Of Flame and Promise

by Cecy Robson

  My arm flickers and zings, the electrified charge strong enough to startle me and slap any remnants of sleep away. Shit. No way am I perfect. Not by a long shot, especially with this thing constantly mocking me and reminding me of everything wrong in my life.

  A sharp rap to the door has me glancing toward my right. “Taran?” my perky sister Shayna calls. “I heard your alarm clock go off. Want some breakfast?”

  I lift the bane of my existence and roll my eyes. Alarm clock? Yeah, I suppose you can call it that.

  “T?” Shayna presses.

  “I’ll be right out,” I answer.

  She pauses. “Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “I made plenty.”

  It’s not that I want to eat. It’s that I know how worried my sisters are about me. So I sit with them when I can, and plaster a smile when I need to, but even that’s cumbersome, which sucks. I don’t want my time with my sisters to be something of a chore. I love them. But I’ve learned that some things can’t be helped.

  My arm fires with its haunting glow. Ah, yeah, case in point.

  With a groan, I slip out of bed and into the bathroom. I walk into my closet and pull on panties and a bra, then tug on a red sweaterdress. After adding a few swipes of mascara and some lipstick, I shove my feet into a pair of platform heels and strut out of the room, yet not before snagging my elbow-length leather gloves from the dresser. Most women won’t leave their homes without their cellphones. I can’t leave my room without my gloves. They help me hide the ugly appendage and the light show that accompanies it.

  But now that my arm’s buzzing…

  I pause with my hand on the doorknob. God, what am I going to do about this thing?

  I take a breath and wrench open the door, tugging on my gloves as I walk down the hall and into our large kitchen. Shayna abandons the waffle iron when she sees me and skips forward, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

  She throws her arms around me like it’s been months, not hours, since she’s seen me. “Morning, Taran,” she tells me brightly.

  I pat her back, wishing I could hug her for real. But real hugs lead to my very real tears, and I can’t keep doing this to my family. “Hey, princess. Wow, everything smells great.”

  It’s the truth, yet my comment sounds phony and forced, even to me.

  Her arms fall away slowly. Although she keeps her grin, I sense the worry behind it, as well as her fear. “You look nice,” she tells me.

  No. I look acceptable. I used to spend over an hour styling my dark wavy hair and applying my makeup. Now I do enough so I don’t resign myself to sweats, watching made-for-TV movies, and stuffing my face with potato chips.

  “Thanks,” I manage with yet another forced grin. I make a show of taking in all the breakfast foods, including the fresh baked goods. “Yum. Do you need help setting the table or anything?”

  “No. It’s all good, T.”

  She says nothing more, which is unusual for Shayna. Either she’s waiting for me to speak, or she’s debating what to say. I can’t take another pity party so I lift a pan filled with eggs and a plate stacked with waffles and bring them to the table. “Where’s your puppy?” I ask. In other words, where’s her gigantic werewolf husband, Koda?

  “Oh, he already ate and left. He’s doing more at the Den since Celia’s been needing more, ah, time with Aric.”

  Okay, now I really grin, and so does she. Time with Aric is a mild way to describe what Celia desires from her husband.

  Our youngest sister, Emme, walks out of the laundry room blushing, which tells me she’s heard us discussing Celia. Shayna’s grin quickly turns into a laugh. Emme’s shyness has that effect on her.

  Emme clears her throat, but not her obvious discomfort. Where Shayna has dark straight hair, Emme has soft blond waves and fair skin that reddens the longer we look at her. “Emme,” I offer. “What’s the big deal? So what if Celia’s banging Aric like the lead drummer at a Fourth of July parade?”

  Emme holds up her hand. “Taran, let’s keep their private life private.”

  I reach for a glass of freshly squeezed juice. “I would if they weren’t so damn loud. I swear, I thought the walls were going to come down around midnight when they—”

  “Taran…” Emme whimpers, shaking her hands like she can’t stand to hear another word.

  Emme’s always been so sweet and angelic. Me? Not at all. “Hey, do you suppose Celia’s more flexible now, given how Aric knocked her up? As in ankles-behind-the-head kind of flexible—”

  Emme lifts a muffin with her force and sends it zipping my way. I catch it in my hand before it rams me in the mouth. “Eat,” she insists. “Just eat.”

