by Celia Kyle
Then the young female took a puff of her own glowing stick, forcing the tip to burn hotter. Taking her cue, the four of them did the same. She placed her burning tip an inch away from the center of the door and he finally understood.
“You’re drawing on the four corners.” The power of a witch.
“And busting them wide open.” She nodded. “One,” his fingers trembled. “Two,” another bolt of pain struck him. “Three.”
He pressed his cigarette to the upper right corner, his other hand tingling with the need to shove the door wide. A flare of bright light illuminated the hallway, sliding over them and scraping Joce’s skin as the spell popped into nonexistence. He grasped the door’s handle and pushed. The others jumped back, scrambling out of the way as he dove through the portal.
The burning of his wounds consumed him, but it was nothing compared to the rage that churned in his heart. That anger—fury—flooded him with adrenaline and drove that bloodthirsty beast inside him insane with the need to commit violence.
Against the male who’d injured his fire. Against the male who cornered her even now. Against Jemshir.
The daeva’s back faced him, the male too focused on harming Kate, and Joce took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. It was obvious they were no longer in the manse, the uneven flooring, moss laden walls, and scent of rot pervading the space.
A glance over his shoulder revealed a shimmering surface of magic, an invisible film that sent him from the protector compound to… wherever he ended up. And Carac kept the other protectors at bay. He could not blame the male for saving the warriors. It was stupid to risk them all for one.
Joce would gladly risk himself for his fire.
He allowed his fangs to descend, fingers forming deadly claws as he approached. Katherine saw him first, her tear-laden eyes flicking to him a spare moment before Jemshir struck her once more, a new gouge now marred Joce’s collar bone. Pain consumed her eyes, the orbs disappearing as they rolled backward. He felt her agony, the sensations adding to his own and nausea struck his stomach.
The male would die.
He ceased his perusal of the room and grabbed the chair, hands clutching the sides in a firm grip as he lifted the seat high. Then he swung with all his might, heaving the solid, spelled piece of metal, and he struck Jemshir’s back. The daeva slid across the room, a snarl on his lips as he slipped over the slick, uneven ground. Jemshir didn’t allow the hit to slow him, the male immediately pushing away from the wall, jumping to his feet.
Then the fight began in earnest. Joce tossed away his impromptu weapon and flexed his hands, claws at the ready.
Jemshir rushed him, but Joce was ready. He caught the male’s weight and used the momentum to his own ends, flipping the male over his shoulder with ease. He moved with the shift of weight, following up and over Jemshir until he landed astride the daeva. He didn’t not imagine he’d hold the upper hand for long, but he took advantage of the position. One, two, three punches with a deep gouge into the daeva’s side. Then he was shoved aside, rolled until he lay under the male. Another shift of muscle, another heave that threw his opponent away.
They both climbed to their feet, Joce sporting no new injuries while Jemshir bled freely.
They repeated the moves, the attack, tussle and retreat, their strengths evenly matched. He flashed his fangs, threatening the male with a bite, the thing inside him craving the daeva’s blood.
Poison. The thought tingled through his head, but it wasn’t his own. Poi… son… The words were breathy and weak. Labored. Fading.
Kate’s.
He spared a glance for his fire, quick enough to see her skin grayed and her eyes unfocused. A drip of black liquid stained her chin.
She’d tried protecting herself and that may have hastened her demise.
Rage. No, rage no longer applied. Fury, but more. Hatred and an all-consuming drive for death.
Joce snarled and attacked. He’d been intent on eliminating Jemshir before, but now…
The vampire inside him rose until he was the beast, the pure animal taking control and using his human body like a puppet. He was faster, stronger, and more powerful than any he knew.
Punch. Kick. Claw. Kick. Grip and toss.
The battle continued, the vampire never tiring, never slowing in its need for retribution.
Throw. Kick. Punch. Claw.
It went on, the battle traveling the space of the small room, walls cracking and crumbling beneath their strength. The space would crumble soon, burying them all beneath ageless stone.
But not before a sylph appeared, fog-like elemental sliding through the rough cracks and slipping across the ground toward… Kate. His fire lay unconscious, eyes closed and head lolled to the side, temple resting against the trembling stone.
Then… the fog flared to life.
Not a sylph, a salamander. Not fog, but smoke. Smoke that burned gold, then red, then blue.
Elementals had joined the One.
Hottest of the hot, it sparked in the air and reached for—
“No!” Joce spun in place, lifting his leg as he moved, slamming his heel against Jemshir’s jaw. The male spun in place, momentum twirling him, giving Joce a chance to rush toward the burning creature.
But he was too late. Too late to stop the elemental from brushing his hand across Katherine’s injured chest, too late to halt the burn that overtook her skin and caused her flesh to boil and bubble. Too late…
Chapter Seventeen
Katherine dragged air into her lungs with a fierce gasp, body suddenly filling with oxygen and agony chased its heels. She was alive. She shouldn’t be. He’d cut and gouged her flesh, drawing blood forward, and it’d done… nothing. Her blood should have been like acid and yet it hadn’t hurt him.
