Page 497 of Fated to be Enemies

Harder to breathe.

I ache down to my bones. So tired. I need a healer, but the more I think about it, the more I wish no one would come to my rescue. My whole family is dead on this forest floor. The ones who used to call themselves blood turned their backs on us. Lucien and our child were all I had left after my parents’ betrayal.

I have nothing now.

Rhys left hours ago. Searching for help maybe? Perhaps he’ll die in the forest like I wish I would.

If I were gone from this earth, maybe Lucian, our unborn child, and I would be together on the Otherside. But I know Lucien would hate to see me so weak, giving up on life so soon—even if dying would be a relief.

My beautiful, strong husband. I thought we would have more time.

The leaves beneath us are as dry as kindling, and before the thought can finish its path in my mind, my fingers have already ignited them. I watch the foliage curl, praying the flames would harm instead of heal.

But they don’t.

Carefully, I slide Lucien from my lap to the ground, brushing his golden locks from his bloodstained face—the face that once held so much laughter, so much love. Another soundless sob erupts from my throat as I lay my fiery hand upon his chest. I wish I had enough knowledge of the funeral rites to do this the proper way.

But I know enough. Enough to send him on.

I caress his cheek, his shirt, his trousers, his body igniting as I go, turning the forest floor into his funeral pyre. I still cannot stand—the wound at my belly continues to ooze blood. So there I sit next to his burning body, my tears drying in the heat of the flames before they ever reach my cheeks.

This is where they find me. One hand on the knife that took my husband and child from me, and the other buried in Lucien’s ashes.

Phased and flaming, broken and tattered.

Gunning for vengeance and ready for death.

But death…

Death is not what I got.

For the first time in forever, I wake up screaming. The electricity under my skin is bubbling up and out, flickering to nothing as soon as I realize I’m awake. With the pulse I sent out, I’ve blown out the lamps and bedside clock, and the television mounted over the fireplace is smoking. The bed curtains are singed, but not on fire, and the linens appear to be unharmed. The only light comes through the open bathroom and hallway doors.

I’m alone until Rhys runs in from the bathroom with a small red cylinder in his hands, squirting white foam on the TV.

A fire extinguisher?

How many years has it been since I’ve set something on fire in my sleep? Fifty? A hundred?

My vision is wobbly, and I can’t stop shaking. With a thunk, Rhys drops the extinguisher on the floor by the edge of the bed. His warm hands reach for me, slowly cupping my shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, but I can’t blame him.

I wouldn’t know what to say, either.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me,” I croak, my eyes rolling in my head like a spooked horse.

His hands not only don’t go away, but they wrap around me and pull me into a hug. It’s soft and warm and comforting, and for a few seconds, I relax in his embrace. But after all I remember, after all the guilt weighing down my soul, the feeling of his chest against my cheek is enough to make me lose my mind.

Instead of comfort, now all I feel are the cold, hard hands that tore at my flesh. The ones who pulled the skin from my bones. The ones who tortured me for what seemed like an eternity. Funny how that eternity had only been three days.

And that’s when I start clawing and shrieking like a feral cat.

“Let me go. Let. Me. Go,” I screech as I scratch, punch, and kick my way free, many of the blows unnecessary since he let me go almost instantly.

Scrambling backward across the bed, I half-step, half-fall off the other side.

I know that time in my life is over. I know it was a long time ago. But I still feel those fucking phantom hands on me even now.

Focus! Focus, dammit!

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