Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  His hands find their way under my shirt. I squirm with the intensity of the sensations that keep growing within me, as if I’ve always lived folded into a little square and I’m finally getting to be as expansive as I’m meant to be.

  I pull the t-shirt over his head and fling it across the bed. He props himself up with his left hand and looks at me in surprise. It’s like he can’t believe I have this in me, but he has no idea what he has awakened. A sexy, lopsided smile slowly materializes on his face. His eyes search mine, then flick to his watch in the most shameless way.

  I open my mouth to ask why the hell he keeps checking the time, but he gives me no chance. He lowers himself and kisses me again, catching my hands between his chest and mine. All thoughts go out the window as the solidity of him assaults me. He’s all muscle and ridges and warmth. And I had no idea I could be such a fool for a nice set of pecs and washboard abs. I want to memorize his exact shape, every dip and rise of his beautiful torso.

  His hands tentatively push my shirt up, exposing my abdomen. He stops to check if it’s all right, if he can go on. My eyes scream “yes,” so he removes it, tosses it aside and allows himself a leisurely look down my chest, a look that might as well be a match on my very, very flammable skin.

  We go back to kissing, but my attention is now someplace else, specifically, on the way our agitated breaths make our heated chests move against each other, pushing gently together then moving away just to return faster than before, fiercer than ever.

  Xave lets his fingers memorize me, the same way I’m memorizing him. He explores my shoulders, my stomach, my back, but especially the skin around the outline of my bra. When he boldly begins to trace kisses down the length of one of the straps, my heart stops, frozen with expectation. As he ventures lower and lower, I gasp, overwhelmed by his daring, his skill, his gentleness.

  He stops. “I—I’m sorry.” His breaths are fast, out of control. “Please don’t get mad at me.”

  “Mad?” I say dumbly. Who told him I was mad? Is he insane? I’ve never been happier. Well, maybe happy isn’t the word, but I’ve never been this, whatever it is. And I like it. A lot.

  “I shouldn’t. I promised myself to take it slow, but I … I want you. Can’t seem to think of anything else but …”

  He wants me. He thinks I’m beautiful. And just like that he boosts my ego and makes me feel feminine. I’ve always been such a tomboy that, more than once, I’ve wondered if a boy could be seriously attracted to me. Now Xave has left me no doubt.

  A moment later, the rest of his words register. He promised himself to take it slow. Why? I don’t want him to take it slow. Slow is all it’s ever been for me in the relationship department. I want to go on the fast lane; the Autobahn is nothing compared to the speed I’m thinking of. Call me whatever you want, but I’m ready. Ready because my body is telling me so, because life doesn’t have the same leisurely shape it used to, because everything feels askew and finite, the way it must feel to a terminal patient.

  “I want you, too,” I say, because I need him to know I’m ready—not that he wouldn’t be able to tell. I imagine I’ve made myself pretty clear.

  He growls and rolls to the side, taking me with him so I end up on top of him. “You’re killing me.”

  I trace a pattern on his chest with my fingernail. He shivers. “You don’t … have to take it slow.” Unable to keep eye contact, I let my gaze wander about the room. I focus on the red Ford Mustang Boss poster taped over his bed.

  Xave sits up and rests his head on my chest. Now it’s my turn to shiver. “I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Maybe a few months ago I would’ve agreed, but not now. Not with all that’s going on.”

  “I hate thinking that way.” His voice goes low.

  “Me, too. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I feel I have an expiration date and it’s not that far off. I think the Quick Mart would have me at a discount already.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I mean it.” The mood has shifted. My shoulders feel heavy again—the way they do most of the time nowadays.

  “Well, you seem mighty fresh to me.” He squeezes my sides and takes in my scent. “God! Your scent both drives me crazy and grounds me. It feels new and exciting and, at the same time, comfortable and familiar. I love it.”

  His breath is warm on my skin as he exhales. I hold him tight. His words resonate inside of me, because I know exactly what he means. I feel the same way. We stay still for a long moment.

