Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

Ana

T he doorbell rings, and I dash out of the bedroom, covering the distance to the apartment's door in an instant and flinging it open.

Crusher's on the other side. He's devastated. Wrecked.

"What's going on?" I long to hug him, but every signal his body gives off screams not to.

"Princess," Crusher says formally. "I have difficult news."

"What?" And why is he calling me princess? I thought we were long past formality.

He glances away. He's hiding something. My heart races. "What's going on? Where's Phil?"

Is this a prank? Is Phil hiding? Peering into the hall, I look for my love. Do they think this is funny?

Taking a step back, Crusher spreads his legs and clasps his hands behind his back. Arriving behind me, Flame slides one of his arms over my shoulders, but I can barely feel its heat. Something is wrong, and I suspect Flame already knows what it is.

"Tell me." All the air vacates my chest.

"Princess." Shaking his head, Crusher looks into my eyes. "Ana, I have terrible news." He glances down, then up again. "Phil is dead."

This is a cruel joke.

Forcing a grin, I push past Crusher into the hall. Any second now, Phil will jump out, yell surprise and gather me into his massive arms. This is one of his jokes.

Spinning, I glance up and down the grand hall. Phil is large, but there are one or two pieces of furniture he might be able to crouch behind.

"Okay. Ha, ha!" I call out. "Very funny. Phil, you can come out now." I'm all for a good prank, but given the danger Phil was facing, their telling me he's dead is taking it way too far.

"Princess." Crusher places his hand on my shoulder, and I spin toward him.

"This isn't funny." I shake my head, barely able to breathe now. "Where is he?"

I turn toward Flame, but he's looking at the floor. "I can't believe you're going along with this." Breaking away from Crusher, I take one of Flame's hands.

His gaze lifts to meet mine, and my heart falls out of my chest. The intense pain in Flame's icy-blue eyes rips into my soul.

My mind turns to mush. My throat closes. My heart stops. My legs crumple.

"No!" The word shreds its way up from inside me. My body turns inside out, leaving my organs exposed and raw.

"Where's Blade?" Crusher asks, but his words barely register.

"Still in the archives," Flame answers. "Find Selina, Ana's sister. She'll help you find Blade. I'll stay with Ana."

Flame's words float around in a world turned to mush. My exposed heart has been dropped in acid; my vision is hazy, like a thick film is covering my eyes; my ears and head are stuffed full of damp wool; and my heart can't be beating, because my blood is ice cold—and yet I detect the hard thump of a heart.

No longer supporting myself, I'm in Flame's arms, and it's his heartbeat I hear, not my own.

Flame carries me back to the apartment, heading toward the bedroom, but I can't possibly sleep. Or perhaps I am asleep?

Yes . I'll wake from this nightmare, and my world will be set right, because there is no world in which I can survive without Phil.

"Ana, you should try to get some sleep." Flame's fuzzy voice seeps through the sodden wool that's stuffing my ears and my mind.

My skin is numb. I barely register Flame's touch on my face as he tries to soothe me. This can't be true. It can't. Blinking, I fight to bring Flame's face into focus, and when I succeed, his obvious pain amplifies my own, and solidifies the truth of what's happened.

I love Phil, but so does Flame. I want to erase his pain too.

Shifting away from Flame, I slam my fists against my thighs. Physical pain might wake me from this nightmare. The pain barely registers. I'm living in dual states, simultaneously numb and in pain—intense pain.

I want to feel pain. I need it.

"Stop that," Flame grabs my forearms.

My silk robe is open, revealing deep red bruising on my thighs and my belly.

Flame's hold on me tightens. "Ana, you're hurting yourself."

I struggle against him, loving the brutal tightness of his hands on my arms, and the ache of my muscles battling against his superior strength.

"Ana," Flame says, his voice tight. "Stop fighting me. I'm going to break your arms."

"Good."

He shakes his head. "Darling, you don't mean that."

My arms go limp as Flame's term of endearment brings me back to the moment. "Is it true?" I whisper, then look up into his eyes. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Please, Flame. Wake me up."

