Winter Fire [ Book 1 ] ✔

Chapter Three

Finally freeing herself from the crowd, Claire stopped to catch her breath and took a moment to regain a sense of her surroundings. There were fewer people here which should have made it easier to spot her target, but it was as though he had vanished into thin air. Believing that might have happened, Claire tried to squash the feelings of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her.

What if he was gone for good?

What if she never got that box back?

That's when she spotted him.

About two blocks ahead of her she could make out the briskly walking figure of the man she had set out to find.

Claire's feet moved of their own accord, carrying her forward against the cold bite of the wind and the snow.

They went on this way for several minutes, one pursuing, the other unknowingly escaping. He seemed to be growing closer, however, and Claire wondered if he was slowing down. As if she had been shouting her thoughts to the night, the man turned sharply and disappeared from view.

Fearing she was going to lose him yet again, Claire broke out into a run.

As she neared the spot where the man had vanished, she wasn't sure which was louder: the sound of her feet against the pavement, or the violent hammering of her heart in her chest.

Turning the corner she let out a startled cry when she ran into something - or rather someone. Stumbling backwards, her heel caught against an uneven piece of concrete and she found herself falling, arms pin wheeling through the air before two strong hands emerged from the shadows. They curled around her forearms, steadying her and keeping her upright. The quick action prevented an incident that would have undoubtedly left her wet, aching and embarrassed.

Not that she wasn't embarrassed anyway.

When Claire had left the theatre, it had been with the intent to retrieve what the man now staring down at her had stolen. Perhaps even give him a piece of her mind while she was at it. When her eyes met his, all her earlier spit and fire fizzled out almost instantly. The intense steel like gaze he turned on her was not restricted to the color of his eyes, but the temperament as well.

Needless to say, he did not look pleased.

This annoyed her. What did he have to be upset about? It wasn't his theatre that had gotten ransacked. It wasn't his workroom that looked like a war zone, or his box that had gotten stolen. If anyone should be mad, it was her.

"Is there something else you needed?"

The impatient indifference of his tone caused Claire to bristle. The man's arrogance was unparalleled. It took her a moment, but Claire finally found the words that had been lost when she'd run into him.

"Yes," she said at last, extending a hand towards him. "That box, it's mine. I'd appreciate it if you gave it back."

For a long while he simply stared at her blankly and Claire found herself wondering if he had understood her. He had been speaking English hadn't he?

"Go home," he said at last. "If you know what is good for you, you'll go home."

Was he threatening her? His tone hadn't sounded threatening. Tired maybe, but not threatening. Before she could think of a proper reply, he spoke again.

"Now, are you quite finished wasting my time? If so, I will be on my way," he concluded before turning to leave. His abrupt departure made it clear that he was not interested in whatever answer she might come up with for he was clearly finished with her.