Page 44 of Playing with Fire

The noise level rose as everyone settled in, conversations overlapping. War was discussing a difficult patient with Shepherd, whose clinical interest seemed genuinely engaged. River and Theo were murmuring between themselves, occasionally glancing around the table. Charlie had somehow wedged herself between Xander and Ash, peppering them with questions about Xander's butterfly clips as she stared at them with wide-eyed adoration.

Leo's knee bounced nervously until I squeezed it, a silent reminder that I was there. He immediately settled, shooting me a grateful look before returning to his food. I nudged the basket of dinner rolls closer to his side of the table, having noticed he'd already devoured his first one.

"So, Leo," War called from across the table. "Xavier mentioned you're planning to use the garage for a cosplay workshop? Ambitious project."

Leo froze mid-bite, eyes widening slightly. "Um, yeah. Just something to keep me busy while we figure out..."

"While we rebuild his life," I finished for him, my hand settling on his thigh under the table. "Since someone burned down his home with all his projects inside."

The table went uncomfortably quiet for a moment before Mom stepped in with her usual grace. "I think it's wonderful. I've been hoping someone would use that space creatively again. It's been empty since Xander moved his fashion experiments to his own place."

"It wasn't fashion, it was wearable art," Xander corrected with a dramatic sigh.

"It was a fire hazard," Nikita muttered into his beer.

Dad stood at the head of the table, raising his glass. "A toast," he announced. "To new beginnings and old family."

"And to Leo," Mom added, raising her own glass with a warm smile. "Welcome to the madhouse, honey."

All eyes turned to us, and I felt Leo tense beside me. But he raised his glass. "Thanks for having me.”

"Just don't let Xavier corrupt you completely," Xion said. "We need at least one sane person in this family."

"Too late," I said, letting my hand slide higher on Leo's thigh, enjoying the way his breath caught. "He's already thoroughly corrupted."

The table erupted in laughter and groans. Lettie made a gagging noise while Xander slow clapped. But through it all, Leo just leaned slightly against my shoulder, his body relaxing into mine.

"I think I like being corrupted," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. The heat in his eyes made my pulse quicken, a reminder of everything we'd explored together in my bed. How perfectly he'd surrendered to me, how beautifully he'd come apart under my hands.

I pressed my lips to his ear. "Good," I whispered. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

Thefirewasbeautiful.

It danced over the bones, growing like vines, using the skeleton like scaffolding to climb higher.

Leo stood in the center of my creation, flames licking up his legs, crawling across his skin. His eyes remained fixed on mine, trusting even as his flesh blackened. No screaming. No begging. Just acceptance as my fire consumed him piece by piece.

I didn't move to save him. Didn't want to. This was perfection. Leo was becoming part of my art, transformed by my flames. His body cracked open like a geode, revealing something more precious inside. The fire illuminated him from within, turning his organs to molten gold, his blood to liquid rubies. He'd never been more beautiful than in this moment of absolute surrender to my element.

The melody of his burning bones played a song only I could hear. A symphony of destruction and rebirth. I circled him, drinking in every detail of his transformation. This wasn't death. This was transcendence.

But then the scent changed. Became chemical. Synthetic. Wrong.

My fire would never smell like that. My fire was organic. Pure. This was contaminated. Corrupted.

My eyes snapped open to absolute darkness. No security lights. No blinking monitors. Only that acrid stench filling my lungs.

Someone else's fire. Not in my house. But close. Too close.

Through the gap in the curtains, I could see thick smoke billowing past the streetlights. The funeral home.

"Fuck! Leo, wake up!" I grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "The funeral home's on fire!"

He came awake instantly, muscle memory from his Army days kicking in. No useless questions. No confusion. Just immediate, alert focus.

"What happened to the alarms?" he asked, already reaching for his glasses.

"They haven’t gone off." I yanked open the drawer for my Glock. "Something’s wrong."

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