Flame (Fireborn) (16 page)

He can see Malachi
contemplating the request, and he knows Malachi is reluctant to allow
it. There are
some
benefits to being his favorite.

"That's not
necessary," Malachi finally answers. He smirks at Armin before
looking at me. "At least I know I can trust
you
to get
the job done."

He nods with
confidence. "Yes."

"Bring me the
carrier."

His face remains
expressionless even though his fear is growing.

"Yes," he
vows.

Malachi glances back at
Armin, noting his pale face and glazed eyes.

"Finish the girl,"
he nods in the direction of the enchained human who is half
unconscious. Armin doesn't wait to be told twice before he pounces on
her. She's hooked up to a machine. A guard presses a button.
Instantly, a river of blood flows through its plastic tubes. Another
guard waits until its sufficiently filled before unhooking the end. A
spray head is attached to it and Armin opens his mouth, bending like
he's going to drink from a human beer bong. Armin's body trembles in
anticipation. When his mouth finally closes on the opening, he sucks
at it like he's drawing in air, absorbing the liquid in a frenzy.
Scarlet blood dribbles down, staining Armin's neck and shirt, but his
need is merciless. Armin's desperation seems endless.

Watching Armin,
something steely and hard unwinds inside him: rejection. Disgust.
When he turns his eyes away, they land on Malachi who watches Armin
with a satisfied smirk. Drinking blood is a privilege that Malachi
allows for a select few. Armin makes a desperate sound, and he's not
surprised when Armin pushes the Saguinox away. Swaying, Armin reaches
for the girl, trembling to fulfill his thirst. Without hesitation,
Armin opens his mouth, revealing short canines that are barely
visible.

Like the animal he's
suddenly become, Armin bites the softest part of her body: her neck.
Desperation and the force of his hunger give him a rush of strength.
Ripping through skin and tissue, he gorges himself on her flesh. Her
terrible screams fill the small room.

Malachi laughs.

He's still; knowing to
show any weakness is to jeopardize everything he's worked for. He
endures her cries in silence. After Armin is done, he slumps to the
floor, exhausted.

"Help him to his
room," he orders. When their footsteps become nothing but
echoes, he checks the girl's pulse. It's hard to find it through torn
skin and blood, but he manages. The pulse is weak, but still there.
His heart clenches with dread for her.

"Put her with the
rest of the slaves," he says softly to the nearest guard.

"Kill her and be
done with it," Malachi snaps. "We need healthy slaves, not
half dead ones."

Rigid, he nods. "Yes,
your highness."

He holds her neck in
his hands, feeling arteries and bones. He pretends to look at her,
but he's pushing his mind away, going to somewhere no one can reach
him: his memories. He's inside one memory in particular. Her voice
fills his mind, and it's what he holds onto as he slowly chokes the
girl to death. Within seconds the light in her eyes darken, never to
shine again. He shuts her eyes as if to make it better, but it
doesn't fix anything. He knows her face will echo in his dreams just
like all the rest. A guard drags her broken body through the door to
a furnace that makes useless things disappear.

Malachi makes a sound
to get their attention, baring fangs that glint in the artificial
light. "I will be arriving in a month. Make sure the fire
crystal is ready."

He bows, desperate to
leave.

"Oh, and Rhys?"

He pauses, turning back
to face his commander.

"Don't disappoint
me," Malachi says with deadly calm.

The invisible threat
hangs in the air.

"I won't."

"Fire! Fire!"

My scream vibrates
against the walls as I shriek and jump out of bed. I scan the room
wildly, looking for something to put out the sudden blaze that's
consuming my bed sheets. An oversized coat hangs on my door, and I
pull it, thrashing it against the fire that's threatening to take
over my little corner of the house. I use the coat as a weapon,
beating the flames like a boxer. Luckily, it doesn't catch on fire,
but I wonder if it's enough. I scream when the coat is unexpectedly
pulled from my hands, and sinks into the center of the blaze. A soft
eruption signals its demise, and I panic, screeching.

