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nodded and
gestured for Neeve to follow her to the bar. The long
counter was almost deserted as most people now faced the stage, and Neeve propped herself up on one the barstools.
    "Give me that
jacket. I'll put it behind the bar for now. He'll get it later."
    Neeve handed the
jacket over with some reluctance. Somehow, without it, she felt exposed and
vulnerable, which was a ridiculous notion. It was only a jacket, and no one was
paying any attention to her as the show started in earnest, which was just as
well. Neeve barely took in Cherie's murmured
explanations, as the flames on stage called to the deep, dark part in her soul, she'd kept such tight control on lest it destroy her.
      Her stomach clenched, her breathing grew
labored, and beads of sweat pooled in the valley between her breasts and
trickled down her spine. Cherie pushed a glass of ice cold water into her hands
and Neeve gulped the liquid down in one. On stage, a
fireball erupted from the end of the whip, the crack audible over the music, as Grisha twirled it over his head. The whip curled over
the restrained sub's ass, leaving a red mark in its place. Neeve lost herself in the spectacle. Again and again Grisha swung that whip, a master at play, his concentration and control over the fire
absolute. He was one with the whip, placing it exactly where it needed to go,
eliciting moan after moan from the bound woman, until she screamed her orgasm
at his murmured permission.
    The other two waiting
subs reached a similar state after he traced patterns of fire over their
exposed skin, dousing them as quickly as they flared up. Ink joined him in the
simultaneous fire flogging that ensured the last sub flew off into her own
nirvana.
    By the time the show
drew to an end, Neeve sat clutching the bar counter
with a white knuckled grip. In her mind's eye she saw falling timbers, heard
the rushing fireball's approach. The heat of the engulfing flames scorched her
skin, her mother's agonized screams ringing in her ears. Strong hands pushed
her out of the way, as the hallway collapsed, taking her dad down with the
rubble. Heat burned her lungs; pain crawled over her skin, and Neeve gasped, the memories as real as the day it happened.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even
scream. Locked in the prison of her mind, tears blinded her vision, and she
fumbled to escape, to get away, to seek the only oblivion she knew, the bite of
pain, the heat of the burn. She fought the muscled arms restraining her.
Adrenaline rushed her system. She kicked and bucked and punched the man trying
to calm her down, oblivious to the pain in her hand as her knuckles connected
with hard jaw bone. The furious curse rang in her ears, and her head snapped
back as the man grasped her hair and pinned her against the bar. The edge dug
into her back, and she struggled to breathe against the bulk of the man
obliterating her view of anything else. Just as everything went fuzzy, his
weight lifted.
    "Get the fuck off
her, Jordayn , before I have your pelt for a
rug." Grisha's deep voice barely disguised his
fury, yet the hands settling on her waist were gentle as he tugged her into his
comforting embrace. He nuzzled into her neck, and Neeve's tense muscles unlocked at his whispered, " It's ok, sweetheart. I'm here. Let go. I've got you."
    ****
    It was only the fact
that he was holding his woman that stopped Grisha from letting his tiger loose and ripping the flesh of the wolf's body sliver by
agonizing sliver. Neeve's needs were more important,
and she didn't need to see him shift right now. That would more than likely tip
her right over the edge. She clung to him, her eyes wide and unseeing, and he
continued to talk to her in Russian, sweet endearments his mother used to call
him when he was little, designed to calm him down when he woke up from his own
nightmares. He resolutely pushed the unwelcome reminder away and calmed his
anxious tiger by inhaling deeply of Neeve's unique
scent. Her fear had