Fire Within

by Ella M. Lee

He narrowed his eyes, listening to my thoughts. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything. This is as straightforward as I can possibly be.”

  “Why?” I whispered. “What changed?”

  “You’ve been here for a week. It is unfair of me to keep you in this limbo,” he said. “You’ve impressed me. All that fire I saw in you is truly there, as well as a myriad of other talents. I’d be foolish not to recognize and reward that. I have no desire to kill someone who is trying so hard. That would make me as horrible as I pretend to be.”

  I took several deep breaths. This wasn’t the way I had thought the evening would go. I had expected to need to beg Daniel to protect me, to have to deal with Nicolas in a terrible mood. Instead, I was being given a gift.

  Nicolas smiled, his expression open and easy. I studied him, still trying to let his words settle within me, trying to make them stick, trying to make my brain recognize them as true.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said.

  “I…” It was impossible to explain how I felt. I settled on, “I hate your mind-reading.”

  Tears came unbidden, and I looked away, unable to control myself. It was as though every ounce of stress I’d felt in the last week was pouring out of me, heightening my hysteria.

  “Mon Dieu,” he said, sighing. “Don’t cry. Let’s turn over a new leaf where you don’t cry every day.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He could have left me to starve to death alone in that cell, or tortured me for information, or sold me to Derek, or worse. But he hadn’t. My life wasn’t forfeit. I wasn’t dead. I had somehow turned this around, had somehow made this work.

  What Nicolas and I had wasn’t perfect, but with magic, nothing ever was. We all did the best we could in our crazy world, whether you were a commander like Nicolas or just a lost little magician like me.

  There was a clean towel to my left. I dusted cornstarch off my hands and pressed it to my face, trying to stop crying.

  “Fiona…” Nicolas began, but at that moment, the apartment door opened.

  “Fi, seriously,” Daniel said, smiling fondly, his eyes flicking between us, “do you do anything but cry?”

  He dropped his bags on the kitchen floor and came to stand behind my chair, wrapping his arms around me carefully from behind and leaning in. His stance was protective, and I felt safe with him near me.

  “What did you say to her?” he asked Nicolas, his tone chiding.

  Nicolas laughed lightly. “She’s happy, I believe,” he said, and Daniel’s hands tensed on me.

  “Are you happy?” he asked in my ear, sounding confused.

  I nodded against him. “Yeah,” I confirmed. “Nicolas says I can stay, that I can join Water.”

  He pressed his cheek against my head affectionately. “Good. You want that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Brave woman,” he said, squeezing me.

  My eyes went to Nicolas, who was drawing with his finger in the cornstarch that dusted the table’s surface. No, not drawing—writing. His finger elegantly sketched out a Chinese character.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It means ‘brave,’” Nicolas said.

  Daniel shook his head against me. “Yeah, but it’s not right for Fi,” he said. He leaned over to touch the table and wrote a different character next to Nicolas’s. “For her, I would choose this one.”

  Nicolas smiled. “Yes, of course.”

  I looked at him expectantly, spreading my hands the tiniest bit.

  “I picked a character that means brave, but in a courageous or heroic way,” Nicolas explained. “Dan also picked a character that means brave, but more in a dauntless or fiercely determined way. His choice is better. He is more fluent in Chinese than I am, with better diction.”

  My lower jaw trembled. Both of these men had called me “brave” in their own ways, and I was grateful for their encouraging words. I had believed I was an afterthought to them, but they had clearly been studying me and understanding me as best they could.

  Daniel sprinkled more cornstarch on the table and then wrote in it with fast and competent strokes, completing a set of two Chinese characters. He studied them and tilted his head from side to side, considering.

  “Kindling. Cinders,” Nicolas said. “Embers. Literally, ‘fire seed.’”

  “Foh jung,” Daniel said, pointing at each character. “It’s not perfect. It’s very… exact. There’s a better word for you, I think. I’ll find it sometime.”

  He shrugged apologetically, but I was in shock. He was offering me an identity within the context of his own life. I knew this was meaningful, and I wished I had appropriate words for it, but I couldn’t speak. I pressed the towel back over my face, trying to quell my tears.

  Daniel sighed dramatically and patted my shoulder. “No more crying. Get back to work. I left you two here to make wontons, and you’ve hardly done anything!”

  Once he had unpacked the groceries and washed his hands, he sat down between us and put us both to shame with his wonton-crafting speed.

  “How are you doing that?” I asked, amazed that he could move even faster than Nicolas.

  “I worked in a wonton noodle restaurant. This was my job,” he said. “We served thousands of these every day.”

  He launched into several funny stories about working in a restaurant, and I was glad to see that Nicolas could laugh at Daniel’s absurd descriptions. I laughed, too, the knot in my chest uncoiling as I watched their smiles and teasing.

  Nicolas went back to his apartment to get wine for us. He considerately made me kir, a French cocktail made with white wine and creme de cassis, and I was touched that he remembered I liked sweet drinks.

  Daniel cooked dinner—a feast of wontons and noodles and vegetables and stir-fried shrimp—while Nicolas and I lounged on the couch and watched the last of the daylight fade.

