City In Embers

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “Zoey,” Ryker growled and grabbed my chin with one hand, smearing the dots of blood on my face.

  My neck snapped up, his white eyes burrowing into mine. They no longer intimidated me. They now were my lifeline, bringing me back to earth.

  “Yeah.” I breathed heavily.

  His hand dropped from my face, leaving tingles behind. His fingers curled around my hand and tugged me. He began to jog, and I followed numbly behind.

  “Sprig,” I called. The little monkey-sprite ran for me and leaped on my arm while I opened my bag. Then he climbed into his protected pouch.

  Ryker and I scrambled over the fence.

  And ran.

  TWENTY

  It wasn’t till we heard the sirens did my shock fade and my survival skills kick in. We weaved through suburbia, a blur of fences and cookie-cutter homes. He skirted along a lane, dipping us behind a hedge.

  The trauma of the afternoon sent Sprig into a deep sleep. His soft snores could be heard from my bag.

  “Ryker, we need to go underground as soon as we can. We’re too noticeable out here.” That was an understatement. On a normal day, Ryker would never be able to “blend.” Normally I could, but today we were both covered in blood, and we were running from police who surely had our descriptions blasted all over their channels.

  Ryker turned to face me. “As soon as we get close enough to the city, we can go into the sewage tunnels. Until then, we have to use streets,” he spoke through gritted teeth. His forehead dripped with sweat.

  His demeanor sharpened my notice of him. His shirt was drenched with blood, which also soaked the top of his jeans. I saw a gash through the rip in his shirt. I couldn’t help but reach out. He took a step back, away from my touch.

  “You’re really hurt.” Dots of red fell onto his boots, splashing to the ground. I peered behind us; large drops of blood trailed our steps like breadcrumbs. “I thought fae healed quickly?”

  “I will eventually, but you have most of my fae powers. I’ve noticed I don’t seem to mend as fast as I used to.”

  “Shit, Ryker. We need a place to hide until you heal. Right now you are leaving a path right to us.”

  “They won’t be able to detect me, and Earth canines don’t have a strong enough nose for our blood.”

  “The drops will still lead them to us.” I frowned. A sound of a siren in the distance brushed along my spine, giving me goose bumps. “Plus, you are in no shape to run. You look like you’re going to keel over. You won’t make it back to Seattle.” His lids narrowed, and his arms folded across his chest. I mirrored his actions. “Don’t fight me on this. Let’s find a place for the night so you can rest.”

  He rolled his head back, looking at the rain threatening sky. “Bossy and stubborn.”

  “But right.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him deeper into the yard where we were hiding. “Now, let’s find a house which isn’t occupied.”

  Locating a vacant house became easier than I thought. Only a couple blocks away, we found an empty residence. Cars were gone, along with most of the stuff in closets. The stale air in the home told me they had been gone for a while. They probably left right after the Electrical Storm and never looked back.

  Fear was high around the outskirts of Seattle because raiding and squatting in homes were growing rampant. People who lost everything or, like me, didn’t have much to begin with, understood houses in the suburbs were the perfect place to stock up. No electricity, but there was a roof, walls, food, and beds to sleep in.

  As soon as we closed every blind and secured the doors, I scoured the house for rubbing alcohol and any sort of needle and thread. The house was in shades of green, beige, and mauve. Ornamental taupe wallpaper covered the living room walls, the sofa was decorated in floral pillows. It was clear an older couple lived here. They had pictures of themselves on cruises and what looked to be their grandkids, but it was only the two of them who occupied the two-bedroom house.

  “I think Grandpa and I would get along.” Ryker opened the sideboard in the dining room. Bourbon, vodka, and rum bottles lined the shelves. He snatched a bottle of bourbon, twisted off the lid, and took several swigs. He didn’t even flinch as the harsh liquor drizzled down his gullet.

