Mind of the Phoenix, page 25
Instead, it is me who interrupts. “Where am I staying?”
I don’t exactly want to return to the room where I had almost been raped and killed, but neither do I wish to be locked up in a prison—or, worse, stuck staying at the Chief’s residence with his overbearing wife. I’d rather take my chances back at the hotel.
His gaze shifts back to Keenan. “I’ve decided that you are to stay with the detective in his townhouse in the west district.”
I laugh as the reason behind the detective’s irritation is made clear. Both men stare at me as if my laughter surprises them, and I suppose it isn’t funny. I can see it in my mind: us arguing all the time. Then I remember the detective’s lips on mine and I blush a deep crimson. Being that close to him, with the possibility of another passionate exchange, will only complicate matters, and I doubt I’d have the strength to resist. Will he have enough strength for both of us or am I just as irresistible to him as he is to me? The way he had responded to my touch suggests that his attraction is not as fleeting as I had first thought.
“And how does the detective feel about this arrangement?”
“The detective has no choice but to agree,” replies the Chief. “Isn’t that right, Keenan?”
“I don’t see how she’d be safer with me,” he says, his expression carefully neutral. “But if that is your decision then I suppose you are correct in saying that I have no choice.”
“So, is he then going to be my master or something?” I interject.
“No,” says the Chief, shaking his head. “But you will be living underneath his roof, so you’ll have to abide by his rules.”
I grin. “Naturally.”
The detective’s gaze flickers to my smile and those green eyes immediately regard me with suspicion. Does he still feel my lips?
Once the Chief dismisses us, we leave the police station and climb into his motor vehicle. I find myself curious to see what his place looks like. There are many answers I can glean from the contents that litter the rooms and I’m excited at the prospect of gaining more insight into this man—even if it puts my own secrets at risk of his discovery.
“Does the idea of me staying at your house really bother you that much?” I’m slightly offended by his initial reaction.
He turns the full intensity of his gaze on me. “I’ve been alone for a very long time, Moira, and I like my privacy. Your presence in my house threatens that.”
“It’s not like I’m going to go snooping around while you’re sleeping,” I say teasingly, but in reality I had considered the idea. The landscape of his house is as intriguing as his mind and his body.
His eyes narrow as if he suspects my intent. “I will hold you to your word. My bedroom and office are strictly off limits.” His lips curve slightly in amusement as he adds, “Unless, of course, I have invited you into one or the other.”
“Which won’t be long,” I supply sweetly, remembering the kiss we had shared. I catch a glimpse of his dimple once more, which pleases me way too much. “For both rooms.” The idea has my body vibrating with nervous anticipation.
“You’re rather arrogant,” he states, but his tone is affectionate.
“Likewise, detective. Is there anything else you’d like to say to me?”
He glances sideways at me and then raises a brow. “Yes, in fact there is. You’re infuriating, cynical, outspoken, and sometimes even vulgar.”
“You forgot selfish,” I add, and his amusement vanishes. “What? Do you disagree?”
“No, but you haven’t been given the chance to be selfless because you’ve never experienced love. You’ve had no other option but to think about yourself so that you could survive.”
I laugh scathingly, which only makes his frown deepen. “That’s very insightful of you, detective.”
“You’re also unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” My heart thunders in my chest at the sound of his voice and with the way those green eyes are regarding me.
“Do you mean insane?” I ask cheerily.
“No, Moira. I mean unique.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I can’t help but ask, hoping that his answer is the former.
“I suppose it depends on who you’re asking.”
I sigh in annoyance, but really I want to kiss him. “I’m asking you, detective.”
Those green eyes examine me intently, flickering between my hazel eye and my blue one until they finally rest on my lips. No, I hadn’t imagined his desire, or the pain I had seen in his eyes before he stormed out of the hotel room earlier. He still wants me despite everything that has happened, and even after everything that he’s learned about me so far. I’m slightly incredulous because this is not something I’ve ever encountered before, nor do I understand it. It’s rare that I meet someone like the detective, who desires me while equally valuing my worth as a human being. I believe that is what most people search for, yet I can’t help but panic at the possibility.