  When we pull apart, his gaze drifts to the alarm clock. “Oh shit!”

  “What?”

  “I—I … there’s this thing. Um, I have to—”

  I push away and stand. “No need to lie, Xave. I know perfectly well what’s going on. You’ve been checking your watch all night.” I pick up my shirt, suddenly feeling quite cold and bare. I slip it on, trying not to appear rejected. I understand the state of things too well to blame him for bringing me here even when there isn’t enough time to dawdle in each other’s arms for hours. He’s just trying to make the best of what little time we’re allowed to have to ourselves.

  Xave rubs his forehead with a sigh. “Clark is picking me up in a few minutes. We’re going to check out this place.” He also snatches his t-shirt and puts it on. My mouth goes dry with disappointment.

  “This sucks.” I slump on the bed. “When is James going to stop punishing me? I’m sick of this. I want to help. I want to go with you.”

  “He’ll change his mind. Though I kinda like it this way,” Xave says in a furtive tone.

  I give him a dirty look.

  “Well, I like knowing you’re safe.”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit. Don’t give me that crap. I can take care of myself better than you can. And what? You think I don’t worry about you? Think I don’t wanna be there to save your sorry ass in case you need it?” If he knew the half of it, he wouldn’t patronize me this way.

  “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much. I’m not the one who screams at the sight of half-baked Eklyptors.”

  What the hell? That happened only once, and it was the very first time I saw one. Besides he has no idea what it feels like to discover you’re a monster. I punch him in the arm, a nice jab with a lot of bite.

  “Ow! Why are you getting violent?” He rubs the spot and tries not to laugh.

  “This is funny to you?” I want to stay mad, but I can’t.

  This isn’t his fault. If James kicked him out, I would be relieved, too. I don’t want him to go out there and risk his life, but it’s not like we have a choice. Someone has to stop this horror, this latent doom that could be the end of us all. And lately, with my head buzzing wherever I go; with factions clamming Seattle, carving it in sections like an orange; with violent crimes and missing person reports on the rise, I know everyone should be fighting. I don’t think it’s something IgNiTe can keep under control by itself, no matter how many cells they have around the world. They’ve tried to contain it, to eradicate it before it becomes public, before chaos ensues, but it hasn’t been enough. Because not even James knows how widespread the infection is and how many levels of society they have infiltrated, including the top ones, especially the top ones.

  They’ve sabotaged us and, now, fighting for survival is left up to people like Xave—a boy whose only dream was to fix broken things, to love a girl who loved him back, and have a normal family with no superhero names.

  So he has to go. He has to be wherever Clark is taking him, dangerous or not.

  My anger drains. He sees it and walks to me, arms outstretched, ready to receive me. I take a step forward, into him, and let all that he is, strong and tender, gather me against him.

  “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t take it out on you,” I say. “I should kick James’s ass. That’s what I should do.”

  He smooths the hair down my back. “I think I’d like to see that. Sometimes he can be such a pain in the butt. It’ll be fine. After this, maybe we c
an take a break, do something nice. How about a date? You could wear a pretty dress and we could go out to dinner to a nice place.”

  “Sounds good, except for the dress part.”

  He chuckles. I rest my head on Xave’s chest and concentrate on his heartbeat. It’s strong and even and, I’d like to think, partly mine. Because I can command it. I’ve made it go fast, real fast. And I’ve soothed it, too, made it beat in sync with mine.

  “Be careful,” I say.

  “I will be. The crew has each other’s backs. Clark is pretty annoying, acting like my babysitter half the time.”

  I know it must kill him to say this—proud male that he is—but he’s doing it for my sake, to make me feel better about him going off into the night to fight misshapen humans. He’s doing it to remind me that he’s not alone and has the rest of the crew.

  And he’s not. I’m here for him, and he’s here for me, too. More than ever. Because with the way things are at home—Mom lovesick with her son and Luke cooling off on his initial hey-look-I-have-a-mom notion—and with James kicking me out of IgNiTe, Xave is the only solid thing left in my life.

  The realization hits me with its veracity.

