Sharing Hazel: Lick of Fire

by Kallysten

  “Can’t walk,” he said as calmly as he could. “Bullet in my leg. I need a doctor.”

  The man barked out a laugh as he slipped behind him and cuffed his hands behind his back.

  “A doctor, right,” he snarled. “You’re walking straight back to your cell, asshole. Or we can carry you to the cemetery if you prefer, it’s all the same to me.”

  The three deputies by the office door all looked in agreement with that last statement. Paul clenched his teeth and took a limping step forward. Then another.

  All he could hope now was that his brother would come quickly. But if the clear-eyed woman was Hazel, the same Hazel whose name graced both his and Petro’s wrists… would Petro want to come at all?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The face in the fireplace disappeared so abruptly that Hazel was left to wonder whether she’d imagined the whole thing. It had happened before, when she daydreamed in front of a fire. She saw faces in the flames, people and places she loved and missed. She’d never tried talking to them, and now she had to wonder… if she’d spoken, would they have heard her as clearly as she’d heard this man today?

  She looked at Petro, only to find him staring at her with an unreadable expression etched on his features.

  “You really could see him?” he asked.

  His voice was so devoid of emotions that she knew he was trying to hide how he felt. Why, though? What did he have to hide?

  “I could, yes. He looks a lot like you. Couldn’t you see him?”

  Turning his gaze to the flames, Petro shrugged.

  “No. Never could. I didn’t know you were a fire tamer too.”

  Hazel blinked twice. “A what, now?”

  Another shrug. This wasn’t like Petro. Hazel had seen him in all sorts of moods, but never this sullen detachment. It didn’t suit him.

  “It’s what he calls it,” he said, aloof. “He’s not a pyromancer or anything like that. He can’t make fire, or do anything that would be useful in combat. Just… magic tricks with small flames.”

  “Well, he got the word out to you that he needs help. Seems useful enough to me.” After a second, she added, “Although you don’t seem in much of a hurry to go help him…”

  Shaking his head, Petro pulled out his cell phone. He typed something quickly, then showed her the screen. It displayed a map with red pins scattered all over the place.

  “That’s how many Freetowns there are in the country. I know of one Freetown abroad just off the top of my head. If he doesn’t call back to give me a bit more to go on with, how am I supposed to guess which one’s the right one? Should I just visit them one by one? He’ll be dead before I find him.”

  He had a point there, and yet… She scrutinized his face, looking for something, anything, but his blank mask remained perfect. The only other time she’d seen him like this before was when she’d broken up with him. He’d tried to disguise how hurt he was back then, as though she wouldn’t be able to tell regardless of how he looked. Right now, though, she couldn’t fathom what he thought or felt.

  “You don’t seem all that concerned.” She tried hard not to sound accusing, but even so a bit of reproach slipped in her words. “He’s wounded, he’s been caught, and you—”

  He stood abruptly, and she fell silent, watching him pass a hand though his hair. She knew that gesture: he was frustrated.

  “I don’t know where he is. There’s nothing I can do until I know more.”

  She stood as well so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. When he turned away rather than meet her eyes, she knew there was something else going on here, and pushed a little harder.

  “You’ve got all the resources of Sanctuary at your disposal! Allies all over the country that could—”

  “That could do what, exactly? Walk into the police station of every city called Freetown and ask if per chance they’ve arrested an annoying brat who can play with fire?”

  The animosity in those last words finally broke through his emotionless demeanor. Hazel crossed her arms and didn’t try to hide her disappointment.

  “He’s your brother. The only family you’ve got left.”

  Four years earlier, he’d taken a leave of absence from the squad to go to his father’s funeral only weeks after burying his mother. She’d offered to accompany him both times, but he’d declined. He’d never mentioned a brother.

  “He’s a brat,” he repeated. “He didn’t say how he was caught, but I can tell you what happened. He was showing off. Trying to impress a girl. I’d bet anything on it.”

  She frowned at him, confused. Was this the same man she’d spent years with? The man she still loved even now? The man who’d made it his life’s calling to help people unjustly imprisoned for no other reason than they had paranormal abilities? Something else was going on here. Even if his brother was a ‘brat,’ whatever that meant, surely Petro couldn’t believe he deserved to be jailed, or worse.

  “So you won’t even try to help him?” she asked, uncomprehending.

  If he kept running his fingers back through his hair like this, it might remain stuck upward permanently.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said with a grunt. “All I said is I need more to go on. He’ll call back. He’ll find a way. And then I’ll go.”

  “I’ll go with you.” The words came out before she even knew what she was saying, but she didn’t regret them. It was only right that she offered her help. “When you know where he is, I’ll help you get him out.”

  His eyes pierced her, looking deep within her, and she could see the fire of the dragon inside him. She suddenly longed to fly with him again. It took all she had in her to stomp on that idea.

  “Why?” he asked, his voice near a growl. “Why would you do that? You don’t know him and you’ve made it clear you don’t give a damn about me anymore.”

