Touching Fire (Touch Saga) (33 page)

Archer
had been exaggerating about the army. There were roughly fifteen figures standing in small groups along the highway, surrounded by abandoned cars and scorched trees.

I recognized
Jolie, the time stopper, and a boy of about eighteen who could make daggers appear out of thin air. I spotted Gaston and Mistral almost instantly. They stood in the open, consuming everything thrown at them while returning fire … literally. Balls of flames burst to life in their open palms. The orbs made wide arches through the air and exploded in a shower of hot embers upon contact. But they weren’t the reason the military was having such a hard time destroying the threat.

Maggie was there.

Adorable, eight year old Maggie with her riot of
Shirley Temple
ringlets and china doll features. But it was her eyes that stole away from the innocent little girl appearance. They were cold and dead. She stood in the line of fire in her pretty pink dress, her hands held loosely at her sides as she stared back at the soldiers. She was the reason no one from Garrison’s group was bothering to take cover from the rifles, automatic weapons, or even the tanks. Everything the soldiers threw at them was soaked into the invincible shield Maggie had put up around them. So try as they might, the military really had no chance. The stench of burning flesh tangled with the overpowering aroma of blood. It swirled through the air, clinging to the snowflakes that had begun to fall. Tattered halves of human remains lay strewn like a carpet of horror on a battle field of death.

“Oh God…” I breathed, clapping both hands over my mouth.

So many lives lost because of me and they would never know I was the reason Garrison was there. I was the reason he attacked all those innocent people. They all died unknowingly protecting me while I hid like a coward.

I was the personification of death
and all who came near me were marked to die.

“Cease fire!” someone shouted.

The man emerged from Garrison’s end of the battlefield. A man I had never met. He was new and that was never good.

Dominating and beautiful with skin the color of
dark coffee beans and eyes the color of spilled ink, he stalked forward with the powerful strides of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Long, sinewy legs conquered the field, undeterred by the carnage. His dark coat billowed back over a muscular chest encased in a black sweater. He stopped at the center of the gathering and faced the soldiers.

“We are not here for you,” he said in a calm, clear voice. “We want the girl.”

The soldiers glanced at one another, their confusion evident even at that distance.

“What girl?” one soldier shouted back, only to be elbowed by his comrades.

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists!” the elbower said. “We’ve called for backup. It will be here shortly. Put your weapons down and get on the ground.”

He continued to study the small group with a look akin to
disinterest. “I will not ask again,” he said. “Give us the girl and we will let you live.”

“There is no girl here,” said one soldier.

Were they really protecting me? These were the same men who dragged me from the car and marched me into that shelter to be interrogated. They knew I was there.

The man inclined his head. “Very well.”

He started to turn away and my gut sank. I knew what was about to happen. I started to get to my feet, prepared to turn myself in.

Another figure moved onto the field, leather coat moving like shiny wings around his legs. Snowflakes and sunlight glinted in his platinum locks and gleamed off his glasses.

“Archer!” It was barely above a whisper, but I saw the slight tilt in his head in my direction.

The man seemed intrigued now. He faced Archer. “And you are?”

“The negotiator,” Archer replied evenly. “I’m here to talk business. Let the humans go. You and I can settle this like real men.”

A dark brow lifted in interest. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t, because you look like a smart guy. You want the girl. Well, so do I. The only difference is that I have her and I’m willing to trade for a price.”

“What?” I hissed under my breath.

The man clasped his large hands together in front of him. “What is your price?”

“You let the humans walk away from here, unharmed.”

The man seemed to consider this a moment, then nodded ever so slightly. “But before I do, let me see her.”

Archer inclined his head. “Of course.” He turned his body ever so slig
htly and for a sickening heartbeat, I thought he would point in my direction and give me away. So imagine my surprise when he raised an arm and motioned in the direction he’d come from.

All eyes turned as another figure moved into view,
a girl with long dark hair and hazel eyes.

It was me.

No amount of blinking could erase the image of me walking over to stand next to Archer. It was an eerie thing, creepy and unnatural, seeing myself. But it was working. The crowd had gone very quiet as everyone watched to see what would happen next.

The man observed me with those unfathomable eyes.
The fake me stared back at him.

