by P. Jameson
Walking forward, I swung the cane in my hand and whistled my warning. The one that made people shiver in fear.
My father taught me the whistle. Taught me to use it to intimidate. Often times, it was the last sound an enemy heard. This was the last time I’d use it.
I stood over Bastian watching while he struggled. I couldn’t get air into my lungs. Just hot smoke that made my chest feel raw.
“Please…” he tried again.
“You would have killed them. Whether we took them or not, you would’ve killed them eventually.”
“Worthless…” Bastian choked. “They’re worthless.”
“You tortured Nyla. Sold Janet and Skye. Like goods.”
“Just… business.”
I shook my head. “No. Not business. A mistake. The biggest fucking mistake of your life.”
Bastian’s eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck do you care?”
Squatting beside him, I looked into his red-rimmed eyes. “You are a danger to my mate.” The sound of my voice surprised me. The snarl to it… was familiar. “You are a danger to my clan. My people.” I stood, towering over him once again. “So you must die.”
I pulled the cane back and swung it forward, watching with satisfaction as the heavy skull top smashed Bastian’s kneecap. His scream split the air, louder than the roar of the flames. And I didn’t stop there. Another hit crippled his other leg and for good measure I kept at it until both knees were busted up beyond hope.
Breathing heavily, I dropped the cane and stumbled backward.
Why I didn’t just kill him outright, I didn’t know. Maybe it was because of the beast that fell in love with Skye. Maybe it was because the beast I’d once been wanted to see him suffer. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t kill Bastian, but I would damn well make it impossible for him to walk out of here.
Coughing, I went to my knees, soaking in the sound of his cries. Broken. He was broken. The way he had broken others. The way I was broken as a child.
Justice was done. The clan was safe. It was over.
I fell to my back as the flames encroached on us. There was no way out. Beams of burning wood fell from the ceiling. The place was so hot, I felt like I was boiling.
Staring at the fire above me and the black smoke dancing overhead, I felt something I had never experienced.
Peace.
The closest I’d ever come to it was watching Skye sleep. She was so beautiful.
I laughed, delirious, as Bastian finally went silent.
I couldn’t get out even if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to.
Oh, I wished I could have spent a lifetime protecting my female. I would have made it my mission to see her safe. Now, I had to believe my clan would do it in my absence.
They were good. Most of them.
They’d care for her. Skittles and Ratchet and Monster would see to it. Yeah.
I thought about my brother and the chain of events that led me to this moment. Betrayal. He had betrayed me. But if he never had… I’d have never met Skye. Never found my heart. Learned who I really was. Who I could be without my father’s voice in my head.
Betrayal. Sometimes it was a fucking blessing, wasn’t it.
I closed my eyes, wanting to see her face instead of the red flames. Golden hair, so soft it almost hurt to touch. Blue eyes that searched me out time and time again. Full lips I never got to taste. Round cheeks. Lush cheeks. I remembered the feel of her skin when I’d touched them. Indescribable.
Mine.
For a few more moments she was mine. Until I was finished, she was mine. And I was going to love her until my last fucking breath.
I held the vision of my sweet Skye as I felt my clothes catch fire. Felt my skin begin to sizzle. Felt the pain of the fire on my insides where I never expected it. Didn’t people burn from the outside in?
Don’t think about it. Think about her.
Her, her, her.
She was safe. It was all that mattered. My life wasn’t worth shit if I couldn’t lose it saving her. Giving the world her. Because she was a gift. Betrayal, even mine… was a gift.
Burning, burning. So much heat. So much pain.
Skye behind my eyelids, the red-hot blaze moving up my body. The scalding in my middle. It was a perfect storm of torment and pleasure.
Goodbye, horrid past. Goodbye, my brothers.
A final growl rumbled from my chest.
Goodbye, mine. “Be hap… py.”
The last thing I felt was the inferno consuming me.
The last thing I saw was the image of my mate’s face morphing into a soft smile.
The last thing I heard was a ferocious roar.
And then I was gone.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Day One Hundred and Two…
Skittles sat beside his mate in the lounge, looking on as the others gathered, filling up the seats at the tables. There wouldn’t be a funeral for Felix. The Alley Cats had a rule: no body, no burial. But Mama Kitty and Skye had cooked up quite a spread in Felix’s honor. Prime rib and spiral hams and even a fucking turkey.
No one was going hungry tonight.
Watching Skye as she carried trays of food from the kitchen to the tables, it was clear that the female was upset. She was normally reserved and quiet. Now she scowled and snapped at anyone who got in her way. She’d taken up residence in Felix’s room and wouldn’t let any of them remove his things.
Skittles hadn’t been in any hurry to clean it out. He hadn’t been totally convinced that the man was gone. But a week had passed and there was no sign of Felix. If he lived through the blaze, he would have shown his face. Especially because it would mean he was a Firecat. It would mean he needed his mate. It would mean the worst of them had broken the Ouachita curse.
