Scorch (Midnight Fire Series)

by Davis, Kaitlyn

  "Done," Pavia said, and then paused, holding her breath in a way that made Kira know there was more to say. She waited. "Kira," and there is was, the voice of the Pavia she liked, the honest and caring one, not the shielded sarcastic one.

  "Yeah?"

  "You are sure about this right? I mean, once it's done, there's no going back."

  Kira looked at Tristan, running her eyes over his face, over the open and waiting expression, the unguarded eyes.

  "I'm sure."

  "Good, I'll see you soon then."

  Click.

  It was done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kira paced around the dark cellar, thoughts spinning over the all too many outcomes that the end of this fight could have. But there would be one definite outcome. Tristan would be okay. He would finally feel whole for the first time in over a century.

  Now if Pavia would just get here a little faster… Kira had tried calling her, but a secret underground tunnel wasn't really ideal for cell reception.

  She scanned the room again. No light bulb and she didn't want to go down the road of using her power, so she strained her ears listening for Pavia's footsteps. But the only footsteps she heard were her own.

  Okay stop, Kira told herself and slowed her shuffling feet. Tristan was upstairs, reading the history book Kira had given him back in the hospital. Yes…that's right—reading a history book for fun. Sure, he missed out on a few decades of his life, but still. But that's Tristan, Kira thought—half-smirking just like he used to do.

  A scraping noise started behind her, like stones protesting against one another.

  "Pavia?" Kira asked into the void. Who doesn’t have a working light in their unfinished basement? Oh right, conduits…

  "It's me," a voice said roughly. Oh it was Pavia alright, a slightly ticked off Pavia at that.

  "Are you okay?"

  "No, thanks for asking. Has anyone be down there in the past, I don't know, hundred years? I'm a walking cobweb." Kira rolled her eyes—Pavia was probably just angry she wouldn't be able to twirl her hair very easily.

  "Come on, the lights work upstairs."

  "Wait," Pavia reached out her hand, landing it perfectly on Kira's forearm because of her enhanced vision. A few weeks ago, Kira would have jerked away from the touch. But now she really felt like there was nothing to hide—no memory of hers that Pavia hadn't already seen. "Don't you want to hear what's going to happen first?"

  "What do you mean?

  "I mean the process of removing his memories."

  "It's not just like," Kira shrugged, "poof, you don't remember anything."

  Pavia's eyebrow raised, Kira knew it from the tone of her voice, "No, it's not just like poof."

  "Oh," Kira said, her body suddenly felt heavy. She turned around, looking for the steps somewhat lit by the crack under the door and sat down. "So what happens?"

  "Well, I've only done this a few times before, but those memories have already been in the person's awareness, so I just had to erase them. I can't really explain how, I just make them dissolve into nothingness, just make them fade out. But in order to do that, I need to make Tristan remember. I need to break down the wall."

  "So he'll remember everything?" Kira asked softly.

  "Yes."

  Her hands rose to rub at the spot between her eyes, calming the anxiety that was quickly strengthening.

  "For how long?"

  "I can't say for sure. I'll work as quickly as I can, but it'll be at least ten or fifteen minutes before the entire process is done."

  Ten or fifteen minutes. Ten or fifteen minutes to say goodbye? To kiss? For him to yell? To hate her for ending things between them?

  Or would it be worse than just that… ten or fifteen minutes for one hundred and fifty years of memories? Kira would just be a blip on the radar—one happy thought in the sea of despair that would pour out of him.

  She gulped, but then nodded. "If that's the only option, then we have to do it."

  "Lead the way," Pavia said, so Kira stood and walked up the stairs, trying to remember that in the end, it would be better for him. It would be worth it.

  She noticed Tristan before he did her. Kira couldn’t miss the black hair popping over the edge of her grandparent's floral couch. He was right where she had left him—feeling totally safe in her care, totally trusting that Kira would never betray him.

  But she couldn’t think of it like that. He had said so himself—he didn’t want to remember. He wouldn’t be able to live with it.