“
This is her?” He seemed amused, like he had somehow expected better.

“The one and only. S
o we have a deal?” Archer pressed.

The man rolled his shoulders in an indecisive shrug. “
Perhaps, but you see,” he splayed his hands. “I have been hearing a lot about this girl and how dangerous she is.” He bent his head to the side and studied me. “But she is nothing more than a mere girl from what I can see.”

“Well, you know
what they say about listening to rumors,” Archer countered.

The man flashed straight, white teeth. “Yes. However, there is something else I was told.”
He flicked his hand and the group behind him began to shift and scuffle back. I watched as they parted and three figures scuttled through.

My heart stopped
as the one in the middle was pitched forward. He tripped and landed on his knees just a few feet from the man in black. His hands were bound behind him and his mouth was gagged. Dried blood caked his swollen lip and crusted the hairs at his temple. There was a closing gash on his cheek and another above his eye. His clothes were torn and tattered, some parts wet with blood from wounds that had already closed.

Fury hissed through me. My blood burned. I felt the edge of insanity begin to blind me and I snarled deep in my throat.

Isaiah raised his head. “Fallon? What…?” His gaze shot to Archer, narrowed. “What the hell are you doing, Blackburn?”

No one paid him any mind.

“It’s not me,”
I assured him softly, needing to calm him down before he could do something that would get him hurt.

The slight furrow of his brows was the only indication that anything had changed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes
. Are you? What happened?”

He didn’t get the chance to respond.

“Do you recognize him?” the man asked the fake me.

F
ake me glanced down at Isaiah, then at the man. “Yes.” No emotion. Simple fact.

The man must have thought this was strange as well, because he raised both eyebrows in question. “
And?”

F
ake me said nothing.

The man nodded slowly as he turned towards Isaiah. He swept back his long coat and removed a double edged dagger from his belt loop.
He went to stand over Isaiah and I knew, I knew even before he raised the blade that I was fighting a losing battle. My soul and the monster inside me had already come to a single conclusion without me. Whoever this man was, whatever his powers, I was going to kill him.

Then the dagger plunged
down and sunk into Isaiah’s chest.

Chapter
18

The world flashed black, then dipped into a world of crimson. I heard the pound of every heart below me. I smelled the tang of their blood racing beneath their soft, mortal flesh. My insides wailed its hunger. For blood. For revenge. Time lapsed and I found myself on the field. The wind howled. It cut through the crowd like the sharp edge of a sword. The trees around us shuddered, nearly bowing in submission beneath the violent force. The ground rolled beneath our feet. Screams rose from somewhere in the distance. The drum of running feet raged like a thousand horses galloping at once. But it was all just a useless soundtrack playing in the background. The main event was standing before me, dagger in hand, watching me as I watched the blood drip off the end. Isaiah’s blood. Blood that belonged to me.

My gaze flicked to Isaiah, slumped forward on his face as his life pooled beneath him, melting the snow and turning it
scarlet. The beautiful smell of it fueled the demon inside me and I screamed as I let it consume me.

It wasn’t human. It wasn’t mournful. It was raw fury
combined with an animalistic lust to rip apart the cause of my rage.

I attacked.

The man dodged the first sweep of my talons, but he wasn’t quick enough the second time and I sunk my nails into the warm skin on his face. Blood sprayed as flesh ripped off bone. The demon roared in relish. Hands that looked nothing like mine clamped over the thick muscles of his throat and I felt the pulse beneath my palms as I squeezed.

Something slammed into my gut, dislodging my hold. I staggered back, immune to the pain as I snarled. My own leg kicked out and I heard the satisfying crunch of bone where I shattered his kneecap.
He dropped with a cry and my hands were at his throat again, squeezing the worthless life from his body. I watched with sick pleasure as he choked, his black eyes bulging as he realized his life was over and I was the one taking it. I gouged my thumbs into his Adam’s apple, crushing his windpipe.

I was so lost in the euphoria of my victory, that I didn’t see the glint of steel until it
was thrust into my side.

I gasped
.