His eyes flood with even more anguish, and I look away.

"It can't be true." I back away from Flame, turning to pace out of the bedroom and across the sitting room and back. I left Phil less than two days ago. My entire world can't have flipped in such a short time.

I continue to pace, but Flame pulls me into his arms as I pass. "What can I do for you?" he asks. "How can I make this better?"

Leaning back, I look up into his eyes. "Tell me it's a lie. Or a joke. Or that I'm dreaming."

Flame slowly shakes his head, revealing more pain than seems possible for such a carefree man.

"Crusher would joke about this." Flame looks like he's trying to convince himself. And that fuels my hope. My world is tumbling out of control, throwing me about in its strong churning forces.

"You don't believe it either."

"I don't want to, but Crusher wouldn't lie. Not about this."

Pushing against his chest, I shake my head.

"Ana, I'd do anything you asked right now to ease your pain."

"Then tell me Phil is alive!" Backing up, I run into a coffee table and drop down to my ass.

He pulls me back to my feet and looks into my eyes. "I'll do anything for you, except lie."

Pulling away from Flame, I pace again, sprinting now, swinging my arms to strike whatever lies in my way—furniture, walls, my own body. Objects in the room crash to the floor. Ming vases, Dresden porcelains, Venetian glass. Precious works of art barely register as many shatter against the stone floor or crack over Persian rugs.

Timur's death was deeply sad, but nothing like this. My raw insides have wound up like tight springs. Any moment I'm going to explode. And the pain of that will certainly kill me. Good. I want it. I deserve it.

"Hey!" Flame grabs me, pulling me close.

I struggle against him, but then my body gives in, collapsing for a moment as my chest heaves.

"I hate to see you like this," he says. "Please, tell me how I can help you."

The caring tone of his words draws me closer to him. My pain is acute, but his voice reminds me I'm not the only one affected by this horrible news. Giving up my struggle, I wrap my arms around Flame's strong torso. "You loved Phil too."

Nodding, he pulls me in closer. "I've never felt pain like this." He looks up to the ornately decorated plaster ceiling, then back down again. "Not even when my family died in that fire."

Newfound pain stabs me, when I see the truth in Flame's blue eyes. We've both lost people we loved. We both know how profound loss feels. But all my previous pain doesn't compare to what I'm feeling right now.

My body winds up again, wanting to run, and I squirm in Flame's arms. I want to pound things. To do anything to distract me from what I'm feeling. It's like I'm caught in an endless loop, cycling between numbness, pain and disbelief. Not wanting to remain in any of the three states for more than an instant.

"Make it go away." I break out of his hold. "Please, Flame! Make everything go away."

"Darling. I would do anything to do that." He lights a match, but instead of tossing it, he extinguishes the flame with the fingers of his other hand. The scent of his burning skin wafts toward me. He lights another, but this time tosses it into an urn, watching it fly. Before it lands, he repeats the action, sending an arc of lit matches through the air.

I haven't seen him obsess over lighting matches in a while. My anguish is amplifying Flame's, and that makes me feel even worse. I drop into a crouch.

"What can I do?" he asks, his voice sounding desperate.

"Distract me." I tug on my hair. "Help me forget."

Tucking his hands under my arms, he pulls me out of my crouch and looks into my eyes. "How? Tell me how to help you forget?"

My heart is racing, my blood surging now with the force of a powerful waterfall and threatening to burst my veins.

"Fuck me." I blurt the only thing that might distract me right now.

"What?" Shock paints his face as he takes a step back. "Now? Really?" He lights another match, letting it burn out against his fingertips.

My heart stutters, then races again. Even I'm shocked by my suggestion, one that erupted from my lips before my brain could catch up.

"Do you think fucking is a good idea?" He glances toward the door.

"I don't want to think." I shake my head. "I want to escape . To escape from my mind, from my feelings. I want you to help me feel something different. I want you to fuck me so hard it erases everything else." The scent of his burnt flesh hits my nostrils again. "Burn me, Flame. Hurt me if that's what it takes."