“Hey, it looks like she’s finally awake.”
Her fuzzy mind couldn’t quite place the familiar voice. She tried to open her eyes, but exhaustion weighted down her lids. Maybe I should just go back to sleep.
Then an image of a blonde woman burning with magenta fire flashed in Violet’s mind, bringing with it the memory of extreme, agonizing torment.
Pain. So much pain.
She sat up and immediately regretted it, doubling over as the inferno roared to life inside her. What is wrong with me?
“It’s okay, Violet. You’re safe now,” said Gus.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched away, but the searing pain only intensified. She whimpered and wrapped her arms around her chest.
“Try to relax,” Gus said.
Heeding his advice, Violet attempted to calm her thoughts and body. She referred back to some of the grounding exercises her psychiatrist in high school had shown her when she was still dealing with PTSD symptoms after being kidnapped.
She closed her eyes.
Breathe in. One, two, three.
Breathe out. One, two, three.
Squeezing her eyes tighter, she tried to understand what was happening, to analyze the torture her body was feeling. Her instinct was to flee, to run away from the pain and, if she couldn’t escape, to scream and curl up in a ball. But the more she fought against the agony, the more she realized she was fighting against herself. The intense suffering was foreign, and yet it was somehow a part of her. It was . . . strange. Unlike anything she’d ever encountered before.
Changing tactics, she tried embracing the pain instead. Slowly at first, and then almost all at once, the torment vanished. It was as if the moment she succumbed to the fiery agony, her body was able to absorb the pain and dissolve it.
With a sigh of relief, she lay back against her soft pillow and slowly opened her eyes. She was lying in one of the infirmary beds. Gus was perched on the edge of the mattress, and Sagan stood close by.
“Hey, guys. What happened?”
Sagan and Gus glanced at each other, their expressions serious.
A wave of panic crashed through Violet. She shot up, looking around wildly. “Where’s Solace?” The guys refused to meet her gaze; sorrow and grief hung thick and tangible in the air. “Where is she?” Violet demanded, clenching her hands into fists.
“I’m so sorry, Violet,” said Gus. “She . . . they took her.”
“No.” Violet’s voice was barely a whisper. Deep despair settled on her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs, stopping her heart. She clutched at the fabric of her shirt. “Noooo . . .”
The memory reel of what had happened flashed in her mind.
Skye screaming.
Skye’s and Cruz’s bodies.
So much blood.
Solace screaming.
People in black suits.
Solace screaming.
A blonde woman kidnapping her daughter.
Magenta fire.
Severe, burning pain.
Darkness.
Uncontrollable sobs racked Violet’s entire body. Skye and Cruz were dead. Murdered. Gone.
And her baby—her daughter had been taken. Snatched from her arms.
A gaping void grew in her chest, erasing her, eating her from the inside out. All she wanted was to have her daughter back, safe in her arms.
When the tears began to roll, Gus pulled her into a bear hug, and Sagan rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. Several minutes passed before Violet was able to speak, to even attempt to articulate the competing questions and thoughts churning in her head. She wiped the stream of tears away with her sleeve, but more continued to pour down her face. “How long have I been out?”
Gus grimaced.
“About two days,” said Sagan.
Violet’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Helplessness consumed her. Two days had passed since Solace had been taken. How could she possibly track down her daughter? She didn’t know where to start. She didn’t even know who had taken her.
“You’ve given us quite a scare.” Gus gave Violet a sad but warm smile. “Mom and I have been keeping a close eye on you while you’ve been out.” He gestured to Violet’s arm, where an IV was attached with medical tape. “When you didn’t wake up after a few hours, we figured it was best to take precautions.”
Nodding was all Violet could manage. Emotional numbness washed over her, hollowing out her insides. Flashes of half-formed plans to get her child back warred with the steady onslaught of crippling grief. She allowed Gus to plump up her pillows and vaguely registered that he was checking her temperature and blood pressure. For the past nine to ten months, this vital checkup had become so familiar it was as if she’d memorized a dance.