  She flinched back as though he’d slapped her. He’d never raised a hand to her, never even raised his voice, but this accusation hurt more than a physical blow.

  “Who said I don’t give a damn about you?” she asked, not bothering to hide how wounded she was. “Just because I can’t be with you any—”

  “Can’t?” he interrupted. “Now it’s ‘can’t’? Why not?”

  The metallic edge of desperation crept into that question. He wasn’t hiding how he felt anymore, his pain was engraved in every line of his face. Guilt twisted inside Hazel’s gut like a living thing until she thought she’d be sick. How could she answer without making everything worse?

  She took a deep breath to clear her mind a little and reached out to him, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly.

  “What you and I shared… It meant a lot to me. It still does. You’ll always be my friend. And when my friends need help, I’m there for them. If you don’t want me to come, that’s fine. But if you do, of course I’ll be there.”

  She gave another gentle squeeze before letting go. When Petro didn’t reply, she figured that was his answer. She started for the door, but before she could retreat to her bedroom Petro finally spoke.

  “I’ll sort things out so we can get back to Sanctuary early. If he doesn’t contact me again, maybe we’ll be able to listen in on official channels, see if anyone reports arresting him. I don’t think I want to ask the squad’s help on this one. It’s just one person, the two of us should get him out fine.”

  Now this was more like the Petro she knew, organizing and making plans on the fly. It sounded to Hazel that this last bit was an excuse to be alone with her, but she’d offered her assistance; she wasn’t going to argue about the conditions now. She nodded.

  “All right. Sounds like a plan. Good night.”

  She offered him a brief smile before turning away once more, but he wasn’t done.

  “In case you want to know, his name is Paul.”

  His voice was back to that blank canvas on which she couldn’t discern any emotion. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded again without looking at him. But
Petro still wasn’t finished.

  “Do you want to know what name is on his wrist?”

  The mere fact that he was raising the issue gave her a good enough idea of the answer. The last thing she needed right now was confirmation.

  “I’ve already found my mate,” she said, no louder than a whisper. “I don’t need to know anything else.”

  As she finally left the room, she felt like she was walking on a ledge, and any misstep would send her plummeting into untold depths. She was barely aware of entering the small bedroom she’d claimed as her own earlier or even of sitting on the bed. She unbuttoned her shirt, sliding one arm out of the sleeve to expose the leather cuff on her wrist. She tugged the cord holding it in place loose and slid it off.

  Right there, on skin ever so slightly paler than the rest of her forearm or upper arm, a large, unadorned P stood right under the edge of her wrist. Next to it, smaller letters arranged on three parallel lines completed the names.

  Petro

  Paris

  Paul

  These three names had haunted her ever since she’d truly understood what a tattoo mate was. Three names that her parents had categorically forbidden her to reveal to anyone. Three names she’d both hoped and dreaded to hear since her late teens. She’d met Petro first. Paris had been next. And now, it seemed, she would finally meet Paul.

  If her name was on his wrist, she suddenly understood why Petro had never mentioned that he even had a brother. It might also be why he’d been so insistent about seeing her wrist when they’d started dating, and why he hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest when she’d finally shown him the three names there. He’d known, hadn’t he? Or at least, he suspected. He’d known since Paul’s birth that he and his brother had the same name tattooed on their skin, and he’d had time to think about what it might mean.

  “I won’t share you,” he’d said before she even met either of the two other men whose names she carried with her at all times.

  “I won’t ask you to,” she’d answered with a forced laugh, because even considering having more than one mate had always been beyond her.

  That was why she’d made a choice when Paris had entered her life.

  Would she have to choose again once she met Paul?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Paris wasn’t sure why Hazel was coming home two days earlier than planned, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. He’d missed her. He’d only known her for four months, but being away from her was torture. If he’d needed extra proof that they were mates, there it was. But why would he need more proof when her name was right there on his wrist, the black ink just a shade darker than his skin?

  He waited for her at the small airfield where her plane was supposed to arrive, getting there an hour early just in case the plans changed again. He heard the plane before he could see it, his inner lion irritated at his ears’ stubborn refusal to rotate toward the sound. He wasn’t the only one to be waiting; a black jeep, marked with the feather logo that was the unofficial insignia of the Littlefeather family—and of the entire Sanctuary—waited close to the tarmac. No doubt whoever she was escorting to Sanctuary would be brought in front of Lily Littlefeather; everyone was, when they first arrived in Sanctuary.

  Paris suspected that Lily was some sort of telepath, able to decipher people’s intentions. He’d heard that, occasionally, she decreed a new arrival could only stay for a day or two before being turned away. These people were offered money and a new identity, like anyone who decided to leave Sanctuary, but they were refused the right to return, and taken back to the outside world in such a manner that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back.

  Paris himself had been welcomed with open arms. He’d never officially earned his medical license—he’d been outed as a para before he could take the exams—but he’d been close enough to the end of his studies that it made no difference to the inhabitants of Sanctuary. To them, he was ‘Doctor Rendell,’ and Lily’s open support was as good as a medical board license displayed on his wall.

