Scorched Heart

Book 4: The Firebrand Series

by Helen Harper

Genres: Urban Fantasy; Literary Fiction; urban fantasy

Synopsis

My parents were brutally murdered when I was five years old. Their killer has spent the last twenty five years in prison for his terrible crimes—but I still have unanswered questions. After all, I am the phoenix. When I die, I am reborn in fire and brimstone. It happens again and again and again. I have no idea where my strange ability came from and nobody to ask.



Now another shocking murder has been committed in the small village where my parents died and there is evidence which suggests the killer is supernatural. The crime gives me the perfect reason to return to my childhood home. I can offer my expertise as a Supe Squad detective—and seek the truth behind what I really am.



The trouble is that I might not like what I find.

Release date: May 4, 2021

Print pages: 275

Sample

Chapter 1

I sat in Tallulah’s driver’s seat, clutching my already cold takeaway coffee, and gazing out of the window. The car park was busier than I’d expected. I watched as a tight-faced woman gripped the hand of the crying toddler beside her and marched back to her own car. A few spaces down, two grey-suited men stepped out of their vehicle with briefcases in one hand and phones in the other. They strode towards the entrance of the building with the sure-footed purpose of people who’d trodden this path many times before and knew exactly where they were going.

It was my first time here, but I’d been to places like this during my two years of detective training. No matter how different each building looked, or which part of London or the surrounding countryside they were located in, they all maintained the same atmosphere. Desperation mixed with satisfaction. Hope combined with fear. Justice coupled with revenge.

Her Majesty’s Prison Galloway was no different.

My fingers itched and I was sorely tempted to turn the key in Tallulah’s ignition and speed away without looking back. I hadn’t expected that my visit request would be agreed so quickly. With no active investigation taking place, I’d assumed that the bureaucratic wheels of England’s correctional system would grind slowly and that it would be several weeks – if ever – before I gained the access I required. And yet here I was, less than seventy-two hours later, with an approved appointment to meet with my parents’ murderer.

I’d told Lukas that I wanted to do this alone and that it would be easier without his brooding presence at my shoulder. That had been a mistake. I’d have given half the blood in my body to have him there right now. I shouldn’t have under-estimated the importance of moral support.

The two men, who were probably solicitors, had passed through the main doors fifty metres ahead and were no longer in view. The woman had clipped her child into the back seat of her car and was muttering to herself with a dark expression as she climbed behind the wheel. She caught me staring at her and gave me a scowl and her middle finger. I didn’t react.

‘Is this a mistake, Tallulah?’ I asked aloud.

Needless to say, the car didn’t respond. I sighed. Time to quit stalling and woman up. I stepped out and pulled back my shoulders. I was Detective Constable Emma Bellamy and I’d been face to face with murderers before. When I died, I was reborn twelve hours later in a cloud of burning, sulphurous flame. According to a certain book of enchantments that had caused as many problems as it had solved, I was the one and only phoenix. I spent my days immersed with supernatural beings who were far more powerful than any of those incarcerated in the building in front of me. And since last week, I spent my nights with the leader of the London vampires.

I could handle one human male, no matter what he was responsible for. I was more than strong enough. I adjusted the waist on my best suit jacket and marched to the prison entrance.

The interior was brighter than I’d expected, with cheerful walls painted in warm amber tones and artwork apparently created by the inmates, alongside posters detailing the prison rules for visitors. I dug out my visiting order and handed it over to a uniformed guard behind a perspex screen, together with my driver’s licence and warrant card.

‘Good morning, DC Bellamy,’ he said, with the same professional smile I’d received from the barista when I’d ordered my coffee earlier this morning. ‘We have a note of your visit. Before you enter, I must ask you to complete this form.’ He passed over a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached. I checked over the details and scrawled down my date of birth and address before signing it at the bottom.

‘And I must take your photo for our records as well.’

I nodded and waited. Unfortunately, the flash was brighter than I expected and I was forced to blink rapidly to clear my vision. The guard smiled at me, clearly used to that reaction.

‘As this is an official visit,’ he said, ‘you’ll be directed to a room where you can talk to the prisoner privately. He has agreed to speak to you, but please note that he will be handcuffed at all times and that you will be separated by a screen. Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t be the case but, given the delicacy of your situation, such separation is appropriate. The allotted time for your visit is one hour. If you require longer, you will need to speak to the assigned prison officer and—’

‘I won’t need longer,’ I interrupted.