  There had been a time when I was the same way. When I was fifteen and going through the “I hate the world” phase, beer and shots of cheap whiskey had been my “escape.” It took me a while to realize it didn’t drown out the bad things, which had happened to me or the anger I felt. The alcohol actually caused more problems. I let myself become very accessible to men, thinking sex meant they cared, and I was worth something. In truth, it was the opposite. Lexie woke me up. She got drunk one night on something Jo had left in the cupboard. When I yelled at her, she came back with “you do it.” From then on, my actions changed—at least in front of her. I wanted her to be better than me and to get out of the hellhole where we were living. I wished it for both of us.

  I was no saint, and I enjoyed drinking, but my reasons for doing it had changed. And my worth came from me, not anyone else.

  I located the woman’s sewing kit in a basket by the sofa. “Bring your friend with you.” I nodded to the bottle clutched in his hand.

  He took another swig. “Won’t be leaving my side tonight.” He tilted it toward me. “Calms the nerves.”

  “You really want me to have some before I sew you up?” My eyebrow cocked up.

  He whipped it back to his chest, flinching at his rash movement. “You’re not touching me.”

  I sighed and without a word ripped the bottle from his hands. I wiggled it back and forth, taunting him. “Come on. If you want this...” Once I got him into the bathroom, I leaned him into the counter.

  “I’m fine.” He batted at my hand.

  “That’s Johnnie Walker Black Label talking,” I said, ignoring him and reaching for his torn T-shirt. “Let me look at it.”

  He jerked back before my fingers could touch him, pushing farther into the counter. His guarded expression cautioned me to step away.

  “Ryker, you have been stabbed, actually impaled with dirty glass. You don’t have your fae powers to protect or heal you as rapidly. It could get infected.” My manner was matter of fact. “Let me look at it.”

  His nostrils flared, and he looked away. It was the closest to a “go ahead” I would get.

  I lifted his shirt. I had probably touched him hundreds of times. Mostly him pushing me somewhere or grabbing me out of danger, but this felt different. Before it was in the moment, usually under perilous circumstances. This time I was purposely touching him. Suddenly, I became very aware of the unlit bathroom. The only light came from a frosted window across the room.

  “Take it off.” I motioned to his top. It was dirty, ripped, and saturated with blood. It would only infect the wound. His arms bent to grab the fabric and tried to tug it over his head. A hiss came nosily through his teeth as he stretched. “Here, let me help you.” I stepped closer, gripping the ragged material in my hands. I tried to ignore the closeness of our bodies—the fact I was undressing him, how his breath trickled my neck, and how my knuckles slid across his abs as I drew the shirt up. His toned stomach rippled under my touch. I kept my eyes off him, but I could feel his gaze burning into me.

  “Lean down.” My voice came out a hoarse whisper. He curled forward, and I tugged the cloth over his head. A grunt hummed close to my ear as he stood. “Sorry,” I mumbled, tossing the shirt into the bathtub.

  “No, you’re not.”

  Finally seeing the wound clearly, I bit my lip. Blood oozed out of the open gash, the torn skin jagged and raw. Muscle, veins, and guts poked through the gap every time he took a breath.

  “What?” Ryker’s lips were closer to my ear than I expected.

  “I didn’t say anything.” My heart slammed into my chest, unnerved by his proximity.

  “You didn’t have to. You have the look. It’s your ‘fuck, this is not good’ face.”

  Something about the
fact he knew my facial expression was jarring. “You sure this is not my ‘you’re a jackass’ look?”

  “No. I know that one very well.”

  I grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf and doused it with the alcohol. A sharp, smoky aroma immersed the room, spinning my head. “This is gonna hurt,” I said and pressed the cloth into his side. I was ready for him to squirm like I electrocuted him, but his only response was to grip the countertop so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  He took in a deep breath. “This isn’t my first time being stitched up.”

  “Yeah, but normally you fae heal quickly.” I continued to clean out the wound. Good thing I didn’t have a weak stomach. Blood and open cuts didn’t faze me, probably because I had seen a lot of it in my time. Mine and others.

  “Yes, but the length of time for us to heal depends on how bad we’ve been hurt.”

  “And when was the worst you’ve been hurt?” I peered at him through my lashes.

