21. TWENTY ONE

twenty-one

TWENTY-TWO SECONDS

I dream of fire and smoke, haunted by the constant flux of flames from red to blue. Horror grips me in its merciless talons as the faces of the little girl and her family swim in and out of my vision. The shudder of a tied door. Flames licking up the sides of a house.

Beating my fists against a glass window until I bleed, I scream at the girl and her family stuck inside their house. Yet, they still can’t hear me, their round eyes staring.

In one blink, they’re gone, and I’m pounding on the window of my room back in Padmoor instead. I watch as fire roars around the room, inching closer to the bed where my body lies. My eyes are squeezed shut, a soft smile on my lips. The doorknob jiggles, and my mother’s distant cry is muffled by the inferno.

But I don’t stir.

I punch the windowpane, again and again. “Wake up !”

My scream echoes and morphs into other voices, tones, and pitches.

I jerk awake, my heart racing and sweat drenching my back. The screams from my nightmare still ring fresh around me.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I rock back and forth. Whispering to myself, I attempt to quiet the cries, cupping my hands over my ears. But the screams don’t fade.

I blink through the blurriness of sleep.

By now, the screams should have waned.

A bell rings out, and I shoot out of bed. The screams are real. Shoving boots onto my naked legs, I snatch my satchel and sword. I slip out of my room and shiver, my nightgown not providing much warmth against the frigid night air.

Several groups of shadows scatter throughout the camp: screaming, shouting, and crashing. I press myself back against the wall of my room, holding my breath, and tightening my grip around my sword. Another alarm cries out from the outlook tower, ringing out across the chaos.

I have to get to Daeja.

Slipping behind my building, I race for the western wall and the forest beyond.

“Daeja, we’re being attacked. I’m coming to you.”

“Two leggers?” Panic draws the bond between us tight. “ I’m coming.”

“No! Stay where you are. I’ll be there—”

“We have to find out where their vials are stocked,” a voice calls from the other side of a tent.

Marge should be in her own room this late at night. But the possibility of her still being in the healer’s quadrant, defenseless and vulnerable, pulls me to a screeching halt. If she’s killed, it would alleviate any risk of her turning us in. It would essentially solve our problems.

But I can’t.

I can’t do it.

I have to warn her.

“Hold on, Daeja. I have to make a quick detour, and then I’ll be there.”

She grumbles her protest but quiets.

I cut a shorter path to the healer’s quadrant and slip inside. Burning candles cast a soft amber glow in the room, and Marge hunches over the counter, pouring liquid into a glass vial.

She spins toward me, eyes squinting. “What are you doing here this late—”

“Shhh!” I hiss and blow out the candles in a single breath. Covering her mouth, I rip her into my chest, and the vial in her hands falls to the ground and shatters. Pulling her back from the counter, I shift us both into the farthest corner of the room. She tears my hand off her mouth, and the door swings wide open. Three men enter, weapons held ready as they scan the room, their gazes snagging on the soft smoke rising from the extinguished candles before finally reaching us.

“Daeja, I need you to fly as fast and as far north as you can. Once you pass the mountain range, you’ll be free.”

“What? I’m not leaving without you!”

“Grab her,” one of the men says.

The other two thunder toward us, their eyes trained and weapons angled in our direction.

I step forward and shove Marge behind me, unsheathing my sword.

She stumbles. “My staff, Katerina.”

Her staff is across the room, beyond the two men advancing, and leaning against the counter. Clearly, she should retire. She must have lost her godsdamn mind to imply such a thing. Does this woman really believe in me enough that she thinks we’ll be walking out of this alive? That she'll actually need her staff once I’m done with these three?

If I make it twenty-two seconds before I die, I’ll consider it a massive success on my part.

The men sweep toward us, too close for comfort, and I do everything my body and mind screams at me not to do. I lift my sword, readying my arm with all of the strength I could ever possess.

I fucking charge them.

