time to translate German Pig Latin.”

Greg glared at her and Aziza gave the confused-looking woman an apologetic grin. “I mean, he
is
…and do you happen to serve ouzo in this establishment?”

“Yes, of course. Excuse me, please.”

When the hostess nodded and left without another word, Greg shook his head. “Thanks for that.”

Aziza reached over and patted his hand. “You can always come back and flirt with her later, buddy. I need that hunky shoulder of yours to cry on at the moment.”

He studied her, his expression both amused and concerned. “Yes, ma’am. Flirting has been tabled. Tell Saint King Greg all your troubles.”

Saint King Greg.
She smiled, leaning back against the soft fabric of the booth seat. She loved him. Handsome and familiar and…Greg. Greg with his sandy hair that always begged to be tousled, his perfect, movie-star smile that his family had spent a fortune on, and the hazel eyes that were always so open and ready to be kind. He’d been her best friend—her hero too—for as long as she could remember. He’d never left her or let her down, even when he thought she was headed for the loony bin. Even when her power was activated, her hands caught fire and she started hooking up with men of the inappropriately paranormal variety.

“Where do I begin?”

A dour, older waitress came to their table, setting down the bottle and two narrow shot glasses firmly and then standing there waiting to take their order with a scowl and no hint of the hostess’s flirtatious personality.

After they hurriedly chose several items from the menu, she walked away and Greg got straight to business. “Let’s start with the easy problem—your lack of a honeymoon phase. Personally, I think Brandon is trying to give you a break by not letting you join him on these hunts of his. By keeping you out of it. Has that occurred to you?”

“How do you know he’s what I want to talk about first?” she asked, pouring them each a glass of ouzo. “And why in the hell do you think
that’s
the easy problem?”

“He’s usually what you want to talk about. And you get a certain look when you’re brooding about him,” he told her with a grin. Then he sobered and lowered his voice. “But seriously, after all the shit that went down last month? The murders, our own twisted version of angels versus demons…him? It’s a lot to take in.”

“Angels and demons,” she snorted. “I’ve read every one of those books you bought me, cover to cover, and all I can say is the quote-unquote
angels
must have one hell of a PR department. Other than the glowing bits, they aren’t anything like that in real life.” The facts about demons—Jinn—on the other hand, were fascinating and eerily accurate.

Greg nodded. “And you just made my point.
In real life.
Aziza, in real life you are dating a werewolf and you can set yourself on
fire
. You have powers I’d always relegated to the land of fiction and bull puckey.
I’ve
needed some time to come to terms with it, so I can only imagine that you do too. Maybe Brandon knows what you need better than you think.”

Aziza sucked in her lower lip to restrain the pout she felt forming. She really wished Greg weren’t defending Brandon. She wanted to bitch about her boyfriend, not empathize.

He was right, though—it
was
a lot to take in. Ever since they came to England, she’d been confronted with the kind of new experiences she wouldn’t have put on her bucket list in a million years, and the family curse she’d been so sure would strike her down had taken a strange turn. Not death. Not for her.

Not yet, anyway.

She
did
have powers now. She’d also learned she wasn’t entirely human and she’d attracted the unwanted attention of three species most of humanity lived in total ignorance of. She was Fireborne. Justice. All that stood between the Jinn and Niyr decimating her world with their hatred for each other. She was a legend to werewolfkind and the lynchpin of some ancient damn treaty.

She was a woman dating a man so dedicated to his job he couldn’t even take her to the movies.

Yee-fucking-haw.

It sounded great on paper, but the fine print was a bitch. Especially when it came to her life. Her relationships.

“Say Brandon
is
trying to give me a break,” she grumbled after taking a sip of the deliciously smooth, faintly licorice-flavored liquid. “That doesn’t mean he’s perfect. You have to admit he’s got issues. Especially when it comes to Ram.”

Ram. He was one of the two Jinn assigned to watch over her—the one who’d tricked her into having sex with him to ignite her abilities. The same one who’d saved Aunt Penn from the Jiniyr, Razia and Harash, when they came after Aziza. He’d been exiled for his troubles, stripped of his powers and shunned by his people. He’d sacrificed everything for them. For her.

That sacrifice didn’t seem to matter to Brandon—he’d made his feelings about her protecting Ram clear. The only consolation he would give her was that he wouldn’t allow the Enforcers to take him in for questioning. Yet.

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Greg nodded. “I can admit he’s been a dick about Ram, but Brandon may not be able to help it. He was raised to hate them. Enforcers aren’t exactly taught how to be politically correct when it comes to things they think are
unnatural
.”

Aziza lifted her eyebrow. “The nature-versus-nurture argument doesn’t get him off the hook.” Even if both told him to act on his hatred for Ram and he still seemed to be restraining himself for her sake. For the moment.

“No, it doesn’t.” Greg paused and studied his silverware for a moment, as if seeking answers in the shining utensils. When he looked up at her with a forced expression of cheer, she knew he hadn’t found them. “But other than your disagreements about Ram’s rights and Brandon’s wolfy work schedule, you two are doing great, right?”

“Other than those few giant red flags that I’m having a hard time ignoring today, yes, we’re great.”

