Page 7 of Firethorne
Damien flipped the page of his book as he carried on reading, showing he didn’t care and wasn’t listening at all.
But Miriam ignored them both and stepped back, turning to stare out of the window again.
“Dark and dirty in all the best ways,” she hummed to herself. “But they didn’t stick around long enough to find out... Lucky for me.”
“And you stick around too long,” Damien announced drily, his nonchalant act cracking as he bit back.
Miriam flicked her hair from her shoulder, and revelling in the insult and attention, she laughed. “You love having me here. Admit it. I make things… interesting.”
“I’ll admit, sometimes you make things... mildly amusing. Distracting. As cousins go, you’re in our top five,” Damien said, but he didn’t react or look up from his book as Lysander threw his head back and laughed loudly.
“I’m youronlycousin,” Miriam huffed, totally missing the subtlety of the comment. “Anyway,” she went on. “You’re both distracting me right now. Look”—she gestured to the car that’d stopped outside beside the steps leading to the front door—“they’re about to get out. I love this part.”
“They’re servants. You’re getting way too excited about this,” Damien remarked, but she didn’t care.
Miriam stayed focused on the driveway, riveted by what was going on outside. “They’re an opportunity, is what they are,” she mused, her reflection in the dark window showing the glow of her eyes as she contemplated every wicked thing she intended to do while they were here.
“What are you cooking up in that evil, pretty head of yours, Miriam?” Lysander questioned; his eyes boring into her back with a twisted curiosity.
Her responding hum of approval spoke volumes. This one was going to be particularly wicked.
“I’m thinking...” She tapped her finger on her chin in thought. “Something that you’re both going to lose your shit over.” She glanced over her shoulder and added, “And pretty, yes, but evil? I don’t think so.” She refocused on the new arrivalsoutside. “I prefer to think of myself as a puppet master. It isn’t my fault evil deeds seem to follow. All I do is... facilitate.”
“And what is it you plan on facilitating this time, exactly?” Damien asked.
Miriam took a moment, and as the sound of car doors opening from below echoed in the room, she gave a little squeal. “Damien, she’s just your type.”
A cruel chuckle filled the room.
“How do you know, Miriam? Is she mute? Or deaf? Blind, even? Maybe all three,” Lysander said, laughing at his own cruel remark.
But his laughter wasn’t reciprocated.
“How would you know by looking out of the window if they’re deaf, mute, or blind,brother?” Damien rolled his eyes, and under his breath, he added, “She’ll be your type, too... if she’s breathing.”
“Pretty girls are always my type,” Lysander added.
“And she’ll probably still be your type even if she’s not breathing,” Damien muttered to himself, but loud enough for them to hear.
“I know someone closer to home who might not be breathing soon if he carries on being a complete and utter asshole tonight,” Lysander added, growing irritable as he clenched his jaw and moved closer to the window to get a better look.
Miriam ignored the brothers as they started their usual bickering, merely stating, “Damien, you’d see that she’s your type if you closed that damn book and got your bloody ass off that chair by the fire to come and look at her.”
“But that would require effort on Damien’s part, and you know how he struggles to conform,” Lysander bit back.
But Miriam wasn’t listening.
She didn’t care.
All she was bothered about was what was going on outside, as she added, “Long, dark hair. A pale complexion. The type of face that looks... innocent. Ripe for corruption.”
Then she gave a slight gasp, and announced, “Would you look at that, she tried to pick up her own suitcase from the car to carry it inside herself. And look...” She pointed, growing more animated by the second. “I think she’s arguing with Beresford about it. The hired help is so brainwashed into serving, they can’t switch it off. That’s so...” Her voice, that’d been light and airy, changed in an instant. “Pathetic,” she sneered.
“Maybe not Damien’s type after all,” Lysander retorted.
“Oh look.” Miriam chuckled. “The old man beside her can barely climb the stairs.” She laughed as she turned to stare at her cousins. “What’s his position in the house? Because I can tell you now, after a few days of climbing the stairs here, you’ll be burying him out the back after his heart gives way.” She grinned wickedly and shook her head. “Such a terrible shame.”
“I neither know nor care,” Damien stated. “They won’t be here long.”