I swing sideways into one man’s sword. As soon as our blades collide, the strength of his blow rips my sword out of my grasp, sending it flying back a few feet. An unsettling vibration rings throughout my hand, all the way up my arm. The second one swings for my head, and I duck, the metal grazing the very tips of my hair. His sword catches into the cabinet beside me, the wood groaning at the impact. The man heaves to pull it free.

My gaze darts to my sword on the ground, a few feet away and blocked by the first man who swipes his blade toward me again. Falling backward, I roll onto my side but not fast enough to dodge the tip of his blade. A wicked sting rips across my arm.

Fuck. There goes my twenty-two seconds.

Daeja’s roar echoes in my head, nearly incapacitating me from my next move.

“Daeja—”

A vicious slam of splintering wood tears all of our attention to the door. A man, as dark and cruel as a nightmare, surges into the room.

Darian.

He flies in with a boiling rage, decapitating the commanding man in one fell swoop. The man’s head thuds to the ground and rolls, his body collapsing a split second after. The other two freeze, before scattering like roaches in the room.

Darian hunts them down, swinging and striking like the graceful lethality of a snake. Cold, calculating, and painfully beautiful. Despite the violent moment, I’m mesmerized by how simple he makes it all seem. Crawling to my sword, I swipe it off the ground and jump to my feet. All three of the intruders are on the floor, soaked in pools of their own blood. Darian rakes his gaze across the room.

Our eyes connect.

A brutality smolders in his eyes, like an unbridled wildfire that could set the entire world ablaze. His chest heaves, lips pulled back in a silent snarl, and sweat drips down his face. “Where is Marge?”

Marge limps past me and pats my shoulder, her touch stirring the memory I was struck. I clamp down on my upper arm to slow the river of blood trickling down to my hand.

The tension in Darian’s face lessens slightly. “Glad you live to see another day, Margie.”

He snakes over to a cabinet as he reaches for the flask tucked into his side. Grabbing a bottle from the shelf, he pours its contents into the flask and takes a few hard gulps from the bottle himself.

“Darian,” Marge hisses. “What have I told you about proper etiquette?”

“Considering I just saved your ass, Marge, don’t give me shit about manners.” He wipes the liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied breath escaping his lips. He puts the bottle back onto the shelf and lifts his flask to us before he leaves.

The sound of the alarm bell in the distance dies out before the door shuts again.

“Wretched boy. Couldn’t even be bothered to clean up after himself.” Marge sneers as she walks over to the bloodied bodies sprawled across the floor. As if he had left broken glass on the ground, rather than three mutilated men.

She turns her attention back to me. “Come here. Let me get a look at your arm.”

I don’t allow my gaze to linger for too long on the bodies, my stomach roiling with every glimpse. I fix my stare at the ceiling as her nimble hands assess me.

Marge watches my face, potentially noticing my unease. “Nothing but a superficial cut. I can clean you up in a bit…why don’t you find Cole first, and see if he can send someone to help clear this out?” She motions toward the bloodied ground.

I don’t argue.

Holding my breath and fixing my gaze on anywhere but down, I inch around the pools of blood and out of the healer’s quadrant.

A cold silence replaces the screams and chaos bursting in the outpost earlier. I’m assuming we’ve won, but an eerie tension settles around the camp like an invisible fog. Every direction I scan is empty, no hint of our squad or our attackers.

“I’m okay, Daeja. I’m safe.”

“You had me worried something bad was going to happen—”

A hand claps over my mouth, tearing me backward. My shoulders hit a firm chest, and a cold, metal sword presses to my throat. “Don’t scream. Don’t fight. Or I’ll kill you.” The words are whispered into my neck, the voice rough and unfamiliar.

My instinct to scream and thrash dies.

“Drop your sword,” the man hisses.

My hand flexes on the hilt of my sword, the metal slippery in my hands. I won’t be able to maneuver fast enough to avoid my throat being sliced open if I try to run. And my inexperience with sword fighting would also mean a quick death.

