Burned

by J. Nichole Parkins

  Tossing me my keys from their resting place on the end table he added, “I’ll even ride bitch on your bike.”

  Sold.

  An hour later we were sweating away in a converted warehouse. Stripped down to my sports bra I was demonstrating my balance and agility on demand for the sadistic asshole that inhabited my partner this morning. After yet another series of flips across the building, I threw a six-inch blade, buried to the hilt, dead center into the dummy. Not that dummy - no matter how badly I wanted to - a practice dummy with a crimson bull’s eye painted on its chest.

  “Okay Kyra. You have great balance, agility, and aim. Your stamina is also great.”

  “I’m actually told that last one pretty regularly.” I smirked.

  “You must be feeling a little better if you’re making innuendos. Let’s see what your powers can do.” The smug look melted from my face; a gaping pit opened in my stomach. Nausea churned.

  “Don’t we get to test your powers?” I stalled.

  “None of my powers can be used as weapons. While I have some skill at detecting emotions, my main talent is grounding others when their powers get out of hand.” He shrugged. “They are useful but not necessarily in a confrontation.”

  He gestured to a series of flammable objects on long metal tables. “Yours, on the other hand, could be very useful – if it can be controlled.”

  “Show me what you can do,” he instructed. “Let go.”

  Fear rolled in my belly. I wasn’t even sure what I could do with my powers. I’d never experimented with them. While I lazily used them for lighting an occasional cigarette or candle, I’d never tried anything else. When they first appeared - very unexpectedly I might add - I totally freaked out and frequently caught things on fire, especially when I was upset or emotional. But with time and after learning various coping techniques, I’ve learned to control it. Somewhat.

  I focused on keeping busy, active, and aware. To recognize when the energy was gathering around me too forcefully. To follow my instincts and move when I needed.

  “I can ground you.” Sensing my turmoil he held out his hand, palm up. Waiting. “It’s what I do. I can give you the control you need so that you can learn how to harness your power, and not let it control you.”

  As my hand slid over his, my rough palm against his smooth one, the spark that always zinged through me at our nearness sprang to life. It was him. That zing was his power grounding mine. My anxiety banked, I pulled my focus and determination around me like a blanket as I stared down at the first object on the table, a crumpled newspaper. Easy enough.

  I felt for the energy that was always tingling in my muscles, swirling around me, and focused it. All I had to do was think of it bursting into flames and it did. And only the newspaper, the objects to the right were left untouched. The smoky scent of burning paper hung in the air.

  Repeating the exercise with the next objects in the line, I reduced each one to ashes. My confidence grew as elation bubbled inside me.

  “Excellent!” Spencer peppered me with questions. “How do you feel? Worn out? Headache? Any side-effects?”

  “It doesn’t really work that way for me, or at least I’ve never used it enough that I had any effects.” I paused, considering how much I should tell him. Since he was a grounder and my partner, maybe he should know how it works. For the first time I considered that maybe someone could actually help me. “I’m more likely to have problems if I don’t use my power.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m high energy.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he chuckled.

  “If I don’t keep moving the energy builds up and, well, it kind of leaks out. I set things on fire without meaning to.” The admission stumbled from my lips. I hesitated, but the lack of condemnation in his eyes allowed me to continue. Purging myself of the words I had never spoken aloud. “When I get angry, stressed, anxious, whatever, it builds faster. Energy gathers to me. It surrounds me, pushes at me. I have to move when I get the urge or it gets worse. That’s the main reason I am so active. I don’t like to set things on fire inadvertently. It gets expensive replacing curtains all the time.”

  “Fortunately, I am a pretty good Grounder.” His lips turned up in a crooked smile, relief hitting me hard in the chest. It seeped from my bones, almost making me weak. The knots in my chest loosened. Confession was good for the soul, I considered, as I took a deep breath.

  “I can help you with that surplus of energy. Let me know when it happens and I can dispel some of it into the earth. Touching is necessary though so just grab on to me or something.” I threw back my head and laughed, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.

  His suggestion planted some interesting ideas in my head that certainly didn’t need to be there.

  Smoke curled around the lights and danced in the beams. The music was low and bluesy. A couple of blocks from the warehouse, Spencer had dragged me to this dive to blow off steam when he’d had enough of my whining. He at least allowed me to shower and change out of my sweaty workout gear before we left. His patience was commendable.

  The dingy bar was hidden in an alley, the faded sign barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. Tourists were heavily discouraged.

  I liked this place already.

  It was late. We had been training far into the evening with no sign of any side effects from using my powers almost continuously. Well, except the fatigue and irritation anyone would experience from working all evening. Apparently I had super-powers.

  I racked the balls while he searched for the perfect cue, dismissing many of them without laying a hand on the wood. He lifted one, measuring, judging its balance. Concentration stark on his face.

  Spencer graciously allowed me to break, but I was too heavy-handed and the balls bounced around in a disorganized mess. After pocketing three balls in his first shot, he set up the next.

  “Are you hustling me?”

  “I play a lot.” He shrugged.

  “Obviously. Is there anything you’re not good at?” He pretended to consider my question.

  “No,” he deadpanned.