My hold fell away as I reached for the foreign object protruding from my body. The dagger that had wounded Isaiah was hilt deep between my ribs.
Blood bubbled from the sides, trickling down my body in a thick, hot fountain. I tore it out and pitched it aside as though it were nothing more than a bothersome thorn. And I knew in that moment that nothing, not even death, was going to stop me from ripping the head off this man.

He seemed to realize it
as well. He was no longer cool and calm. His arrogance was overshadowed by fear. It was so thick, the stench of it was seeping out of his pores. They had warned him about me. They had told him to be careful. But I was a girl. How dangerous could I possibly be?

He was about to find out.

I moved towards him. My shadow draped over him like the cloak of death. I watched the sinking realization widen his eyes until I could see my own reflection in their dark depths. It was that that gave me pause. The face in the shiny surface was me, but not me. The eyes were pools of black housed in the center of a face lengthened at the jaw. Fangs protruded thin as needles where my incisors should have been. They cut into my bottom lip, spilling blood down my chin. Narrow folds crinkled the bridge of my nose, a lioness drawn to the scent of a kill.

My fingers, long and tipped with razor sharp points, encircled his throat. His
pulse raced, the sound a beautiful symphony in my ears.

“What are you?” he gasped.

I let the constriction of my fingers answer for me. My skin seemed to hum with an unmatchable surge of pleasure as I watched with anticipation for his life to fade from his eyes.

“Fallon, stop!”
Strong arms encircled me, restrained me and pulled me away, breaking my hold. “You don’t want to do this,” the voice shouted into my ear.

“He has to die!” I snarled
, fighting against the pull.

“This isn’t you!
If you kill him, you can never come back from that.”

“What does it matter?” I screamed. “I’m already a killer.”

“You’re not, but if you do this, you will be.”

Anger,
frustration, doubt and guilt all twisted inside me, forming a knotted ball so thick, I gasped. The weight sent me to my knees and the arms fell away. I mashed both fists into my face as the pressure drowned me. I couldn’t breathe. The world had become a disturbed hornet’s nest. The hum drove into my skull until I couldn’t think straight. The dance of confusion and hate had me pounding at my temples, willing it to stop. But it only seemed to build, becoming a deafening roar that crashed through the clearing.

It was too much.

Too much. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I clutched my throbbing skull and let it break off of me in a howl that was neither mine, nor was it human. And still that wasn’t enough.

A
suffocating hand closed around my chest. My fists slammed into the ground. Vibration shot through me like a wave crashing to shore. Thundering cracks split the air but all I could see was the curtain of black waving across my face, giving me glimpses of blood and snow and Isaiah’s still form.

Finally. Finally it stopped and I could breathe again. The heavy blanket lifted off my chest and I inhaled for the first time in what felt like years. I closed my fists
and raised their cold dampness to the heat coming off my face. A ragged sob escaped me and I opened my eyes. I found Isaiah. My heart wrenched. Tears welled in my eyes. All that strength and energy dropped me from a thirty story building. I crashed.

“Isaiah
.” Exhausted, I crawled to him. My fingers were red and numb from the cold and blood, but I closed them in his clothes and turned him over.

His face was frost bitten from being pressed into the ground, but his injuries had healed. I released him and reached for the blade
only feet away, still wet with our combined blood, and cut his binds. I ungagged him and framed his face in my hands.

“Isaiah?”
Not so much a flutter of his eyelashes.

Worry lanced through me as I
drew back. My hands splayed across his chest. I touched the tear in his chest where the blade had sunk home. The material was damp, but the gash was gone. The bleeding had stopped. Bending at the waist, I rested my ear to his heart. For a moment, all I could hear was my own, erratic and frightened. Then I concentrated on the patter beneath my cheek and exhaled. I straightened, took hold of both his shoulders and shook him. I called his name, again and again, demanding he open his eyes and that he wasn’t leaving me there alone.

Someone touched my shoulder.
Adrenaline, reality and the lingering tang of bitter fury snapped like a vicious dog. I lashed out. My fist caught the intruder in the chest. I heard them crash backwards into a snowbank. I didn’t look back.

“Wake up,” I whispered.
I tapped Isaiah’s cheek and let my fingers drift along the rugged contour to the square slant of his jaw. “Come on! I swear I’ll put snow down your pants if you don’t.”