  I knew this. I did. I’ve thought about it plenty of times. I just didn’t want to believe it. I want to think there’s hope for my family, but Mom’s newfound awareness could come to an end at any minute. Maybe it’s too late for a second chance with Mom and the twin brother who should have grown up alongside me. I also wanted to fight next to IgNiTe, wanted to make a difference, but that’s gone, now.

  So all I really have is Xave and he’s mine in a way no one’s ever been—in the same way I’m his. And nobody, nobody, should have a say in that. Nobody should be allowed to keep me away from him, especially those who don’t give a damn whether I die in an alley unable to defend myself or whether I live trapped in my own head while a parasite morphs my body into “The Fly” or something equally disgusting.

  I hold him tight, so tight that he gives a little exhale. He squeezes me back and I know he feels it, this need to be one, to be with each other at all times, ensuring nothing bad happens.

  “Xave,” I say. “I—”

  “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I promise. You know we have to do this. There’s no choice.” His warm breath tangles with my hair. His chest rumbles with the intensity of his words, with the zeal spilling from his lips.

  “We can get through this. Promise,” he adds. “We’re strong. You’re strong. More than anyone I know. And I’m so glad for that ’cause—even though I worry about you—I know you can take care of yourself, no matter what.” He kisses my cheek and pulls away. His fingers trace a line down my jaw. “I’m so proud of you, for that and for so much more.” Something glints in his eyes. “Marci, I …”

  He trails off and his expression changes and I’m reminded of Xave, the child, before his features sharpened and his voice deepened, before the tough exterior closed him off and made him into the man he’s supposed to be. He’s open, so open, that I know exactly what he’s about to say. And I want to hear it. And I don’t.

  My heart beats in a wild pattern. Air knots itself in my throat. My cheeks flash with a strange heat. I can’t even remember the last time someone said those three words to me, and—for some stupid reason—I’m scared and full of shame. Why is it so hard to give yourself fully?

  Without making a conscious decision, I push on my tiptoes and press a silencing kiss to his lips. For a second, he doesn’t kiss me back. And, then, the moment is gone and his lips move against mine, telling me without words what they meant to spell out.

  Relief and regret mix in my chest. I want so badly to hear him say it. I want so badly to say it back. But I think each day I’ll grow a little more and, soon, there’ll be nothing to stop me.

  Chapter 6

  Tonight is a night to rebel.

  A night to do, rather than wait.

  To decide and never again be told.

  My headlight is off and my reinforced leather motorcycle pants tight around my bike. In the distance, I see Clark’s taillight. I’ve been trailing them for ten minutes, headed south, parallel to the I-5 Express. A chilled breeze blows from Lake Union, cooling my nerves. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but have always refrained for Xave’s sake. I don’t want James to kick him out, too. As much as I’d like to know my boyfriend is safe, I also respect his decision to fight. Today, though, I’m done holding my breath, waiting for James to call me or for Xave to return from one of his missions.

  The guiding red dot of Clark’s taillight turns right toward Belltown. I turn, too, keeping my distance. They drive onto Aurora Avenue, all the way to the waterfront, smack against Elliott Bay. To my right, lights sparkle on the waterfront and tall white masts signal the presence of unseen boats. In the distance, the Ferris wheel shines blue and pink against the dark sky, each gondola giving its passengers a sight of the bay and the Bainbridge Island ferries. We pass several restaurants and bars that would be inviting, if they weren’t so busy. In spite of the cool March weather, many occupy outside sitting areas and enjoy glasses of wine or something stronger to keep themselves warm. Couples walk arm in arm along the tree-lined sidewalks, the women dressed in fur coats and tall boots, the men in warm coats, all appropriate for the ongoing party that Belltown seems to be.

  What can IgNiTe possibly want in this area of town?

  Clark continues onto the main strip and parks his Harley. I stop forty yards away and watch Xave cross the one-way street, while Clark stays behind. A long line of people stretches the length of a black-painted building with strips of golden lights along its outline. They’re waiting to enter … what? A new restaurant? A club?