  After he wiped the table with me and we started a new game, I decided to mess with him. As he bent over the table, aiming for the solid yellow ball, I rubbed my foot slowly along his calf. His shot went wild.

  His eyes narrowed, shooting daggers. I tried to pull off an innocent look, but I failed miserably, dissolving into wicked laughter.

  Despite my constant and often blatant distraction attempts, Spencer won the majority of the games as the night stretched on. We had managed several rounds before they walked in.

  There were four of them. They glided in the room, their unnatural grace setting them apart from humans. I glanced at Spencer whose terse nod told me he noticed them. Fortunately the bar was practically empty. The only remaining patrons were two drunks. One of which was passed out cold, hunched over his table.

  We had the advantage - they didn’t know we knew what they were. I hoped it was nothing, just four vampires out for an evening playing pool, some harmless fun. But my instincts screamed otherwise, and listening to them had kept me alive this long.

  Spencer sank two balls and lined up his next shot, watching the four out of the corner of his eye. Pulling out my cigarettes, I cautiously lit one with my lighter, tracking them through the wavering flame as they drifted closer.

  They were young; their energy small and flighty like butterfly wings. Young vampires were almost more dangerous than the ancient ones. They were often arrogant in their new powers but still too young to have learned the steely control vampires were renowned for. More likely to make mistakes. And going after us would be their last.

  Two of them racked up at the table next to ours, while the other two took the table in front. Essentially blocking us in. The air crackled with anticipation. They were stalking us. Hunting. They probably thought we would be a quick snack, but they were wrong.

  The obvious leader of the group, a tall muscular
blond who was only about a decade or two old, swaggered over. A cigarette dangled from his ashen lips. His face was chiseled and pale, but with an odd shine, pinkness on the bridge of his cheeks that indicated he had recently fed well.

  “Got a light, darlin’?” He propped his hip on our table, cigarette bobbing precariously as he talked. His honeyed words didn’t hide the feral gleam in his eyes.

  “Sure.” Purposely fumbling, I dropped the lighter as I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans. “Oops.”

  I had a rule: I didn’t fuck with others until they fucked with me first. My instincts screamed to kick his ass while he bent down retrieving the lighter, but my honor and hope for our respective species bid that I wait for him to make the first move. I didn’t have long. Tossing back my lighter after lighting his cigarette, he waited until my attention was briefly diverted - focused on catching the lighter and not on him - and he moved unnaturally fast, grabbing me around my neck in a choke hold . His three minions had surrounded Spencer, thinking he was the greater threat. I felt a little insulted.

  “You really shouldn’t have done that,” I warned blondie as he stretched my neck to the side for better access.

  “Oh? And why not?” His tongue traced the path of my carotid artery, breath hot and sour on my neck. I shuddered, repulsed.

  “Kyra? You okay?” Spencer called out over the grunts and the sounds of fists hitting flesh.

  “I’ve got this. Be there in a sec.” Blondie’s laugh was cut off as I jabbed him with my cue stick in his stomach. His grip loosened on my neck and I used that advantage to yank out of his grasp. Whipping around, my foot connected with his chest. Knocking him back several feet.

  “Bitch!”

  “How imaginative.” I kicked him again, my heel catching him on the side of his face. Blood tinged spit sprayed from his mouth. I could feel one of his buddies behind me and swung the cue back flinging the other vampire into the wall.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I cautioned, twirling the cue stick between my hands, balancing on the balls of my feet. Unable to keep the smirk off my face.

  He roared and reached for me. Preternatural reflexes are amazing things. Before he could even reach me, despite how quick he was, I had already moved well out of the way. He crashed into his buddy on the floor. Limbs splayed ungracefully.

  Glancing around, I noticed the bartender and remaining barfly had taken off. The only witness remained unconscious, slumped across his table. My partner was juggling the other two vamps like the professional he was.

  I narrowed my eyes and cracked the cue stick in half with my knee. Full of finesse, blondie roared again as he lunged at me, only to run straight into the broken cue. His body thudded to the concrete floor in a heap, half the cue stick protruding from his chest. Blood pooled under his still body.

  His buddy looked at me and then back at blondie’s body. I hoped he was smarter than his dead friend, but he proved to be just as bright and threw himself at me, growling. His fist connected with my eye when I didn’t duck fast enough, the sting from the dripping blood in my eye lasting longer than the punch itself. Facial wounds always bled heavily. Annoyed, I kicked out behind me, stabbing him in the chest with my heel. The stem of the heels was made of silver, a custom pair. Eyes wide with surprise, he clutched the wound, screaming as it hissed and bubbled. The smell of sulfur permeated the room.

  Spencer’s vamp was crumpled on the floor, a blade protruding from his chest.

  “Need a hand?” he grunted as he pulled the weapon from the downed creature’s heart, blood pouring from the wound.

  “Nope.”

  Coldly, as the vampire lay writhing on the floor I pulled out my own blade and, without hesitating, cut off his head. The last vampire proved smarter than his fallen brethren. Taking one look at his decapitated friend, his eyes widened and his feet hit the pavement. The door flapped open as he ducked into the alleyway.