  At one point, Nicolas extended his hand to me. I placed my hand in his, and he twined his fingers in mine. I appreciated that he was giving me the option of rejecting his touch.

  His eyes were back to sparkling and glowing, his expression pleased as he tilted his head at me. To further drive the point home, he draped his magic around me, wrapping me in its glittering warmth.

  Less miserable now, lamb? he asked silently.

  Definitely, I thought back. Almost happy, as crazy as that sounds.

  He smiled. Relax. You’re safe, with a commander to protect you.

  So I am a true Water Clan candidate now? I asked.

  Yes, indeed, he said. How would you feel about keeping Daniel as your trainer and mentor?

  I turned my head to look at Daniel. He was setting bowls on the table with easy grace. His magic swirled around him, sweeping and lovely.

  Daniel was amazing. His skills aside, he had been kind beyond words. He hadn’t needed to give me advice about Nicolas, and he hadn’t needed to pick me up off the floor of the hallway and take care of me, but he’d done it all anyhow.

  If Daniel agrees, I would love that, I replied.

  Nicolas turned to Daniel and asked him several questions in Cantonese, waving his hand at me lazily. Dan smiled, answering in expressive and enthusiastic tones.

  Done, Nicolas said. Dan is excited.

  So am I, I responded, smiling.

  After dinner, Nicolas gave me the option of staying with Daniel for the night. I appreciated the considerate offer, but I didn’t take it. Instead, I thanked Daniel and hugged him. He locked his arms around me in a bone-crushing embrace, as though I were truly his friend, and I was grateful for his treatment.

  Nicolas seemed to be doing his best to give me space. I stretched out on his couch while he headed into the bedroom to do some work on his laptop. I listened to his typing, trying to breathe evenly. I remembered dinner and Nicolas’s teasing banter with Daniel, and his words—you’re safe—echoed in my mind.

  After a few minutes, I went into the bedroom and leaned against Nicolas’s desk, stuff
ing my hands in my pockets.

  “Yes?” he asked, surprised.

  “Hi,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You came in here to say hello? I suppose I’m glad you find me so approachable now.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Budgeting,” he said.

  “For the clan?”

  “For my group,” he said. “The clan’s budget is not my problem. A team of accountants takes care of that.” He tilted his head at me. “I doubt you came in here to talk about my budget.”

  I shook my head, feeling nervous. Nicolas was approachable, but a few hours of knowing everything was going to be okay did not cancel out a week of worrying about my fate.

  “I just wanted to thank you again,” I said. “I hope I didn’t make your life harder today, with Derek or anything else.”

  “My life is hard regardless, and Derek would make trouble for me whether you existed or not,” he said.

  The perfect Nicolas non-answer. He was damn good at picking his words.

  He was studying me more closely now, and after a moment, he stood. I drew back, tensing. He was directly in front of me, only inches away.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’m merely going to heal you. I can’t stand to see you bruised.”

  He brought his hands up, and I watched him, focused and intense, as he made the motions of healing. When he was done with my face, he carefully unzipped my hoodie and removed it. He stretched my arms out one at a time and healed the rest of my mottled skin while I waited, frozen.

  “Beautiful, parfaite,” he murmured, and I didn’t want to ask if he was talking about his healing magic or me.

  I looked away shyly. Nicolas’s penchant for throwing French words into his vocabulary might have annoyed anyone else with its pretentiousness, but I found it charming and adorable. His voice was perfect for French, and I wished I could hear him speak a full sentence of it.

  “I know things haven’t been good between us,” he said, spreading his hands, “but I’d like to start over. I’m sorry for how you came to be here, and for the hardships I’ve put you through.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry too, for everything that happened. I would take it all back if I could, but…”

  “Time to move forward,” he said, “and not let the past trap us.”

  We were both silent for a moment, each of us lost in our own remembrances. Nicolas was right—staying frozen in place would kill me. Moving forward might too, but there was also a chance for success and growth in that direction.

  “Are we supposed to be friends now?” I asked.

  “Is that possible?” he said, raising his brows at me.

  “Um. Ask me some other time, maybe after three or four glasses of kir.”

  He laughed. “All right. Do you mind if I treat us like friends regardless?”

  The words were so endearing that I couldn’t help it—I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. It was like hitting a solid wall, and he caught me without so much as yielding an inch. He pressed one palm into my back and the other into my hair, holding me delicately.

  “What is this for?” he murmured, and I felt the hum of the words in his chest as I leaned against him.

  I couldn’t respond. How the fuck had I managed to turn Nicolas Alexis Demarais, of all people, into a friend?

  I was shaking, and I held on to him as though he were a life raft I couldn’t give up, which was almost true. He didn’t move, his arms solid and supportive as he held me up.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered.

  I didn’t even realize I was repeating the words over and over until Nicolas shifted. He touched my chin, tipping it up so he could see my face. He put a finger to my lips and smiled.

  “Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid,” he said.

  I hesitated. “Little by little…” I said quietly, but that was the extent of my knowledge of the French language.

  “Little by little, the bird makes its nest,” he translated. “That’s you—persevering, building a place here. Keep going. It will pay off.”