  To my surprise, Xave joins the back of the line. He’s clubbing? No. Xave wouldn’t lie to me like that—not that I could call it a lie when all he did was let me assume that this outing had something to do with IgNiTe.

  Shaking my head, I push my doubts aside. I know he didn’t lie.

  After a moment, Clark rides down the street and disappears around the corner, leaving his little brother behind. What the heck is going on?

  I get off my bike and, from across the street, move in Xave’s direction, ducking under the bright signs and streetlamps. When I reach the front of a small coffee shop, I stop, finally able to make out the name of the place. My hands go cold. I push my back into a recessed wall, hiding under its shadow.

  Shadowstorm Nightclub.

  The same place Luke chose over our family dinner.

  I rub my fingers together for warmth, thinking this has got to be a coincidence. Or is it? Is James after Luke? Has he discovered something I haven’t?

  The faint sound of dance music reaches my ears. Anxiety ripples through me, making me restless. My hands twist and twist against each other. My feet march in place. My eyes scan the waiting crowd—women in tights and miniskirts, their sequin clutches twinkling as they gesticulate in conversation, along with men dressed mostly in black, like it’s a uniform. I go up and down the line, from the bouncer at the door to Xave, until I spot a familiar face. A red-headed bombshell wearing a tight, black minidress and four-inch heels. In spite of the wig, I recognize her. It’s Blare. And next to her, Aydan, also dressed in a black uniform, his matching pale, pale skin making him look like Blare’s brother, not her date.

  I nervously scan the crowd again, trying to spot the rest of the crew. I search for James, Oso, Rheema, but they’re not there—a least not in line, though they could be inside already.

  Xave fidgets, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for someone. He looks my way. I push deeper into the shadows. The clip-clop of high heels comes from my right accompanied by a sharp buzz inside my head. An Eklyptor!

  Fumbling in my pocket, I snatch my cell phone and press it to my ear. There’s no hiding, but I manage to obscure my features a little more. A woman wearing a blue glittery skirt and silky black blouse walks past without minding me. She crosses the street and heads straight f
or Xave. They acknowledge each other with a showy kiss on the cheek. He wraps an arm around her waist. She leans into him, looks my way and shakes her head at me.

  Rheema!

  She knows I’m here. Great. I stare bullets into her brown eyes. Jealousy tastes like bile—something I never knew. But I guess there’s a first time for everything, even if it’s unfounded. They’re here on a mission, doing what needs to be done. I know a lot of pretending goes into these situations, like Blare and James acting all cozy at Elliot Whitehouse’s party. I have no reason to feel this way, even if my boyfriend has been spending a lot of time with the cute blond, playing mechanics.

  The feeling simmers to a slow boil as I struggle to lower my heated reaction, chanting “this is just a mission” inside my head over and over again. No matter that he changed into his best gray button-up shirt and the black jeans that hug his butt like no one’s business.

  Just a mission.

  I wait as the line slowly moves forward, the bouncer at the door accepting or dismissing patrons as if they were cattle. Blare and Aydan are a few yards ahead of Xave and Rheema. They ignore each other entirely. I wonder if they’ll let them in, if they have a plan. Or maybe they’ll just bribe their way in. But heck, Aydan and Xave are minors. There’s no way they’ll get through, is there? Not that Eklyptors respect the law, especially lately.

  Biting my thumbnail, I pay attention to who gets in and who’s given the slip. My mind flies through the attributes of those who are allowed inside. There seems to be no rhyme or reason. Clothes, looks, race, age, height, nothing seems to make a pattern.

  A pattern?

  I know a pattern, and the Blare/Aydan and Xave/Rheema combos just happen to fit it perfectly. I move closer to confirm my hunch, making sure to stay hidden, even if my cover is blown—with Rheema, anyway. At least she doesn’t seem to have mentioned my presence to Xave. She was always nice and friendly, was even rebuilding a Harley engine for me last time I was at The Tank. Another reason not to be jealous of her, right? Because this is all in my head.