A flame jumps out at
me, blocking my only path to the door. Gray smoke is gathering,
attempting to leave, but there's nowhere to go. The fire has spread
to an old wooden nightstand, and roars louder as it devours more
energy.

I swear, dodging
another flame. I pound the thin walls with my fist.

"Help!" I
shout. There's no answer, and no movement, but I'm hopeful. Then I
remember that it's Friday night, and no one is home but me. I cover
my mouth and nose with the bottom of my shirt, and rush to the
rectangular windows overlooking the street. They're all side-by-side,
forming a makeshift balcony. I pick the one to my right, tugging it
to open. We locked them in anticipation for the winter, but I use all
my strength to crack it open anyway. The old locks resist me, and I
heave, trying again and again.

Finally, I give up, and
punch the glass with all my might. I don't know what I expect to
happen, but I don't wait for the pain to subside before I attempt it
again, on all three windows. My knuckles literally feel like they are
ringing underneath my skin, but that isn't enough to stop me from
using my shoulders, and then my whole body against the glass. I can
hear the fire behind me, and I don't glance back to see how big it
has grown because then I might give up. I don't want to give up. If I
did, my dad would too. Then our whole family would be gone. Given up
to whatever flames life had thrown at us.

With this last thought,
a surge of energy quivers through me. I resume my concentration on
the third window, grabbing the plastic chair next to me. Lifting it
high, I slam it against the glass, praying it'll break into a million
pieces. The sounds are not nearly as loud as the cackling of fire
behind me, but I hear the crash of plastic and metal on glass like a
drum. I follow the pattern over and over. A small crack forms on the
surface, and I slam the chair down harder.

The blaze is so close
to me that sweat drops down my back, sinking into my shirt. Even
though I have a plan, I can't stop the panic seizing my mind.

"C'mon, c'mon,
work, work, work! " I chant to myself.

Out of nowhere, the
window to my farthest left crashes. It literally splits itself into
large pieces, like someone has thrown a boulder at it. When a figure
breaks the remaining pieces with his hand, I realize that I might
survive after all. I rush at him.

"We have to get
out!" I shout.

He has a sweater over
his mouth and nose. Glowing eyes blink in response, and Rhys gestures
to the broken window.

I crawl through it, not
caring that all I have on are thin pajamas in the cold Minnesota
night. I balance myself on the thin ledge underneath my window,
inching my way to a tree branch, dangling tantalizingly close. I
glance back to make sure Rhys is following me, and when his body
brushes mine I breathe a sigh of relief. Together, and with
painstaking slowness, we move forward, balancing on the thin ledge
like tightrope walkers. I look down at the hard ground below, and
hesitate. He nudges me onward, his body strong and reliable. When I
reach the thick branch I swing my leg over one side, sliding backward
until my butt touches the base of the branch. Then I maneuver my body
around the trunk of the tree, and shimmy down. The rough surface
scratches me, but the cold has already made me numb. When I'm less
than two feet off the ground, soft hands touch my back, helping me
jump off.

"You okay?"
Lenora's wide eyes are glossy in the night sky.

I shiver, the
adrenaline still pumping in my veins.

"Is there anyone
else in the house?" she asks with worry.

I shake my head.

She moves me to the
side, and nods to the figure behind me. "There's no one else in
the house. We need water or something, Rhys! Or else the fire will
just continue to burn--" She barely finishes before he sprints
off through the front entrance.

Smoke continues to pour
outside, covering part of the house with fog. I run after him. He
hears my footsteps, and turns to catch me in his arms.

He's incredulous. "What
are you doing?"

"Helping you help
me!"

"Go back. You'll
get hurt."

"You can, too,"
I retort.

"Not me. I'm
Golden Eyes."

Is he serious right
now!

Lenora grabs me from
behind before I can move. "You can't go in, Kenna!" she
wails. Her eyes are frantic.

I turn back to Rhys,
but he's disappeared into the house. Frustrated, I push past Lenora
with more aggression than she expects, and she falls back. I unwind
the garden hose.
Please work, please work.
I turn the knob to
open the water. Someone above is listening because water sprays out
with a gurgle, and I aim it as high as I can, wanting to drench the
whole outside of the house. I settle for my bedroom window.