  She swallowed.

  "Tristan?" His head bobbed, but his eyes were still focused on whatever words he was reading. "Tristan, Pavia is here."

  He sat up higher and twisted his head around, following the sound of Kira's voice.

  "Good morning," he said, smiling and shutting his book, "I thought you were all staying outside the wall."

  "We were," Pavia said, stepping past Kira, farther into the living room. "But I thought of something that might help Kira fight, might help us win." She stepped closer to the couch, looking both innocent and guilty at the same time.

  "What?" He stood, looking at Pavia to hear the response. Contact broken, Kira was finally able to step closer, to feel free of the scrutiny that lived only in her head. But she had to stay strong, for him.

  "Kira can tell you," Pavia said, nudging her head in Kira's direction. Tristan turned, presenting his back to Pavia, and before Kira even saw her move, white hands gripped Tristan's scalp and his eyes went blank, completely devoid of life. His entire body stopped moving, a puppet with no master. Someone else was in control.

  And then a spark.

  A hint of something returned.

  "Kira?" He said slowly, a lopsided smile stirred on his lips—just wide enough to show he was happy but small enough to hide the fangs that were no longer there.

  "Tristan," Kira said, her voice wavering. Was it really him? Was he really back?

  He jerked his head forward, but Pavia held it steady, refusing to let him out of her grip. She couldn't lose contact with his skin.

  But that didn't stop him. His hands whipped up, gripping Kira's cheeks, pulling her closer, until their lips were molded together. Kira sighed into his touch, letting her hands slide up to grasp his strong shoulders.

  He pulled her back, eyes wide and grin even wider, "you saved me, you turned me human, oh god, how did you, for days I've just wanted to tell you how much I love you."

  He tugged again, bringing their mouths back together, forceful, like a drowning man who needed water. Kira obliged. It was the last time this would ever happen after all, the last time Tristan would remember all of the nights Kira would never be able to forget.

  "How do I remember?" He asked with a voice colored by wonderment. "How did I ever forget?" He stroked her cheek, lightly running his thumb from her lips all the way to the base of her earlobes—strips of skin that remembered his touch. His eyes drank her in, scanning every inch of her body, remembering it as belonging to him. Kira leaned into his palm, trying not to let the brimming tears fall down her cheeks.

  He brought her close again, this time kissing every inch of her that he could—quick pecks landing on her nose, her chin, her forehead, any wisp of open skin he could find. And then he started laughing. Tears did start falling, but they were ones of happiness. And Kira let hers out, a mix of joy and sadness, selfish love and selfless love. Now that he was back, she wanted him to stay, wanted to rip him from Pavia's hands and end it.

  She put her palm over his, holding his warm skin to her cheeks, drinking him in through watery eyes. Oh god, she had missed him.

  But then Tristan stilled.

  Kira's heart stopped. Was it already over? She never said goodbye.

  His grin retreated. His lips closed, pressing tightly together. The light in his eyes faded, turning dark. The chocolate clouded over, like a shadow had fallen. His knees wobbled, so did his eyebrows. The hands on her face began to tremble—a shake that traveled up his arms, u
ntil his entire body was vibrating.

  "Tristan?" Kira asked.

  His palms slide from her cheeks, landing lifeless at his sides.

  Kira looked at Pavia. The vampire was staring straight ahead, looking beyond Kira into something otherworldly. She was reliving everything with Tristan, inside his mind, working through it. What was going on?

  Tristan's lips fell open. His eyes widened, viewing some horror Kira didn't understand.

  In the same moment his knees gave out, his hands shot up, gripping the back of his neck, and a wail erupted from his entire body. A scream that didn't sound human, didn't sound possible, as though his body were being ripped apart, or maybe it was his soul shredding to pieces.

  Tristan fell.

  Pavia, still holding onto his head dropped too, and Kira followed, pulled down by her heartstrings.

  She hugged him, trying to control the shakes wracking his body, but nothing worked. The cry had stopped, leaving only silence, but it was almost worse, an absence not only of sound but also of the man.