“Any improvement?” asked Sagan.
Gus’s brow creased, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Hmm . . .” He picked up the chart at the end of Violet’s bed and scribbled down some notes.
“What’s wrong?” Violet asked dully.
Gus scratched his chin with the back of the pen. “I don’t want to confirm or deny anything just yet, at least not without a blood test. Hopefully that will shed some light on your situation. In the meantime, you should try to eat. I’ll go get Aunt Skye—I mean . . .” A blanket of grief enveloped the room as Gus fumbled to correct himself. “I mean . . . I’ll let Mom know you’re awake.”
He gave Violet a quick hug, then disappeared.
Sagan sat in the chair by her bed. “How are you feeling?”
Solace is gone. My baby is gone . . . Violet wiped away a rogue tear and swallowed hard, forcing her despair down, down. She needed to be strong. She needed to be strong to find Solace. “I’m . . .” She was what? Devastated? Breaking on the inside? Shattered beyond repair? But then she realized Sagan was referring to her physical injuries. “I’m fine. At least . . . I think I am.” The fierce pain hadn’t returned, but somehow she could still sense the fiery inferno coiled up deep inside her; it was just waiting.
Waiting? Violet almost scoffed at how stupid that idea was. Waiting for what?
She pushed the thought aside. “How are you?” she asked Sagan.
He dismissed her question with a shrug. “Fine.”
“I’m serious.”
He met her gaze. “Let’s just say I’ve been worse.” Several cuts over his lips, brow, and face were either scabbed or almost healed, and faint yellowish bruises could still be seen around his eye, cheeks, and jaw. He pointed to Violet’s face. “I’m not the only one who managed to get a collection of battle scars.”
Violet raised a hand to her cheek, and her fingers brushed against gauze and medical tape. She winced at the sudden pain in her forearm. More bandages covered her left arm from wrist to elbow, and a scattering of small cuts marred the underside of her right.
“You fought hard, Violet.”
Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. “Not hard enough.” She had given it everything, and yet her child had still been taken away from her.
Sagan was kind enough not to reply.
Blinking away her tears, Violet asked, “That woman in the suit, what happened to her?”
An intensity flashed behind his ice-blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Violet. While I was checking if you were okay, she managed to escape.”
A flicker of rage ignited in Violet’s belly, but intense exhaustion doused it into a smoldering ember. “What about the guy, the one you fought in the house?”
Sagan raked his fingers through his hair, then dropped his hand to the black chain around his neck. “I’ve dealt with him. No need to worry about him anymore.”
Violet’s nod was somber. “They were shifters . . . weren’t they?”
He heaved in a lungful of air before nodding. “They were all Magneii. In the same way werewolves are linked with the moon and the Veniri are linked with Venus, the Magneii are linked with Mars.”
“Oh.” Violet allowed herself a few seconds to let that sink in. “What
do these aliens from Mars want with my baby?”
Sagan shook his head. “They’re not aliens, just like werewolves aren’t aliens. All the shifters are supernatural entities, whether they’re linked with the moon, Mars, Venus, Saturn, or any other celestial body in the solar system. They just know how to utilize energy from their associated planets to fuel their transformations and abilities. But as for why they took Solace . . . I have no idea.”
Violet pressed back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “How?” She fisted the sheets in her hands, gripping the fabric tight. “How did they even know about Solace?”
“We have reason to believe it was Macie who told them.”
Violet was taken aback. “What? The midwife? But . . . why?”
“Macie and her husband were relatively new to Maple Shire, and other than helping out in the infirmary, they kept to themselves. But after Solace was kidnapped, we found Macie and her husband dead in their bedroom.” He fiddled with the black chain. “It’s possible Macie got spooked when she saw Solace shift in the delivery room and contacted someone—we’re not sure who. She probably wasn’t counting on a group of Magneii showing up instead.”
Violet’s breaths quickened. “Are you telling me that Macie, my midwife, called in a bunch of psychos to assassinate my daughter? Are you telling me that Solace—”
“No.” Sagan leaned forward and placed his hands on top of hers. “I’m not saying what you’re thinking. I think she’s still alive.”
