Falling Ashes

by Annie Anderson

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I mutter, grabbing at the wound trying to staunch the flow of blood. I know I have to get us out of there before I can’t travel anymore. I reach a bloody hand toward her when she scoots out of my grasp, staying under cover, but out of my reach.

  “I need you to get out of this house, Asher,” she orders me, eyes blazing gold as her Aegis flashes blue across her skin. Her voice has gone guttural, and I can tell by the curl of her fingers and the clench of her jaw, she has lost all ability to hold it in.

  “Leave. Now. I’ll come for you.”

  It kills me to have to leave, and as much as my protective instincts are screaming at me, I know she wouldn’t do this if she had any other choice.

  “Kiss me, Princess,” I growl, and she does. It’s a kiss that says she’s coming back to me, and it is the only reason I’m able to travel from that room leaving her to take care of that hell on her own. I make it to the truck but just barely. In my last seconds of consciousness, I see the house disintegrate in shards of blue light.

  18

  Technology Can Kiss My Ass

  MENA

  Seeing the red of Asher’s blood in the darkness makes me lose a bit of myself. The part of me that cared but could still leave the people I love behind crumbles to dust in my chest. There is no way I will stand and let these vile men take him away from me. Take the happiness I’ve been denied my whole life away. Ash’s bloody hand reaches for me, and it takes everything in me to slide across the hardwood away from his fingers. I know what he’s thinking. He wants to travel from the raining hail of bullets and get me to safety.

  But I don’t need saving.

  He does.

  “I need you to get out of this house, Asher,” I tell him, and it kills me to do it. I want to keep him near me. Dress the wound. Make him safe. But I can’t do that right now. I feel it rising, the heat, the flames, the energy. My Aegis is pricking along my flesh, begging to be set free.

  “Leave. Now. I’ll come for you,” I growl, my voice a guttural order, one he has to follow. My life is tied to his now, and he has to do this for both of us. Black smoke coats his skin and then he slides away from me into the night. I wait for a few moments, letting him get as far away possible before I loosen the reins and let my Aegis free.

  I stand in the middle of the living room, letting the bullets pepper my shield. Nothing can get in, not unless I let it. I shrug off the katana, marginally upset that I didn’t get to use it, and watch the Wraiths, the men who stormed this house trying to steal my life, my husband, my happiness away from me. There are less than I thought. Only about ten or so. They stand on the upstairs landing, and on the steps of the staircase, lined up like a firing squad.

  My light crawls up my bare feet warming me, healing my aches, clearing my head. I feel a smile stretch across my lips when it finally crests from my flesh and spills from my body. And I watch their surprised faces when they realize that they made the worst mistake. With more power than I have ever felt surging from my skin, I let myself go free.

  * * *

  I wake up in a crater where Asher’s living room used to be. If I keep blowing up houses, I’m going to run out of places to live real quick.

  Son of a bitch.

  There is nothing left of the first and second floors just smoldering timber of the ruined studs, broken and splintered, jutting up from what’s left of the walls. The foundation is practically a bowl, the rubble raining all around me, burning to ash where it got too close to my Aegis. I feel the souls of the Wraiths who have perished by my light, and each and every one of them was the worst kind of men. I feel no guilt for ending them. That might make me an evil woman, but I don’t care. My only guilt is that I didn’t leave Ash before I got too close. I shouldn’t have let myself keep him. And now I can’t let him go. I need to find Ash and get the hell out of here before the cops or the fire department or more Wraiths come.

  Fuck, shit, son of a motherfucker.

  I tiptoe through the rubble, cursing my lack of shoes as a piece of glass slices into my foot. I pluck the glass from my arch, blood welling instantly from the cut, but I keep going, making it to the driveway to see Ash slumped against the front passenger tire of the Jeep, eyes closed. His green flannel shirt is stained red, and my knees buckle a bit.

  No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

  I break into a run, skidding on the gravel as I come to a stop inches from him, my knees scraped raw in the slide, but I don’t care. I barely feel it. My hands flutter for a moment and my brain blanks.

