Ignited

by Dantone, Desni

  His eyes lowered to the crimson spot on the floor. It was evidence that I had not imagined the body that had fallen there a moment ago. So how was he standing in front of me now?

  “It wasn’t me, Kris,” Nathan said slowly.

  “What?” I half choked, half whimpered.

  “It was a mirror image of me,” he explained as he edged closer, and motioned over his shoulder. “I killed two of his buddies behind the cabin, saw him chasing you in here, and I shot him. It was me who shot.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was telling me. I wasn’t capable of computing two plus two. “You can create mirror images of each other?”

  He nodded. “Some can.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “I didn’t think that was something you would need to know yet.” He visibly regretted omitting that tidbit now.

  “Everybody wants me dead.” I kept the gun raised, shakily fixed on him.

  “I don’t,” he said softly. “I’ve invested way too much time and energy into keeping you safe all this time to want you dead now, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t over explain things. Just say what you mean!”

  “I thought I did.” He took a careful step toward me, holding his hands out like I was an escaped circus animal. His eyes held mine unflinchingly. He looked sincere, and I wanted to believe him. I really did.

  He took another step. Too close. “Stop!” I yelled.

  He straightened, and his eyes lowered to the gun rattling in my hands. We both knew it was more likely that I would unintentionally pull the trigger from shaking so hard than on purpose.

  “Kris,” he said gently. “Give me the gun.”

  He took another step forward. From this close range, if I pulled the trigger, I would kill him. I wanted to trust him, because I didn’t think I would ever be able to kill him. Not really. Just thinking about those few seconds when I thought I had, I wanted to cry.

  I wanted the gun out of my hands now.

  “Nathan…”

  “It’s okay.” He reached slowly and grabbed the barrel. “Let me take it.”

  I released my grip and let him pull it from my grasp. My hands dropped to my sides numbly.

  He engaged the safety and placed the gun on the counter behind me. His hands gripped my shoulders tightly. I expected a shake and a good tongue lashing, but got neither. He must have been more afraid I was going to shoot him than I thought.

  He was too stunned to yell at me. That was a new one.

  His eyes lowered to my neck and hardened at what he saw there. One hand moved from my shoulder and followed the path his gaze took. Goose bumps prickled under his fingers as they skimmed over my skin. It was a little embarrassing what his simple touch was doing to me. I hoped he didn’t notice.

  When his eyes rose to mine again, I had a difficult time meeting them. He dropped his hands, fisted, to his side.

  “Kris,” he said gently. “I would never do anything to harm you. You know that, right?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. He was standing so close, and my skin still tingled from where he had touched it. As if noticing our proximity for the first time, he straightened and backed up a step, enough for me to start breathing again.

  His lips lifted into a ghost of a smile. “If I do, you have my permission to shoot me.”

  I finally met his eyes and smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

  He nodded. Behind his clouded eyes, I saw the silent promise he made himself. When he said he would never harm me, he meant it. Nor would he let anyone else harm me.

  My hero was back, with a newfound determination.

  * * *

  It was shortly after lunchtime when we left. We headed west across the state of Tennessee, sticking to rural roads, and rode well into evening, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. The temperature had dropped with the sun and I held on to Nathan, not only because I had to, but for warmth. He blocked most of the wind. I didn’t know how he tolerated it. I was colder out of pity for him.

  About thirty miles outside of Memphis, we stopped at a quiet drab interchange, where a flickering hotel sign promised an available room.

  Nathan took one look at me and my neck, and suggested that I wait outside with the motorcycle. I had seen the bruises in a rest stop mirror earlier. I knew how bad they looked. Waltzing into a shabby hotel lobby, looking like I did, would only attract attention we were trying to avoid.

  Nathan had parked where he could easily see me from the lobby. That meant I had an unobstructed view of him where he stood at the front desk that allowed me to witness the brazen flirting that transpired on the opposite side of the windows.

  The twenty-something, perky, fake-blonde working the night shift visibly brightened when she spotted Nathan approaching. I couldn’t hear her, or him, but it was clear from her body language that she was laying it on thick. I shifted into a better location to see Nathan’s face.

  My mouth dropped open when I saw him smiling. As I watched him skillfully flirt with the cleavage exhibit behind the counter, it became apparent that he was much better with girls than I had thought.

  He signed the papers as he talked with the clerk animatedly. He glanced in my direction twice. Once, the girl followed his gaze and locked eyes with me. She looked temporarily disappointed before she resumed her shameless seduction.

  I scoffed. She totally saw me. She should have at least had the decency to tone down the flirting. But no, she didn’t tone anything down.

  I turned away from the spectacle to pace around the motorcycle before I got too worked up over it. It wasn’t that I cared about the flirting. There was a girl code, I thought, that girls—obviously not this one—knew. You don’t flirt with another girl’s guy right in front of her. And this girl should have assumed that Nathan was mine. Even if he wasn’t, he did have a girlfriend. It wasn’t Nathan I was worked up over. It was the principle. Definitely the principle.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Nathan asked as he let the lobby door shut behind him. I was so deep into my thoughts that I didn’t realize I was glaring at him.

