Page 3 of Hell Burns Between Us

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his target.

He jumped up and scrambled towards her, shaking the snow from his long, black coat. “Wilder! I’m here and ready to help with…well, whatever you tell me to do, I guess.”

Perine Wilder was knelt, her arms buried deep in a snowbank. It looked like she’d lost a fight with fire and the flames had fought rather dirty. She jerked her arms out of the snow, yanking her sleeves down over bandaged wrists almost guiltily.

That was interesting.

But before he could comment, she was scowling at him. Singed lavender curls flew across her deep amethyst face, which was streaked with mud and soot.

“Brightmore.” How did she make his name sound so drab? “You were supposed to be here two hours ago.”

Without another glance, she stomped away. Judging from the footprints left in the snow, she was returning to the forest she’d just come from. Briefly, he lamented the fact that at the last minute their professor had switched around research partners. He had lost his typically mellow partner—Tusinger, whom he’d had for over a decade—and been stuck with Wilder who was tyrannical when it came to punctuality and excessive when it came to taking notes.

“I got held up!” He sprinted after her, taking big leaping steps through the deep snow. “And. And I’m here now, so you might as well explain why I found you elbow-deep in a snowbank. A new research technique, maybe?” He examined her with teasing interest. “I prefer warmth, myself. But you’ve always been more innovative than me.”

“Oh, eat glass.” She shoved a stray curl from her face, accidentally smearing more soot across her forehead. “Do you ever shut your mouth? Or is that your research technique?” Shoving past him, she wove through the long, onyx leile flowers covering the hillside.

“Wild-er!” Oleander drew her name out long and pleading.

With a sigh and a pointed look, she waited for him to offer a redeeming apology.

He said, “It’s worrying that you think using your mouth during research is a deterrent.”

Wilder scoffed and shot him a seething look. Her face was all soft romantic lines, with full lips and bright, round lavender eyes. Eyes that were currently filled with enough fury to kill a small hellhound—maybe even a full-grown demon if the opportunity arose. She was smaller than him, and yet in this moment of anger she managed a terrific loom as she asked, “What the Hell is wrong with you?”

“Alright! I apologise for my tardiness and,” He threw his hands up placatingly. “Um, anything else. It won’t happen again.”

She glared at him. “If it does then I’m telling our professor how worthless you’ve been. I’ll insist that we work separately moving forward.”

“It probably won’t happen again.”

“How magnanimous of you.” Wilder opened her hideous brown leather bag, her head ducked into it as she searched through papers and books. “Let me get you some of my notes to look through and mark with your thoughts. You can give them back to me at your earliest convenience.”

He cursed under his breath, shivering uncontrollably in his tragically thin—but expertly tailored—jacket. Tendrils of unwanted curiosity wound around him, even as he stood fighting off the miserable chill. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to care about something as deeply as Wilder did. Not that he didn’t care. He just didn’t seem to care that much.

While she distractedly sifted through her notes, Oleander plucked an onyx flower next to him. Its musky scent wafted through the air, mingling with the breeze as he held it out to her. When she looked up to hand him the papers, her eyes locked onto the flower in his hand. She stared at it, brow furrowed. Finally, she exhaled. “Can you, for once, be serious?”

“I thought it was a charming peace offering,” Oleander said, tossing the flower aside with a shrug. “Of course, niceties are wasted on you.” He noticed now that they were alone, which had never happened before. “Where’s your hellcat, by the way?”

Wilder looked distraught, biting her lip as she considered how to respond. In a strained voice, she eventually said, “She’s resting in the forest.”

“Ah. Does she also find you stressful or is that a privilege only I’m afforded?”

Her eyes widened, fury filling them as she drew in a sharp breath as if to say something particularly spiteful. Before she could, he cut her off, his tone casual. “What would you have me do?”

She straightened, pushing the papers into his hands. “You have your own skiff, don’t you?”

“Yes, obviously. Who doesn’t?”

She rolled her eyes at that.

Of course, he knew not everyone had a skiff. Most had to share their boats with family members because the magic to make any size boat—even a small skiff—fly was incredibly involved and time-consuming. But teasing her was turning out to be surprisingly fun.

That was, until her tone shifted—cool and potentially uncaring. “Then you can easily collect the perilla blossoms; the best blooms grow on the Fauna Circle near the Lake of Fire.”

“Perilla flowers?”

“Yes.” Her lips pursed tightly as she looked away from him. He sighed inwardly. She was still furious, then. Good. The game was still afoot.