I drop my sword.

My captor leads me away from camp, his sword sliding down from my throat around to my back, its tip pricking my spine, prompting me forward. Terror drains my blood from my face as we slip silently away from the rugged stone walls of the outpost, his hand still wrapped around my mouth.

I’m tempted to reach out to Daeja, but even if she could save me from this man, her death would be imminent if she were discovered by Cole’s squad.

The man leads me into the cover of the trees, and I scan the forest floor, my gaze settling on a rock. Without giving myself the chance to second guess it, I fling forward, feigning tripping over something, and catching myself on my hands. I roll to my right, anticipating his blade to come crashing into my skull.

He hisses and snatches my braid, ripping me to my feet as shouts thunder from behind us. Pinning me back into the position I was in before, the man claps his hand over my mouth before I can scream, the tip of his sword settling at the base of my throat.

He turns us to face the approaching beat of footsteps and tears me back, step by step, farther into the forest. But the surging group of shadows from the outpost is much faster, and recognizable figures emerge from the mass of darkness. Cole and Archie appear at the front of the group.

My captor growls. “Get back, or I’ll sever her!”

Cole goes rigid, his eyes calculating as he raises his open palms to us. He shifts one hand behind him to stop the approaching squad, never breaking eye contact with my captor.

The blade digs harder into my throat, and my skin burns, a hot trickle of blood races down into my nightgown.

“Where are you?” Daeja’s growl is laced with intense panic.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be okay!” I lie in fear of risking her life. The reality hits me over the head as hard as if it were a rock—my mother told me the same thing before she died.

“What do you want?” Cole demands through gritted teeth. “Whatever you want, you’ll have it.”

My captor snickers. “There’s nothing you have that I want.”

Cole’s eyes darken to an unrecognizable level, his voice dipping into an otherworldly wrath. “If you so much as nick another inch of her flesh, I will rip every breath from your lungs with my bare hands. I will beat the life out of you into another lifetime.”

My captor drags the sword down, slicing more of my skin in a taunt.

A shiver snakes down my spine as I witness in slow-motion Cole transform into the pure embodiment of wrath, rage, and fury. He roars—animalistic—lunging as multiple people spring forward to stop him. But it’s no use, Cole swings them off of him, managing to shake the grip of them all.

A whirl of silver flashes toward my captor and me.

Cold metal grazes my cheek as the silver passes and sinks into my captor behind me. His grip on my mouth slides off, and the cold sting of his sword against my throat disappears entirely. I whirl, and the man who held me hostage slumps to the ground, a dagger sunk hilt-deep into his gurgling mouth. Blood bubbles out of lips, his eyes wide and hands clawing at his face.

Stepping back, I gasp in horror.

Cole brushes me behind him. “Look. Away.”

I stare off into the forest, but I’m unable to block out the sound of squelching flesh. Turning back slowly to Cole, I watch him sheathe his bloody sword, rage still fuming in his pinched features. Lying on the ground in a pool of blood, blank eyes staring up at the stars, is my captor. My stomach churns, and I cup my hand over my mouth.

Cole pulls me into him, his strong arms wrapping around me as if he’ll never let go. His heartbeat is rabid inside his chest, and his dilated pupils shrink as he locks eyes with me.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, holding my face between his hands and searching every inch of my skin. His thumb brushes underneath the slice against my cheek, his finger coming away smeared with blood.

“Yes…I–I think so?”

Cole whirls. “Archie, what the hell was that!”

Archie dips his head with a sheepish grin. “I…uhh. I used to throw daggers?”

Cole’s voice dips into a growl. “If you missed you could have killed. Her. ”

“I-I knew I wouldn’t,” Archie murmurs, blinking at Cole’s uncharacteristically furious tone.

I rub up and down Cole’s arm to get his attention, then tug his collar when he doesn’t budge. “Hey. Hey! Look at me.” I pull his chin to face me, resting my hand on his cheek as I whisper, “I’m okay.”

