“Where are your people?” Arik asked.
“Dead.” Blaze drank deeply. “They’re all dead.”
“How?”
“Let’s sit.”
Blaze checked the lock on the main door and sat on the couch next to Arik, facing him. Like mirrors, they put their arms on the rear of the sofa, and their fingers touched briefly. Sparks flew, and Blaze inched away. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what he had to say if they were connected like that. “You’re a sweet man,” Blaze began, “for thinking that my urge to avoid love is a simple one.”
“I never said it was simple,” Arik protested.
“No, but you think it’s for a hurt done to me,” Blaze said, and Arik’s lips twitched. “What?” Blaze asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never heard you speak with an accent, before.”
“I can stop. I learned to stop a long time ago.”
“No,
