Page 142 of Tin God

She survived.

Brigid had survived abuse, violence, addiction, and fire for this moment. It rang in her head with the clarity of a single struck bell as she pulled the flames from Zasha’s hearth into her hands, coaxing it—not like the lover that Oleg had described but as a friend.

I see you,she said to the flames.I see you protecting me.

The flames danced around her, swaying with a kind of glee as Brigid commanded them to burn around Zasha Sokholov, spinning and swirling around the fire vampire who had created them.

You are mine now.

She drew the flames out of the house, charring the walls until the timbers fell away and Zasha strode toward her, their black clothes on fire, the flames licking at their feet. With each step, the damp ground hissed.

“Bri-gid!” Zasha screamed. “What have you done?”

“You’re finished, Zasha.”

The fire rose around them, the needles on the ground quickly drying and bursting into flames wherever either of them walked.

Brigid’s feet sank through the smoldering detritus in the clearing until her feet hit the ground and the earth touched her skin, soothing her like her mate’s embrace.

“You’re done.” She paced in front of the house, drawing Zasha away from Tenzin. “It’s you and me. Just us. It’s always been comin’ to this.”

Zasha screamed and bared their fangs, blood dripping down their chin and along their chest. The fire snatched their tunic away like singed black feathers, and a scarred white torso emerged from the black cloth.

Brigid’s clothes were also burning slowly, but the flames licked over her body, teasing and energizing her as she finally, finally held them lightly in her grasp.

That was what the fire had always wanted, Brigid realized as tears rolled from her eyes, turning to steam on her heated cheeks. It wanted to dance with her, to sing with her, and sometimes, yes, to destroy.

“I want to rage. I want to destroy everything, and I don’t know where that comes from.”

“It comes from you and it comes from the fire. Don’t try to run from it when it’s what gives you your strength.”

“I can’t become the destroyer.”

“Fire is no simple thing. It consumes and creates. Destroys and revives.”

Brigid paced in the darkness, the fire licking away the black cotton T-shirt she’d donned. Minutes before, she’d been soaked to the skin. Now the damp cloth was as dry and brittle as paper.

Zasha gripped a short sword in their hand, and the blade turned black from smoke.

She and Zasha circled each other, walking along the flaming perimeter of the clearing as the lush green forest and the misty night held the fire on the edge of control.

“You should have stayed away,” Zasha said. “This is between me and the vampire who killed my mate.” They pointed their sword back at the house. “This is between me and Tenzin.”

“No.” Brigid shook her head. “I’m not here for you or for her. I’m here for Walter.”

No hint of recognition on Zasha’s exaggerated face.“Who?”

“For Jackson and Rachel. The people that you helped kill.” She pictured the old man surviving icy water and winter wind, surviving to tell the story of the family he’d lost. “I’m here for Jesse and Sandra. For a baby who won’t know her grandparents because of you.”

“They were human.” Zasha waved a hand. “They were nothing.”

They were everything.

“I’m here for Summer,” she continued. “And for Lee. For Nic and Bex and Lucas. Even for Chance. For everyone you used. For every relationship you destroyed. For every evil suspicion you planted. And for every human and vampire you killed.” She lifted her hand and felt the fire wrapping around her legs, her torso, and her arms. The last of her clothes had burned away along with her hair. She had no weapon other than herself and her element.

In that moment, Brigid realized shewasthe fire.

The saint and the goddess.

---