  His eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving only whiteness visible. His limbs jerked, left, than right, shifting up only to slam down to the ground. Kira was flung to the side, as his body continued to twitch uncontrollably.

  Another scream pierced her ears, tearing his vocal chords with its strength. It puttered out into a whimper, then a panting breath, and then words.

  "No, no, no," he repeated, in a low voice, a barely-there whisper. "What am I, no, stop, no, don't, I can't," Tristan continued, his voice getting louder. His left hand balled into a fist, slamming into the ground over and over with each word, bloodying his skin and the wood beneath it.

  "Tristan," Kira reached out, tried to touch him, to comfort him. She couldn't watch him fall apart anymore. She knew what was coming, what would happen if he remembered, but watching him break right before her eyes was too much.

  She touched his hot skin, burning flesh that felt as though a fever had quickly spread along his body. Her fingers were rejected. He twisted away from her touch, staring at her as if she was someone else, someone he refused to look at let alone touch.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his body still jerking, "oh god, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean, I can't control it, you just," he crumbled again, hugging his knees into his chest, rocking slowly back and forth on the ground whispering apologies and refusals over and over again.

  His skin was whiter, more ghostly than when he had been a vampire. His eyes had come back, but they were trapped, stuck open and staring at a scene Kira wished she could understand just so she could help him in some way.

  And then his body stopped, his limbs fell open on the ground, unmoving, and his breath became shallow. Pavia had been right: no human could survive remembering the emptiness that came from being a vampire. No human could live with the soullessness, the horror, especially not Tristan, the artist, the believer.

  He was dying, dying from remembering everything about his life.

  But Kira refused to let than happen.

  She jumped forward, placing her hands over his heart, on the firm chest she used to fall asleep on. Her powers surged, but Kira willed them away, refusing to let the darkness confuse her thoughts. Instead, Kira pumped her hands, pressing on his chest.

  She leaned down, sealing her warm lips against his cold ones, and for the first time, the fact that his lips were cold frightened Kira. Because they weren't the cold lips of a vampire, they were the cold lips of death.

  She forced air into his still lungs. Pumping one, two, three. Breathing. Pumping. Breathing.

  Beat damn you, Kira thought, refusing to cry, because crying would mean that he was lost. Just start beating, she repeated again and again, just stay alive a little while longer.

  And almost as if he heard her prayers, Tristan's lips opened and he gasped, sucking air into his body. His heart sped, getting stronger, slowly regaining a life of its own.

  Kira pulled back as his eyes fluttered open. He sat up—dazed, confused—he looked around.

  "What's going on?" He asked. Still her Tristan, Kira sighed, recognizing the tone in that question. She reached over, stroking his cheek while a small, sad smile spread across her features. It was time to say goodbye. "It feels like I was dreaming, like I'm waking up and everything else is slowly fading away…"

  He touched his forehead, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and then opening them again. "Kira?"

  Her hands fell to his lap, holding tightly onto his fingers.

  "Tristan," she said, sighing, "I'm going to miss you, more than you'll ever know." And he wouldn't know, his memories would be gone, but Kira would keep them close to her heart, alive enough for the both of them.

  "You're doing this aren't you? I mean, it was your idea?"

  Kira nodded, hoping he would understand. For a moment, pain danced across his features, but then it softened and he broke free of her grip to run his fingers lightly along her jaw line.

  "You're always trying to save me," he said, letting a lopsided grin takeover.

  "You won’t need to be saved anymore," she told him softly, bittersweetly.

  "You saved me the moment you let me love you, let me know that some part of me was still capable of being good."

  "You didn't need me to be a good person," she said, shaking her head. He had always been that way, been gentle and kind, at least to her.

  "But I did. You brought me back to life, more than once," he stopped, shaking his head, trying to pull at a fading memory. "How did we meet? Will you tell me again?"

  A sob pulled on the back of her throat. It had begun. Her voice was shaking. "At school. In our English class."

