Daemon Fire (Darkin World Book 3)

Chapter Fifteen

"Sabra," Owen groaned against Fi's lips.

"Yes," the woman challenged. "Sabra. The study, Owen. Now."

The dark-haired woman had a few strands of white on the left side of her forehead, which meant she was old. Those of the races aged much slower than humans. To have a visible sign of it meant that one must've been at least four hundred years old. Still, her face remained as smooth as someone in their early thirties.

Spinning on her heel, the beautiful stranger strode into a room off the opposite side of the hall.

A low, feline-like growl erupted from Fi's throat. This Sabra's tone and that she was overly familiar with Owen and his home did not-so-nice things to her stomach. She couldn't help but wonder, were they in a relationship?

"It's not what you think," Owen informed Fi as he slid out of her. Reaching down, he pulled up his pants and fastened them. With a quick, chaste peck on her lips, he spun around. "I'd better see what she wants," he murmured as he walked across the hall.

Picking up her negligée, Fi put it on with jerky motions. "Kalag," she breathed. The archaic word, one Owen had taught her, repaired the tear. Not taking the time to enjoy the rush using shaman magic and having it work gave her, she slipped into the shadows. A split-second later, she was across the hall and entering the study before Owen.

Sabra was seated behind a large, richly stained wooden desk. Owen's other woman acted as if she owned the large estate. Eyeing her, Fi sat in a chair opposite.

Familiar, root beer brown eyes zeroed in on Fi's mouth. The late realization that the woman could be a relative and not a former lover calmed Fi's twisting stomach. Then, that gaze flicked to Owen's neck. The puncture wounds were healed, but flecks of blood remained.

Leaning back in the leather chair as if to put distance between herself and Fi, Sabra's focus remained on the lone man in the room. "Screwing a vampire? Your self-destruction needs to end, Owen."

Leaping to her feet, Fi came around the desk. White-hot anger replaced the searing coals of jealousy in her gut. In seconds she was standing before the beautiful, full-blooded native woman. Sabra came to her feet and squared off for the fight that was coming her way.

"I'm not a vampire," Fi hissed. Fangs and nails on her hands elongated, belying the statement. The warming of her eyes indicating their change in color didn't help matters either.

"Whoa," Owen called out, still on the opposite side of the desk. "Sabra, Ophelia isn't a vampire," he said backing her statement.

"I can see that." Sabra's tone dripped sarcasm. She looked pointedly at Fi's fangs. Disgust leaked from her root beer eyes.

Talking over Sabra, Owen continued, "And she isn't just someone I'm screwing."

An indelicate snort came from the wary Sabra.

"It's true," Owen pressed. "I'm in love with her."

"Ha!" Sabra exploded. When she glanced at Owen, she was met by his earnest gaze. "You're serious?" she asked, eyeing Fi out of the corner of her eye.

"I am," Owen solemnly assured. "We're now bonded."

Slightly lighter red-brown eyes swung back to pin Fi. Gratification swelled in her chest. Owen freely embraced his love for her in front of this likely female relative.

Staring back at Sabra, Fi's chin rose a notch. She expected the other woman to show disdain. Instead, the tall and slender Cherokee woman looked back thoughtfully. A few seconds later, she smiled.