by Rose Wulf
This crappy situation can only get worse. She needed to know how to react when it inevitably did, because there was no doubt in her mind that they’d turn on Angela—and her—as soon as they had what they wanted. So she pulled in a slow, deep breath and dared to open her eyes just enough to see what might be directly in front of her. She saw open space, and a kneeling figure across the room from her. More open space in the peripheral to her right, and when she looked left she glimpsed a hardened, mostly gray-haired man in a wheelchair. He wasn’t paying any attention to her at all. The hand she could see was fisted on the armrest of his chair, and his jaw was tight.
She opened her eyes all the way, blinked to adjust to the daylight still streaming in through a window on the other side of the father, and slowly swept her gaze around the room. It definitely looked like a living room of some kind. A large one. Angela was kneeling on a throw rug that extended from beneath the sofa, her hands hovering over a body that was surrounded—and, thankfully, obscured—by a golden glow. There was an unoccupied loveseat to the side, roughly between Angela and the man in the wheelchair. The exit to the living room appeared to be an open archway to the right, undoubtedly where Eric had gone, and there was a nice coffee table that had been shoved to the side. Not too far from Arianna’s chair, actually.
A flicker of disappointment drew a frown to her lips. She’d really been hoping to see something she could use as a weapon, but unless she could kick the coffee table at someone, there was nothing.
“I don’t suppose you guys have a cushion or something I could sit on?” Angela asked, frustrated, as she shifted her weight.
The father’s fist clenched somehow tighter above the armrest of his chair and he snapped, “I don’t suppose we do.”
This was no good. If they kept playing along, they were both going to end up dead. So think of something, Arianna. No situation was completely inescapable, right? She just needed to look at it from a different angle. No weapons … but no weapons didn’t mean no resources. The discarded coffee table was practically underneath her dangling foot. It might be a good launching point if she needed one. Her stare returned to Eric’s father, lingering this time. He was absolutely focused in on Angela. He’d clearly already disregarded Arianna. She might as well not be there.
A thought struck her and she nearly winced with the guilt of it. She had an idea—a poor one—and it required discarding a large portion of her common decency. But they didn’t have much choice. It was only getting later by the second and they had more of a chance of escape in the daylight. Not to mention Eric would be returning at any second and her chances of breaking them free would drop significantly. I really have to do it. It’s self-defense, right? Even if it wasn’t, though, she was running out of time to think up a plan B. There was a sharp whistling echoing down the hall now, indicating that the water for the tea was done heating.
It was now or never.
Chapter Nineteen
“You’re a real saint, Victor,” Angela grumbled, sarcasm dripping like venom from her words.
“You’re just lucky you’re still useful,” the older man—whose name, apparently, was Victor—snarled in response.
Arianna pulled in a breath and slowly eased her leg off of the arm of the plywood chair she’d been deposited onto. She kept her eyes on Victor’s profile, watching for the slightest sign that he’d noticed her movement. There was none. Exhaling with steadying control, Arianna braced her hand on the arm of the chair, prayed it wouldn’t creak, and pushed herself up just enough to get her feet on the floor. She froze then, and held her breath as she watched him. He still seemed oblivious to her existence.
This is beyond stupid.
She knew that much. But she was also aware this was the only chance they were likely to get. The whistling of the kettle in the kitchen had ceased and she had no idea if Eric intended to let the tea steep or not. They needed to move. She needed to move. So she begged her body to ignore the soreness of her muscles, mentally crossed her fingers, and threw herself into motion.
Arianna lunged, as silently as possible, at Victor Matthews, grabbed hold of the handles on his wheelchair, and swung him as hard as she dared into the empty loveseat. She told herself not to feel bad as she sent him flying forward, ignored his startled, angry outcry, and spun toward Angela. “Let’s go!” she commanded, reaching for the wide-eyed, equally startled girl.
Angela gathered herself quickly and the glow around Jacob vanished as she shoved to her feet. “Ari-!”