Because it’s hard to burn smoke. Right. Jemshir had struck out at her with that twisting, turning, midnight smoke, not a physical part of him.
So she’d fought back with her fangs and that’d been what nearly did her in. She got a hunk of Jemshir’s flesh in her mouth and her vampire genetics immediately rebelled against the taste. She’d spat out the piece of muscle and skin, but it’d been too late. Jemshir’s poison had already dug its claws into her blood and it snatched her life away in small increments.
She stayed conscious long enough to see Joce come to her rescue, to watch him battle Jemshir, and she’d attempted to warn him about…
Then came a wave of fog—smoke?—drifting over the ground and toward her. What had come to kill her? Didn’t the puppet masters know she was already dead?
The ball of fire started as a tiny spark, a small flickering flare that slowly grew to encompass the entire ethereal mass. The initial burn stroked the deep gouge on her chest, sealing it with the scorch of heat.
Then she was the fire. She became fire and light, a beacon in the darkness as whatever touched her consumed her. It sank past her skin, boiled her blood, and consumed her flesh. She felt herself falling to pieces, only to be put together again. She lost her limbs and yet they returned. Whatever attacked her reassembled her as well. Killing her yet saving her. The poison in her blood no longer hurt, no longer pumped through her body in time with her heart.
This fire took its place. It pulsed and… purified. It wasn’t trying to kill her—despite the pain telling her otherwise—it was healing her.
Burning away the infection the only way it knew how.
It. It, he, she, spoke as it worked to save her. Thoughts invading her mind. Once darkness, now light. The raging fire will puri—
The whisper ended with a sudden jolt as cold hands wrapped around her biceps. They reached past the destructive fire and hauled her free of the tumbling mass. She recognized the scent of burning flesh, the char that came from skin fried by fire. She noted the flavors that lived beneath the aroma as well. Her body burned without pain, but she knew Joce experienced agony by touching her.
The moment she was free of the waft
ing mass of smoke and heat, she wrenched herself from Joce’s grasp. She gasped with the sudden freedom—freedom from his touch and the heat of the… salamander. An elemental. She knew it, but didn’t know how.
No. She got more than a recitation of the prophecy, she got present truths. The One wasn’t just coming, it had arrived.
It also sought what the protectors searched.
…king of many, conqueror in life and in death.
King Arthur. The creator of the Knight Protectors. Their original sovereign. The only one who could defeat the evil that threatened the world.
The One had come, and he was on the hunt.
She was shown something else, something that would save her mate. Something that would end this immediate threat.
Kate had to get rid of the heat, give the element an outlet. One that wasn’t her mate.
She had one person in mind.
So when Jemshir’s eyes blazed and then narrowed, his gaze intent on her and Joce, she did exactly as the salamander showed her. Because that was when Jemshir rushed them, midnight smoke swirling around him, darkness consuming him like a deadly cloak. Kate threw off Joce’s hold and shoved, gratified by the fact that this new blaze and her vampire worked as one. She allowed Jemshir to come close, to reach for her, his arms outstretched as he attempted to strike her.
Attempt because she hit him first. She grasped his throat with one hand while she placed the other over his heart and then she pushed.
Pushed the fire.
Pushed the heat.
Pushed the pure anger that burned hotter than any flame.
Pushed her hatred.
Pushed her grief.
She gave him everything she had, releasing it in one heaving thrust until it filled him. He lit from inside out, the yellow glow gradually brightening to red and on until his flesh was consumed by blue.
That was when she released him, forcing him away until he struck stone. Now blazing blue eyes met hers, surprise and rage filling his orbs.
“You.”
One word. One single syllable that left his lips before she witnessed another body turning to ash, the blue consuming bone until Jemshir’s form folded in on itself and finally turned into a black mound of ashes.
Gone. He was gone.
Because of her.
A rumble shook the room, rocks falling from the ceiling, and she realized they had to get out. Now. She glanced at the corner where she’d last seen the salamander and found the space empty.
“May you burn the night,” she mumbled the well wish and then turned her attention to an astonished Joce.
“Kate—”
She reached for him and then stopped, her hands still glowing from the woman’s help. “Grab the witch. We have to leave.”
“Katherine—”
“Joce,” she growled. “Get the witch. The building is about to come down around us and I don’t want to be here if any of the One’s playthings come to find us.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she’d yelled at him or the sudden flare of fire on her skin, but he jolted into action. In one smooth move he was across the room, the woman in his arms, and they strode to the doorway. It shimmered and shook as if the instability of the room affected it as well.
“Go.” He jerked his head, urging her to go first, but she shook her head.
“If I go first, one of them will touch me. You need to go and warn them.”
Kate had no doubt someone would pull her close, yank her from the room the moment a hand appeared. She refused to hurt anyone.
He glared at her, jaw stubborn and eyes filled with anger and fear. “Katherine—”
“Go before we don’t have a choice and are stuck here.”