The guard’s eyes met mine. There was a trace of sympathy in his expression that proved he knew exactly who I was and what Samuel Beswick had done to my family. ‘Very well.’ He licked his lips. ‘He doesn’t often get visitors, you know. His mother visited him for a time, but she’s in a care home now and doesn’t travel any more. Nobody’s been to see Mr Beswick for at least three years.’

Maybe I was meant to feel some satisfaction at the tit-bit of information that there was no longer a single person who cared enough about Beswick to come and see him. Surprisingly, it only made me feel sad. He’d altered the trajectory of my life when he ended the existence of my parents, and I hated him to my core, but it made the brutal deaths of my mum and dad feel even more pointless.

Samuel Beswick would die alone inside these prison walls. In the end, he’d achieved nothing more than tragedy for everyone involved, himself included. Nobody was a winner here.

I passed through the metal detector and submitted to a further pat down before a prison officer escorted me down a wide corridor to a beige-coloured door marked with the number thirty-two. The prison officer unlocked it and gestured me inside.

‘Samuel Beswick will be here shortly,’ he said. ‘He’ll arrive via the opposite door. Although you will be able to see each other, you will be separated by the screen at all times.’ He spoke as though he were reciting a well-worn set of rules. ‘You are advised to remain in your chair throughout the meeting. I will be outside. When you are finished, knock on the door and I will escort you out. We will not be listening but, for your information, there is a camera in the corner of the room which will be recording proceedings.’

I nodded, distracted. Unlike the warm tones of the entrance area, this room felt cold. It was painted in the same nondescript beige as the steel door. There was, I decided, no colour more depressing than beige.

The prison officer waited until I sat down on the uncomfortable metal chair that was firmly bolted to the floor. In front of me, stretching from wall to wall, was the aforementioned screen. The lower half was made out of steel but the top half was glass with a small vent through which conversation could travel. It was designed to prevent any physical contact between visitor and prisoner and it looked sturdy enough. Although I wasn’t afraid of Beswick, the screen was oddly reassuring. Beyond it was another chair and another door - the door through which my parents’ killer would emerge.

‘He’ll only be a minute or two,’ the officer said and left me alone.

I crossed my legs then I uncrossed them. I put my hands in my lap, one loose on top of the other. A moment later, I changed my mind and intertwined my fingers. Relax, Emma. Breathe. He was only a man. The waiting and the anticipation would be far worse than the event itself. Probably.

When the opposite door opened, I jumped. As I cursed myself for doing so, Samuel Beswick shuffled in and sat on the chair opposite.

Illogically, I’d expected to be confronted by the same man who’d been photographed as he was bundled away from the Old Bailey after sentencing. But that had happened twenty-five years ago. I was no longer the small child he’d left in a pool of my parents’ blood – and he was no longer a young man with a bushy moustache and head of dark hair. For one thing he’d gone grey. Not the distinguished silver fox sort of grey you saw on the well-to-do streets where I lived, but the dank, stringy sort of grey that would be filed immediately under images of vagrancy if the internet had its way. His skin was pale after spending decades in the prison system, while his jowls sagged and his shoulders drooped. His blue eyes, however, remained sharp.

I knew that he’d busied himself over the years. He’d taught himself Arabic and a smattering of Chinese. He’d taken A-levels in history and psychology and economics, and studied for a law degree with the Open University. Samuel Beswick might be a murderer but he wasn’t an idiot. I would do well to remember that.

I wanted to lean across the table, smash through the screen, grab him by the shoulders and demand to know why he’d killed my parents. Instead I smiled pleasantly and kept my voice low. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’

‘You have no idea, Miss Bellamy, how desirable any sort of break in routine can be to an old jailbird like me.’ His voice was croaky, as though he didn’t use it very often. I dropped my eyes to his hands and the yellowed stains around his fingers indicating his nicotine habit. Then I looked up again. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘it’s Detective Constable Bellamy.’

Something passed across Beswick’s expression, an emotion too fleeting and nebulous for me to grasp. It wasn’t distaste or dislike; if I’d had to guess, I’d have said it was understanding. ‘My apologies, DC Bellamy. Should I infer that you’re here in a professional rather than a personal capacity, then?’