“How do you know for sure?” Her voice cracked, and a tear rolled down her face.
“Because if they wanted Solace dead, why go through the trouble of taking her with them?” He raked a hand through his hair, then slumped back into his seat with a huff. “I just haven’t figured out why they took her. Solace is important somehow.”
“Of course she’s important!” Violet started to kick her sheets off. “We need to go find her.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Sagan held his hand up. “Two days ago, you took an epic beating from a Magneii shifter, you woke up from a coma less than an hour ago, and Gus is still concerned about your current state. We can’t go and—”
Violet scoffed. “I’m fine, okay? I don’t need you or Gus holding me back!”
Sagan gently but firmly took hold of her shoulders to stop her from getting out of bed. His pale blue eyes were fierce, but his words were soft and calm. “Don’t talk about Gus like that, especially after what his family has had to deal with the past few days. Not to mention the lengths both he and his mom went through to make sure we didn’t lose you too.”
His words felt like a punch in the face. Violet dropped her gaze to her lap and began stroking the scar between her thumb and forefinger where Solace had bitten her.
Sagan was absolutely right. She wasn’t the only one who had lost someone. Shame bubbled up in her gut as she recalled Skye’s and Cruz’s butchered bodies in their own home. The blood-smeared walls. Their open, glazed eyes. Violet wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over. While she still had the hope of finding her daughter, Autumn would never see her parents again.
She dared to meet Sagan’s eyes. “Skye and Cruz?”
“We buried them yesterday. I’ll take you to them when you’re ready to see them.”
About a minute passed before Violet finally found the courage to say, “I’m sorry.”
Sagan gently squeezed her shoulders, then released her. “It’s okay.” After a few heartbeats of silence, he held out her switchblade. “Here. I found this.”
“Thanks.” Violet palmed it, the familiar dips and curves of the pearl-and-gem-encrusted handle fitting comfortably in her hand. It was originally a gift from Nathan, from when he’d first started training her in self-defense. Violet wasn’t sure why she kept it—a constant, painful reminder of his betrayal—but she still couldn’t bring herself to throw the switchblade away. Carrying it with her everywhere had become too strong of a habit.
“That woman, the Magneii, she had a pink knife . . .”
“Do you mean this one?”
Violet’s eyes grew wide as Sagan held up a dagger. Its handle and blade were a deep magenta, and an organic swirling pattern along the flat of the blade seemed to pulse with a dull glow when Violet took it. The thing that surprised her most was how tangible—how material—it was.
She turned it over and over in her hands. “It’s . . . real. But she created it. I saw her. It formed in her hand out of nothing.”
“Yeah,” confirmed Sagan. “I’ve seen it happen a few times. One minute a shifter is empty-handed, and the next there’s a throwing axe being hurled at my head.”
“If the knife’s real, why didn’t it work?”
Sagan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I stabbed her. With this knife. But she . . .”
“Didn’t die?”
“Right.”
Sagan didn’t look surprised. “The Magneii have an energy core in their skulls, right behind their eyes. It powers their abilities, such as fire and accelerated healing. The best ways to kill them are to cut off their heads or damage their power core.”
“Oh.” Violet studied the magenta dagger. She held up her own switchblade and found the release button with her thumb. Shnik. The teal blade flicked out from the center of the pearlescent hilt. She held up the two weapons, side by side. The pattern on her own teal blade was similar in style, except for the two emerald-green and deep-magenta veins that wove through the teal.
“What?” Sagan asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Except . . . that’s weird. These used to be black.” She ran her thumb along the line of black gemstones embedded in the switchblade’s hilt. Two of the gemstones were now glowing, one teal and the other magenta.
Sagan’s pale blue eyes narrowed at the gems.
“Sagan,” Violet said in a quiet voice.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to teach me how to fight.”
“But you already know how to fight.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve been taught how to defend myself. I want to learn how to really fight. I want you to teach me how to kill someone.”
