Blood Flame (The Flame Series Book 1) by Caris Roane

something, but couldn’t. Then a sad light entered his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, her chin and put a brief pressure on her lips.
    She thought she understood. “Even if we never do this again, Connor, it was wonderful. Magical.” She chuckled softly. “Unbelievable.”
    “It was. But it feels damn temporary.”
    “I know.” She searched his eyes. “Will you stay here tonight? I mean through the day? Sleep in my bed? I’d love it if you would.”
    “I want nothing else. Besides,” he glanced up at the spell over her house, “I think we’d both be safer here.”
    “I think you’re right.”
    He glanced around and reached to the left where his clothes lay. He grabbed his tank and as he pulled out of her, he tucked the shirt between her legs.
    She knew then what kind of husband he’d been and her heart broke all over again, for both of them and what they’d each lost because of the alter.
    He was a good man, despite that he was a vampire.
    ~ ~ ~
    Connor shifted to recline beside Iris. Dawn wasn’t pressing on him yet, though it would soon. But right now, he didn’t want to leave the garden, or the moment.
    He felt profoundly connected to Iris right now. He knew she’d been forced to leave a husband behind when she’d gone through her witch alter. Then her sister had died some time during the first year the two women had come to live in Elegance. Even so, her sadness felt deeper still, though he didn’t know in what way.
    His own pain was very different. Yes, he’d buried a wife, but that had been before he’d come to live in Five Bridges.
    His remorse and suffering had occurred after his vampire alter and during his work with the Crescent Border Patrol. In the line of duty in one instance and after being abducted and shot up with blood flame in another, he’d ended up hurting and killing a lot of innocent women. Their deaths lived inside him like a wound that could never heal. He wasn’t worthy of a real relationship with Iris or any woman. His time with Iris was a stolen season.
    In the last thirty years, since he’d lived in Five Bridges, he’d never experienced anything as profound as what he’d just done with Iris. He had no words. He flexed his right arm. He honestly felt pumped up from her blood.
    Christ, the woman’s blood. Witch blood. Full of power. He’d felt the moment as well when he could have kept going and taken her life. Witches might be able to touch vampires and kill them. But once a vampire started to drink, his victim couldn’t stop the process. The vampire had complete control.
    That she’d been able to move at all was one more indication of her power as a witch.
    His mind spiraled down into the past, to the horrendous witch massacre he’d been part of. Though his memory was spotty because of the level of blood flame he’d been given, he knew the witches had all been tied up so they couldn’t employ their killing power. Reports later indicated most of the women had been drained to death.
    He shuddered.
    Iris put a hand on his chest. “What’s wrong?”
    “The past.”
    “Don’t think about it too much, not right now. Plenty of time tomorrow.”
    She was right. He had Iris beside her. What else did he need?
    He slid his arm beneath her shoulders and she rolled to stretch out alongside him, her arm draped over his stomach. He looked up into the tree. The cat had climbed up as well and sat beside the owl. Each peered down at them.
    He chuckled, then without warning his throat grew tight and his eyes started to burn. “This is a stolen season, isn’t it?”
    “It is.”
    She lifted her face to him and offered a soft smile. He kissed her again, running his hand along the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip. The word ‘love’ rose to his lips. He almost used it, wanting to badly. But it was too soon and most likely, he would never have the chance. There were truths to be spoken and when they were, his time with Iris would end.
    His chest felt crushed.