Chapter 8 · Don't do this

He grabbed my other hand and pressed it flat over the black flame beneath his ribs.

The contact punched the breath out of me.

His palm covered mine. Hot. Steady. Too careful for a man who had pinned me against a wall twice in the last minute.

"Don't do this," he said.

"You just put my hand there."

"Because you need to feel where the fire is breaking."

"I can feel it fine."

"No, you can't. You're guessing."

His fingers shifted over mine, guiding them lower by an inch. The fire twisted under my palm like a living thing.

His eyes stayed on my face.

"When it moves left, pull," he said. "When it moves up, push it down. Don't fight the heat. It feeds on resistance."

"You could have said that before I nearly died."

"You weren't listening."

"I was busy being attacked."

"You're always being attacked."

"And you're always this charming?"

"Only with thieves."

The corner of his mouth moved again.

The fire lurched left.

I pulled.

A black thread tore free from his chest and snapped into my palm. Pain flashed white through my arm.