Page 8 of Stealing Embers

This isn’t how I’m going to go out.

I’ve survived seventeen torturous years with my body and freedom intact. I plan to keep myself alive for years to come.

I shove off the ground and bounce to my feet. My head’s angry with that move, but I tell it to shut up.

Only two creatures still stalk me. It appears the others are battling each other. I can’t be sure that’s what’s happening, but to my eyes, the monsters look to be viciously ramming into each other.

It would be comical if it wasn’t a life-or-death situation.

The two that aren’t engaged in a weird game of bumper cars come at me from the front.

Blood flows freely down the left side of my face, making it impossible to see out of that eye. Nervously, I pull my bottom lip into my mouth to chew on, only to release it with a grimace. I didn’t realize it was speckled with blood as well.

Even with the massive amount of adrenaline flooding my system, my brain is sluggish. Instead of taking action, I just stand there, my feet glued to the ground.

I was wrong. Thisisthe end.

I’m going to die without knowing the truth about what has hunted me my whole life.

I throw my arms up in a feeble attempt to protect myself, but look away, unable to force myself to face the end.

I’m sure any moment, my life will flash before my eyes, but rather than a montage of childhood scenes, a blinding light drops from the sky, forcing me to squeeze my lids shut.

Something lands, shaking the concrete slab under my feet.

It’s only a moment before the brightness dims and my eyes pop open. Standing with his back to me is a guy in jeans and a black leather jacket, double-fisting a pair of weapons. A sword in his right hand, a gun in the other.

I’m already dead. That’s the only explanation.

I can’t see humans in this reality, only their strange colored auras. But I can see this guy in glaring detail. Everything from the mop of dark hair on his head down to his chunky-soled, well-worn black motorcycle boots.

I rub my eyes, managing to smear blood all over my face.

Smooth move, Emberly.

I scan the roof with my good eye. The shadow beasts are still there.

What. Is. Happening?

The guy standing between me and my attackers is a good half-foot taller than me, which puts him around six-foot-five at least. His raven black hair is longer on top than on the sides.

My perusal of his form is shoved aside when I register the faint white glow haloing his body—an exact replica of the one encasing my own.

We are somehow the same, but not knowing what makes me different, I can’t say what our similarity is.

“What are you waiting for? The dinner bell?” He taunts the creatures in a deep growl.

Is hetryingto get killed?

The silence is broken several beats later by the bark of a humorless laugh, startling me. Jerking, I smash my elbow into the car door.

Add it to the growing list of injuries for the day.

“You know I’m harder to kill than that.”

My eyes scan the deck. He can’t possibly be communicating with those ugly things. They don’t talk. I’ve never once heard so much as a peep out of any of them, and I’ve been running from the monsters for as long as I can remember.

“I guess that means it’s up to me to make the first move.” The guy concludes his strange one-sided conversation by lifting the gun and shooting several rounds at the shadow beasts.

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