I met his gaze without blinking. ‘I’m here about my parents.’ Such an admission would hardly be news to Samuel Beswick. He knew who I was. An odd light crossed his eyes. I watched him carefully and continued. ‘You’ve never admitted what you did to them, but I’m hoping that you will to me. After all, you’ve been here for twenty-five years because of your actions. You were found guilty in a court of law. Between the witness statements placing you in the area at the time and the traces of blood found on your clothes when they were examined, there’s no doubt that you murdered them in cold blood.’

Beswick gazed at me then shifted his weight slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I did.’

They were only three words, three simple words, but given how long he’d denied what he’d done, I hadn’t expected to hear them from his thin lips. I certainly hadn’t expected the surge of relief I would feel at his sudden admission.

‘You want to know all the details.’ He didn’t sound eager to tell me or that he was going to revel in the tale. To be honest, Samuel Beswick merely sounded tired. ‘Right?’

I swallowed. ‘I want to know why. Why did you kill them?’

Beswick shrugged. ‘What can I say? They had everything and I had nothing. It was pure jealousy. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

I hadn’t requested the full murder files; I hadn’t wanted to. I remembered nothing from that time, nothing of the murders and nothing of what happened afterwards. I’d been questioned at length as a five year old, and I hadn’t been able to offer up anything useful. Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable but I didn’t even have false memories of that time. However, I’d read what my uncle had kept as well as the old newspaper reports, and I knew all the basic details of Samuel Beswick’s crime off by heart. All the same, I wanted to hear them from his own mouth.

‘You lived in the same village,’ I stated.

He grinned, baring his stained, crooked teeth. ‘Barchapel. The very definition of Middle England.’ His voice had an oddly manic edge. ‘More of a prison than prison itself. They call Kent the Garden of England. That might be true of some places in the county, but not of Barchapel. It’s more like a cesspit than a rose-filled garden.’

I hadn’t been to Barchapel since the day my parents died, but I doubted Beswick’s description. I’d seen photos of the place: it was small and quaint, not without its faults, but hardly a sewer. Probably the worst thing you could say about it was that it was dull. Apart from the occasional double murder, of course.

‘You knew my parents before you murdered them?’

‘I saw them around the place. In the pub sometimes, out walking. I spoke to your mum once when she was selling cakes at the local fête.’

I leaned forward. I couldn’t help myself. ‘What did she say?’

‘That it was beautiful weather. That she liked my T-shirt. That she was excited about the prize she’d won at the tombola.’ He raised his thin eyebrows. ‘You were there, too. You didn’t speak so much as babble. Something to do with creepy-crawlies at the bottom of your garden, if I remember.’

I’d been barely five years old; it was hardly any wonder that I’d not engaged him in a deep philosophical conversation. ‘So she was nice to you,’ I bit out. ‘But you still killed her.’

Beswick shrugged and looked away. ‘It wasn’t personal, not really. I saw two people who had a better life than I did and I wanted to punish them. I could have picked on anyone. It’s merely unfortunate for you that I picked on your parents. I’d been in London and caught the bus home. I got into Barchapel just after half-ten at night and didn’t feel like going to bed. I went for a walk and saw the lights on in your cottage. Your parents were in there with you.’ He offered me a benign smile. ‘If it helps, they died quickly. They didn’t suffer.’

A hard knot was forming in my chest. ‘That’s not what the coroner’s report said.’ My uncle had kept a copy of the report and I’d read it several times over the last week. It didn’t get any easier to stomach, no matter how familiar the details became.

Beswick looked down at the table. ‘All I can tell you is that it didn’t take long,’ he said quietly. ‘I was there. Not the coroner.’ He paused. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I was in a bad place back then. Your parents didn’t deserve what happened to them. Neither did you.’

‘You killed them,’ I pressed. ‘Why didn’t you kill me too?’

His shoulders jerked. ‘I wouldn’t have done that. You were a kid – it wouldn’t have been fair.’

Fair? Fair? The numbness which had served me so well deserted me in a rush, and a red-veiled mist descended. ‘You broke into our house. You stabbed my father. You slit my mother’s throat. You left me in the kitchen with their bodies. You left me sitting in their blood.’

Beswick winced. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did all that.’

‘Tell me what’s fucking fair about any of that.’ I gripped the arms of the chair, my knuckles turning white. ‘Tell me!’

He didn’t answer.

I almost spat at him, ‘You pleaded not guilty at your trial. You’ve always claimed innocence.’

He shifted in his chair again. ‘I didn’t want to go to prison.’

