Fire and Flame by Anya Breton Page B

the next she’d accused him of bigamy.
    As if he wanted anyone else.
    The hard edge of her rounded eyes and the tight line of her ordinarily plump lips hinted she might legitimately become violent. Brent was torn. On the one hand, he didn’t enjoy being burned. On the other hand, he wanted to know who she’d been with. Yet another small part of him wanted to know if Sara would make good on her threat.
    Perhaps it was something about the way she dug her fingers into her palms that clicked open a file within his mind. He’d noted it earlier.
    Sara was jealous of Vanessa Aine.
    Sara wasn’t happy unless she was the indisputable queen of her little court. It had both infuriated him and drawn him to her. Was her ire with the witch downstairs simply the result of being cast as the supporting actress? Or dare he hope she wanted him specifically rather than her need to have everyone falling at her feet?
    Did he have it in him to test her?
    Brent would leave to avoid her violence but not without getting in the last word. He slowly lifted his head while holding her eye, proving she was not in control. And then he strolled to the door.
    He fixed her with his best arrogant smile. “Come find me when you’ve worked through your jealousy. Then we’ll talk about the training you asked for.” Brent continued the stroll right on out the door.
    It had taken everything in him to pull off the indifferent bastard act but when the feminine scream of indignation echoed through the walls, Brent’s arrogant smile was no longer feigned.
    He’d tail her if she went out again tonight. Brent wouldn’t spend another night pacing the back room only to hide away to avoid violence when she finally turned up.
    Then again, she was spoiling for a fight and he was of a mind to give it to her.
    ****
    Jealous?
    Sara wasn’t jealous! No way. No how.
    It didn’t matter that she’d recognized it in herself, she was not jealous Vanessa had been with that jerk.
    Who did he think he was?
    Regional high priest position aside, Brenton Conley was just another Fire witch. There was nothing particularly special about him. He wasn’t the most powerful witch she’d ever met. That distinction was her daddy’s alone. He wasn’t the handsomest. There were countless over the years that made Brent’s dark looks pale in comparison. He wasn’t a brilliant tactical mind. Though smart, he’d never won games of strategy when the coven had played. He wasn’t even fun to be around. Brent had never made her laugh. However, he could produce every other emotion in her.
    How dare he behave as if he were the shit? He had a humbling coming to him very soon.
    First she had to decide how to answer his challenge. She didn’t want to go downstairs for their chat about training while she was furious. But if she remained ensconced in her room, she’d be admitting she was too jealous to control her aggression.
    Sara prided herself on being a rare Fire witch who never got violent. That wouldn’t change today. And certainly not for the likes of Brent.
    Yet he’d be confused if she arrived happy. There had to be a reason for an improvement in her mood, especially on the heels of her father’s recent funeral. Sara snatched her phone up from the bedside table where she’d set it to silent. Several missed calls flashed on the screen, most from witches extending their condolences.
    Her supposed friends had certainly sounded as if they supported her on their brief messages. And though their invitations to have coffee soon, or lunch, or even dinner had also seemed genuine, she couldn’t forget their scorn on Saturday. Brent wouldn’t believe she was happy after speaking to one of them.
    Repeatedly her eyes strayed to the messages she hadn’t the heart to listen to. Johnathon had called several times. She most certainly wouldn’t be smiling after speaking to him. Not after leaving him and everything she’d adored in Pennsylvania behind for this. It was almost like another death