He pressed his lips together until they formed a harsh line across his face but finally nodded his head in agreement. “I expect you to be right behind me.”
Yeah, she did too. As long as the portal held.
Joce stepped through and she counted the beats, hoping he got the message across before she left the room.
One, two, three…
Kate stepped forward and prayed…
Only to find out Joce failed. The moment she stepped into the manse hands gripped her forearms and squeezing her tightly.
That was followed by a scream. Of pain. Of agony. Of… death?
No. It wasn’t death. Kate wasn’t killing anyone. Not exactly. It was a cleansing and a rebirth.
She met the gaze of her accidental captor—the witch who must have regained consciousness after leaving that evil place.
She saw her reflection in the witch’s gaze. Her eyes shifted from one color to the next, transforming slowly. Brown turned gold turned red turned blue.
It examined the woman, weighed and prodded her, searching through her mind and giving Kate the female’s secrets.
Then it waited as if seeking a ruling.
Good or bad. Life or death. Purify or purge.
Fire could do both—either—and it wanted to do as Kate bid.
So she granted the witch life. Purity lived in her soul, a driving desire to do what was right, to give thanks for life and protect it at all costs. The vampire had pushed the witch into a frantic struggle between right and wrong, between the desire to do no harm and the necessity for violence.
The witch was Kate on a magical scale and that tipped the balance fully in her favor.
“Live,” she whispered.
Then she prayed.
Chapter Eighteen
Joce never thought he’d willingly treat anyone other than his fire for the rest of his immortal life.
Yet here he was checking the witch’s saline drip and adjusting her pain medication. Here he watched her monitor while he wondered what she’d say when she awoke.
Her and Katherine.
His fire remained unconscious, glowing body resting on a nearby steel platform. She remained too hot for a needle to penetrate and he wondered if she’d melt straight through the table before she woke. She hadn’t yet, but he made no assumptions when it came to her.
The moment Joce and the witch stepped from the magicked room, she’d regained consciousness, fighting with him to put her down. He’d been unable to do anything but let her go, his worry for his fire overcoming his desire to hold the woman captive in his grip.
Then Katherine crossed and…
Joce had been the only one capable of carrying Katherine to the clinic while Warin managed the witch.
Warin, the quiet protector. The one who lived in the shadows and hardly spoke. Of all the males crowding the hallway, he was the first, the one to slip between the others and catch the witch as she collapsed. Faster than light through darkness.
Now they stood vigil. Waiting for the women. Waiting for answers.
The doors swooshed open and he knew without looking that Warin entered. The other vamp slowly came forward, steps audible to announce his approach.
“The witch still sleeps,” he murmured.
“Laila,” Warin corrected. “Guardian angel. It was why she was chosen by the Order for the job.”
It made sense. Witches put a lot of faith into names.
“Laila, then.” Quiet slipped into the space, wrapping around their bodies in a comforting embrace. The women seemed to emit comfort, caring… love. They were unmoving but it felt as if their souls filled the air.
It gave him hope they’d awaken. With any luck, soon.
Warin shifted in place, cloth rustling, leather creaking, and Joce knew what the male desired. He slowly rose from the chair beside Laila and made his way to Kate.
Despite the heat, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, the hotness emanating from her body no longer burning him, but simply granting him warmth. He’d become accustomed to the fire that licked her skin and he no longer recoiled with the sting.
“Hello, my fire,” he whispered against her skin. “You have left me alone for seven days. I
would like you to return.”
She remained unmoving. Silent. Barely breathing yet full of life.
Joce settled in to wait, taking his seat while he reached for her hand and slid his fingers over hers. He enjoyed her warmth, allowing it to sink into him and burn away the chill.
“Laila still sleeps,” he murmured, ready to recount the days. He did the same each time he came to her, telling her exactly why he’d left her side. “The Order sent witches to purify the holding cell where Jemshir was kept. They do not know how it was done, but between Galla, Jemshir, and Laila, the doorway became a portal to a castle dungeon.
“We’re not sure where, but the witches tasted old magic—ancient magic. The search for the One is on hold until you two awake. Carac has called everyone in the ring home. Even Brom from Italy. I hear he’s bringing Adela and we all know she has that hot Italian temper even though she originates from Spain. I’m pretty sure she and Carac had a thing at one point. It’ll be fun to watch those two collide.” He reached out and ran his fingers down her arm, skin sparking with the touch. “You’ll miss it if you don’t wake up.”
Kate didn’t stir.
“I don’t know how to bring you back.” He slipped his hand beneath hers until their palms connected.
The next set of footsteps to approach were softer, the weight of the visitor much lighter. “I think I know how.”
Funny how everyone whispered around the injured even when others knew there was no chance the patients could hear.
He didn’t allow hope to enter his heart. He couldn’t afford the resulting pain when it failed. “How?”
“Blood.”
He shook his head. “That was the first thing we tried.”