Chapter 4 Playing With Fire

Keith froze against me like carved granite.

His lips were hot—scorching hot—and tasted of ozone, ash, and pure, untamed storm. For half a second, the universe held its breath. I felt the dangerous rumble deep inside his chest halt dead in its tracks.

Then, instead of shoving me through the wall as I expected, his heavy hand slammed onto the small of my back.

Keith pulled me flush against his rock-hard frame, his long, scaled fingers gripping my waist with punishing intensity. He took control of the kiss in a heartbeat, deepening it with a rough, possessive hunger that made my knees turn to water. Heat rushed through the soul tether, searing my veins with dizzying fire.

Behind us, a sharp gasp cut through the air.

"What is the meaning of this insolence?!" Lady Vespera’s voice shook with disgust.

Keith slowly broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his molten gold eyes blazing down at me with lethal heat. A dark, wicked smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Forgive me, Inspector," Keith purred, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent shivers straight to my toes. He kept his large arm locked around my waist, pulling me so close I could feel the furious beat of his heart. "My little witch has a terrible habit of losing her temper when she's jealous. She didn't want you looking at me too closely."

Vespera lowered her silver mana-rod, her face pinched in disgust. "Vile hedge-witch antics. You two are disgustingly unprofessional."

"Love makes mortals do foolish things," Keith replied smoothly, his golden slit pupils narrowing on her throat. "Now, unless you have an official warrant signed by the High Archon, take your guards and get out of our shop before I forget my manners."

The sheer menace dripping from his voice made the two armored guards shift their boots nervously. Even Vespera hesitated, clearly sensing the aura of an apex predator, even if she couldn't identify it.

"Fifty silver coins, Thorne," Vespera spat, sneering at me. "Master Bramwell has filed an emergency foreclosure writ. You have until sunset. If the coin isn't at the Guild Registry by the final bell, my enforcers won't just evict you—they'll seize your little 'apprentice' as collateral for unpaid debt."

She spun on her heel, her silk cloak sweeping through the dust as she and her guards marched out into the street.

The moment the front door clicked shut, I shoved myself out of Keith’s grip.

My chest heaved. My face burned so intensely I thought my cheeks might catch fire. "What was that?!"

Keith looked down at his empty hands, curling his fingers into fists. "You attacked my mouth, little witch. I merely finished what you started."

"I was trying to keep your head attached to your shoulders!" I hissed, pacing behind the cracked counter. "If that mana-rod touched you, every Inquisitor in the capital would be hunting us right now!"

"Then you should thank me for saving your pitiful neck," Keith sneered, stepping closer. The air around him shimmered with heat. "Though you taste surprisingly sweet for a filthy cinder witch."

"Stop talking," I groaned, pressing cold palms to my burning face. "Just shut up. We have five hours until sunset. Five hours to produce fifty silver coins, or Bramwell seizes the deed, and you get thrown into an anti-magic cage."

"Mortal coins are meaningless to me," Keith said coldly, leaning his hip against the counter with infuriating arrogance. "I could rip this town apart in ten minutes."

"And kill yourself in the process because our tether would snap your core!" I shot back, pointing my finger at his chest. "We need money. Real, honest coin. And the only thing worth fifty silver in this shop was the moon-orchids... which I failed to grow."

Keith’s eyes drifted toward the small wooden bowl sitting on the back table.

The three withered, dead seeds lay dry and brown in the dirt.

A slow, calculating glint flashed across Keith’s golden gaze. "You didn't fail, witch. You were simply using the wrong fuel."

Before I could ask what he meant, Keith reached out, grabbed my right hand, and slashed his own thumb across the sharp edge of a broken glass vial. A single drop of smoking, glowing-crimson dragon blood welled on his skin.

Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his bleeding thumb directly against my palm, smearing the crimson fire into my skin.

A violent shockwave of pure, unbridled energy roared through my veins.

"Cast the spell again, Wendy," Keith commanded, his voice dropping into a thrilling, dark whisper against my ear. "Channel my fire through your dirt. Show me what you're truly made of."