Page 4 of Sold Rejected Mate
And with the rate of fires out here—and the fact that they’re not your average wildfires—fighting them has become something of a full-time job. An unpaid full-time job, which is fine. It’s not like I need the money.
Turns out, mentioning the fires is not the right move.
“Lachlan,” my mother says, setting her fork down on her plate with a littleclink.“We talked about this. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to keepdoingthat. It’s so dangerous.”
“Dad,” I appeal to him, remembering his vote for me to join Xeran’s team back in high school, right after the daemon fires began. “Don’t you think I should help? I mean, without us, the entire town would have burned down.”
I purposefully don’t mention whatreallykept the town from burning down—magic. Xeran’s new wife’s magic, to be specific. If it weren’t for Phina—and her daughter, Nora—Silverville would be nothing but a pile of silky, glittering ash right now.
But my parents are not fans of magic. I can’t say I’m much of a fan, either, but after seeing how it saved our lives, it’s been harder and harder to take a stance against it.
“Itisgood for Lachlan to use his strength to his advantage,” Dad says, raising his eyebrows at Mom. Since I was a kid, I’ve heard from him about how strong the Cambias wolves are, how I’m blessed with a particularly notable lineage. “The town—and Xeran’s squad—clearly needs him.”
Mom grumbles something, and before she can return to the subject of Betty Rae’s granddaughter, I cut in, “Where’s Aurela?”
Aurela, my twin sister—younger by two minutes—whom I never see anymore. Once a wisp of a girl, but changing each timeI see her, a little thicker around the arms and thighs. Honestly, the weight looks good on her, keeps her from looking like the emaciated skeleton I grew up with. But the last time I went into her room, she had a sheet over the mirror.
So she’s clearly not happy with how she’s changing.
“Not feeling well,” my mother says, pushing potatoes around on her plate without acknowledging the fact that Aurela isneverfeeling well. Despite the fact that Aurela’s marriage is coming up. And despite the fact that her fiancé is here constantly, like he’s trying to convince my parents that no matter how reclusive she gets, he still wants to take her home as his prize.
I’m not a fan of him. But it apparently doesn’t matter what I think.
The rest of the dinner passes with only two remarks about my outfit—Would it kill you to wear one of the Paul Smiths I got you?—and one more mention of Betty Rae’s granddaughter—You’d better give her a call, Lachlan—then I am mercifully walking out the front door with the rest of the lemon pie, becauseGods know your sister doesn’t need it.
When I slide into my car, I can’t stop myself from glancing up at my sister’s window, wondering what she’s doing up there. If she’s really as excited about her wedding as our mother claims.
Wondering if she peeks out, sees me leaving, and wishes she could do the same.
***
I wake at three in the morning to the insistent, sharp tone from my phone, which can only mean one thing.
“What’s up?” I ask, gravel in my throat as I pinch the phone between my shoulder and ear, the familiar pitch of adrenaline already starting to thrum through my body, waking me up.
“Out on the northern ridge,” Kalen, Xeran’s brother, says back. “Past Silverville Creek. It’s moving south, already at twenty acres and climbing fast.”
He leaves the most chilling detail unsaid—it’s daemon fire. The kind that burns hot and leaves nothing in its wake. That starts spontaneously in the trees and rages, spouting off waves of regular fire that fan in all directions.
The kind of fire that burns with a faint blue hue. That seems to laugh as it dances through the trees.
“Got it,” I say. “Are we staging out there?”
“Motel on the edge of town,” Kalen responds. He says something to someone in the background, then says to me, “See you there.”
“Ten minutes,” I respond before dropping the phone into my hand and sliding it into my pocket.
When I grab my gear back from the closet, its familiar weight is grounding. As I walk, automatic lights click on in the house, lighting up the pool to my right, then the kitchen. They dim automatically behind me, offering me the sensation of being in the spotlight.
Walking out, water twinkles from the koi ponds on either side of the path to the door. When I enter the garage and smack my palm on the button, the door in the third stall opens. The one for my truck.
I’m not one of those rich guys who obnoxiously collect sports cars. But I do have a vehicle for each occasion—one sleek blue Ferrari, a BMW M 1000, and the truck.
Not a truck, really, but my Jeep—built out with floodlights, all-terrain tires, and heat-proofed in every possible way. I had the thing painted with bed liner, and I think of her as my fire ride.
I hop into the truck, loving the way the engine revs for me as I ease it out of the garage. In the rearview mirror, I catch the doors shutting behind me, the lights around the fountains flickering off. When I approach the gate at the edge of the property, it automatically slides open for me, letting me zip through and turn onto the road, heading for the Silverville Motel with my pedal on the floor.
I pull into the lot just as Soren’s truck comes screaming in from the other direction. Felix is here already, his bike parked at a careless angle as he stands next to it, hastily pulling on his gear and checking his oxygen tank.
