CHAPTER TWO

He took a deep breath trying to calm himself. Sarah hadn’t stopped trying to scream, despite the gag. I should have taken this back to the house. There, noise wouldn’t have been a problem. However, the money had to be here, in the Colman’s house.

Sarah had denied knowing anything about the theft. How was that possible? He’d known the couple for years and Sarah had been a part of every deal. The idea that her husband would steal that kind of money and not involve her, made no sense. I hate thieves. It had to be here, in the house. He had tracked every banking activity Mark had made, they all led to cash.

A middle-aged woman, Sarah had short brown hair styled into wavy curls above her shoulders. She’d been packing to leave. They’d gone through her luggage. She wore a jacket and skirt, dressed for a trip, not bed. She would have been gone by morning. He couldn’t let that happen.

His men had tied her to a cushioned wooden chair, but it was too light. It rocked and threatened to fall over as she struggled. Everything about the situation annoyed him.

Pulling the jacket off her shoulders with her elbows tied to the armrests proved difficult. “I don’t want to do this, Sarah. But, I won’t have people steal from me.” He managed to expose the white, button-down shirt beneath, at least enough to get to her collarbones. He’d found them an area particularly painful when burned.

Her screams turned to sobs as he unbuttoned the first few button and pulled the collar aside to expose the skin around the neck. She would end up dead when he was done tonight. He intended to leave with his money.

Smiling, he put held the gag at each side of her mouth. “I think I’ve made my resolve clear. This will be your last chance to tell me, unharmed.” He pulled down the gag.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Sarah spoke quickly, breaking into sobs, then her eyes focused on him. She drew in a deep breath, likely planning on screaming again.

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“Bollocks.” He yanked up the gag and shoved it into her mouth.

Jaw clenched, he placed both hands on her collarbone and smiled. Carefully, so the entire body wouldn’t ignite, he hummed.

A high tone filled the air around him.

The light from his hands lit the room, a long shadow from her head cast up the oil painting behind her and up to the ceiling.

He barely felt the heat. However, her skin crackled and the stench of burnt flesh filled the air.

Pain raced up his arms and neck. Teeth grinding, his own skin felt as though it peeled off. His joints throbbed, aching worse than ever.

The visions came, sweeping him into a bright day.

Angry soldiers, peasants with staffs sharpened to spears, pressed in through a broken gate. The splintered wood groaned and snapped under their feet. He growled and his light bathed the score of attackers. Clothes, weapons, and the wood from the gate ignited; flesh blackened and stunk.

Next, he found himself over a terrified woman with ripped clothes and bruised cheeks. His hands rested on each side of her head as he sang. The light and heat poured out her open mouth and burnt through her eyes. This had been a lover, someone who betrayed him.

He sagged back into the present. Smoke trailed off the blackened edges of Sarah’s shirt.

Those were not his memories, but he learned from them. The eyes he saw through had more skill and control than he did. They had lived thousands of years ago, but he learned more each time he used his skill. He would master it.

Sarah shook, red and black skin spread out across her neck and collarbone. She managed to mouth past the gag and screamed. Shrill and loud it rang out through her living room.

The neighbors had likely heard that one. Daft woman. This hurt him nearly as much as it hurt her. She would ruin everything. Thief.

“Shut up!” he yelled.

The tone rang.

Light rippled out from his hands still at her neck, then fire burst from her clothing. Sarah Colman ignited. Flesh along her jaw charred instantly, cracking.

This only happened when he lost control.

Pain staggered him backward and he dropped to a knee.

She faded as the visions took him.

He saw an army this time. Others of his kind, people he knew, fought beside him. Their soldiers clashed against a wave of the enemy, the man beside him whipping their troops into an unstoppable fury. He raised his hands and sang. His fine-tuned skill seared a section of the enemy leaving bodies smoking.

The next vision proved disappointingly mundane as he left a family of corpses inside a mud daub hovel.

He felt hands under his arms as he returned to the present. One of his men, Burke, lifted him up and pulled him away from the fire.

Flames from Sarah’s corpse engulfed the painting above and the crown molding had begun to burn.

He would never find the money now. Better that it burn in the Colman’s house then.

I hate thieves.