Page 163 of Roaring Flames

People like the twins, Ashton, and Reid.

People like me.

People like…Izzy.

“You don’t understand…” Mom begins desperately, reaching for me, but I stealthily sidestep her extended hand.

“There’s nothing to understand,” I tell her tersely, grabbing my coat off the hanger and shoving it on.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I just know I need to get the fuck out of this house.

“Their type are monsters?—”

“Then that means I’m a monster too,” I tell her stiffly.

She begins to shake her head in denial. “You’re not like them.”

The smile I give her then is cruel—more of a baring of teeth than anything genuine. “I’m more like them than you can ever imagine.”

Mom screams my name as I yank open the door…only to come face-to-face with a somewhat familiar man. I’ve only seen him once before, but his dark hair, brown eyes, and sly smirk are unmistakable.

Dyson has one fist lifted as if to knock on the door, but he lowers it when he sees me.

His smile stretches. “Ansel. Just the warlock I wanted to see.”

Fifty-Eight

IZZY

Iremain low to the ground as I make my way back to the children. I don’t know how much time I have until one of the gunmen realizes they’re down a man, but I’ll worry about that when it comes to it.

When I reach the tree line, I hesitate only briefly before unhooking the gun and setting it on the ground. The last thing I need to do is frighten the children—and showing up with a big-ass gun would certainly do that.

I poke my head around the nearest tree and flick my gaze towards the makeshift stage. The leader has pulled someone else onto the picnic table, though I don’t recognize who it is.

And Christian…

He remains on his knees, his head lowered, his muscles shaking.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Fear for my mate twists my heart, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand. If I can get the children to safety, then the other wolves will fight back. That’s the only way I can save Christian and the others.

That thought bolsters my resolve, and I direct my attention back to the kids.

Only one is looking at me—the red-faced, blonde girl I noticed before. Tears trickle down her cheeks as she stares at me.

Once again, I place one finger to my lips, indicating for her to be silent, then gesture for her to come to me.

She hesitates, biting down on her lower lip and volleying her gaze between me and the other shifters.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

I don’t know how much time we have. The gunmen will certainly notice a bunch of children moving about.

The little boy next to her, maybe a few years older than the girl herself, looks in my direction. Once again, I gesture for him to come, to follow me.

The boy wipes away the snot with the back of his hand and nods once. My relief is short-lived, however, when he jumps to his feet. I shake my head and then lower myself to the ground in a crawling position.

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