Someone like me can only hope to survive. Anything else is dangerous and threatens my existence.
“It’s a good thing, Moira.”
Epilogue
2408 Duval Avenue, Ward 24
Mr. Anderson’s estate
April 1, 1903
There were several things that grated on Richard Anderson’s nerves, but none more so than disobedience. He thrived on asserting his dominance over others in all aspects of his life, from the office to the bedroom. From the moment he married his wife, he had made sure that she knew her place just as much as his servants knew the rules of the house. Even his blocker Daniel had been carefully restrained and conditioned at the end of a whip—that is, until the bastard had been imprisoned. He had a hard time believing it was his own blocker who had been involved in the recent murder of Constable Evans. Even several days after the empath’s imprisonment, Richard was still searching for a replacement. Finding one who was submissive and trustworthy was a challenge, and the whole ordeal was overall a taxing endeavour—all because of that whore.
He angrily pulled on his cigar with his lips as an image of Moira Del Mar flashed in his mind. She was an exotic beauty with her olive skin and unusual eyes, even if her short hair was unattractive, but it wasn’t her physical attributes that had sparked his interest. Instead, it was that fiery demon that possessed her soul that made his lips itch to have a taste of her. The need to possess her filled him with an impulsive rage, because deep down he knew she was worth any trouble he may encounter in his efforts to attain her. She wouldn’t break on the first night but, instead, would continue to fight. Just thinking about her roused his fury and desire.
A knock sounded on his office door, interrupting his thoughts, and he barked for them to enter. The door opened and in walked the disappointment he begrudgingly called his son. The young brute was probably here to beg for more money. In fact, he could smell the liquor emanating from his son’s wrinkled suit.
“I see you’ve come back to try to squeeze more money from me,” he said venomously, the cigar no longer a comfort. “If I would have known you’d be such a failure, I would have left you out on the streets the moment you were born.”
“Believe me when I say that I don’t enjoy being your son any more than you enjoy being my father,” said the ungrateful bastard.
“Then why are you here, Andrew?”
The man laughed and then gave Richard a disgusted look. “Really, father, is this some sort of joke?”
“What are–”
“Sir, my apologies for intruding,” interrupted his butler, appearing at the doorway. “But there’s a letter for–”
“I’ll read it later,” he said dismissively.
“It’s for Andrew, sir.”
With growing impatience, he watched his son reach for the letter. He didn’t have time to sit passively as the boy read some correspondence any more than he wished to waste his evening arguing with him. Andrew’s brows smoothed over as he read, but a peculiar expression replaced his previous arrogance. The letter slipped from his fingers, slowly fluttering to the floor, and Richard watched the young man carefully. Then, Andrew began to approach him.
“Another debt to be paid?” he asked his son, snuffing out his cigar. “Perhaps, if you–”
He broke off as Andrew walked around the desk, and, before he could react, his son lunged at him and grabbed his neck. The whites of Andrew’s eyes were shot with red veins—a result of his drunken state—but Richard couldn’t recall a time when his son had physically lashed out at him. The unusual behaviour caught him completely off guard and he simply stared up at his son passively, the air quickly escaping his lungs. After everything, Richard couldn’t believe that he was finally going to die, and at the hands of his own son. If anything, he had thought that the Phoenix would be his end. The idea jolted him, and he wrapped his fingers around his son’s neck. Andrew reached for something on the desk, knocking over the ashtray, and Richard briefly saw the flash of silver before an agonizing pain exploded in his neck.
Andrew withdrew slightly, his face an unrecognizable mask of aloofness, and whispered in a breathy voice, “The Phoenix will rise and conquer us all.”
About the Author
* * *
Jamie McLachlan is a graduate from Grant MacEwan University with a major in English and a minor in Philosophy. She decided to put her day dreaming to good use by weaving tales of speculative fiction. Avid reader and lover of all things creative, she lives in Canada with her family.
To connect with Jamie:
@jamiemclachlan8
AuthorJamieMcLachlan
www.jamiemclachlan.com
About Penner Publishing
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Jamie McLachlan, Mind of the Phoenix