My chest constricted; it was becoming difficult to breathe. In that moment, I knew with sudden clarity that I couldn’t do this. I had thought that I could sit across from this man and calmly question him, that I was strong enough to deal with whatever he said, but nothing could have been further than the truth. I couldn’t even bear to breathe the same air as him. If I stayed here, I would break through the screen that separated us and kill him. I’d do it with my own bare hands, long before the prison officer outside managed to open the door again and stop me.

I should never have been allowed to speak to Beswick alone. No matter what the prison authorities thought about my situation and their own precautions, I was very aware that I possessed the supernatural strength and the human will to murder the man opposite me. I was so much more than another victim.

‘I have to get out of here,’ I muttered. I sprang to my feet, walked to the door and hammered on it. ‘Let me out!’ I yelled. ‘Let me out of here!’

Beswick didn’t move. He watched me from his chair, those blue eyes burning a proverbial hole into my back. I thumped harder. Where the fuck was that prison officer?

The heavy steel door swung open. ‘Is everything alright?’

I gulped in air. ‘I need to leave.’

The man’s eyes snapped to Beswick behind me, narrowing in accusation, but I was the one he needed to be wary of. I closed my hands into tight fists and repeated my words more calmly. ‘I just need to leave.’

He nodded. ‘Very well.’

I scarpered out of the prison without looking directly at anyone or anything. It seemed to take as long to get out as it had to get in. By the time I left through the main entrance, I was running for my car. As soon as I saw Tallulah, however, I realised that she wasn’t alone.

Lukas straightened up when he saw me. I made a beeline for him and allowed him to wrap his arms round me. I was shaking and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, but Lukas’s presence calmed me. He was a vampire – and yet he made me feel safe.

‘I know you told me not to come,’ he murmured gently, as a stray jet-black curl of his hair tickled my cheek, ‘but I thought you might change your mind. Given that you spent less than ten minutes talking to Beswick and you tore out of that front door as if demons were on your tail, I suspect I was right.’

Maybe he knew me better than I knew myself. ‘Much as I don’t want to admit fallibility,’ I said, ‘I’m glad you came.’ I pulled back to gaze at him. ‘You were right.’

Lukas allowed himself a small smile. ‘One day, Emma,’ he said, ‘you’ll realise that I’m always right.’

Despite the circumstances, I snorted. Yeah, yeah. I punched his arm lightly, glad that his light humour gave me something else to focus on, and he grinned.

‘How did you know I didn’t speak to Beswick for long?’ I asked.

Lukas shrugged. ‘I know a few people who work here,’ he said with studied casualness. ‘I was kept informed.’

Translation: he bribed some of the prison guards to keep him in the loop. I wondered if it had been the friendly guy at the front desk or the rules-focused man outside the door. It didn’t really matter.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ I muttered, looking away.

He reached for my face again and gently tilted it towards himself. ‘I was worried. Considering your expression when you ran out of there, I was right to be.’ A fleeting look of anger crossed his eyes. ‘What did Samuel Beswick say to you? What did he do that made you so scared?’

I sighed. ‘It wasn’t him that scared me. It was me that scared me.’

Lukas understood in an instant. ‘You were afraid of what you might do to him.’

I managed a nod. ‘There was a screen separating us but I knew that I could break through it. I knew that I could get to him and…’ I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Lukas was silent for a moment. There was no censure in his gaze. He looked over my shoulder at the prison, a forbidding darkness flitting across his face. ‘That’s only natural.’

‘He admitted that he killed them, Lukas. He’s never done that before. I looked him in the eye and he admitted that he was guilty.’

Lukas pulled me into a hug again. ‘Come on,’ he said, holding me tight, ‘Let’s get you home.’

 

Chapter 2

Detective Superintendent Lucinda Barnes was waiting for me in the Supe Squad office when I arrived the next day. Liza was scowling darkly in the corner. As DSI Barnes was licking the last few crumbs from a plate that looked like it had recently contained one of Liza’s cakes, I had no trouble working out why Liza was annoyed. She took her baking seriously and wasn’t always comfortable with sharing the fruits of her floury labour.

‘DC Bellamy,’ Barnes said, with a perfunctory smile, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s the weekend but I dropped by because we need to catch up. What’s the situation with the Fairfax clan?’

So much for small talk. ‘Nothing new,’ I said. ‘A new alpha werewolf won’t be confirmed until the full moon when all the contenders fight it out in St James’s Park.’ Barnes already knew this; why she’d deemed it necessary to come and ask about it in person was beyond me.

‘And is this Toffee woman still the most likely candidate?’