“Later,” Arianna insisted, clasping Angela’s forearm in her hand and making a break for the entryway. Eric had undoubtedly heard Victor’s outcry. And she wouldn’t feel even an ounce of guilt for breaking his nose when she got the opportunity.
“Father!” Eric cried, as if on cue, as he came running down the hall. He came to a stop, eyes widening for an instant before narrowing with rage, when he saw them running from the living room. “Fools!”
Ignoring him, Arianna jerked Angela sharply around the corner, keeping herself between Angela and Eric. As much as she would hate to take another shot, she understood that electricity was far deadlier for Angela. She wasn’t about to let the younger woman get hurt. “Run!” she demanded.
Angela didn’t require further instruction, seeming to finally catch her balance and breaking into a run. She took the lead easily, and Arianna kept right behind her. At least, that was her intention.
Eric’s hand latched around her elbow, his touch burning, and Arianna let him spin her around as she brought her fist up. She was not getting electrocuted a third time. Something crunched beneath her fist, echoing in the air, and she knew she was far too happy about it. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she spat as she stepped back.
Eric released her on reflex, clutching at his already-bleeding face. Hatred flared behind his eyes and Arianna actually saw sparks flashing in the brown. “You’ll pay for that!” he threatened. Though, with his hand in the way and the agony in his suddenly-nasally voice, the words were barely discernible and hardly intimidating.
She didn’t bother to fire back a pointless threat or demeaning jibe, though. Instead she turned, out of his reach now, and started down the hall again. She got five feet before a horizontal lightning bolt shot past her, barely missing her side, and collided with the outer wall. The lightning ignited the heavy, drawn curtains over the window and Arianna was forced to throw herself backwards to avoid the rush of flame.
Ahead of her, mere inches from the inner garage door, Angela stopped and turned back around. “Arianna!” she called, fear in her voice.
Arianna opened her mouth to assure Angela she was all right, but before a sound could escape another bolt of lightning slammed into the opposite wall, only inches from the floor. She stumbled backward again to avoid the resulting blast, and watched in horror as the two rapidly-increasing fires raced together, forming a veritable wall between Arianna and Angela. She wasn’t going to be able to cross that flame, and she knew just as well that Angela needed to get out before she got trapped, too.
“Arianna!” Angela’s terrified voice called from the other side of the fire.
Swallowing the instantaneous lump in her throat, Arianna shouted, “Go! Get out!”
“What? I can’t—!”
“Go!” Arianna interrupted. Behind her, Eric started laughing. The sound came out as something between a cackle and a gurgle, but she heard the arrogant tone of victory somewhere in the middle. And, in the back of her mind, she knew he had every right to feel that way. He’d trapped her. The only exit she knew how to get to was on the other side of an uncontrolled, hungry blaze. She was sure Eric would gather his family and make for a different exit, and she would be left with two options—go with the enemy to survive the fire, or throw herself out a window and hope she didn’t seriously regret it.
Dean … where are you?
****
Emma’s house. The sons of bitches had taken Angela—and presumably Arianna—to Emma’s old house. It was
so damned obvious it was stupid. But at least it was close. That was about the only comfort Dean could take from the situation as he swung around another car that was driving too slow for him. He was definitely going to hear about one of these traffic violations in a day or two, but it hardly mattered. He was only two streets away from his goal now and it was time to decide whether he was driving right up to the door or parking down the road.
When Nick had finally managed to trace Angela’s GPS, Dean had been so instantaneously furious he’d barely managed a civil response. He couldn’t possibly have articulated the information to another, so he’d texted it to Logan, who had assured him he’d pass it along. Dean could only assume that meant he’d have a little backup for the confrontation ahead, but, in all honesty, he didn’t care if he was wrong. He’d burn the building to the ground if he had to.
