Page 104 of The Fire Went Wild

“Abilities?” I squeak. “What are you, an X-man?”

He ignores me in favor of rustling around in the darkness. I can just make him out—he’s combing through a drawer, and the more I look at him, the more I feel like I can see him. A shadow lighter than the other shadows.

You can see, too.

He pulls something out of the drawer, and for a moment it seems to literally glow, like it’s drenched in moonlight. He turns and hands it to me, and I know instantly what it is.

A knife.

Theknife, actually. The one I used in Houston. Even in the dark I can see it, but I also feel it, a black thread that tethers the knife to me, and me to the knife.

“I don’t know how to fight,” I whisper, because he and I both know that I do know how to kill.

“You don’t have to fight,” he says. “Just protect yourself.” He looks at me, and for a second, I see him as clearly as I would in daylight. His killer’s face. His flat blue eyes. The coy, vaguely excited smile on his lips. “I won’t let them have the honor of your first death.”

My breath lodges in my throat, and an image flashes through my head:

Me sitting in Jaxon’s kitchen as he draws the knife across my throat, my blood gleaming in the sunlight.

I want you to have that honor, I think, every muscle in my body tightening in some kind of strange anticipation. But I don’t say it aloud.

Jaxon’s adorned himself with blades. Three of them hang from his belt. He has what looks like a machete strapped across his back, and a hooked meat cleaver clutched in his hand, and I feel like I’m going to faint, my blood is pumping so fast through my veins.

I swallow against my dry throat. “You’re not going to wear your mask?”

Jaxon looks at me over his shoulder, his hair falling into his eyes. “This isn’t a kill for the gods,” he says. “And I want these stupid, persistent motherfuckers to see my face before they die.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHARLOTTE

“They’re upstairs,” Jaxon says.

We’ve made it across the backyard and are now standing by the back door. My heart keeps turning circles in my chest. I tell myself it’s fear, but I know it’s not.

“You can tell that?” I frown at the shut door and squeeze my fingers around the knife blade.

He nods, his face dark with concentration. “You will, too, someday. Don’t worry about it tonight, though.” He looks over at me, and I have the sense that I’m seeing a part of him I’ve neverseen before. The only time I came close was in Houston when he was wearing that mask. Tonight, though, he’s stripped bare, and it’s like I’m staring right into the pitch of his soul.

He grabs my chin, eyes boring into mine. “Do not die. Your first death needs to be special.”

I take a deep, shuddery breath. And nod. Because Iagreewith him.

I want you to do it, I think, the words dancing on the tip of my tongue. I can’t get them out, though, so I only lift my knife a little, like I’m showing him I can use it.

“Are you ready?” he asks, still holding my chin.

“Yes.” My voice cracks, but at least the word comes out.

Jaxon nods, then eases the door open The kitchen light is on, bright and garish. “They want me to know something’s wrong,” he mutters. “Toying with me.” He grins, and it’s manic and crazed. The grin of a killer. “They don’t know what I am.”

He slips in, and I follow.

The house buzzes and breathes. There’s a rackety rhythm coming from somewhere that really does sound like heartbeats.

This is what you were made for.

The voice isn’t mine, and it isn’t Jaxon’s, and it sends electricity shooting down my spine. I squeeze my knife handle and follow Jaxon’s strong, thick back as he slips through the house, barely making a noise. When we get to the stairs, he stops, listening.

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