Burn (Elemental Series Book 4)

by Rose Wulf

  Like everything else her mother had said to her in those last few days, those words still haunted her.

  Not that it even matters. Their last argument was nearly five years behind them. She was an entirely different person now.

  “Oh, good,” Georgia declared as Arianna stepped into the house, “you’re home. I was just heading out, but I think I left my house keys at work. Do you happen to have a spare? Or will you be home?”

  Arianna blinked, jerking herself back to the world around her, and slowly shook her head. “I don’t have a spare,” she admitted. “But if I have to go out, I’ll lock up and then stick the key under the doormat.”

  Georgia smiled and bobbed her head. Her black hair was up in a ponytail, emphasizing the bright teal highlights she hadn’t yet taken out as well as the bobbing motion of her head. “Great! Thanks so much, Ari! I promise I’ll make a copy and leave it with Brooke or someone for the future!”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Arianna assured her, simultaneously stepping out of her roommate’s way. Georgia was clearly not dressed for work, so she asked, “You are going to check in to see if someone found your keys, though, right?” It felt like a stupid question, but sometimes Georgia missed the obvious connections.

  “Oh, yeah,” Georgia promised, slinging her oversized bag over her shoulder. “I’m just not completely sure that’s where they are … so I wanted to be safe!” She pulled open the door, still smiling, and called, “See you tonight!” as she proceeded to sweep out of the house.

  Arianna released a breath and shook her head. “That woman’s a force of nature, I swear,” she mumbled as she turned back toward the hall. She intended to take a shower, in order to properly wash off the sand she wouldn’t be returning to now until Thursday, and only then would she put in any energy into figuring out how to spend the rest of her afternoon. I wonder if Dean’s free? It was a crazy thought, really, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She always hated talking about her brother’s death or her lack of a family connection, but somehow she hadn’t had much trouble telling him the story. And then, like an idiot, she’d wasted a perfectly good opportunity for a real kiss by kissing his cheek.

  It was downright embarrassing.

  She lingered a little in the shower, letting the hot water soothe the knots in her shoulders. It would be nice to someday have a Jacuzzi tub or at least a luxury shower, but such dreams were best not dwelt upon. Not at her present stage of life, anyway.

  A short while later, she found herself in the kitchen, trying to decide whether she’d be cooking for dinner or ordering pizza, when a blur of movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Her hand paused barely an inch from the cupboard and her head turned to the side, toward the kitchen window stationed over the sink. What was—? But her mind went silent when she caught a glimpse of the heel of a sneaker-covered foot. As she watched, it stepped out of sight, moving toward the side of the building. Only their backyard was fenced in and they didn’t share it with anyone, so no one should have been out there.

  Before she could think better of it, Arianna moved toward the sliding glass door. If she hurried she could probably catch whoever that foot was attached to, and when she did she was going to be sure to educate them on the finer points of trespassing.

  Arianna was out the door, being sure to slide it shut behind her, and several feet into the yard before she finally caught sight of a male figure attempting to climb over the fence. He wasn’t doing so well, though, and she had the strong urge to grab onto his belt loops and pull as hard as she could. But she wouldn’t put her hands on him unless she had to, so she came to a stop as he pulled himself a little higher—she couldn’t see his head at all now—and made certain her voice was firm. “Drop,” she commanded.

  He froze, a head of dirty blond hair lifting, but he didn’t turn to face her and he didn’t obey her instruction. It struck her, then, that his build was the slender side of lean and his back looked vaguely familiar. But it was a small town and she worked in the most public part of town almost every day. Chances were good she’d seen him before.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” she warned. She was sure he was stalling, trying to think up a convincing lie or checking to see if he could still manage an escape. But he was in for a surprise if he thought she wouldn’t chase him down if he hopped the fence. Whether he was a peeping tom or scoping the area for some burglary he was planning, she wasn’t about to put up with it. Her recently-charged phone was in her pocket and the woods surrounding Darien weren’t half as scary as downtown L.A.

  To her surprise, though, he didn’t attempt to throw himself over the edge of the old fence. Instead he started laughing—a slowly building, arrogant chuckling—and dropped easily to his feet.

  The first flicker of concern tickled her stomach as he straightened and turned to face her, confirming her newest suspicion. The trespasser was Eric Matthews. I would have preferred the peeping tom.

  “You do have a backbone, don’t you?” Eric taunted, smirking almost lazily. “But was it so smart to chase down the mystery intruder?”

  Holding her ground, Arianna crossed her arms and returned, “What, you think I’ve developed a fear of punk teenagers since Saturday?” The only thing that remotely frightened her about him was the power she’d since learned he could wield. And even that was hard to be afraid of when she thought about how much of a cocky brat he was.

  Eric’s eyes darkened, but his smirk never wavered as he replied, “Actually, I just meant that it wasn’t very nice of you to leave your roommate alone in the house right now.”

  Arianna had to swallow her snort of amusement. “Shows what you know. Georgia’s out.”

  He gestured vaguely toward the building behind her and stated, “Not anymore. I saw her pulling into the driveway maybe a minute before you decided to chase me down.”