Which made it more frustrating. In so many ways Brandon was almost too good to be true. Too sexy. Too perfect for her. Unless the topic of the Jinn came up. Or Ram. Or Brandon’s father, the Alpha.

Or her abilities and what they were doing to her.

Aziza rubbed her hand where the sand from not just one vial, but two—hers and her brother Tarik’s—had found its way under her skin. It was in her bloodstream now and taking her over bit by bit with each day that passed. Confusing her about what she was feeling, what she wanted…what
it
wanted.

If her visions were true, she still needed to find the last two portions that had been sent to her brothers Adam and Joseph. Needed to use them and take more of the mysterious power inside her.

“The Mayet could shape the sand, but no one knows how the sand will shape a Fireborne. No one can see into the soul.”

The words in Greg’s notebook haunted her. She had changed, and was changing a little more with every day that passed. Would accepting the rest of the sand transform her completely? Would Aziza Jane exist at all in the end? If not, who would she be? She was still trying to piece together what it meant to her, as well as to everyone else around her—Penn and Greg in particular. They were the only family she had left. She couldn’t let anything happen to them because of who she was, or what she might become.

Greg reached for her hand, stopping her restless movements. “About Adam’s box,” he began hesitantly. “I hope you’re not getting your hopes up too high about what’s in it before it gets here. I mean, Tarik was actually
in
the land of the Jinn myths when he was at your father’s place, so it made sense when we found things that related to your Fireborne side of the family in his personal effects. But Adam was in Colorado photographing snow bunnies when he…”

Aziza smiled compassionately at his hesitation. “It’s okay for you to say he died. I’m not that fragile anymore. And yes, knowing my brother, I’m sure snow bunnies were involved at some point. Maybe he
was
just doing a fluff piece for a magazine when Razia’s people killed him, but there could still be something useful in the box.”

Like a vial. His portion of the black sand that contained a power meant for her unique family line. Her inheritance from the father that she’d barely known, Zayid Ammu.

“And there might be nothing but a tube of toothpaste and pictures of nude women in hot tubs,” Greg countered gently. “You have to be prepared for that.”

“I am. But, Greg, Adam never believed Tarik’s death was an accident. Not completely.”

“He never said it directly, but I don’t think he did either. He was too skeptical of the official report from Bahrain about the house fire.”

Aziza rapped her knuckle on the table. “See? He honored Mom’s wishes by staying in the United States, but he was always emailing his journalist friends in Egypt—and he’d leave the room when he was on the phone with Joseph.” She leaned closer and gave him a penetrating look. “I think they must have known more about what was going on than I did, more than any of them wanted to tell me. Maybe they thought I was like her and couldn’t handle it.”

“That’s a theory you have no way of proving. If they did know something, they didn’t share it with me,” he promised. “I was close to all of them, but you know I would have told you.”

“I know.” But the little things she was remembering now made her more and more certain that her brothers, her mother…
everyone
had known more about what was coming than she did.

Their food arrived and Aziza instantly snagged a stuffed grape leaf and took a bite, chewing slowly. “Even if you’re right and the box is a dead end, it’s the only solid lead I have. God knows I can’t seem to get an answer out of the men Joseph served with. My
blood
isn’t telling me diddly right now, and my Qarins are no help at all—or I suppose I should say Qarin, singular, since Ram is still moping about losing his mojo and Shev is missing in action. That only leaves my Niyr to protect me.” She blew a stray hair out of her face and reached for another
dolma
. “Go, Team Te.”

“Letters to other countries, especially to military types, tend to take time finding their recipients,” Greg reasoned. “Plus, if anyone in his squad saw Joseph escape the blast and didn’t report it, they might not be in a hurry to admit that omission. Be patient.”

“Gregory Prophet makes a valid point, as usual.” Te’s voice had Aziza choking on the drink she’d just shot back. “And your singular Qarin is doing everything that consensus allows to aid you.”

Gasping from ouzo going down the wrong pipe, Aziza looked up at the Niyr as Greg laughed and got to his feet, his eyes wide with obvious appreciation.

“Look at you, beautiful. Are you taller? No?” He guided Te into the booth and waited for her to slide in before he sat down beside her. “There is something different about you, isn’t there? I just can’t put my finger on what it is this time.”

Aziza didn’t even try to hide her smile. “Try cup size, babe—it looks like she’s up to the third letter of the alphabet. And you really shouldn’t ‘put your finger on it’ in public.”

When Greg sent her a chiding look, her grin widened. Te’s breasts were definitely bigger, and Aziza was fairly positive the change wasn’t for
her
benefit this time. The Niyr had changed her form more than once since they met. She’d been a creepy boy in a school uniform, a quietly attractive woman in her twenties and a little girl attempting to escape Aziza’s wrath, and the only thing they all had in common was their coloring—pale skin, platinum hair and the black, bottomless eyes of the Niyr.

This was the body she’d had the last several times Aziza had seen her, that of a young woman with modest, fifties fashion sense and a fresh, innocent face. The look was still off, but far prettier than her previous incarnations. Angelic. If Greg’s suppositions were true, the Niyr
were
what ancient humans called angels. Only they weren’t really messengers from heaven—just emotionless brainiacs from a parallel world who thought they knew everything, and for some reason hated the Jinn as much as the werewolves did. There was nothing cherubic or heavenly about
that
.