Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4)) Page 10

  She takes a couple of mugs down from the cupboard and pours hot water into one, droppin’ a tea bag in it to steep. Pickin’ up a bottle of whiskey from the counter, she pours a generous amount into the other mug. She glances over her shoulder at me and her eyes catch mine. Keepin’ her features blank, she turns, bringin’ the mug of whiskey to me and settin’ it on the table. Then, she reaches out and touches a lock of my hair, brushin’ it back tenderly from my face.

  “You changed. Is that one of Reed’s sweaters?” I ask, my voice sounds rough. Her eyebrows soften as she touches my cheek, runnin’ her slender fingers over it. Her scent drifts to me and somethin’ flitters through my mind like a whisper, tormentin’ me with a stab of…yearnin’.

  I swallow hard against the unexpected tightening of my throat. “You wanna let me go here? ‘Cuz you’re totally startin’ to freak me out,” I say honestly, tryin’ to get my hands loose from the chains bindin’ them. “Don’t get me wrong, this is strangely excitin’ and under different circumstances I’d probably find it sorta hot…but right now, I gotta say, it’s really just shady.” I flex my arms again, tryin’ to pull my chest away from the chair, but my shoulders are bound to it.

  A cooin’ sound comes from the strange angel as she puts her finger to my lips, tracin’ them gracefully and makin’ me shiver. She bends down so that we are eye to eye before she says, “Ruse-el…” then she shifts to her Angelic language, speakin’ with a look of concern on her face. She lightly touches my chest where I’m still bleedin’ from Keefe’s bites. She pulls her fingers away, showin’ me the blood on their tips.

  “Yeah, I know I’m bleedin’,” I reply, lookin’ in her eyes again. “Let me go and I’ll call my friends—they’ll know what I need to do to stop it.”

  She frowns. Lookin’ down at the table, she picks up the mug, bringin’ it to my lips. “Whoa, wait! Hold up!” I sputter, movin’ my head and not lettin’ her make me drink it. She pulls the mug back, frownin’ at me.

  “That’s straight whiskey! I’m not gonna be able to stand up if I drink all that,” I explain quickly. She shoves it back in my face, puttin’ it to my lips again. Forcin’ some in my mouth, I spit it out at her, scowlin’. “I’m not drinkin’ that!” I retort between my teeth.

  Angrily, she puts the mug down on the table, wipin’ away the whiskey I’ve spit at her on the sleeve of her sweater. In a blur of angelic speed, she goes to the counter and back. Wieldin’ a very sharp knife in her hand, she lifts Red’s head by her hair, holdin’ the knife to her neck as she watches my reaction.

  I ‘bout lose my mind, goin’ wild and strainin’ against the chains. I feel ‘em cut into my wrists. When I exhaust myself, I sit pantin’, scowlin’ at her as I’m fantasizin’ ‘bout ways to kill her slowly.

  Easin’ the knife from Red’s neck, she puts it down on the table before pickin’ up the mug of whiskey again. She puts the cup gently to my lips, tippin’ it so I’ll take a sip. I refuse again, lettin’ it drip down my face as I glare into her eyes.

  She pulls the mug back from my lips. Lookin’ at the mug almost desperately, she puts it to her own lips, takin’ a huge swallow of it. Immediately, she coughs and sputters, her eyes waterin’ from the effects of the strong alcohol. After she recovers a little, she sets the mug on the table again. She picks up the knife, takin’ it back with her to the stove. She lays the knife on one of the burners, turnin’ on the gas. Flames leap up around the blade of the knife. She doesn’t look at me at all while the knife heats on the stove; she hangs her head, like she’s in pain.

  In a few minutes, she lifts the glowing-hot knife from the stove. My nostrils flare in fear. “Ah, c’mon…what are you doin’ now?” I ask in a strained voice.

  She squares her shoulders, steppin’ towards me.

  “You don’t need to do this…why are you doin’ this?” I ask her, seein’ the knife’s dull-orange cast. I strain hard against the chains and struggle as if I’m down in the basement of the evil church again. Drool and sweat course down my chin in equal measure.

  She walks behind me. Then, the beautiful siren with green eyes presses the hot knife to my back, causin’ my muscles to contract. I close my eyes, shoutin’ in pain. Pantin’ and tryin’ not to pass out, I feel her pull it from my back as the scent of burnin’ skin enters my nostrils. It takes me right back to the altar of the evil church and Valentine’s torture. Grittin’ my teeth, I shout, “YOU’RE DEAD! I’M GONNA KILL YOU! YOU’RE GONNA WISH YOU NEVER MET ME!”