The chest beneath
my curled fists shuddered with a cough. Blue eyes opened and met mine.

“That’s not very nice.”
His voice was hoarse and weak.

Relief
sang through me.

“You’re okay.”
I touched his face, tracing the arch of his cheek with my thumb. “I was so worried.”

He half groaned, half gasped as he tried to push up. “
Yeah, me too.” He touched the tear in his clothes mere inches from his heart. “I don’t know what the rules are for getting my heart stabbed.”

I closed my fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t think about it. Come on.”

I raised my head, expecting any number of great horrors. I imagined finding Garrison at the head of his pack, watching us with that twisted gleam in his eyes. I imagined us being surrounded by his army, all blood thirsty for my demise. Except the reality was far from what I expected.

Highway 1 was gone, as was all that lay around it.
Bottomless chasms splintered like the claw marks of an enormous monster in all directions, devouring the trees, part of the camp and the cars closest to the fight. Only a ring of safety remained, a ring that protected me, Isaiah, Archer and the man in black. Garrison’s army was gone as well, possibly having run away when the tremors had started. I wasn’t optimistic enough to believe the ground had swallowed them up.

I did this.
I knew it with a certainty that scared me. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d caused an earthquake. I hadn’t known how I’d done it then either.

“Get up.” I heaved myself to my feet. “We have to…” My vision
blurred. The ground swayed beneath me. I staggered. Something caught me.

“Easy, Princess. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Woozy, I glanced down at the steady flow of my life leaving my body to paint the ground at my feet. The trail from where I’d been stabbed to where I lay now in Archer’s arms was a grotesque slash of red against white. The winding trail was gruesome and confirmed Archer’s statement about having lost more blood than was safe.

“Get Isaiah
…” I slurred as everything pulsed, growing dimmer with every second I struggled to remain conscious. “Get him to safety. Don’t … don’t let him die.”

The world closed to black.

There is nothing more disconcerting than opening your eyes and finding yourself somewhere you are not supposed to be. It’s even more frightening when there was a very real possibility you could be dead. And the longer I stood in the middle of that field, staring at the rumbling thunderclouds and a swelling ocean, the more I was certain that may have been the case.

I was on a small incline, overlooking
a low, stone wall that was the only thing separating me from plunging to death in churning waters. Even without walking to the edge, I knew the cliff was high. But what really confused me were the people.

The majority of them were children, so many children that I wondered if I was back at the park
across from the café. But no. There was a house at my back, a sprawling tower of stone and glass. Below it rolled a lush carpet of manicured lawn where a crowd of people lingered. No one was talking. They were barely moving. They sat staring into the distance, into the ocean as though waiting for something to happen.

In no way did this help my dead theory.

No one glanced in my direction as I passed amongst them, moving instinctively towards the white dome in the distance. Not even when I jostled a few.

It was the tickle of moist grass beneath my bare feet that had me glancing down and stilling.

I was wearing a dress, which wasn’t so unusual. I had worn dresses in the past. But it wasn’t a dress I’d ever owned. The white material was light and fell in many layers around the skirt. The sleeves were short with eyelet holes in an intricate pattern of flowers. The design matched the one spiraling along the hem and bodice. My hair was down, floating around my shoulders with the same breeze that ruffled through the trees and the auburn curls in the distance.

The girl stood beneath a gazebo, next to another figure. Their backs were turned to me, but I knew who she was and I suddenly knew where I was.

My heart jackknifed in my chest. My eyes swept over the house, over the lawns, searching for the monster’s face. But all I saw were children; sad, quiet children. The tempo of my heart escalated. I tasted paste in my throat. My hands shook. I wiped the sweat off on my skirt. Without looking, I started towards the girl with the red hair. Maybe she could explain to me why I was there, why I was back.

I collided with a figure. It was on the tip of my tongue to scream. But the man only stared down at me with cool gray eyes from beneath blond fringes. He wore a soldier’s uniform in black.

“I’m sorry.” I said, hurrying around him and sprinting the remaining distance to where the pair stood. “Amalie!”

The girl turned. The smile on her face extended to dance in her blue eyes. It was the joyous look of someone seeing a long lost friend after
many years.