Impossible.
He knew it was a long shot, but what Felix did was a sacrifice. In his own twisted way, he’d chosen the clan first. His mate first. He’d chosen right.
But it wasn’t enough this time.
Skittles tipped a beer bottle to his lips and gulped, using the liquid to swallow down the lump in his throat. No one could know it was there. No one could know how Felix being gone made him feel like a sliver of him was missing.
No one except Nyla.
She reached over, tangling her fingers in his and squeezed. She knew everything. Because they were one now. And if not for that, maybe he would have gone crazy over the past seven days. They were solid, and it made things a fuck-ton easier with her at his side.
The chatter was a low rumble in the room but everything went quiet when Fang spoke up.
“Anyone remember that time he made Weaver eat a whole jar of ghost peppers just to see if he could do it without shifting?”
The reminder drew laughter from the group. They had mocked Weaver to within an inch of his life over that. Crazyass.
“Sadistic fucker,” Weaver muttered, shaking his head. “I shit flames for a week.”
Fang raised an eyebrow. “Gives the term Firecat a whole new meaning, doesn’t it.”
More hard laughter. It was good. They needed this.
Fang tossed Skittles a grin. “How does that work anyway? If you have to shit while your burning? Does it melt or does it come out as a flaming—”
Mama Kitty cleared her throat loudly. “Fang, you mannerless beast. None of that at the dinner table,” she reprimanded, drawing some snickers from the other males.
“Sorry, Mama,” he murmured, but his mischievous grin didn’t match his words. “Am I supposed to have manners now?”
“Yes.”
He pulled a chunk of ham away from the bone with his bare hands and popped it in his mouth. “Whoops.”
She shook her head, trying to hide the affection in her eyes. But Skittles could see it. She loved Fang like she loved them all.
He’d be leaving soon. Ratchet, who had taken over command of the clan, was sending him to track down the Lost Daughters so they could receive the inheritance Nyla had set aside for them.
>
It was a good move. It was time they began making amends for the Fathers’ wrongs. For their own wrongs. Finding their sisters and providing for them was a start.
As dinner winded down, people started toasting to Felix and his shitty life. As far as memorials go, this one was Alley Cat special.
To Felix, and his goddamn creepy whistle.
To that asshole Felix, and his ability to leave the biggest scars in our skin.
To Felix, may he rest in peace… sorta… nah, not in peace. May he rest in a land of a thousand females who will make him absolutely fucking miserable.
“Cheers!”
When the crowd went quiet, Skye stood, raising her glass. For a moment she didn’t say a word. She only looked around at the others, as if demanding their attention before she continued.
“To Felix Kennedy,” she began, her voice trembling with too much emotion.
She would have to buckle it down. She couldn’t give this much away. Many in the clan were still cracked, and they would pounce on her vulnerability. Skittles would teach her. He’d promised Felix he would look after her.
She cleared her throat. “To Felix Kennedy. The man who chose to die so that the world could be free of the scum known as Bastian Marx. To the man who chose clan over self, maybe for the very first time in his entire shamble of a life. May he be remembered for his single good moment, and not… not for the multitude of bad ones.”
“Hear, hear,” Nyla murmured, raising her glass to join Skye.
One by one the other Dolls did the same, and then the clan followed until every glass was raised. Because when it was all said and done, they each hoped for their very own redemption.
Ratchet nodded slowly. “To Felix.”
“To Felix,” they answered as one.
And then they drank to the man who would haunt them even in his death. Not for what he’d done to them while he was alive, but for what he’d done for them in his end.
***
Nyla sat on the blanket Skittles had spread out on the warehouse roof. It was pitch black up here, but the cool breeze ruffling her hair and the faint humming background of the city was oddly inspiring.
Dreamer. She was a dreamer now.
Even with all the hard things the clan had been through in the past week, there was no doubt that Bastian’s exit had left them all feeling freer.
“What are you drawing, mate?”
She was cradled between Skittles’s legs, using his chest to support the sketchbook he’d gifted her. His shirtless chest. His magnificent muscular chest that held a rainbow of colors.
Mmmm.
“The sky,” she murmured, tracing over her sketch with a darker charcoal. “Artists don’t appreciate the night sky enough, in my opinion. Sunrises and sunsets get all the love. But there’s just something about the darkness. You know?”
His fingers swept a curl from her forehead. “Oh, I know.”
She found his gaze and smiled. “It’s like that poem in your book. If it wasn’t for the darkness, the stars couldn’t shine.”
“It’s true.”
“And like… the curse that separated you from your animal.”
He frowned. “How so?”
“Being cursed was a dark time, right? Losing your shifter part was hard. But… it also allowed something far greater to come after. It allowed the brightness to shine through.”
His eyes crinkled at the edges as he gave her that sexy grin she loved. And she couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss it from his mouth.