I shrugged. ‘As far as I can tell.’

‘You should get close to her. Become her friend. It’ll make things easier later.’

‘Not if she doesn’t get the gig,’ I pointed out. ‘There are other Fairfax betas who might do better than her on the night. If someone else becomes the Fairfax alpha, they won’t take kindly to the fact that I’ve been buttering up Toffee. Not to mention,’ I added, ‘that she very publicly proved herself submissive to Devereau Webb when she presented him with her belly right outside this building. Openly submitting to a non-ranked werewolf who’s not even experienced his own first full moon won’t fill the others with confidence.’

‘Indeed.’ Barnes frowned. ‘What exactly is happening with Mr Webb? Has he made any approaches to the clans?’

‘Nope. He’s still living on the other side of the city. I’ll allow him a few weeks to adjust to being a werewolf then I’ll approach him.’

‘He’s supposed to be in Lisson Grove with the others. The law is very clear.’

I didn’t blink. ‘I know that, but he’s not someone I want to make an enemy of either. Right now, Devereau Webb and I have a cordial relationship. If he proves himself to be as powerful as he has the potential to be, I don’t want to piss him off. I’ll remind him of the supe laws in good time.’

Barnes sniffed. ‘Very well, I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing. But that does bring us to another matter.’

I already knew what she was going to say and so did Liza. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stiffen. It was probably just as well that Fred was out on patrol; at least Liza could give a good show of pretending not to listen. Fred was hopeless at such things.

‘You need another detective,’ Barnes said. ‘Someone with more experience. You’ve done excellent work in improving relations between the police and the supernatural community, but recent events at the Talismanic Bank and beyond have proved that Supe Squad requires another pair of hands.’

I schooled my expression carefully. ‘I take it that you have a detective in mind?’

Barnes answered instantly. ‘Detective Sergeant Owen Grace. He’s keen, ambitious and he has a strong sense of right and wrong.’

‘I don’t know him,’ I answered.

‘There’s no reason why you would. He’s kept his nose clean and had an unremarkable career up to now. When I say that, I mean it as a good thing. And you’ll be pleased to learn that he is more than amenable to working with supes.’

Unlike some of the other Metropolitan police officers, who thought that anyone with supe blood was automatically scum. ‘Okay,’ I said. Until I met DS Grace, I was prepared to keep an open mind.

‘He’ll be your superior officer,’ Barnes said. ‘And you’ll be expected to answer to him. I expect there will be something of an adjustment period to begin with that might prove … awkward.’

‘I’m not planning on causing any problems,’ I said stiffly.

Barnes offered me a kind smile. ‘I know. Neither is DS Grace. But problems can arise when one detective is more knowledgeable than another. You are, after all, a supe yourself and that gives you an edge that DS Grace might find … difficult, given his seniority. Fortunately, I have an idea about how to ensure that he finds his feet.’

I was wary now. ‘Go on.’

‘You visited Samuel Beswick yesterday.’

It wasn’t a question. ‘I followed all the correct procedures,’ I said, instantly on the defensive.

DSI Barnes held up her hands. ‘I’m not suggesting otherwise, Emma. To be honest, I’m surprised that you didn’t visit him before now. Did he provide you with any answers about what happened to your parents?’

I looked down. ‘Other than finally admitting that he was responsible for their murders, not really.’

Barnes pursed her lips. ‘Hmm. It’s not just your parents that you must have questions about. You have extraordinary, unique powers that seem to have sprung from nowhere – you must wonder about those, too.’

‘Of course I do.’ I folded my arms. I wasn’t sure where DSI Barnes was going with this and I definitely wasn’t sure that I liked it.

‘I don’t know how much of a close eye you keep on the news, but there was a rather nasty murder in Kent last night.’

I squinted. What did a new murder in Kent have to with anything? Unless…

‘In Barchapel to be precise,’ DSI Barnes continued.

I stiffened, icy fingers of dread trickling down my spine at the mention of the village where I’d spent the first five years of my life.

‘There has been a suggestion that rogue supes were involved. I very much doubt it, but once a rumour like that starts it’s difficult to stop it. Alas, the Metropolitan Police don’t have any jurisdiction so far away from London, even though I’m certain we could offer assistance.’ She paused, her silence heavy with meaning. ‘You could offer assistance.’

I swallowed.

Barnes waved a sheet of paper at me. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking your leave. I have the paperwork ready to go. You just need to sign it.’