  He cringed again as the towel in my hand moved closer to the tender gash. He stayed silent for a few moments before his voice came out quiet. “One time I was burned so badly I didn’t come out of a coma for a month.”

  I straightened up. “A month?” For a human it would be normal. I couldn’t imagine a fae being hurt so badly it would take him a month to heal. “How did you get burned?”

  His eyes drifted to mine then went toward the door, looking out into the rest of the house. “Trying to save my family.”

  He had given me a very brief account about losing his family. His human family. “What happened?” It was not a demand but more of a request. He was such a mystery to me, so private. I wanted to be let into some part of his world.

  His lids narrowed, and his body tensed under my touch. He stayed quiet so long I figured he disregarded my entreaty. He took a swig of the brown liquid.

  “I didn’t know my true parents. I was young when my Wanderer magic came to me. We are rare, and not much is known about us. Normal faes don’t really develop their full magic potential until later in childhood or puberty when they can understand what is going on and can control it.” He breathed out. “I wasn’t so lucky.”

  I listened to every syllable he uttered but continued with my work as if it were any other story he was telling me. I threaded the black string I found and pinched his skin together. He grumbled as the needle pierced his skin and broke through, lacing the edges together.

  “I was only three when I first jumped. I didn’t know how to get back or exactly how I even did it. It seemed when I got extremely emotional, it would happen without me trying. I think I jumped several times before I went to the Tamang family. They lived in a remote village in Nepal in touch with the earth. They understood its magic and were raised on legends of the ‘magic ones.’ They took me in and nurtured me. My father, Dhir, eventually learned what I was and trained me to manage my powers. He tutored me in everything, teaching me different languages, history, martial arts.” Ryker shifted his footing, taking another swallow from the bottle.

  “Don’t move.” I tightened the string, keeping together the part I already sewed. He placed the bottle on the counter, gazing at the ceiling.

  We were silent for a few beats before he spoke again. “I was returning home from a hunting trip. It would soon be winter, and we wanted to stockpile before the first snow. From a distance I saw the smoke, could hear it... the fire roaring, the screams. When I jumped back to the village, it was too late. The whole thing was in flames. Some neighbors were running away, and when I asked what happened to my family, they pointed to the house. It was in the middle of the blaze, but it didn’t stop me. I popped myself inside the house. Fire and smoke consumed me, but I pushed through the blaze trying to find them. I saw my mother, father, and my little sister being burned alive... I tried to save them. It was too late. I don’t remember escaping. I must have passed out from the pain, but I woke a month later in Africa. The villagers near where I woke said I had appeared from nowhere. They thought I was some sort of god or devil.” He uttered a tortured scoff. “In their land, either can be respected and feared.”

  My motion stopped. “You had a little sister who died in a fire?”

  Our gazes locked. His eyes grew soft, in a mutual understanding. We had been through a similar experience. Knowing our loved ones die, horrifically, burning to death, and we were too late to save them.

  He nodded. “Her name was Madhuri. She was only ten.” He shook his head and seemed lost in memory. I was afraid to breathe, worried any noise or movement would halt his confession. “Madi had this habit of coming to the loft where I slept every night and snuggling next to me. She said she could feel the magic coming from me, like the stove, and I kept her toes and heart warm.” Ryker blinked, his face going hard. “They all died. I could not save any of them.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He cocked his head to the side.

  I glanced at my feet. Right. Why would he tell me? Humans shared stories to bond, to understand each other. He hadn’t wanted to connect with me, a human, on any level.

  “The night of the storm when I found you...” He tapered off. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed. “It angered me.”

  My teeth skimmed my bottom lip. It angered him because he felt he was reliving it.

  He shrugged, and the harsh exterior plunged back over him. “It only re-emphasized humans are fragile, and they would have died eventually. Feeling love for them is pointless.”

  “Is this why you hate humans?”

  His face turned to mine. “I could live forever. Your kind won’t.”

  I pinched my lips and nodded. “Maybe we are feeble compared to fae, but I would rather live a short time and let myself love someone than live thousands of years and be alone.”