“I love the way you think, soñadora. And if your Gran could see you now, I think she’d be proud.”
Gran. Maybe she was looking down from somewhere and could see that after so many wrongs, Nyla had finally gotten it right.
Yeah. She could believe in that.
She tossed him a flirty smile. “You like more than that. You like everything about me. Can’t hide it. I know.” Moving the sketchpad to the side, she kissed his newest tattoo right in the center of his chest. Her name, where their bond lived.
With a satisfied growl, he rose up, flipping her so he was on top and pressing his hard body into hers. “You know, do you?”
She nodded, winding her arms around his neck. “Yep.”
“Then I guess you also know what I want to do now.”
The hard bulge at his waist was confirmation.
She grazed her nails over the ridges of his abs until she reached the button of his jeans. With a flick and a nudge, his pants were undone and his fly was down. But he hardly noticed. He was too busy lapping and sucking at her neck, and drawing lusty moans from her throat.
She would never tire of the way he loved her. So thoroughly. With his entire being.
His hands, his mouth. His eyes, his heart.
A villain lover and a hero all in one.
A savior. A liberator. A righter of wrongs.
He was so many things but above all, he was hers.
“Mmm,” he rumbled near her ear. “I know what you’re feeling, mate. I feel it too. You are mine, Nyla. My smart, sassy dreamer. An overcomer. Never forget.”
“Never,” she whispered back. “I promise.”
Satisfied, he shoved her shirt up to expose her bare breasts, staring at them as though he was mapping out a detailed plan of attack. The idea made her go molten. Needy.
The cool air zinged sensation to her nipples and she arched her back to urge him on.
But just as one palm spread over her stomach, middle finger tickling the place where he’d clawed her, an odd chiming sound rang from his pocket.
Skittles froze, finding her gaze.
“What? What is it?” she asked, breathless with lust.
“That’s the alert I set for news coverage of the fire.”
Rising up to her elbows, she stared wide-eyed. “Check it.”
“I can do it later.”
“No, Skittles. Now. Check it now.”
She knew he was waiting for a certain report. One that would tell them how many bodies were discovered in the ruins of Bastian’s mansion. He’d had the hardest time believing Felix was gone. It broke her heart knowing he hurt so badly for his brother. But there was hope. She could feel it through the bond. Skittles had hope that in those last moments, Felix had done enough to break the curse.
It was thin as a thread, but it was there.
One way or another, her man needed the closure.
Skittles went to his knees, digging the phone from his pocket and began tapping around on the screen. He was silent for a moment while he read, and Nyla held her breath, hoping for anything that would ease him.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What? What does it say?”
Skittles looked up, his green eyes wide and glowing from the inside. “Nyla, he made it. The asshole made it out.”
“What?”
But instead of explaining, he passed the phone to her and she read for herself.
BREAKING NEWS ALERT
The remains of a local businessman were recovered from his home this week. Cause of death was ruled an Arson-Suicide. Bastian Marx’s million-dollar home in east Memphis was reported ablaze, but firefighters responded to a decimated scene instead.
While this event comes as a shock to many city wide, recent information was revealed to the media of shady business dealings Mr. Marx was responsible for. The District Attorney was bringing in outside help to work on a case against him. Some of those charges included drug trafficking, money laundering, prostitution, bribery, and intimidation of witnesses going back more than twenty years. The list continues to grow, and investigators are looking at those charges as a possible motive for his suicide.
Firefighters and law enforcement continue to rummage through the debris, but they have concluded Mr. Marx to be the only casualty in this gruesome blaze.
More details to come…
Nyla swallowed hard, knowing that this was big. Huge.
Only one casualty. One body. One body identified as Bastian
Marx.
It meant that Skittles was right. That his hope was fucking valid.
It meant that Felix had found a way out of the fire. Somehow.
She met her mate’s wild gaze, neither of them knowing what to say.
If Bastian was the only casualty, then there was only one question left…
Where the hell was Felix?
********
Look for the next book in the explosive Firecats series, Heart of Cinder, coming soon!
Thank you so much for reading Heart of Glass! I hope you enjoyed it! I’d love to know what you think. If you’d like to, leave a review or drop me a message!
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If you missed the prequel to the Firecats series, you can read Malcom’s story in All is Bright.
For more about the Alley Cat curse, you can read about Sorcera who spun it, and their clan of werecats in The Ouachita Mountain Shifters series, starting with A Mate’s Wish, and continuing on through the Ouachita Mountain Shifters.
For a humorous series loosely set in this world, full of dirty racing, beer, and loads of laughs try the Dirt Track Dogs and Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap.
About the Author
P. Jameson likes to spend her time daydreaming, and then rearranging those dreams into heartstring-pulling stories of trial and triumph. Paranormal is her jam, so you’re sure to find said stories full of hot alpha males of the supernatural variety. She lives next door to the great Rocky Mountains with her husband and kids, who provide her with plenty of writing fodder.
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