  She lays the blade on my back again in a different spot. Searin’ pain erupts, causin’ me to arch my back and I cry out again. She leaves me to reheat the knife and she doesn’t make eye contact with me as she comes back, repeatin’ the process over and over again. When she moves on to my chest, I lash out at her, tryin’ to knock her away from me with my head, but now I’m so weak I can hardly hold my head up.

  She catches my head, wrappin’ her arm around it and pullin’ it to the side of hers. She holds my cheek to her cheek, whisperin’ raspy words that don’t sound very musical now. As I strain against her, she refuses to let me go, holdin’ me in place for several minutes. When I don't move, she lets me go. She walks back to the stove and begins heatin’ the knife again. My chin rests on my chest, waitin’ to fight until she comes back.

  She’s back without me hearin’ her, but she doesn’t have the knife, she lays a cold cloth on my back rubbin’ it over the burns. I cringe at first, until she just leaves it there, steppin’ back and lettin’ the coolness of it ease some of the pain.

  I open my eyes, seein’ her approachin’ me. She kneels beside me, puttin’ her hand on my chest to keep me from movin’ forward. She lifts her knife, I watch her place it on a bleedin’ bite mark, searin’ it. As she does, her teeth clench, makin’ her delicate jaw strain. Her dark, arcin’ eyebrows draw together while she angles her head away, like she’s forcin’ herself to watch my skin sizzle. Her nostrils flare when the smell of my flesh rises up, lookin’ like it’s chokin’ her.

  “You’re tryin’ to help me,” I croak, feelin’ like I’m gonna puke at any second. She touches me again, placin’ her hand on my cheek. As she continues to scald the bites, my body trembles and begins to become numb. But, when she moves on to my neck, I strain against the chains again, while groanin’ and tryin’ to pull away from her.

  At last, she steps away from me. My head slumps weakly on my chest while I watch her walk to the counter. Placin’ both her hands on it, she hangs her head. Then takin’ out a soft cloth from a drawer, she submerges it in the teacup she had made earlier. She wrings it out a little as she goes to the freezer. Pullin’ out some ice, she wraps the cubes in the tea cloth and walks back to me, holdin’ the cloth to my neck where she had burned me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, feelin’ dizzy and sick.

  Silence meets my question as she continues to soothe the burns. Steppin’ in front of me, she kneels so that our faces are on the same level. She wipes my face, her fingers movin’ to my hair and tuckin’ it back behind my ear. “Your name, what is it?” I ask again, tryin’ to make eye contact with her. She pauses, before sayin’ somethin’ in Angel.

  “I’m Russell. What’s your name?” I repeat.

  “Ruse-el,” she says, givin’ me a grim smile.

  “Yeah, that’s me…Ruse-el,” I agree, mimickin’ her pronunciation of my name. “What do I call you?” I ask, pointin’ my chin at her.

  Her face changes then as her eyes scan mine. She looks so sad. Holdin’ both her hands to her chest, she whispers, “Anya.”

  “Anna?” I ask, and she shakes her head, tears fillin’ her eyes.

  Clearin’ her throat and lookin’ away, she says, “An-ya.”

  “An-ya?” I repeat to her and she nods, not lookin’ at me. Gettin’ up off her knees, she walks behind me. My chains rattle and loosen before they drop from my wrists.

  Quickly, Anya moves away from me, back to the counter of the kitchen. She picks up the knife again, holdin’
it in front of her like she’s protectin’ herself from me. With my hands free, I wrestle the rest of the chain off of me that had bound me to the chair. Leanin’ forward, I rub my wrists, tryin’ to get the circulation back in them.

  “You missed a spot,” I say grimly, holdin’ up my wrist to show Anya the bite from Eion on my arm.

  She closes her eyes briefly, seein’ the blood oozin’ from my flesh. Turnin’, she puts the knife back on the burner.

  When the knife is hot again, she picks it up off the stove. Slowly, she comes towards me, watchin’ my face. I lean forward, layin’ my wrist on the table calmly. Seein’ the mug of whiskey sittin’ next to it, I pick it up with the other hand and drain the mug in a couple of swallows. The burnin’ of the liquor makes my eyes tear a little. Anya stands next to me, tryin’ to hand me the hilt of the knife so that I can take care of this one myself.