  She had known full well Georgia could have returned at any given moment, and focused as she’d been on watching for him she wasn’t so sure she’d have heard a car pulling into the drive. There wasn’t any point in arguing it, though, so she replied, “Fine, say Georgia’s home. That really has nothing to do with me chasing down a trespasser. In fact, since I’ve got your attention, I think I’ll just go ahead and call this in to the police. I hear they’re still looking for the guys who kidnapped Clarabelle last month.”

  Eric’s eyes flashed and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” he bit out. “You’ll be dead before they answer.”

  As much as she hated taking a word out of his mouth seriously, Arianna couldn’t help but pause, her phone raised to chest level. She knew—intellectually—that he could be dangerous. She really needed to remember to respect that. And, as she watched him, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she saw his gaze lift skyward. Reacting on instinct, Arianna threw herself to the side—closer to him—and her decision was rewarded with an immediate loud, snapping crackle. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder, toward where she’d just been standing, and her eyes landed on a newly-started fire. He’d nearly struck her with lightning.

  “Good reflexes,” Eric praised with mild interest. Her head spun back to him, but it was too late. His hand had wrapped around her wrist and burning pain seared down her arm an instant later. Her phone dropped from her hand as a cry of pain slipped from her lips. As soon as the phone was down Eric released her and stepped back, adding, “If you can still think clearly, you might want to save yourself.”

  Her vision was blurry and she swore it hurt to draw breath. She couldn’t really distinguish her arm from her feet or left from right, and she wasn’t entirely sure how long she knelt there, struggling against the tears and the pain. It was the sharp, echoing sound of exploding glass behind her that managed to bring her back into some sort of focus. By then Eric was gone.

  Arianna managed to turn again, toward the house, only to discover that she could barely see it at all through the fire the
lightning had sparked. And even once she managed to squint through the thick, dark smoke, she wasn’t sure she was seeing straight. It looked like her roof was burning, too.

  Burning. Fire. Dean. She needed to call Dean. Dean could save her.

  Her head swiveled—too quickly—to the side again, where her phone was resting on the ground, and she snatched it up. She was pounding the dark screen with her thumb before she finally realized the phone was dead. The buttons on the side confirmed her fear and she felt her throat swelling up. She was still far too warm, and she was beginning to think it actually had more to do with the fire not-so-slowly curving toward her than the electricity that had been shot through her system. She needed to get out. Get away. Find safety. But her phone was dead, so she couldn’t call anyone to come rescue her.

  Georgia.

  Eric had said Georgia had come home. Arianna had no proof, but could she risk it? What if the house really was burning and Georgia was stuck inside? What if Eric had gone back and attacked her?

  Guilt joined the swirling emotions in her stomach and Arianna choked back a wave of bile. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t run when Georgia’s life might be on the line. And with the fire practically crackling in her ears she needed to start moving now, so she shifted and promptly sucked in a breath. Moving was quickly becoming her archenemy. Not that that mattered. She could moan about her pain later. Gritting her teeth, Arianna shoved to her feet and forced herself forward.

  ****

  “Arianna!” Dean called, doing his best to project his voice as he moved through the house. He hadn’t been able to get out of the station fast enough when the call had come in that Arianna’s house was on fire. The fire had been called in twice—first by Georgia, who’d been home when it started, and second by a neighbor who’d noticed smoke billowing up from their property. Dean had been prepared—as much as he could be—for the house fire. It was the second fire, eating away at the backyard and surrounding fence, that had caught him off-guard. Two separate fires, dangerously close to merging into one, and only one roommate.

  Georgia had been waiting outside when they arrived, and she insisted Arianna was inside somewhere. She’d only just gotten in, apparently, and so she hadn’t actually seen Arianna. She assumed Arianna was in her room. Dean wasn’t so sure, because to his mind that didn’t explain why she hadn’t also fled outside. The inner fire had started off small. There would have been time. His fear—if that was the right word for the cold, sharp thing clenching around his stomach—was that she was outside, trapped between the fires. Or inside the larger blaze. But he had to check the house. He needed to be sure she wasn’t stuck inside somewhere. And since Georgia said she’d been in the living room when it started, he spared only a cursory glance toward the living room before turning to move down the hall.

  He wasn’t surprised to see the kitchen was burning, and it wasn’t his intent to linger there. But an odd shape caught his eye near the back of the kitchen, just a handful of feet inside, past the blown out sliding glass doors. His heart leapt to his throat and Dean spun on his heel, tearing through the flames thoughtlessly. His ears were ringing with the roar of the fire and the hissing of the high-pressure water as it tried to overpower the flames and yet he felt like he could barely hear them. That was definitely the shape of a body on the floor.

  “Arianna!” He hadn’t even intended to cry out to her again, as she was clearly unconscious, but her name tore from his throat before he could stop it. She was splayed out on the ground, arms forward like she’d been reaching or trying to brace herself for impact, and she was face down. She’d fallen almost straight into the fire. Orange flames licked at her body in far too many places.