  In other words: For once in your life, shut your inappropriate trap.

  Shayna takes a seat beside me, laughing her skinny ass off. Emme sits, too, in time for Celia to stagger down the back steps.

  Good God. Celia’s long curly hair is tousled from lack of sleep and the insane amount of sex she’s had. And her eyes? They’re glazed with a hunger that warns me not to get too close. “Is there bacon? Please tell me there’s bacon,” she growls as if crazed.

  Her entire face beams when Emme levitates a plate full of bacon and lowers it front of an empty seat. Like a woman possessed, Celia sits and rams about four pieces in her mouth at once. The rest of us watch her in stunned silence as she chomps them down and reaches for another few slices. She freezes when she realizes we’re all gaping at her. “Sorry. Would you like some?”

  Her tigress eyes replace her human ones, making it clear she’s only trying to be polite. And that only an idiot would get between her and her breakfast.

  “No, nope, uh-uh,” the three of us answer at once.

  This seems to settle Celia’s inner kitty enough so her human eyes once more blink back at us. I pour her a glass of juice, while Emme and Shayna carefully place plates stacked with food closer to her reach. What can I say, we don’t want to be eaten.

  “Are you all right?” Emme asks her quietly.

  It’s only then that Celia slows her frantic munching. “I don’t know,” she admits, her husky voice trickling with concern. She lifts her T-shirt and shows us her tiny belly. “The baby’s not growing.”

  Yeah. We’ve noticed that, too. Her pregnancy was unexpected, given she was incapable of bearing children. But within two weeks of finding out she and Aric had conceived, her baby bump appeared and was visible through her wedding gown.

  That was two months ago. And now…well, let’s just say despite how this baby has been prophesized to rid the world of evil, we’re all pretty much freaking out that he or she isn’t growing.

  “But your body’s changing,” I insist. I don’t exactly ooze optimism. In fact, I’m mostly a the-sky-is-falling-and-the-earth-is-swallowing-us-whole kind of gal. But Celia doesn’t need to hear what’s wrong. My girl needs hope, so that’s what I give her. I point to her chest. “If your hooters don’t scream you’re knocked up, I don’t know what does.”

  She glances at her girls and then back at me, the tension in her shoulders lifting slightly. Yeah. Hope is exactly what she needs.

  “They are a lot bigger,” she agrees quietly. She gathers her thoughts, appearing to want to say more despite her obvious hesitation. “My body’s changing in a lot of ways. Maybe not outwardly, but I can feel the difference inside of me.”

  “Like in your magic, dude?” Shayna asks.

  Celia nods. “The magic that helped me get pregnant seems to complement mine. But I have to say, my hormones are out of control.” Her cheeks flush and she lowers her voice. “Poor Aric. I can’t stop having sex with him. It’s like every time I see him, I pounce.”

  It’s then Aric bounds down the steps, his eyes glassy from lack of sleep and his five o’clock shadow now a full-out beard, thanks to his preferring to romp in the sheets instead of shave. His face lights up when he sees Celia—kind of like she did at the sight of bacon. “Yeah, poor bastard,” I mutter.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says
to Celia, bending to kiss her lips.

  She smiles against his mouth. “Hey, wolf,” she answers, stroking his beard lightly.

  Emme inches away when Celia’s stare suggests the need for something more than breakfast. Aric, being Aric, returns that look with equal force. I start to laugh, not because of Celia and Aric, but because of Emme’s response. She’s glancing around at the food like she knows it’s going to end up splattered across Celia and Aric’s soon-to-be naked bodies.

  My laugh lodges in my throat when my right arm jerks as if shocked. Shayna lowers her fork. “You okay, T?” she asks.

  I shove my arm under the table. “Fine,” I say. I reach for my glass of juice with my opposite hand, trying to stay calm. Celia and Emme didn’t notice my twitch, and I don’t think Aric did, either, but something about me lures his attention away from Celia.

  He cocks his head, his nose flaring as if his Alpha wolf has latched on to something. “Taran, what’s wrong?” he asks.

