Page 119 of Of Flame and Fate

Except I’m not done with him yet.

I charge after him, tackling him when he tries to run away. We fall hard against the asphalt where I proceed to beat the unholy shit out of him.

I’ll be the first one to admit that I can’t fight. But hell hath no fury like Taran Wird pissed off. I punch him in the head, kicking him repeatedly, and bringing down my elbow hard into his chest.

His hands snatch at the air, trying to catch my wrists as he yells at me to stop.

He gains the upper hand, rolling on top of me and pinning me in place. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he spits out. “Not you!”

My chest rises and falls in quick succession, my lungs desperate for air from all the energy I’ve expunged. “No, you just want to hurt my sister,” I grind out.

His features scrunch, his voice pained. “That’s not true. I would never hurt anyone you loved. The neophytes told me they’d leave you alone, that you and your family would get out in one piece.”

“They’re liars!” I scream at him. “And so are you!” My eyes burn with vicious tears. “Destiny told me, she’ssawit. Remember Destiny?” My gaze flickers to the tattoo of the serpent puncturing the heart. “She never did anything to you and you fucking murdered her!”

“It’s not murder, it’s survival!” Fluid pools in his mouth and he begins to sob. “I want to live, Taran. I want to be safe. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

He looks up at the inferno the area has become. “I didn’t choose to be a Fate, Taran. It chose me. All I’ve ever wanted was a normal life—to be a normal guy, not this freak.” He keeps his stare ahead. “But here I am, with vampires,weres, and witches all wanting me and none of them able to save me. It’s the reason I sent my messenger to find the one group of preternaturals who could.”

His messenger? My eyes widen. “The butterfly tat,” I say. “You set it free to find the shifters—God damn it, even after they killed your friends?”

“I didn’t want to, Ihadto. They’re the strongest, you said it yourself.” He grabs my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Can’t you see? This is my chance, Taran. My one chance to survive this shit.”

He’s playing at my sympathy. I know what it’s like to be weird and hated for it. I know what it’s like to beg God and the Powers that Be to give us a normal existence so we can have homes, and husbands, and babies. But that’s not our reality. For good or for bad, this is what we are.

Johnny breaks down. “I just want to live,” he tells me. “Just let me live.”

“No.”

My hand shoots out, my nails digging into the flesh of his chest. Johnny screams, spilling lava from his Mordor tat straight into my arm.

I expect pain, loads of it. Except all I feel is magic.

Like a volcano meeting a super nova of energy, our magic pummels each other, both ancient powers battling it out to see which bitch rules best.

The earth quakes beneath us, splitting the ground, but the Grim Reaper will golf with my decapitated head before I let Johnny go.

I clamp down on my teeth, scraping my nails further in. Through the smoke and our burning surroundings, I see Destiny, her image appearing in a strobe of scattered pictures.

Tye is on top of her, his large palms pressing into her chest as he performs CPR. He’s begging her not to leave, to come back to him, crying out that he can’t live without her.

My head spins from the diapason of energy streaming from my hand. Combine it with the heat surging around me, and relentless rumbles from the cracking earth, I can’t even focus.

The titillation of noise, power, and visuals is too much to take. I don’t know anything. What my magic is doing. What Johnny is doing to fight back. All I know is I can’t let go.

A fist comes down on my face. Then another.

I ignore the instinct to protect my head, keeping my hand in place and sinking my fingers deeper.

I think I’m losing when the visual of Destiny and Tye fades, becoming lighter. I make out things here and there: the wolves guarding her closing in, the one in front telling Tye to leave her, and how the wolf staggers back when Tye shrugs him off.

Tye’s compressions quicken. He’s not giving up on her, and I won’t either.

My nails pierce bone when the vision slips further away. “Burn, baby,” I gasp. “Burn.”

The next blow to my face stirs an additional spark inside me, causing it to intensify and gifting it with the incandescent glow and heat I need.

Like Velcro being ripped from its source, my fingers tear off Johnny’s skin.

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