Angela’s ringtone suddenly filled the car, coming in through the speakers and startling Dean out of his darkening thoughts. It took him a full five seconds to gather himself enough to jab the connect button on the display. “Angie?” If Angela’s wasn’t the next voice he heard—or Arianna’s, he would be okay with that—he was going to burn his own car down.
“Dean!” It was Angela, but she sounded like she was crying—sobbing, even—and that countered a lot of the relief he felt at hearing his sister’s voice. She didn’t wait for a response, either, before sucking in a breath and blurting, “Eric blackmailed me to meet him at Emma’s and heal Jacob’s burns. He kidnapped Hilary, I had no choice, I swear. Ari came with me—she was there when he called—and she got me out, Hilary, too, but Eric caught the hallway on fire and she was trapped on the other side! She’s still in the house, stuck with them, I don’t know what to do! And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Dean…”
He wasn’t even sure he’d heard her correctly as she rambled on through her tears. But he’d heard enough. He swallowed a confused lump of relief and terror and managed, “Where are you now?”
“I didn’t know where to go, so … I’m heading home,” she replied. “But I can turn around if—!”
“No,” he interrupted. “Go home. We’ve been looking for you, anyway. You have Hilary?”
“I do…”
“Good,” he said as he turned—going a little too fast—onto the appropriate street. Emma’s house was still a few blocks down, but he could see the smoke. He wasn’t going to have long before the fire department arrived. “I’m gonna get Ari out. Don’t worry about her.” He paused, pulling the car to the curb several houses back from his destination, and added, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. Call or text Logan to let him know you’re clear, okay?”
Angela sniffled audibly and said, “Okay.”
Dean disconnected and jumped from the car, knowing he was working on borrowed time in more ways than one. Now that he was focused, he could tell the fire in the house was steadily eating up the building. And he remembered Emma had preferred the natural look of real wood, which meant there was a lot of burnable material just waiting to feed the flame. His heart stumbled in his chest and he broke into a run. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. If they did, they’d just assume he’d spotted the fire while he was driving by. Hell, maybe if they saw him they’d refrain from reporting the fire, assuming he’d already done it.
Arianna’s in there. Again.
She was trapped inside a burning building, because of his enemy, again. He wasn’t sure his heart could take this kind of stress. He didn’t ever want to see her hurt like that again. Focus, dammit! He had to get inside, which wouldn’t be an issue, and find her. If he had to severely injure someone along the way, then so be it.
The garage door was open, revealing what had once been Emma’s Bentley and giving the thick, black smoke an easy escape route. Dean could see the orange-red flames licking at the inner entryway as the fire edged toward the garage. Arianna was somewhere on the other side of those flames, so he picked up his speed and didn’t give a thought to running right through the fire. He pulled in a smoke-laden breath as he passed through, taking a second to assure himself that nothing human-shaped was currently within the grasp of the fire. When he found nothing, he let the breath rush from his lungs and stepped out of the flame. As dangerous as the fire was, a part of him was grateful for it. The presence of the blaze would insulate him from the electricity of the lightning he was surely about to be dodging.
All right, where would they be? More importantly, was Arianna with them or had she at least taken refuge in a different part of the house? There was only one way to find out, so he broke into a jog as he started down the hall. The smoke was heavy in the air, but it didn’t slow him down as he passed one empty room after another. The living room was up ahead, to the right, and the kitchen was just beyond that, curving slightly left. He could see the kitchen already and from his angle it looked empty. The hall opened to the left one more time, leading to the front door, and Dean paused when he noticed that door was open. It had been shut when he’d run into the garage. So they’re making their escape. I better make this quick.
He turned to the living room then, honestly expecting to find it empty. Instead he found two occupants, Victor and Arianna. Victor was near the center of the room, angled more to face Arianna than the entry, but his stare immediately snapped to Dean. He was completely alert and, to his credit, he wasn’t showing any signs of smoke irritation. But Dean didn’t care. What mattered to him was Arianna. She was propped against the wall in the corner beside the archway, barely conscious and breathing shallowly. Her head was turned, facing him, but recognition was only slowly dawning in her hooded gaze.