  “You shouldn’t do that.” I grimaced. There I go speaking before thinking again.

  He picked up his helmet and threw me a sideways glance. “Do what?”

  “Flirt with the clerk like that,” I returned quickly before I lost my nerve.

  He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “That was flirting?”

  I gave him my best are-you-serious face as I picked up my helmet to put it on.

  “No, we don’t have to ride. We’re right there,” he said, pointing to a chipped red door not far away.

  He kicked the stand on the bike and started pushing it toward our room. I tucked my helmet under my arm and walked beside him.

  “You know,” he said after a moment, “she did give me a discount.” I heard the laugh he was holding back.

  I feigned shock. “I wonder why?”

  “I wasn’t flirting.” He finally did chuckle. “I can’t speak for her.”

  “But you went along with it.”

  “I told you she gave me a discount. I had to be nice. That’s not the same as flirting.”

  “You didn’t question why she would give you a discount?”

  He looked ahead with a tight grin on his face. He knew I was right. Finally, he shrugged in submission.

  “Does your girlfriend know how big of a flirt you are with complete strangers?” I was only messing with him now, but even I detected a hint of accusation in my tone.

  “I’m not a flirt,” he argued automatically, then blinked and turned his head to me curiously. “Wait a minute. What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

  I stopped in front of our room as he parked the motorcycle in its space, maneuvering it so that it was facing the road, in preparation for a hasty get away. Just in case. I hesitated, watching as he retrieved the two pistols from the storage compartment.

  Why had I b
een so sure? Because any guy that looked like him had to have a girlfriend? While true, I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  He looked at me expectantly.

  “The girl helmet, for one,” I said as I handed it to him. It was a pathetic reason and, from the look he gave me, I knew he didn’t consider that proof at all.

  I shrugged. “The girl clothes in the cabin.”

  “You mean the cabin that served as a safe house for both male and female Kala?” He stood next to the bike, arms folded over his chest, staring at me. He sure could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

  I cowered, suddenly feeling silly. “So, you don’t…”

  “Nope.” He walked toward the door, and called over his shoulder, “girls are too much work.”

  He looked at me pointedly, like I was his proof. I opened my mouth, ready to remind him of the moment I had served him his ass on a platter earlier today, and that I couldn’t wait to do it again. My mouth clamped shut, quip forgotten, when he opened the door to our room.

  The one king bed filled the room, stood out awkwardly as if under a spotlight. I glanced at Nathan. He was already eyeing me and shrugged with a hint of bashfulness.

  “She assumed you were my girlfriend,” he said quietly.

  I knew what that meant. Asking for two beds would have been suspicious. So he hadn’t. My next thought was and yet she still flirted openly with you? That ticked me off, until I remembered that I wasn’t really his girlfriend. I had no claim to him. But if I saw that girl again, she’d get one nasty pissed-off-Kris glare.

  I acted like sleeping in one bed with Nathan wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like we hadn’t technically slept together before. We had been a lot closer that freezing night in the sleeping bags than we would be in a king bed. But I had practically hated Nathan then. And now?

  I definitely didn’t hate him. And yeah, it kind of was a big deal.

  CHAPTER 19

  I would recognize its roar anywhere. I’m standing alone, on the bank of the river. Broken glass and shards of twisted metal litter the ground at my feet. A ray of moonlight illuminates the horror in front of me perfectly, and I watch as the car disappears beneath the surface.

  I hear him before I see him and climb over the rocks, following the sounds of despair, until I find him, bathed in the moon’s soft glow. I divert my gaze to my feet on the ground and remind myself that I’m safe. It’s only a dream. The girl lying on the ground isn’t me. It can’t be.

  This girl is dead.

  I inch closer as Nathan leans over her, presses his mouth to hers, and breathes air into her lungs. “Come on....” He grunts as he thrusts his hands down on her chest.

  I drop to my knees, unable to take my eyes off him, his anguish tugging at my own breaking heart.

  “Don’t you die on me....” He chokes.

  I reach out to touch him. I want to let him know it’s okay. I’m okay. He doesn’t have to do this. My hand touches his shoulder, but he doesn’t feel it.

  “Please. Kris.”

  I close my eyes and listen to the smooth sound of his breath slipping between her blue lips. It’s calming even in the presence of death. Even my own death. A violent cough breaks the peace, and I open my eyes at the same time the girl on the ground’s eyes snap open.

  The rest plays out as I remember.

  Nathan rolls her over as she spits up river water. He promises her that help is coming. She grabs his arm, pleads with him not to leave. He turns to say something.

  That was when everything would always go black.

  Now, I watch as Nathan presses his lips against the corner of the girl’s unconscious mouth. He hovers there, his forehead resting against hers, and whispers something I can’t hear.

  One second, I was watching something gut-wrenchingly painful and beautiful at the same time and the next, I was staring at a stained white ceiling. A few rapid blinks brought the shabby hotel room into view around me as faint light seeped through the curtain in advance of the approaching dawn. I pressed my palms to the rumpled sheets around me as I steadied my breaths.