"Here." I
shove the hose toward Lenora. Wrapping my legs around the tree, I
tell her, "I'm going to climb back up. Hand me the hose when I'm
high enough." She looks ready to argue, but she doesn't, and
dutifully does what I ask once I'm back on the branch.

When the firefighters
finally arrive, there isn't much to do. We had already contained the
fire, and Rhys emerges with dirt and smoke on his face and hands,
still looking like a million bucks. I'm embarrassed I notice, and
push the thought away.

"Are you okay?"
I ask him, thankful and I'm relieved for what he's done.

He nods. "Yeah.
You?"

I nod back. I'm
suddenly aware I'm dressed in an Angry Bird shirt and a matching
pajama pant. I tell myself they probably don't even know who Angry
Bird is, so I shouldn't feel too mortified.

"How'd you find
me?" I ask. He looks uncomfortable. Belatedly, I realize I just
insinuated he was searching for me.
As if he has a reason to,
I remind myself.

"We were at our
head-" He stops. "Head
work
place a block from
here." He gestures behind us. "We drove by and saw a fire."

"You work this
late into the night?" That explains why his eyes always storm
whenever I mention work.

"Yes."

"Where are your
parents?" Lenora asks. "We should probably let them know."

I rub my forehead.
"I'll let Dad know when he comes home." I had to. He'll
notice the black soot marks covering part of the house. Not to
mention a broken window and a half, and a burnt bedroom.

Neighbors come to ask
how I am, but Rhys and Lenora don't leave my side. Maybe they notice
the numbness slowly choking me every time I look at my house. I know
how close to death I was. I relieved, but I can't stop my teeth from
chattering and my body from shaking. Abruptly, vomit rises up my
throat, and without warning I run. I hear footsteps behind me, but I
don't slow down. When I'm behind a tree, I pour out everything inside
me: terror, fear, and my relief I've survived. It tastes like chicken
and processed cheese.

A hand pulls my hair
back, and it's gentle, rubbing soft circles around my back. "Easy,"
Rhys whispers. "It's ok," he says. I shake my head. Doesn't
he realize what could've happened?

"My dad can't live
without me."

"He doesn't have
to," Rhys says.

I don't notice I've
spoken out loud until Rhys answered. My shaking has dwindled, but his
hands don't leave, and they continue to stroke my back.

"I'll always be
here. I'm not going to let you die," he says. I look up. "I've
done a pretty good job of saving you so far, haven't I?" He
grins. "I
am
Golden Eyes after all."

Even though I'm still
anxious from the fire, I'm slowly melting inside from his smile.
You
save everyone,
I think tenderly. Out loud I say, "Eh.
Superman would've gotten here faster."

"I doubt it. I can
beam pretty quick."

Remembering how he
saved me from the truck yesterday morning, I ask, "How did you
save me from the truck so fast yesterday?"

"Some of us can
move a little faster than humans."

"I'd say
a lot
faster." His small smile tells me I'm probably right.

"Isn't it human
custom to thank the person who saves your life?" he suddenly
asks.

"Thank you."

I'm so close to him I
can feel the heat from his body. His hands are still rubbing circles
on my back, and the soothing motion has the opposite effect he's
intending it for. My heart accelerates, pounding harder. I notice
something small and black on his face. Debris maybe? I resist the
urge to touch him and wipe it off.

"It's not safe
here anymore, Kenna."

My stomach plummets.
Last night I'd watched a report on World News Tonight about a
religious group who vowed to kill every Saguinox on Earth. When
questioned by Diane Sawyer, their representative responded aliens on
earth are unnatural. God created each of us for different worlds, and
we shouldn't mix. When Diane asked for a response from her T.V.
audience, someone immediately twittered: God shouldn't have given
aliens the intelligence to build space traveling ships then.
#insteadofhatingweshouldgetsmarter.

Gazing into Rhys's
worried face, I wonder what he's hiding. Has there been an
investigation about the incident yesterday? Is it part of a larger
conspiracy? "Do you and Lenora have to leave?"

He hesitates. "Sort
of."

What does that mean?