by Donya Lynne
He looked up. There were tears in his eyes. “No.” His tone was defensive.
She pointed toward the pile of smoldering rubble that had once been the dorm. “That’s what fire does, Gavin. This is why I tell you over and over not to play with matches. Just a tiny spark is enough to do this kind of damage.”
“I didn’t do it!” He slammed his hands on the deck. “Just because I like playing with fire doesn’t mean I burned down our home.” He crossed his arms and lowered his head in a pout. It was obvious he didn’t think she believed him.
But he seemed so sincere.
“Then who did it, honey? Tell me.”
He hid his face, hunching forward as if he feared saying anything further. “I can’t.”
Can’t? She frowned, growing worried. If Gavin hadn’t done this, who had?
“Gavin, do you know who did this?” If he didn’t tell her, she would have to go inside his mind and find out for herself.
He looked away, rocking forward and back. A moment later, he broke into tears. “Steffie did it! She set the fire!”
“Steffie?” Cordray scanned the faces of the others then turned her focus on the yard as if she might be able to find Steffie hovering in the early morning shadows. “Are you sure?”
“I saw her.” Gavin sniffled. “I got up to go to the bathroom, and I heard something downstairs. I went down to the living room and saw her. She said she would make it look like I did it if I told on her. That no one would believe me if I told the truth.”
Cordray shot into Gavin’s mind and saw the truth of what he said. Steffie was hunched over in the front room downstairs, lighting the curtains on fire.
Her blood boiled as she quickly pulled out of his thoughts. When she got through with that bitch, there wouldn’t be enough left of her for a DNA test.
“I believe you,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice under control. “Did she tell you why?”
Gavin wiped his hands over his soot-covered face, smearing streaks of black over his skin with his tears. “She said we were evil. She said we were all freaks and deserved to die.”
Oh, did she now? Well, Steffie didn’t know evil. Cordray would be sure to give her a proper definition—with examples—the next time she saw her.
She didn’t know what Steffie’s primary malfunction was, or why she thought the kids at the ranch were evil, but as soon as she recovered from the day’s events and got her brain screwed back on straight, she was going to find out. Like Ronan, Steffie wasn’t going anywhere Cordray couldn’t get to her. Right now, she needed to tend to her family. In time, she would deal with Steffie.
“You’re not evil or a freak, Gavin.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair. “You’re special. A very special boy. You’re like Trace, and one day you’ll grow up to be strong and powerful. The kind of male everyone looks up to.”
He blinked away his tears then turned his gaze toward Trace as if he looked up to him. “You think so?”
She kissed his smoke-scented hair. “No, I know so.”
She turned toward Trace and met his gaze. He’d been listening, and a tender smile touched his lips. She smiled back, feeling the truth in her words. One day Gavin would mature into his gifts, and everything would make sense. Until then, she and the others needed to help him along and support him.
She took Gavin’s hand and stood. “Come over here with the rest of us, okay?”
He reluctantly stood and shuffled his feet as he followed her to the group congregated near the door. The children looked exhausted. Faith could barely keep her eyes open and was nestled against Trace’s side. He had his arm around her.
“Brenna, why don’t you take the kids inside and set them up in the spare bedrooms? I’ll be in in a minute to help you get them cleaned up.” Everyone was covered with ash and soot and needed baths.
“Sure.” Brenna stood and held out her arm in round-up fashion. “Come on, kids. Let’s go inside.”
After everyone got some sleep, they would pack up what they could and move into her mansion in the city for a few days until the rubble could be cleaned up. Or at least until the kids didn’t feel so traumatized about what had happened.
As soon as the door closed, leaving her alone with Trace, she sat down next to him and nudged his arm. “You’re special, too, you know.”
“Aw, you do care.” He nudged her arm, flashing a crooked smile. “I heard what you said to Gavin. Thank you.”
She frowned. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because that’s exactly what he needed to hear. Remember, I’ve been in his shoes. I know.”
She wrapped her forearm around his and scooted closer. “Yes, you do, don’t you?”
He placed his hand over her arm, and then they watched the water arc from the hose on the latest pumper truck to arrive on the scene, splashing over the smoldering embers of what was left of the dorm. Luckily, the fire department arrived and got to work on the fire before it spread to the barn and the main house, but the scent of smoke hung in the air and probably would for days.
“I knew something wasn’t right about Steffie,” he said after a few seconds had passed.
“Yeah, well something’s definitely going to be wrong with her when I find her.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t taken off after her already.”