  Celia’s and Emme’s attention shifts my way. Shayna rises, fear crinkling her brow. “I’m tired,” I say dismissively, feeling my pulse start to race. I push my chair out. “I should head back to bed. I didn’t sleep much—”

  All at once, and without warning, pain burns its way across my affected limb, curling me forward in agony. It’s then my arm whips out, sending the table and all its contents soaring with freakish speed. Plates shatter on the floor as the table embeds with a loud bang into the wall—directly where Celia sat seconds before.

  I lift my head as the burn recedes, searching for her—panicked that I’ve harmed her. Tears of relief and residual pain slide down my face when I see Aric lower her to the floor, far away from me. She and our sisters stare back at me, stunned. But Aric? Holy shit, he’s pissed.

  “Taran, what are you doing?” he growls.

  I shake my head, knowing he’s angry that I almost hurt Celia. “I’m not doing anything….”

  The burn returns and so does its torment. This time, I can’t bite back my screams. I stumble forward. Aric races to me. I don’t see him—I only feel his body and hear the crunch of bone when my arm flails and connects with his jaw.

  He crashes against the granite counter with a grunt as my arm jerks wildly and the burn increases tenfold.

  My vision fades in and out and my body thrashes, the erratic movements of my limb sending me to smack hard against the wall. I collapse, my arm beating itself against the floor with enough force to splinter and punch through the wood. I’m not thinking. I can’t. Everything hurts.

  No. Everything burns.

  “Cut it off!” I scream.

  Shayna reaches for a knife, elongating it with her power and manipulating it into a deadly sword. She lifts the blade above my spastic arm, her expression torn. By now I’m sobbing and all but clawing at my face. “Please, Shayna,” I beg. “Cut it off!”

  “I can’t,” Shayna chokes out. “I can’t do this.”

  “Pin it,” Celia yells. “Pin it to the floor!”

  With a flick of her wrists Shayna changes the sword’s position and brings the point down toward my raging hand. I barely feel the prick before the room erupts in a ghostly light and Shayna goes flying.

  Emme screams as Shayna collides with the far wall. Aric and Celia are scrambling forward, but all my thoughts are lost in my torture. I’m retching from how hard I’m crying and the anguish crawling from my arm and into my chest.

  Just as the burn reaches my heart and I begin to lose consciousness, a pale yellow light surrounds me. Slowly, very slowly, the heat charring my insides is replaced with a soothing chill I welcome like a draw of fresh air.

  My body shudders as the coolness spreads like a cascade of water from a gentle spring. With each sensation of cold, my pain eases and my cries dwindle. It takes a long time for the ache to lessen, and even longer for my vision to clear. But eventually it does.

  Not that I like what I see.

  Blood cakes the side of Shayna’s face. She winces as the bone along her eye socket pops out and her eyebrow knits close. Bile churns my gut. Somehow, I indented her skull. If Koda hadn’t passed her his werewolf essence, I would have killed her. There’s no doubt, based on the amount of blood coating her skin and what her body had to do to heal her.

  I cover my mouth. “Oh my God,” I gasp.

  “It’s okay, T,” she says, as if I can’t see the pain tightening her small pixie face. “It’s okay.”

  No. Not at all, sweetie.

  Aric leans forward. Being all were, and one of pure blood, his inner beast has healed him faster than Shayna’s. That doesn’t mean I haven’t made rubble out of his jaw, or that I haven’t hurt him.

  Or that I won’t do it again.

  I had no control over my arm. None. Nor do I believe I have it now.

  Aric realizes as much. I don’t miss how he keeps Celia behind him, appearing to shield her and their child from whatever way I’ll lash out next. “What happened?” he asks, his voice riddled with anger, and maybe something more.

  “I don’t know,” I respond, my voice trembling and my body strangely weak. “I felt pain and it-it just went wild.”

  “Your arm?” It’s a question, but he’s not really asking.

  I nod as Emme’s healing light recedes and her hands withdraw from my shoulders. Her face is unusually pale. She swallows hard, struggling to speak. “It’s her fire,” she says, barely above a whisper. She looks at Aric. “It’s eating her alive….”

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