Sagan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Dawn bustled in. She greeted Violet with a warm smile and a hug. “I’m so glad to see you’re awake.”
Dawn fussed for several minutes over Violet’s chart, dressings, and cuts, asking questions to gauge her level of discomfort. During the consultation, Gus came in with a dinnerplate piled high with food. Sadly, it wasn’t as homey as a meal prepared by Skye would have been, but Gus’s father, Lazareth, had stepped in to take over the cooking, and it was clear he was doing his best to fill the void.
While Violet ate, Gus and Dawn swapped notes regarding Violet’s current state. They both agreed she could be discharged from the infirmary after she’d had her bandages changed.
Dawn patted Gus on the shoulder. “Mind if I leave this in your capable hands while I go check on”—she shot a quick glance at Violet—“our more delicate patients?”
Interesting, Violet thought. It wasn’t like Dawn to be cagey.
A sudden tingle grew under her tongue, and she stopped chewing for a moment as she waited for the bizarre sensation to pass. Maybe it was a reaction to flavor overload after not eating anything for a few days, or a side effect of whatever pain medication Dawn and Gus had her on.
After Dawn left, Gus pulled over a trolly of medical supplies.
“So, Dawn has you looking after patients by yourself now, huh?” Violet observed.
“Sort of. She’s got me doing the more basic stuff I’ve done a million times already. A few of the neighbors got caught in the crossfire during the attack, and now it’s like the infirmary has a revolving door. Burns, broken bones, cuts, scrapes, post-traumatic jitters, nightmares—we’ve been getting all sorts. The community leaders have been trying to calm things down by saying Macie and her husband were once involved with a violent gang and their past final
ly caught up with them, but still, everyone’s shaken. And on top of everything, three travelling women showed up in the midst of all the drama, desperate for medical attention. Mom’s been run off her feet, so I’m trying to shoulder some of the load. Besides, it helps to . . . you know . . . keep busy.”
He cleared his throat and occupied himself with a pair of latex gloves. Before he’d finished putting them on, he turned back to her, and his eyes narrowed with concern. “Your cheeks are flushed.” He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. “Geez, you’re burning up. Are you feeling okay? Hot, maybe?”
Violet shook her head. “I don’t feel hot. I feel fine.” Recalling the odd sensation under her tongue, she added, “I was a little tingly before.”
Gus frowned. “It might be worth getting you some antibiotics, just to be safe.” He snapped on the second glove. “All righty, how about some fresh bandages?”
When the old bandage on Violet’s forearm was removed, she inspected her wound. The mangled flesh had the bumpy appearance of an acid burn and was edged with pink scar tissue. Once Gus had applied the new dressing to his satisfaction, he removed the IV from Violet’s hand and gave her the all-clear to leave.
Sagan walked her back to her room at Autumn’s place. Stepping back into the kitchen nearly broke Violet’s heart. Of course Skye’s and Cruz’s bodies were gone and all the blood stains had been cleaned away, but the pristine walls and floor couldn’t erase the memories of carnage from Violet’s mind.
Her ultimate challenge was walking past her daughter’s empty room. She couldn’t, wouldn’t look inside. When she collapsed in a heap of misery and tears a foot away from the nursery door, Sagan offered to retrieve some fresh clothes for her.
The next day Violet struggled to find a new routine, one that didn’t involve changing diapers, midnight feeds, and frequent cuddles with Solace.
It killed her that she couldn’t just go out and turn the world upside down to find her child. She’d lost count of how many times she’d sat in her jeep with the keys in the ignition, ready to search—needing to search. But how? Was she supposed to drive around and shout Solace’s name out the window? Even going to the police wasn’t an option. She could just imagine the officers’ expressions: “Yes, Mister Officer, the blonde woman transformed into some kind of monster that looked like it crawled out of a volcano. And the van with my kidnapped baby drove in that direction—although, I can’t be too sure of that, because I passed out and was in a coma for two days.”
Flames of Mars (Celestial Shifters Book 2) Page 9