  Blood. There is so much blood. Please don’t let me lose him, too.

  I check his pulse with shaking hands and breathe my first sigh of relief at the fluttering beat – my ancient nursing skills finally being of some use. His heart is actually beating. Plus. But the rapid fluttering means he’s going into shock – a definite tick in the minus column. I rip the sleeve from his shirt, yanking it off his good arm and wrapping it under his armpit and over the hole in his flesh. I pull it into a knot right over the wound, tightening it as much as I can without ripping the fabric. It is a testament to how grave his injuries are that he doesn’t make a sound, not even a moan of pain at the pressure of the dressing. I need a blanket to keep him warm, and he needs a healer. I can’t take him to a hospital. I’m pretty sure they don’t stock Wraith type O.

  My mouth mutters expletives while I work, unbidden of my brain, as I search the wheel wells of the Jeep for a spare key, hitting pay dirt on the third wheel I check. Thank God. There is no way in fuck I was going to be able to hotwire his Jeep. The last car I hotwired was a 1962 Chevy Impala under my father’s intense scrutiny, and that was by the skin of my teeth. You’d think I’d just be able to zap it started, right? Wrong. I have to tamp down every electrical impulse my body has just so I don’t fry a car.

  Okay. Breathe. Plan. What is the plan?

  First up, getting him in the truck. Now, Ash is a big man, at least two hundred and thirty pounds, and I have to get him into this jacked up truck without disturbing his shoulder or killing myself in the process. Super. I hit the unlock button like I watched Ash do at the store and open the door. I search for the seat release and ratchet the seat back as far as it’ll go. Jumping back down to the dirt, I have a mini logistics session in my brain, but quit when I realize I have to hurry. Ash is still losing blood, and I have no freaking clue what I’m supposed to do once I get him in the Jeep. Kneeling on the gravel, I grab his good arm and pull it over my back, easing most of his weight on my shoulders and back. It takes me five tries to stand up and eight tries to actually get him halfway into the seat. I curse my weak muscles as I push-shove him in the rest of the way, making sure his feet are clear before slamming the shit out of his door, pissed at this whole situation.

  Okay, step two: get him warm. I go to the back of the Jeep and search for a first aid kit or a blanket or jacket or, fuck, anything I can use. I find a thick fleece blanket, a first aid kit, a gallon jug of water, a tool kit, and a jacket. Thank God. I grab the kit, blanket, water, and jacket and climb into the driver’s side seat. I open the kit and see more shit than I know what to do with, and ninety-eight percent of it I have no idea how to use. I look for a cauterizing agent, but I’m shit out of luck. Fuck it. I zip the kit and fling it in the back, throw on the jacket, buckle him in, cover him with the blanket, and start chugging the water. It tastes musty, but I don’t care. I need to keep my wits about me and shock for me isn’t an option right now.

  On to step three, getting the fuck out of here. I put the key in the ignition, pop the gear in neutral and stomp the clutch, turning the engine over without stalling. Bonus. I thrust the truck in gear and promptly stall out. Goddamn it. I start the engine again and pull out of the driveway trying to remember the way back to the cabin in what was that town called? Grand Lake. Okay. Get back to Aurelia.

  I can do this. I can remember the way. I can.

  In the dead of night, there is no one on the roads, only the emergency response vehicles barr
eling past us once I finally make it to Highway 40. I shakily put the truck through the proper gears, trying to remember the other highway we turned off of when we hit Granby. I could try and use Ash’s phone to call my sister, but honestly, I have no idea how to work it, whether or not I would fry it, or even if Aurelia would answer my call. I hope they don’t turn us away. I reach across the gearshift to check Ash’s pulse. No better, no worse. I’ll take it.

  There weren’t very many turns to get to Ash’s house, and even though I studied the way as we went, I’m uneasy about my navigational skills. Papa told me to always know where I was, so I made sure I paid attention to road signs. I see a black and white sign for Highway 34 and downshift with only minor sputtering to make the turn. Asher is going to kill me for hurting his tranny and probably his flywheel. I am awful at manual transmissions. Only one more turn left, and that is the street for the house. I pass it twice before I finally get the right one, and once I get to the fortress-style wrought-iron gate, I know I’m in the right place. The seriously high-tech keypad has a call button on it, and I gently press it about eight million times before someone answers.