  He laughed, "That's right. Then what happened? Did we go to the marsh?"

  Kira closed her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath. She couldn't do this. So instead, she leaned down, putting her head on his shoulder, the little nook next to his neck. Tristan wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

  Kira listened to his beating heart, his beating human heart. She did that. She saved him. She brought him back to life.

  Tristan lightly pushed her back, made her sit up, and gripped her shoulder strongly. His eyes were clear, focused, like he understood everything that was going on—as if his entire life were flashing right before his eyes in the moment before it disappeared entirely. And maybe it was.

  "I love you," he said, his voice steadfast.

  "I love you too," Kira told him, trying to equal his resolve, but her voice was cracking. He was dying right before her eyes. The Tristan she knew, the one she loved, was almost gone forever.

  He gripped her face, running his eyes over the curve of her lips, her lashes, her cheeks. He wiped away the tear she couldn't contain, kissing it away, and then leaned down to gently kiss her lips one last time. It was salty, but perfect.

  He pulled back. Kira couldn't move. The resolve was vanishing, the light, the memories. Kira watched them flash and fade.

  "Thank you," Tristan whispered, and then his eyes closed and he fell, as if in slow motion, back to the ground, curled on his side like a sleeping child. A small smile curved his lips and he face looked relaxed, perfectly at peace.

  Kira was the opposite. Her hand covered her mouth, holding back the crying sounds she wanted to make. Her tears fell silently. Her body shook.

  Pavia, job done, let Tristan go. She stepped over his body and wrapped her arms around Kira.

  And though she was cold, and technically Kira's enemy, it didn’t matter. Kira hugged her back, crying into her shoulder, getting comfort from the woman who had somehow become her friend.

  "He's gone," Kira cried. Tristan, her Tristan, was just a memory living inside of her head.

  "He's alive, Kira, he's right there, breathing, because of you."

  Kira looked over Pavia's shoulder at Tristan.

  "He's in a better place now," Pavia whispered, continuing to hug her tightly. "You saved his soul, you saved him."

  She heard Pavia. She knew the words w
ere true, but it didn't ease the pain.

  Kira leaned back, letting her go. The only person who could truly make her feel better at that moment was Luke, who was still in the town square, hopefully convincing everyone that a fight was fast approaching.

  A fight that wouldn't stop just to let Kira ease her wounded heart.

  She sniffled, drawing the tears back in. "You have to leave," Kira said, "you have to leave and you have to bring Tristan with you. I'm trusting you to keep him safe."

  "Wouldn't it be better to leave him with you? Inside the wall?"

  Kira shook her head, reality crashing back down. "I don't know what's going to happen to me, if I'll even be able to keep it together. If vampires find a way in, come looking for me, I won't be able to keep him safe. I can't use my powers, not to fight." The shadows were too close.

  Pavia looked down, her features soft—her hard, sarcastic exterior had evaporated. "I won't let you down."

  They both knelt, leaning over Tristan's body. Kira brushed a strand of ebony hair from his face, looking at him one last time with love in her eyes.

  Pavia reached out, but Kira stopped her with a touch.

  "You told me once that vampires couldn't love…" Kira trailed off.

  "I was wrong," Pavia said.

  "But it's why you want to turn right? For that chance?"

  Pavia nodded slowly, wondering where Kira was going.

  "Could you love him?" Kira asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers still gently stroking his cheek.

  "Not as I am now," Pavia said, Kira shifted to look into the vampire's clear blue eyes, "but the girl I once was, the one I want to be again, I think she could. I can see her falling head over heals for a guy like him."

  Kira nodded. There was nothing else to say. And Pavia understood. She reached under Tristan's body, lifting him easily from the ground. Kira stayed seated, glued to her spot as Pavia turned and walked away, disappearing into the basement.

  Stones scraped, shuffled below her, and then Kira was alone. Pavia and Tristan were gone, escaping through the tunnel, running with vampiric speed out of Sonnyville.