  I shake my head. “Ah c’mon, you’re not gonna stop now, are you? You already burned the tar outta me. You might as well finish the job,” I say, givin’ her an ironic smile. She hesitates, but then she leans over my arm. Her hand shakes when she presses the knife to my wrist, burning away all the traces of Gancanagh from me. My fist flexes as I close my eyes, tryin’ not to move my wrist at all. In a few moments, it’s over. Anya pulls the knife from me, throwin’ it hard; it sticks in the far wall.

  “Thank you, Anya,” I say grimly, openin’ my eyes.

  She sinks to her knees in front of me, restin’ her head on my legs. Hearin’ a sob comin’ from her, her body shakes as tears drip off her cheeks. In confusion, I rest my hand on her head, slowly strokin’ her hair as she continues to weep like her best friend died or somethin’.

  “Shh,” I murmur, tryin’ to soothe her. “It’s all right. Now, we have to take care of my girl, Evie,” I say, lookin’ over at Evie. She’s still unconscious, bound to her chair.

  Anya lifts her head slowly from my lap, her eyes narrowin’ as she wipes the back of her hands over her face to dry her tears. “NO EV-IE,” she seethes between her teeth.

  “What?” I ask, confused by the anger I see in her eyes.

  “NO E-VEE,” she repeats, gesturin’ to Evie again. Then, she breaks into Angel again, and she really looks like she’s tellin’ me off.

  Holdin’ my hands out, I say, “Okay, okay—what the—why are you freakin’ out at me?”

  Takin’ off her sweater, she tosses it away, leavin’ just an oversized t-shirt that has to be Reed’s, too. Pullin’ down the crewneck of the shirt, she exposes a tattoo above her heart. It’s the image of deep red Seraphim wings emboldened on her delicate skin—a binding mark. Pointin’ at the mark, she leans forward, lettin’ me see it up close. Then, she reaches out, strokin’ the feathers of my wing. My eyes follow her hand, seein’ the crimson of my feathers.

  “Ruse-el ANYA aspire...NO E-VEE,” she sneers. Pointin’ at Evie, she says, “Ruse-el soul mate.” Then, pickin’ up my hand and placin’ it on her heart, she says, “Ruse-el aspire.”

  I pull my hand back from her, feelin’ like she burned me again. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout, Anya? I don’t even know you! I’ve never seen you before in my life!” Lookin’ around in confusion, I stare at my chest, seein’ nothin’ branded to it—no binding mark, like the one Anya is sportin’. “I think you have the wrong guy, ‘cuz I’m not wearin’ a ring,” I explain, pointin’ to my chest.

  She frowns, bitin’ her bottom lip. Shakin’ her head, she says adamantly, “Ruse-el aspire.”

  “I don’t know you,” I reply, feelin’ irritated and sick. My head is poundin’ and all I want to do is lie on the kitchen floor, but I can’t ‘cuz Red still needs my help. Standin’ up, I almost fall back down. I grasp the table in front of me for support, lettin’ the dizziness pass. I straighten, walkin’ to the far wall. Pullin’ the knife out of it, I take it to the sink and clean it off. Then, I set it on the burner, heatin’ it up to use on Red.

  Grimly, I walk back to Evie, brushin’ her hair back from her face. “Red? Can you hear me?” I ask. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anya walkin’ to the door of the kitchen. She doesn’t look at me, but just leaves with her shoulders hunched and her arms huggin’ her body. Somethin’ in my heart twists, like it’s breakin’ inside of me.

  “Anya, wait!” I call to her, but she doesn’t come back. In seconds, the flutterin’ feelin’ of crickets in my stomach is gone, makin’ me feel worse than I did before.

  “Evie,” I nudge her gently, before cuppin’ her cheeks and tryin’ to get her to wake up. She groans, not openin’ her eyes. “Evie, I’m gonna take care of your bites now. Maybe it’s better that you’re not awake for this.” I fetch the knife off the stove. Spottin’ the whiskey bottle on the counter, I pick it up, takin’ a huge sip of it and wipin’ my mouth on the back of my hand.

  Seein’ the blood seepin’ from her thigh, I start there, pressin’ the knife to her wound. Evie’s eyes flare open as a hoarse scream tears from her lips. Lookin’ at me with a wild expression, Red yells, “RUSSELL! YOU TOTAL A-HOLE! STOP!” I pull the knife back, smellin’ her burnin’ skin.