  “Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?” a rough voice squawks through the speaker, and my temper snaps.

  “We were attacked, and Ash is hurt. Open the fucking gate!” I scream into the speaker, and the buzzer sounds, the iron starting to move, much too slow for my liking. It takes every shred of willpower I possess to not ram the fucking thing. Once it’s finally open, I haul ass up the long drive, screeching to a stop near the front door, parking be damned. The engine shudders to a stop, and I slam the emergency brake into place before hopping out onto the pavement.

  I take a huge breath to scream for help, but I release it on a relieved sigh when I see Aidan, West and Cam smoking in the space just in front of me. Ian and Rhys burst from the front door, Ian carrying his notorious black medical bag.

  “What happened?” Ian barks at me, and I tell him, leaving out the majority of the particulars, only telling him that Ash was shot in the shoulder.

  “Get him to the dining room table,” he orders and the guys take him with them when they travel back to the house. Ian follows them, and I wobble, stumbling to my knees on the driveway when I try to take a step toward the door. I plop to my ass on the pavement, praying to everything I know in this universe that I can see those beautiful blue eyes again.

  “Mena?” Rhys says as he kneels in front of me, but I don’t see him, I’m still watching the door.

  “Hmm?” I say, but I don’t mean to. My brain is candy floss, and I am floating away. I feel the jacket jerk on my shoulder and hear my sister’s voice rise with agony, but her voice sounds like it’s in a tunnel.

  “They’re mated, Rhys. Her life is tied with his.”

  I don’t get my wish. The last thing I see aren’t Asher’s winter blue eyes, but my sister’s pale jade ones.

  19

  Catch Up

  ASHER

  When I rouse from a decidedly restless sleep in a bed that I know is not mine, in a room that is not in my house and my wife nowhere to be found, pissed off is not even close to the emotion I’m feeling.

  “Mena!” I thunder into the stillness of the room, worried and weak, my strength slowly coming back after healing such a lethal wound. If I had gotten hit on the right side, it wouldn’t have been too bad, but the left side… not so much. I’m kicking off the covers and about to stand when my beautiful wife comes walking in the door looking like she’s been put through the wringer. She’s still in the clothes she was wearing when the house was attacked, blood-soaked and soot-covered. Her hair is up in a haphazard ponytail and trailing her is Ian and Aurelia. Her twin is on her like white on rice, riding her ass about something, when Mena explodes – figuratively, this time.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Aurelia!” she says as she whirls to face her sister. “I’ll take a shower when I’m Goddamn good and ready. If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for the motherfucker. Leave. Me. Alone. I want to check on my husband,” she ends with a growl through gritted teeth.

  Aurelia looks stunned for a moment before firing back, “You cuss too much.” Her arms cross as if she’s getting ready to deliver another lecture, but Ian cuts her off.

  “Shut up, Half-Pint,” Ian breaks in shouldering Aurelia out of the way before Mena decides to tackle her and start the ass kicking she is dying to give. Mena uses Ian’s distraction to come to me, standing in between my pajama-clad legs.

  “Hello, my darling,” she says as she cups my face and gives me a relieved kiss. Her knees buckle, and Mena’s arms wind around my waist as her head hits my chest.

  “How long have I been out?” I murmur against her hair, cupping the back of her head, massaging her scalp.

  “Three days,” she whispers, looking back up at my face, lips trembling as her eyes well up. She’s breaking down, and by my guess, this is the first time in three days she’s cried.

  “Okay, you’re up. Super. Asher, I’m glad you’re alive. Can you get your wife to take a shower, eat something and go to sleep? Because she hasn’t done any of that in the three freaking days you’ve been out and I’m ready to drug her ass,” Aurelia gripes from her position at the foot of the bed, eyes flashing in concerned anger, and the argument makes sense now.