  We stared at each other for a long time. Slowly a grin curled his lip. “Who says I haven’t let myself love? I just cut out humans.”

  His statement irritated me more than it should. I flicked my eyes to the side with annoyance, returning to my needlework. “Then I’d say you would be missing a lot.” I was really talking out of my ass since I acted no different. There was only one man I ever loved, and he was dead. I didn’t let anyone in, human or other. I used sex as a substitute for love. It didn’t strike me how sad and lonely it sounded till now.

  He stayed quiet; his stare remained on me as I knotted his guts back inside him. The tension of his gaze curling around me, igniting my skin, felt uncomfortable in our silence. “So you’re learning my expressions, huh?” I changed the subject.

  He snorted. “It’s easy. Humans wear their emotions on their sleeves.” Ryker hissed as I yanked hard on the thread, tying it off. “See.” He chuckled.

  I couldn’t fight my smile as I looked at him. He stared at the floor, his warm breath fluttering between my breasts. The light from the window glinted off his pale eyes. Our gazes fastened on each other. Air stopped in my lungs, and a quiver went through my stomach at the intensity of his strange eyes.

  I broke away and turned my head, stepping back. “I’m gonna go see what they have in their pantry. You should find a shirt... and probably rest.”

  He grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. Suddenly I couldn’t seem to get enough air; my lungs inflated like huge balloons, expanding my chest. His hand came to my cheek. His expression was penetrating, causing heat to consume me. My lips parted, pulling in more air. His finger skated along my cheek.

  “You have a deep cut on your cheek.” Both his hands slid underneath my arms, grazing my boobs as he picked me up, turned around, and tossed me on the counter.

  I blinked several times, sucking in a deep breath of air. My hand went to my face. “I’m fine. I’m used to wounds.”

  “Yeah.” He touched his knitted skin. “You seem to know what you’re doing around a needle.”

  I let my legs swing back and forth. My long brown hair dangled to hide my face. “I used to be a fighter. Besides robbing houses, it was how I got money.”
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  Ryker’s eyebrows arched, a grin hinting at his mouth. His gaze covered me from the top of my head to my toes. “A fighter? You?”

  I sat straighter. “Yeah,” I responded defiantly. It felt like I was letting him see me naked. I never even told Daniel what I did before I started DMG. Not in detail. He knew I used to get into fights but not to what lengths it went or the fact they were organized in a seedy, dank alley with gang and drug money being used to place bets for or against me. He would have never approved, and I didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he saw the dark, corrupt side of me.

  It would have made a great story if I had been forced into it to pay my foster sister’s medical bills or some bullshit like that. But I wasn’t. The state covered most of her expenses. Not all, so the money was a great perk for extra items and special medication for Lexie. But she wasn’t why I fought. I simply loved it. That changed when I met Daniel.

  “A street fighter and a thief.” Ryker’s eyes shimmered with amusement. “Think we have more in common than I thought.” He skipped the biggest one of all: the losing-sisters-in-a-fire bond. He grabbed the cloth and dipped the rag in more bourbon. The hefty fragrance clouded my thoughts. His hand came to my cheek. Now it was my turn to hiss from the stinging pain.

  “I don’t do it anymore.”

  Ryker tilted his head, his expression critical as he watched me. “Is it because you wanted to stop, or you thought you should?” My mouth opened and closed. “How did you get into something like that?” He continued to clean my cut.

  Memories flipped back to my first paid fight. “In foster care you learn fast how to protect yourself, but I liked it more than most. Maybe because of the money or my true nature or possibly because I didn’t look the part. To see the shock on the faces in the crowd when I kicked the shit out of someone a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than me. I don’t know... it got my blood boiling. It was the one time I didn’t want to be anywhere else or be another person with another life. It made me feel alive.” I blew out, cringing at the sting of the alcohol. He used the saturated cloth to wipe the rest of my face, clearing it of the dried blood left from him. “I liked the tangy taste of blood from my lip or dripping from my eye and the adrenaline pounding in my veins.” My gaze drifted to my knees. I couldn’t believe I was telling him these things I kept secret.