  Spencer followed while I stayed behind to swiftly remove their heads. We didn’t need any unexpected reanimations. Cutting off their head ensured they were dead-dead.

  A few minutes later Spencer slipped back into the bar. The vampire knew the back alleys better and had disappeared into the darkened streets of Ybor. I overhead Spencer calling in a cleanup crew to take care of the bodies in the bar.

  “We don’t have to clean up our messes?” I gaped at him, incredulous. I always had to clean up after my own kills. It could be pretty time consuming, not to mention disgusting. I loved the unexpected perks of working for The Man.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of the key sliding into the lock was loud in the thick silence of the apartment. Heavy footsteps dragged across the floor as Daniel walked into the kitchen, the light from the refrigerator illuminating his drawn features. He popped open a bottle of beer, downing half in a few swallows. Sagging against the counter, his fingers dove into his hair as he further disheveled the tousled mohawk. His long sigh echoed loudly in the empty room.

  Only it wasn’t as empty as he thought.

  “Looks like you’ve had a long day.” He startled so bad the bottle fell from his hands. Fumbling, he grabbed it and stalked to the light switch, flipping on the overhead lights.

  “Fuck, Kyra! You scared the shit out of me!”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. Only I wasn’t really, not about that anyway.

  I wasn’t sure why I snuck into his walk-up in the first place - not that it was difficult or anything. I was restless. Drifting.

  It was awesome having Uncle Sam clean up after us, but the sheer volume of the paperwork that resulted from offing the vampires left me frustrated. I’m not sure if the perk of the cleanup crew was worth the extra bureaucratic hassle. Working alone meant I didn’t have to justify my actions to anyone and my clients only cared that I got results.

  I preferred it that way.

  Feeling no guilt for killing the two vampires, no disgust at casually decapitating them, left me concerned. Sure they’d attacked us and we’d given them plenty of opportunities to walk away. But shouldn’t I feel something?

  Or had the walls I’d constructed and reinforced for so long separated me from my humanity?

  I had tossed the paperwork at Spencer, letting him wrap things up, while I wandered aimlessly through Ybor, trying to decompress, to rid myself of the odd melancholy that the probing questions on the forms had generated. Unfocused, my body led me to Daniel’s place, obviously more sure as to what it wanted than my brain. Or my heart.

  He sighed loudly.

  “I have had a long day.”

  “I’m sorry I left,” I rushed out, my words almost stumbling over one another. His eyes met mine. Sharp. Direct. My apology surprised him. “I’m sorry I avoided you.”

  He swallowed thickly. His head jerked in acknowledgment, but he made no move to close the distance between us. The distance acutely larger than the actual physical space. Part of me knew that keeping that separation was safer, for him as much as me. But another part of me didn’t care. Craved him with a need that couldn’t be healthy, that certainly wasn’t normal. But then what about me was?

  “It’s hard for me to deal with…” I trailed off, struggling with my words. I broke his gaze. “I’ve got issues.” I laughed humorlessly. “Obviously, right?” Shrugging, I met his eyes again. I was cracking open, my heart bleeding onto the carpet. “I’m here now.” My words stretched between us. Time expanded. Seconds seemed like minutes as I waited for his rejection.

  Until he walked, steadily towards me. Determination hardened his features. Gathering me in his arms, he held me. And I could finally breathe.

  I stretched out in Daniel’s bed trying to catch my breath, exhausted after another round of mind-blowing sex. The man was insatiable, but then again, so was I. We were surprisingly well matched considering the fact that he was only human.

  Daniel was like a drug - my addiction. I had tried to stay away. I didn’t answer his calls for almost a week. But I relented in the end, gravitating tow
ards him when I felt vulnerable and disjointed.

  That had to mean something, right?

  So I lumped everything under the fact that I had issues. Which was true enough, but only scratched the surface. The wariness in his eyes told me he was waiting for me to run again. The hurt in their depths stabbed at my heart, magnified by the secrets I was keeping.

  So we pretended. While our skin was flayed open. Exposed. Bandaged with a Band-Aid.

  It wasn’t his past that made me run. Where his was a dull blade, mine was a sharp sword. A sword that cut deep, that had a longer reach. I ran because his honesty held a mirror to my duplicity. I ran because he was chipping away at the foundation of the walls I had built. In over seven years I had managed not to feel anything. Memories were shoved away, locked tight in a box covered in warnings and wrapped in barbed wire. I didn’t want to feel again. I was scared.

  But I wasn’t ready to admit to that, so we continued like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t run when he was stripped bare.

  “You know, you were right.” I stared at my toes, revealed as the sheet was peeled back. Their cheery pinkness winking back at me. “The pink is better than the red.” I turned and looked at him, staring into his eyes. Hoping he heard what I wasn’t saying.

  He nudged my side with his elbow.

  “See, I know what I’m talking about.”

  We tried to keep things light, rebuilding the fragile bond that had been budding brick by brick.

  On the spur of the moment, I decided to reveal a secret I could live with.

  I brought a fresh cigarette to my lips, handing one to Daniel when he languidly held out a hand. But instead of reaching for my lighter I just focused my power on the tips and lit both.