  The plane finally landed, putting an end to the wanderings of his mind. He climbed out of the electric sedan he used to do his rounds and leaned against the hood, unable to repress a smile as he waited for Hazel to finally appear. The plane came to a stop, and the door opened on the side of the fuselage, coming down to form steps.

  A woman appeared first, too short and too blonde to be Hazel; she briefly paused at the top of the steps, looking around before she came down. A man was next, slim and tall, a younger man, maybe a teen, behind him. Two women came out next, and Petro thought he recognized one of them as a member of the squad. Behind her came a large man that, even from a distance, Paris had no trouble recognizing. If he’d been asked to guess who Hazel would be traveling with, Petro would have been at the top of his list. And Paris was just as certain that it hadn’t been her idea.

  Paris always felt vaguely guilty toward the dragon shifter. He’d never asked Hazel to leave Petro—he’d never have dared ask her to choose between them, especially when she’d been happy with Petro before Paris had entered the picture. But whether he’d asked her to or not, the fact remained that she’d left Petro for him. He probably deserved every icy look Petro had ever cast toward him… like the one he was casting in his direction now.

  Oh, yes. Even at a distance, Paris had no doubt that it was daggers Petro was throwing toward him now. No doubt he’d have preferred throwing a punch or two. He had the bulky mass of a wrestler, more so than Paris who had the lither build of a runner. If it ever came to a fight, Paris wouldn’t run, but he doubted he’d get the upper hand.

  The first woman had stopped on the tarmac at the bottom of the steps, and Petro did the same, looking up at Hazel as she came down. She had a sleeping child in her arms, a girl, Paris thought. Hard to tell how old she might be, although she looked thin, and Hazel carried her with ease. Had she been one of the prisoners they’d freed this time around?

  Paris had never been caught by the UIPP himself, he’d fled before they could come for him, but he had no illusions that they jailed children as well as adults. All paras deserved the same treatment in their eyes, and the only surprise was that they didn’t kill paras outright more often.

  When she reached the tarmac, Petro said a few words to her and she handed him the child. The feather-branded car was approaching, but Hazel walked away from it and straight toward Paris.

  Every instinct he had demanded that he run to her, pounce on her, breathe in her scent and make her his again, right here and there. Thankfully, he was more than the sum of his instincts, and he managed to remain where he was, drinking in the sight of her as she came closer and closer.

  The thin braids that fell to the middle of her back swung lightly with each of her steps, the tiny glass beads at the tips chiming like bells as they bounced against each other. It was a sound that was forever associated with her in his mind, and sometimes when he heard wind chimes on his rounds his heart jumped in his chest and he caught himself looking around for her. She was wearing flats, but the simple black shorts and matching top she wore made her seem taller than she really was.

  Although her expression was somber at first, almost grim, the closer she came to him, the more her lips curled into that beautiful smile of hers he loved so much. When she was twenty yards away, he couldn’t resist anymore and pushed away from the car, walking to her with open arms.

  She dropped the satchel she carried over her shoulder and ran the last few yards. She jumped into his arms, her own tight around him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He held her close, breathing deeply and hiding his smile into her hair.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

  It had only been three weeks since she’d left Sanctuary, and they’d talked on the phone every other day, and yet he felt like he’d come close to losing her. Then again, it was the first time she’d gone away since they’d been together.

  “Missed you too,” she replied, and lifted her head t
o plant a kiss on his lips. “Let’s go home. I’m exhausted.”

  He opened the door for her before climbing on the driver side, throwing her satchel in the back. Her somber expression seemed to be creeping back up, and Paris had a small idea of what might be causing it. He’d told her he was okay with it, but he didn’t think she believed him.

  “Did something happen?” he asked as neutrally as he could after starting the car. “Why did you come home early?”

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was looking straight ahead at the road, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Just a change of plans,” she said. She didn’t sound convincing in the least, and maybe she realized as much because she went on. “Everything’s always in flux in this kind of mission. But you’re not disappointed I’m back early, are you?”

  It was a change of subject if Paris had ever heard one, but that was all right. He could always come back to the topic later on.

  “Of course not, I’m not disappointed. Like I said, I missed you.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his right one and rested both of them on his thigh, driving with the left only. On this straight road, it was no problem, especially when he could already see their home in the distance. “Are you hungry? I cooked some chicken and a potato pie. You could take a quick shower while I warm some food for you.”

  Her fingers briefly squeezed his own.

  “Shower, definitely,” she said, hiding a yawn behind her free hand. “But no food. I ate before we took off, and to my stomach it’s the wee hours of the morning.”

  He tried to tell himself that of course she was tired, and he shouldn’t have expected anything different, but there was no denying that he’d hoped for a little more for their reunion. They were still in that honeymoon phase when they could barely keep their hands off each other, and she’d been gone for three very long weeks…