  The flames on and around her snuffed out of existence the moment Dean hit his knees beside her, and then he hesitated. He was afraid to move her. Not because he was afraid her injuries were too critical for her to be moved, but because he was afraid of seeing what she looked like in this condition in improved lighting. Seconds passed, and it wasn’t until he was swallowing for the third time, reaching for her with a hole in his stomach, when another problem spiked to the forefront of his mind.

  If he carried her out the front door—like he was supposed to—she would be rushed to the hospital. Her situation would be all over the news in a matter of hours and the entire county would know how badly injured she was. But what she really needed was healing, not obsessive media stalking and skin grafts. How the hell do I get her out of here without anyone seeing?

  There was only one way. He needed help, which meant he needed Logan. And since he wasn’t entirely sure where Logan would be at the moment, he had to go with his next best bet. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, focused on visualizing his family’s backyard, and prayed someone was home.

  ****

  Angela was on the deck, feet kicked up, wondering what book she should start next when something flickered in her peripheral vision. Assuming it was a fly or mosquito, she turned, prepared to swat it away. She wasn’t prepared for the unmistakable orange flame flickering to life over the surface of Logan’s favorite rock. Her eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet, moving quickly to the railing for a better view. The flame shifted, curving and sliding along the rock, and it was a second before she realized it was spelling something. It was spelling Logan’s name and what looked like a street address.

  Hoping she was doing the right thing, Angela tugged her phone from her pocket and dialed Logan.

  “Ange?” Logan greeted between the first and second rings.

  “I think Dean needs you,” she declared even as she crept closer to the fire, in order to be sure she could properly repeat the address. The flames were holding now, making it clear that the message was done. “Does ‘1187 Meadow’ mean anything to you?”

  Logan was silent for a beat, and his voice was thoughtful when he replied, “It’s a residential area. Mostly rental houses.” He paused before adding, “I did hear some sirens heading in that direction a few minutes ago, though. I’ll check it out. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Not that he’s burned into your rock,” Angela said. “But maybe hurry.” Dean had never burned a message quite like this one before, let alone long-distance. She was afraid to think of what kind of trouble it could mean.

  Chapter Eight

  He hated his job. He absolutely hated his damned fucking job. All he’d wanted to do was go with Logan when Logan had disappeared with Arianna, but he couldn’t. Because he still had to go back outside, lie through his ass, and play it cool while they worked on containing the scene. He didn’t need to be told they were going to find it was an “unusual electrical fire,” and he sure as hell hadn’t been in the mood to hear his crewmates mumbling about the weird electrical fires they’d seen recently. It was all a waste of his time. He could have been done and gone in minutes if he’d been able to do things his way.

  Instead it took hours.

  Hours.

  Even then he was only told to go home because his foul mood was getting on everyone’s nerves. Chief Bradford hadn’t labeled it that way, of course. But Dean didn’t even care. Being released from duty for the night meant he could finally check in and see if Arianna was okay. She had to be okay. He didn’t think he could live with the guilt if she weren’t. Angela was capable of miracles, it was true, but even her powers had limitations. If Arianna hadn’t survived the journey….

  She did. She had to.

  He was almost surprised to see Blake’s Mustang in the driveway when he swung in. He would have been, even if he’d been capable of feeling anything beyond the gnawing guilt and nearly crippling thing he found himself labeling as fear. It all rolled together and surfaced as anger, of course, but most of his negative emotions did that. Not that he wasn’t angry. He was furious. There just wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. And as curious as he might eventually be about Blake’s presence, he really didn’t care at the moment. There was only one thing he cared about right then.


  “Is she all right?” he demanded the moment he laid eyes on someone—his mother, in the kitchen. She was pouring what appeared to be—and probably was—a steaming mug of tea.

  Lillian paused and lifted her head, patient expectation in her eyes. “Take a deep breath,” she began as she topped off the cup, “Arianna will be fine.”

  Dean did as he was told, completely by reflex, and sucked in a deep, almost relaxing breath. She was going to be okay. He hadn’t been too late.

  “That was clever thinking,” his mother continued far too calmly. “Using the rock as a messenger, I mean,” she added as she set the tea pot back onto the warming plate. “It probably saved her life.”

  He knew she was trying to make him feel better, but that really wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Then again, the only thing he wanted to hear was Arianna’s sultry, naturally confident voice. But that, he knew, wasn’t going to be happening for a bit. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Where is she?”

  “She’s upstairs, sleeping,” Lillian assured him. “Angela only finished healing her about half an hour ago. She probably won’t wake up before noon.”

  Half an hour ago? She’d needed that much healing? His vision swam and his stomach churned. She must really have been teetering on the edge, then.

  Blake’s hand came to rest on the back of his shoulder, steadying him, as he said, “Hey, breathe. She survived. When she wakes up, the only scar she’ll have is a bad memory.”

  Another bad memory, you mean. But Dean swallowed the retort, knowing it was unnecessary and would prompt a conversation he had no right to have. Instead he nodded, belatedly noticing their mother had disappeared into the adjoining living room, and finally asked, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  Arm falling back to his side, Blake moved properly into Dean’s line of sight and replied, “Georgia called Brooke from the hospital. She said she figured you’d somehow teleported Arianna here for healing and wanted to be sure she was all right.”