  I was still shaking, replaying tonight in my head, amazed at how I had felt like I was falling to my death all week only be caught right before hitting the ground.

  Nicolas was studying me with concern. “Sleep, Fiona,” he said, touching my shoulders and then pointing to the bed.

  I had no objections to that command, feeling dizzy and light-headed from yet another healing. Curling up and closing my eyes sounded fantastic. For once, it wasn’t because I wanted to shut everything out and escape.

  No, rather, I wanted to see as soon as possible what tomorrow would bring.

  My heart no longer raced when I woke. My brain was no longer confused. My body no longer went into full-blown panic mode. At this point, waking up in Nicolas’s bed felt completely normal.

  The bedroom was dim, the ivory shades softening the morning light. I had managed to sleep through the night, for which I was incredibly grateful. Even if it didn’t seem like much had changed with Nicolas’s proclamation that I was safe, my body clearly felt better about the whole situation.

  I rolled to face the windows, groaning. Nicolas was stretched out on the other side of the bed, as far away from me as possible. I froze, surprised. His bed was huge, with a veritable sea of fluffy pale linen between us, but I hadn’t expected him to be here.

  He was awake, lying on his stomach and typing on his phone. He was shirtless, and my eyes caught on the glorious dragon inked on his muscled back.

  “Hi,” I said, sitting up, tense and self-conscious. “Are you okay? Did you sleep?”

  He smiled slightly, turning his attention to me. “Yes,” he said. “Et toi?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I leaned toward him the slightest bit. “Your tattoo is lovely.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head at me.

  I crept closer to him, peering down at it. “What does it mean?”

  He flattened himself again the bed so that I could see the design better. “Some locals claim there are eight dragons slumbering under the mountains of Hong Kong, protecting it. This represents the dragon of the mountain near where I spent time while growing up.”

  Nicolas’s skin was glowing in the morning light. Tentatively, I reached a finger out to touch the design, tracing an angular wing and the whorls of smoky black ink surrounding it. Nicolas tensed, drawing a sharp breath. I pulled back a few inches, embarrassed.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, it’s all right,” Nicolas said. “So few people touch me. I… I was unprepared. You are welcome to continue.”

  I very slowly touched my fingers to his back, running them over the design. His skin was smooth and warm. Nicolas’s eyes closed briefly, and his alarmed expression cleared into what seemed like contentment. I found that I liked when he looked calm and at ease.

  Exactly how few people got to be this close to him? He was handsome and attractive but also frightening and aloof. I imagined it was incredibly easy to use his good looks and his mind-reading to his advantage when he wanted, but how often did he truly make a connection with someone without manipulating them into it?

  “This really is striking,” I said. “It suits you.”

  He smiled warmly. “I’m pleased that you appreciate the design. Be sure to mention it to Ryan sometime. He is the artist.”

  I thought of the man who had brought Nicolas to Water. It seemed like the mark of a true friend to design this sort of tattoo. It had Nicolas’s style written all over it, a true representation of him—stylish, bold, confident, powerful.

  I pressed my whole palm to the center of the design, between his shoulder blades, where his heart would be. Nicolas looked genuinely relaxed. His magic rustled softly around him, and I could feel its gentle caress against me.

  When I finally took my hand from him, his eyes reopened, calm and pleased.

  He watched as I hauled myself out of bed and w
ent to the windows. I pulled the shade back an inch to look out into the blinding light. It was a beautiful day, the blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. The more I studied this view, the more I fell in love with Hong Kong. Those mountains in the distance—I wanted it to be true that dragons dwelled beneath them.

  I retreated back to the bed, sitting down and pulling a pillow into my lap. I had no idea what today would bring, had no idea how our decisions last night affected my life here.

  I wasn’t free or in the clear yet, not really. I wouldn’t be completely safe until I was clanned to Water with a group and a firmer agreement. As of now, I had merely made a single positive step toward that state. I still needed to be careful.

  Making my nest, little by little, I thought.

  “You said last night… you said you hadn’t decided whether to take me for your group yet. How could I make that happen?”

  He hesitated, studying me with half-closed eyes. “I only take members who fit a very specific profile, who have a particular skill set.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t clarify right now,” he said, sounding apologetic. “I’m going to gift you more magic this week so that you can get better with it. Follow Daniel’s instructions, and we’ll see what happens. I think this will work out for the best.”

  I frowned again, frustrated. Clearly he knew something about me that I didn’t. I wished he would tell me what he saw in his visions. I felt like I was shooting blindly in the dark for a target whose shape I’d never seen before.

  He was studying me, amused. For a moment, I felt at ease watching him. He was completely relaxed, bleary from sleep, smiling slightly. I was glad that there wasn’t a single hint of the man I had feared before, glad that all I saw was the man who had held me last night and given me words of encouragement.

  Nicolas deserved better than everyone thinking he was a horrible monster.

  “Are you still interested in hearing about my life?” he asked, rolling onto his back and putting his hands behind his head.

  I was immediately more alert. “Yes, of course.”

  This seemed like a privilege. I doubted many people got to hear Nicolas’s story, and I was eager to understand him more after the bare hints I’d gotten so far.