‘Leave?’

‘You’re due a holiday. Given all that has occurred recently, this would be a good time for you to take it. You can have two weeks’ break to recuperate. I hear that Kent is very nice at this time of year.’ Barnes smiled blandly. ‘At the same time, it will allow DS Grace to settle in to Supe Squad under his own terms. It will make things easier for both of you in the long run if he can find his own way. Not that I think you would interfere, but because everyone needs the opportunity to develop their own ways of doing things.’

‘I’m not sure that I need a holiday in Kent,’ I said carefully.

‘You want to find out more about what happened to your parents, and we all want to find out why you are what you are. A visit to Barchapel might answer those questions. I’ve contacted the local police and suggested that you might pop by. They might take advantage of the opportunity to pick your brains about supe activity to help them with their ongoing murder investigation. It’s a win-win situation for everyone.’

Barnes hesitated and I realised that was actually quite unsure of herself. ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It isn’t an order, Emma – it’s not even a request. But the opportunity is there if you’d like it. Barchapel might not have any answers for you, but it could be a good place to start. You can head there first thing tomorrow morning.’

I dropped my hands by my sides but otherwise didn’t move for a long moment, then I saw Liza give me a small nod of encouragement. She was right: I’d already set the ball rolling. I’d spoken to my uncle and read everything he had relating to my parents. I’d been to see Samuel Beswick. Perhaps now was the time to step things up a gear and find out more about my past.

Why was I, of all people, the phoenix? Did my parents’ deaths have anything to do with my inability to stay dead? And would Barchapel offer any clues? I swallowed, then I walked up to Barnes, took the sheet of paper and scrawled my name on the dotted line.

* * *

‘If you wait a couple of days, I can come with you,’ Lukas said. He gave the grimy train a dubious look. ‘I can drive.’

‘I can drive too,’ I said lightly. ‘But Tallulah doesn’t do well on country roads and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the train. I like trains,’ I added firmly. ‘When you finish your business here, you can join me. A country break might be fun. I bet the people of Barchapel have never even seen a vampire before. You’ll give them a thrill.’

‘I’m not sure I’m the sort of thrill they’ll be after,’ he muttered. He ran a hand through his ink-dark hair. ‘But very well,’ he said grudgingly. ‘They’ll be more likely to open up to you if I’m not around to begin with, I suppose.’

I smiled. ‘Be kind to Detective Sergeant Grace.’

Lukas snorted. ‘I plan to stay well away from Supe Squad. You’re the only police officer I like.’ He handed me a bag. ‘Here.’

I blinked. ‘What’s this?’

‘Sandwich. Flask of coffee. A few snacks.’

‘I’m going to Kent, not Australia.’

Lukas gave me a long look. ‘I want to look after you. If the only way you’ll let me do that is by making sure you have lunch, that’s the way it’ll be.’

‘Thank you,’ I whispered. It might only be a packed lunch but the gesture spoke volumes.

Lukas dipped his head and his mouth descended on mine. He pressed my body to his, holding me so tightly I wasn’t sure he’d let me go. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. His rough stubble grazed my cheek but the heady taste of him and the searing heat as he touched me meant that I didn’t care. My senses swam.

‘You can still change your mind,’ he murmured.

I closed my eyes. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I have to do this.’ I drew a breath and stepped back. ‘I’d better go. The train’s about to leave.’

‘Take care, Emma. I’ll see you in a few days.’ He gave me a dark glower. ‘Don’t die in the meantime.’

I smiled confidently. ‘Right back atcha, buster.’ Then I heaved both myself and my suitcase onto the train.

After squeezing my bag onto one of the higher shelves in the luggage compartment, I walked down the aisle to find my seat. Lukas was still on the platform, watching my every move through the window. I gave him an awkward wave just as the whistle sounded and the train doors closed. Lukas mouthed something. I squinted. Wait. Did he just say…?

‘He loves you,’ said the elderly man opposite me. The train began to pull away. ‘That’s sweet.’

I stared at Lukas on the platform as we moved further and further away. In fact, I kept staring until he was nothing more than a dot in the distance then I drew a shaky breath. We’d only been sleeping together for a week and neither of us had made any sort of commitment. He must have been saying something else. Or he was simply making sure that I wouldn’t forget about him. After all, he was the vampire Lord and he liked to be in control. Whatever, the one thing that I knew for certain was that I wouldn’t forget Lord Lukas Horvath, no matter what else this little trip threw at me.