  “I’d love to stop, Red,” I mutter wearily, watchin’ her body recoil from me. “I promise I’ll stop when you do.”

  “Ah crap, Russell!” she says, pantin’ from the pain. “I hate this part! God, I hate this part!”

  “Is this how they did it last time? When you were bitten by Brennus?” I ask, takin’ another swig of whiskey.

  She nods, eyein’ the whiskey bottle in my hand. “Here, give me some of that,” she whispers, pointin’ her chin at the bottle. Carefully, I place the bottle to her lips, givin’ her a generous taste of it.

  Coughin’ and sputterin’ she manages to catch her breath before she nods at me. “Okay, how many more bites do I have?” she asks me grimly.

  “You got two on your neck that I can see,” I assess, lookin’ her over. “That might be it.”

  “Okay,” she says with a stoic expression. “I’m ready.”

  “You sure?” I ask, feelin’ awed by her.

  She nods and she closes her eyes right before I put the knife to one of her wounds. Pantin’ and grittin’ her teeth, she unleashes a torrent of bad words on me, the likes of which would rival anythin’ I’ve ever heard in the locker room. Despite everythin’, I crack a smile.

  Openin’ her eyes and seein’ me smilin’, she scowls at me. “Having fun?” she asks.

  “Yeah, this is truly awesome,” I reply with sarcasm. “Maybe we can build a summer house here. Let’s come back in the spring, when it’s warmer.” Holdin’ the whiskey to her lips again, I say, “One more, then it’s over.”

  “Do it,” she replies in a raspy voice.

  I burn the last one, seein’ her bite her lip so that she won’t scream again.

  “Overachiever,” I mutter under my breath, pullin’ the knife back from her and gettin’ up. Findin’ a key on the table, I unlock her chains, releasin’ her from the chair. Catchin’ her quickly before she topples to the floor, I pick her up in my arms, walkin’ to the front room.

  I lay her on the elegant sofa and locate a blanket on the arm of the chair, puttin’ it on her gently. Sittin’ on the other sofa, I rest my head on the arm of it. “Russell?” Evie asks weakly.

  “Yeah?” I ask, closin’ my eyes.

  “What happened to that angel?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I reply in exhaustion. “She…I don’t know.”

  “I thought she was going to kill me,” Red says, her voice soft.

  “Me, too,” I reply.

  “Throne—black wings…she was a Throne…karma,” Red murmurs, trailin’ off.

  “She karmaed me, all right. She burned the snot outta me,” I say softly.

  “She fixed you?” Evie asks sleepily.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess…” I say in confusion.

  “Why?” Evie asks.

  “I don’t know,” I reply, feelin’ somethin’ in my heart contract painfully. I open my eyes again,
lookin’ at Red.

  “She just left…after she fixed you?” Evie asks, turnin’ toward me

  “I think—I think I hurt her,” I say in a low tone.

  “How? Do you think she’ll come back?” Red asks nervously, lookin’ toward the door.

  “I don’t know,” I reply wearily, lettin’ my eyes close again.

  “But—” Red starts to say, ready to pick the scab off this one.

  “Shhh,” I hiss with irritation in my tone. “My head’s poundin’. Can you be quiet for a second? I feel like I just got roasted on a spit at a family reunion. I need a second, okay?”

  “Okay,” she agrees, ignorin’ my tone.

  Feelin’ like I’m floatin’ on an ocean, my body just gives out on me and I fall asleep with my arm over my eyes.

  A while later, stranglin’ pressure on my neck makes my eyes pop open as Reed lifts me off the sofa. He holds me off the ground with one arm. My hands go immediately to his, tryin’ to pry his hand from my throat.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Russell, and don’t say it’s because Evie will be mad because that no longer matters to me,” Reed hisses in a deadly calm voice.

  CHAPTER 8

  You’re What?

  I’m pretty sure Reed doesn’t want me to answer him, ‘cuz the pressure on my neck increases and there’s no way I can speak. With my feet danglin’ off the ground, a chokin’ sound comes from me. But, a second later, somethin’ crashes into the room, hittin’ Reed like a defensive end blindsidin’ a quarterback.

  I tumble to the ground, which is good for me, ‘cuz it allows me to take a gaspin’ breath. The blur of angels locked together in a fierce fight flashes in front of me. Furniture topples over and splinters as their wings crash into everythin’ around them.