Free Fire and Flame by Anya Breton Page B

truly want to wake every morning before the sun to be a production assistant simply so she could get her foot in the door? While she wasn’t afraid of working hard for what she wanted, she was no longer sure becoming a minor celebrity among vanilla humans who knew nothing about her would make her happy.
    But what would make her happy?
    An image of Brent flashed in her mind’s eye. Sara’s nostrils flared angrily. He wouldn’t make her happy. He’d make her miserable. In fact if it weren’t for him, she would be snug in her comfortable bed at this very moment, far less unhappy.
    His behavior today had been beyond insulting. How could he have invited Vanessa of all people back to Fintan’s house? What did she have that Sara lacked?
    Sara didn’t care. Or she wasn’t going to care. Perhaps a few more cups of coffee would make it true.

Chapter Eleven
    Brent paced the back bedroom at McKenna House with increasing agitation. It was past midnight. And Sara wasn’t home.
    Who had she gone out with?
    Dozens of faces paraded through his thoughts, each lifting his ire more than the last. He would be furious if he learned she’d been out with another witch. If she’d refused him her duty only to give it to someone else…
    Brent didn’t know what he’d do. And that scared him.
    He clawed at his scalp while inhaling a strained breath. He’d barely heard the knock on the door because of it.
    Brent shot to the door, wrenching it open with a growl, “Where have you been?”
    The doe-like bronze eyes that met his did not belong to Sara. His shoulders slumped more than he’d like to admit.
    “I’ve been in the guest room,” Vanessa said in a soft voice that sounded unnatural. “Should I have been somewhere else?”
    “No.” The syllable came out as a gruff explosion. Brent forced a softer tone when her eyes rounded. “Is something wrong?”
    “I just wondered if I should park my car somewhere else,” she replied with a little tilt of her head to the right that sent her brown hair sliding over her shoulder.
    Her hand dropped away from her cheek and landed at her hip. Brent hadn’t noticed her pose or what she’d been wearing until then—or rather what she wasn’t wearing. The shorts she’d pulled on could hardly be considered shorts and her tank top barely covered her chest. His irritation doubled.
    And then she continued, “Because Sara might want to have her spot back when she gets back from…wherever. Where did she go, by the way?”
    “Out,” was all he said in response.
    “I wouldn’t have gone out,” Vanessa purred silkily.
    Brent was beginning to wish she had. He said the one thing that would get her out of his hair for a few minutes. “Yes, you should park the car somewhere else so Sara can get in and out. Good night, Vanessa.”
    The flash of anger that alternately widened and then narrowed Vanessa’s gaze made Brent momentarily feel like a bastard. But she left him at a pounding pace. He was willing to play the bastard if it got him out of socializing while in a dark mood.
    Brent hurried around the room, turning off the lights. He resumed his pacing in the dark. The knock minutes later belonged to Vanessa. His agitated motion was paused long enough for her to believe he’d truly gone to bed.
    Sleep wasn’t going to be an option until Sara was home. And if she didn’t come home soon…he’d have to go out looking for her. She had better come home because he didn’t know if he’d be able to control his aggression if he had to scour the city for her. Someone would most certainly be hurt. Someone male.
    ****
    A door creaked open. Sara stiffened in response. Her cereal had been rather unappetizing before the interruption. Now she’d be lucky to stomach another spoonful.
    But when it was Vanessa who appeared in the kitchen from the left rather than Brent, Sara wanted to hurl fire. It didn’t help that the female was clad in practically nothing. Or that she had a smug look on her pretty