  A dream. It had been another dream. Different from the others, but still a dream.

  Or had it? I lifted a finger to my lips, where the tingling from Nathan’s still lingered. It had felt so real. Was it like the others? Dreams spurred by memory? Had my subconscious found a way to communicate the missing pieces of that night? If so, if it were real, then...

  He brought me back.

  I rolled my head in the direction of the soft breathing beside me and could just make out the steady rise and fall of Nathan’s back as he slept there.

  He was curled on his stomach and hugging a pillow in one arm, tight enough that his bicep was taut even in sleep. The sleeve of his shirt was rolled up, showing most of the tattoo on his arm. There were four rows that I could make out, each with three letters followed by a series of numbers in the form of month-day-year.

  I traced my fingers over the markings, and wondered how he had come to get them and what they represented. His skin was smooth, the muscle underneath hard as stone, and I lost myself in the feel of him at my fingertips. It took me a moment to realize what I was doing and, when I did, I pulled my hand back hastily.

  A glimpse of silver and blue nearly startled me right off the bed.

  He hadn’t moved a muscle to alert me that he had woken up, but his eyes were open and watching me quietly. He was so still I started to wonder if he was sleeping with his eyes open—he struck me as the type that could do that—when his mouth parted to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupted quickly. I wanted to touch you, I almost added. Instead, I said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He hesitated only a second before he lifted his sleeve to expose more of the tattoo. “It’s okay. You can look if you want.”

  I wondered what he had been about to say before I cut him off. Since I couldn’t go back in time and do the moment over, I took him up on his offer and leaned close to examine the marks. There were a total of five rows, all with the same three letters and month-day-year pattern. The lettering was uniform, except for the bottom row that had a more elaborate font with additional symbols next to it. It was a simple, yet hauntingly beautiful, tattoo.

  What did it symbolize? My throat constricted and I swallowed hard to clear it. When I glanced at Nathan, he was watching me.

  “What are they?” I asked hesitantly.

  He lowered his eyes to his arm. His voice was soft when it reached my ears. “The initials of a few important people, and the dates they died.”

  When he looked at me again, I saw that he was okay with talking about it. Maybe more than okay. Maybe he had never talked about these marks and wanted to. Even tough guys like him needed someone to talk to sometimes.

  I propped up on my elbow, facing him. “Who are they?”

  He pointed to the two top rows. BMM 5/3/99 and RCJ 11/20/99. “These two were my best friends, Brent and Ryan. We went through development together, trained together, did everything together.” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes when he lifted them to mine. “We got into a lot of trouble.”

  I tried to imagine a young rebellious Nathan. The guy I knew was tightly wound and almost always serious. It wasn’t easy to picture him with an ornery side.

  “They were both killed our first year,” he continued and pointed to the next row. AJY 4/12/00. “This was my brother, Andrew.” He chuckled softly when my mouth gaped open.

  “You had a brother?”

  “I had two brothers,” he said and pointed to the fourth row. STY 1/22/01. “This was my oldest brother, Shawn.”

  I fought back tears as I stared at the dates. He had lost both less than a year apart, and a year after he lost his two best friends. No wonder he was wound tight. The poor guy lost everyone he loved. I wondered about the remaining set of initials. Was it another sibling? A parent? It was obviously someone special to him. I was afraid to ask.

  “Was it just the three of you?”<
br />
  “Pretty much,” he said with a slow nod. “Our dad was a Kala. He was killed when I was five. I don’t remember much about him.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She took off shortly after I was born. She was human. I think knowing what we were freaked her out.” He looked sorrier for me, at my reaction to his life story, than for himself. “We lived with Gran until we reached development.”

  Again, my jaw dropped. “Gran raised you?”

  His eyes lit with memory. “In fact, your room was the one we all fought over. Shawn got it because he was the oldest. When he left, Drew got it, and then I finally got it.” He stopped to look at me knowingly. “I know all the tricks to sneaking out of there.”

  I grinned, wondering if he knew about the times I had snuck out. That would mean he had been there, in my life, checking up on me a lot more than I had known. More than he had admitted to. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously and he stared back, giving nothing away.

  I decided not to pursue it. Not now. I didn’t want to halt his candid demeanor. Learning that he had been raised by Gran made me feel closer to him. I bathed in the tide of intimacy that swelled between us and didn’t want it to end.

  LMF 5/18/06. The remaining initials were like a beacon on his arm, and I was unable to avoid them any longer. Nathan’s gaze followed mine and he brushed a finger over the letters.

  “This one’s a little different,” he said.

  “What do those symbols mean?”

  “It’s Hebrew. It means forever in my heart.”

  I suspected why this one was special and had the sense I was close to trespassing on a part of Nathan’s heart no one had been in a long time. At least not since 2006.

  “This was my girlfriend,” he continued softly, “Lillian.”

  I was aware of the sound of my own ragged breathing and nothing else. Silence smothered us as I stared at the letters on his arm. I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t know what reaction he was expecting.