Page 43 of Blaze

Then in the middle of another lesson by my “loving” father, teaching me control, I learned exactly who and what she was. I hung from the ceiling by shackles, my body bleeding and broken, my flames nearly extinguished, and he brought her in. Then he fucked her in front of me, over and over, and Irenabeth enjoyed it. She reveled in my anguish at her being used by my father, then my realization of her betrayal.

When I’d been released, I pretended. I pretended I was in on the joke, in on their schemes. That I was under their control, when instead, that day they didn’t break me and exert complete control over me.

I’d taken their cruelty and set myself free.

How could I ever think that my feelings for Kennedy could ever be turned on me like that? I know in the tattered remains of my soul that this beautiful, delicate, strong human female is the fated mate Irenabeth tempted me with. Kennedy is a fighter, someone who knows what it’s like to be controlled and would never control another.

“I know,” I state, standing upright. I meet my gaze in the mirror behind the bar and nod. I turn and look at Chainz, no longer feeling the need to run and breathe fire. He studies my face then nods, clapping me on the shoulder before jerking his head and making his glasses fall into place. Not a full second later, the rest of us are looking at the doorway deeper into the clubhouse.

Cinder and Lacy walk through, followed by Sydney. My blackened heart stops beating as I wait to see Kennedy again.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

She walks in, her dark hair loose around shoulders left bare by the same white tank top she’d worn when we first met. In fact, she’s wearing the same exact outfit as that day, with her long, toned legs hugged by black leggings. My heart stutters back to life, like an engine revving again after years of storage.

Kennedy is looking up at Heathen, smiling and laughing at something he said. I missed whatever it was, but I don’t miss how close they are or the way he’s looking at her.

Mine.

“Aw, shit.” Chainz’s voice is distant in my ear, my vision going red around the edges as I move. Someone grabs my arm, but I shrug them off with ease.

Heathen looks up, his blue eyes wide with surprise. He shoves Kennedy to the side—he fucking touches her—and dodges the punch I’d already been swinging.

“Cool it, Blaze,” he says, stepping back into the hallway, his hands up ready to defend himself. “I don’t want to have to beat your ass in front of your girl.”

Heathen may be bigger and broader than me, but he wasn’t put through the training I’d been through since a demon youngling.

I snarl, rolling and stretching my neck, readying to pummel the other demon into the earth.

Shouting comes from behind me, but all I can see is Heathen. Heathen doesn’t back down, his own lips curling in a snarl.

I leap, flames bursting through the skin of my hand as I swing again. Heathen throws his arm up, blocking it but I’m already moving again. My flames crawl up my arms, eager to be let out for the first time in so long.

Heathen’s own form begins to emerge in response, and when my flames lick up my neck to cover my face and reveal the demon I am, so does his. I’m not out of control, not yet. If Heathen wants to live, he’d better submit before I burn the life out of him.

“Blaze!” she shouts, her voice clear and sharp in the haze of my anger.

A hand grips my arm again, trying to restrain me, to control me. Snarling, I swing around, yanking my arm free and challenging the new assaulter with a roar.

Kennedy falls backward onto her ass, cradling one hand to her chest. The sight sends a bolt through me, snuffing out every flame in my body. Worse, though, is how the tattered remains of my soul—the one she’d begun to knit back together with her light—crumbles to dust at the fear in her eyes. Its scent –fear—hits me then, something I’d never wanted to smell again. Something I’d never wanted to be the cause of again.

I open my mouth, a pained croak slipping free as I reach for her. She flinches. Anger washes through me anew, this time at myself.

The air drops to freezing, trapping each of our breaths in our lungs. The weight of darkness, of inevitability, weighs me down until I collapse to my knees under it, catching myself on my hands before I’m flattened. Around me, all of my Knight brothers do the same, their eyes wild with a strain they can’t hope to win against.

“Enough.”

The voice echoes in our skulls, a few of us groaning at the intensity. I drop my head, staring blankly at the worn hardwood floor as I cling to consciousness.

Familiar boots come into view, standing between me and where Kennedy lies on the floor. I try to snarl, but my body refuses to obey.

“Go,” Reaper orders Kennedy.

No, I scream inside my skull. But Reaper doesn’t let me make a sound.

I’m powerless to do anything except watch her get to her feet and run from me.

Grief. Pain. Regret. Each one slices through me like a wicked blade for every step away she takes. I did this. I sent my mate running from me in fear. From her mate.

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