Cole locks into my gaze, his anger fading like the darkness after the sun rises. His breathing slows. Finally, he looks at Archie, his voice gravelly, “Thank you, Archie.”

The rest of the squad erupts into a cheer. Carlisle breaks off from the group, pridefully slaps Archie on the shoulder with some sentimental words, and ruffles his hair.

A flicker of movement beyond the distant trees catches my attention. Daeja’s nearness is as apparent to me as if it were a sixth sense.

“I’m safe, this time. I promise,” I confirm.

Her half snort, half relieved sigh whispers in my mind. The shadows in the forest stills.

I hug Archie, my voice weak. “Thank you, I knew it was you I needed to be scared of.”

Cole shifts into his captain role seamlessly. “You’re a hero, Arch. Grab your dagger, I’m going to take Kat to Marge. Carlisle, could you please delegate someone to dispose of the bodies?”

Cole ushers the rest of the squad back to camp and whisks me away. We’re alone, hidden by trees and bushes, when trembles erupt from my body, and my hands drip sweat. The cold air whispers against my cuts, burning my skin.

Cole stops to take my face into his hands, his voice trembling. “I was…I was so scared to lose you again…are you sure you’re alright?”

In the comfort of just him and I, my stomach retches. Holding up a finger, I take a step away from him and hurl into the bushes.

He’s quick to pull my hair back from my face with one hand and softly rub circles on my back with the other. My body shudders as I hack again and again until I have nothing left.

Cole’s voice is gentle. “I’m so sorry. This should have never happened, and I’m sure you were so scared. Adrenaline can make you nauseous.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn back to him to reply. My vision swings into a dizzying blur, and my knees buckle.

Cole slingshots forward, catching me in his arms, and concern furrows his dark brows. “We’ve got to get you to Marge.”

He sweeps me up off of my feet, my head flopping back into the crook of his muscled arm. The stars swim circles above me.

“I’m fine,” I murmur, though not convincingly enough.

Marge answers Cole’s knock at the healer’s quadrant with an exasperated sigh, until she sees my state and ushers us in. Cole lays me down onto a bed, and my gaze wanders beyond him to the dark stains mottling the floor where the three men were mutilated.

“What happened?” Marge demands.

“We must have missed a rebel. He took her hostage.” Cole’s voice is still thick with worry.

Marge works quickly, assessing the cuts on my neck, cheek, and arm. She cleans the wounds and flicks her gaze up at Cole. “These should heal just fine, she’s just in shock.”

“She’ll be okay?” Cole’s wide eyes watch Marge’s every movement.

“Yes. Now go. Leave her to rest.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“Fine. Who am I to tell you what to do, captain? Stay here, then.” Marge rubs an ointment on the cuts, and presses a vial to my lips, demanding me to drink it. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

I swallow down the liquid, and each second it settles deeper into me numbs my consciousness.

Cole sinks to his knees beside the bed as Marge leaves the healer’s quadrant. He strokes my hair, his touch soft. My vision starts to fade to black. The last thing I feel is Cole’s hand wrapped around mine, and a whispered “I love you.”

Nightmares consume me, and I struggle to breathe through the blazing fire ravaging around me. I’m pulled under, drowning in flames and blood. Screams surround me, until one erupts from my own mouth, and I can’t stop myself.

“Shhh, shhh, shh. You’re safe. You’re with me. I’ve got you, I’m right here with you.” Cole’s soft voice brushes against the shell of my ear. His strong, muscled arms wrap around me like a blanket.

I peek open my eyes and turn to look up at him. His tender eyes chase away the haze of my fear. My head falls back against his chest. The steady beat of his heart slows my own. He holds me, rocking me back and forth until I slip back into sleep. The thunder of his heart pulses around me.

But rather than the fire and flames and screams, I hear a chanting of words.

Fire incarnate.

Flame in flesh.

Blood of power.