Fury roared to life in his veins. The fire flared and something shattered upstairs.
“If you’ve come to save her,” Victor began snidely, “now’s your chance.” The smirk lifting one corner of his lips betrayed his confidence. He considered this victory his. And to be sure Dean knew it, he lifted one hand, curled and palm up, and let sparks shoot between his fingertips. “Or you could linger,” he offered.
Dean barely felt the electricity from the man’s hand. Between the rage and the flame he could barely feel anything at all. Still, he clenched his fists and turned toward Arianna as he snapped, “Oh, we won’t be lingering.” But he would be burning the house down behind him as he left. There wouldn’t be anything that remained more tangible than the foundation and a memory.
He took two steps, bringing him almost to her side, and a bolt of purple lightning shot between his leg and her shoulder. It crashed into the wall, shaking her and sparking another fire.
For an instant, though, as Dean had registered the impending strike of the lightning, he’d sworn it was on a collision course with Arianna. In her condition there was no way she’d survive it. He reacted on instinct.
The fire still devouring the hall suddenly came to life and a stream tore off, swinging around and through the archway. It was joined by the redirected spark Victor’s lightning had generated and shot straight at the older man. A simultaneous wall of flame erupted directly behind the wheelchair, effectively trapping him. The room flared, bright as day, when the separate fires collided and became one. The crackling roar of the flame overpowering any outcry that might have escaped the victim caught in between.
Dean ignored it all, his heart lodged painfully in his throat as he fell to his knees beside Arianna. “Ari,” he breathed, reaching out and brushing some sweat-slickened hair from her cheek.
She moaned some kind of acknowledgement, attempted to open her eyes properly, and collapsed into his outstretched arms.
No!
“Dean!” The hollering voice took too many seconds to penetrate the haze in Dean’s mind, but when he finally registered it, he looked up, searching for the source. “Dean!” Nate. The voice was Nate’s.
Dean pulled Arianna into his arms and straightened, trying to figure out where Nate’s voice was coming from. “Nate!” he shouted back, hoping his brother would hear him.
“Over here!” N
ate hollered as the smoke pushing at the ceiling suddenly shifted and began pulling in the general direction of the front of the house.
Dean averted course, cradled Arianna close to his chest, and ran back into the fire. It was easy enough to keep the flames from touching her, and he pulled the fire out of the front hall simultaneously. When he finally stepped through to the other side he found Nate, as well as Logan, just on the inside of the entryway.
“Dean!” Nate exclaimed. He paused barely a second before his gaze fell to Arianna and he cursed. “Is she okay?”
“Fly her home,” Dean replied brusquely. “You can get there fastest. Please.”
Nate studied him for a heartbeat before nodding. “You got it,” he promised as they transferred her unconscious body into his arms. Logan moved out of the way as Nate spun and darted for the exit. Fortunately, the smoke was so dark and thick that it was easy enough for Nate to use it as a wall to hide behind until he was high enough.
Dean released a heavy breath as he lost sight of them in the smoke.
“Is anyone else inside?” Logan asked, jerking Dean’s attention back to reality.
Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, Dean replied, “Victor—or whatever’s left of him—is in the living room. Don’t know about the other two. Don’t particularly care.”
Logan frowned, lips forming a thin line. After several seconds he said, “I saw the Bentley pulling out when I got here. And we should get out, too. Fire trucks are almost here.”
Dean nodded, took a single step forward, and said, “You go ahead of me. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Dean,” Logan said, cautious warning in his voice. He reached out, settling a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and added, “Let’s go home. No one else is missing. You did what you needed to.”
A beam cracked overhead, just down the hall, and something about the sound echoed Logan’s words. Dean released a breath and nodded again. “Yeah, all right, fine.” He silently instructed the fire to keep to the property, knowing he’d feel like crap if someone else’s home got dragged into the blaze, and followed Logan out the door.