  “And I keep telling you, I’ve gone weeks without any of that, and I survived just fine,” she bites back, voice clogged with the emotions she’s trying so desperately to tamp down.

  “Great. Fabulous. You’re a badass. You’ve proved it. Now, for God’s sake, eat something, take a shower and. Go. To. Sleep!” Aurelia says, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

  “Princess,” I murmur, my tone half scolding and half sorry. I did this to her, put her through hell.

  “I blew up the house,” she confesses and then she breaks, chest heaving with sobs as she squeezes my middle. I haul her up, tuck her in the bed, and follow her in, propping myself up on the pillows so I can cradle her in my arms as she finally loses it.

  When I look up, Ian is still standing there, brow creased, patiently waiting for Mena to either stop crying, quiet down or it's entirely possible he’s trying to figure out how big a dose of sedative she’ll need. Aurelia shoulders the door open, carrying a tray piled with food. Two huge bowls of chicken and dumplings, crusty French baguettes, and two bottles of water fill the tray, and by the determined twist to Aurelia’s mouth, she’ll force-feed Mena if she has to. Mena’s sobs have quieted even though her tears keep flowing, and Aurelia plops the tray on her lap.

  “Now, I made the bread and dumplings from scratch, so you’re going to eat all of it.”

  “I thought you couldn’t cook,” Mena croaks from my chest.

  “I said ‘don’t’ not ‘can’t.’ I hate cooking and kitchens in general, dishes most definitely, but I pull out the big guns for a crisis. You not eating is a fucking crisis. Eat,” she says, brandishing the spoon like a weapon. Mena reaches for the spoon and slips it from Aurelia's fingers, and sits up taking her bowl from the tray. Before I know it, she’s devouring the hearty soup like a frat boy with the munchies. She rips into one of the baguettes and dabs the rest of the bread in the soup, sopping up some of the broth before shoving the hunk in her mouth again.

  Success.

  I take my bowl, but before I tuck into my food, I ask, “How bad was it?”

  “You or her?” Ian murmurs, eyeing Mena, and it occurs to me that she could have been hurt after I left and I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to help her.

  “Her first,” I insist.

  “Minor injuries. Cuts, bumps and bruises mostly. My biggest worry was the shock, despite her efforts to keep it at bay. But she did good. Mena got you here, tried to take care of herself so she could do what she needed to, didn’t wreck your Jeep, and didn’t pass out until we got you inside. It would have been better if she called us, but given what she had to work with, she did good. Teach her how to use a cell phone, would ya?”


  I can’t believe I didn’t take the time to teach her something so simple. “And me?” I ask.

  “I need to check some things, but my guess is you’re fully healed, which is markedly faster than expected given your injuries. The shot was a through and through, but the bullet broke your clavicle and nicked your subclavian artery. Average bleed out for that is anywhere between two to twenty minutes and it’s usually fatal. Now, I know I don’t have to tell you that we do not regenerate at the same speeds as Phoenixes. You don’t and I sure as shit do not.”

  Ian pauses, trying to make a point, but I’m lost.

  “He’s attempting to tell you that mating me saved your life,” Mena breaks in, talking around a hunk of bread. “I guess a mating shares the strongest traits between the spouses. So congratulations, it’s really hard to kill you now.”

  “Uh… what?” I sputter almost choking on my food.

  “You are organically drawing on my Aegis, so in life threatening situations, I protect you,” she garbles matter-of-factly around her food. “No spell, no pain, and apparently you keep me from blowing shit up – your house excluded. Sorry. I don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent, but I call it a bonus.”

  “And you swear I’m not hurting you,” I ask as I turn to Mena.

  “I promise, Ash,” she assures me, “I wouldn’t lie to you. Especially not about that.”

  I take a deep breath and try to wrap my mind around shared abilities between mates. I’ve never heard of a Phoenix and a Wraith mating in the first place, so I’m at a loss. Is this just because of Mena’s Aegis or is this something else. Will she be harder for our enemies to find now that I’ve drawn from her?