She squeezed his arm. “A few days ago, I probably would have, but now . . .?” She pressed against him. “Some things are more important than retribution.”
He reached around with his free hand and pressed his palm against her forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
She pushed his hand away with a huff. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m mad as fuck. But right now I can think of someone”—she glanced over her shoulder at the door her kids had disappeared through—“well, a lot of someones who need me more than I need to punish her.” She eyed the dried blood on his face. “How’s your nose?”
“I’ll live.” He wrapped his hand around hers. “What about you? You’ve been putting on a strong front, but I can feel your exhaustion. Are you okay?”
She gave him a tired smile and allowed her shoulders to relax. “It’s been a long couple of days, but”—she winked at him—“I’ll live.”
He grinned at the way she tossed his words back at him.
The trucks finally pulled out a few minutes after sunrise, leaving nothing but the sound of early morning birdsong as nature greeted another day, oblivious to the tragedy that had unfolded over the last several hours.
Nature had a short memory when it came to disaster. Within months after a forest fire, new trees began to grow. After forty years, no one even knew a fire had taken place. All they saw along their hiking trail was lush vegetation.
Fire was a natural part of life. It was a symbol of regeneration. Didn’t the mythical phoenix rise reborn from its own deathly ashes?
She rested her head on Trace’s shoulder, bone weary and so tired even her teeth hurt, but she didn’t want to move. She just wanted to sit there, listening to the birds, more alive than she’d ever been. How perfect that she could feel the beautiful ache of exhaustion. The sting of the burn on her hand.
Trace had given her that. Feeling. Sensation.
Life.
Because the pains of life proved a person was, in fact, alive, while granting a greater appreciation for more pleasant sensations, such as the wash of cool morning air over her skin, the kiss of the sun’s warmth as it broke the horizon.
The soft caress of lips on her forehead as Trace kissed her.
For eight centuries, she’d been dead. Unfeeling and existing, but not living. Now she’d been reborn, and Trace was the spark that had burned her old self away to give rise to the new.
He was her hero. He’d faced his greatest fear and charged into the fire to get to her and the kids . . . to save them. He’d walked through fire and came out a changed male.
She smiled. “You’re like the phoenix,” she said softly.
>
He tilted his head against hers. “Hmm? What’s that you said?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder. “You know. The phoenix. The mythical bird that dies in a shower of flames, only to rise reborn from the ashes to live again.”
A slow smile spread over his face as he turned toward the blackened remains of the dorm. “I feel reborn.” He squeezed her hand.
“So do I, thanks to you.” An amused huff broke past her lips. “A few weeks ago, I thought I hated you. I wanted to hate you. Hating you was easy, because it meant I didn’t have to face the fears I’d carried around like a security blanket for centuries. Facing my fears was hard. It was painful. It was work. But”—she pressed against him and tightened her hold on his arm as he wrapped his hand around the inside of her thigh and pulled her closer, watching her intently—“anything worth having in life is worth working for.”
Love and understanding seeped into the lines of his face, along with a hint of amusement. “Are you saying I’m worth working for?”
She sighed and tipped her forehead against his cheek. “Don’t make this a thing, baby. I’m not used to being all girly and sentimental like this. Don’t get used to it.”
“Ah, so this is a rare moment I should mark on my calendar.”
She rocked her head side to side. “You’re going to make this a thing. You are, aren’t you?”
He turned and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, baby. You’re tough enough to kick my ass if I do. And then I’d have to kick your ass. And then shit would just get ugly.” Playful bravado laced his words.
She liked knowing the banter that had defined their relationship since its inception still held a place between them. Only now it was playful and endearing, not hurtful and degrading.
“Damn straight I’d kick your ass.”
He chuckled. “Well, you know that shit turns me on, so kick away, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess.”
He bit back a smile. “Oh, that’s right. Beast master. I forgot.”
She shook her head. “Even after you walk into a fire and get blown out a window, you still never turn off, do you?”
“Nope.”
She let out an exasperated exhale. “Well, do you think you can turn off long enough to go upstairs with me and get a few hours of sleep before we have to pack up and head to my place in the city?”
Humility and something else—something mysteriously private—passed over his face as he glanced toward the yard. His gaze seemed to stretch farther away than her property extended, to some faraway place she couldn’t see.
“Trace?” She touched his arm.
He smiled at her. “Yeah, I’ll join you in a minute. You go on up.”
She didn’t know what he saw, but she nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you inside.”
She got up, frowned curiously toward the yard, and then left him alone.
Whatever he saw, he wanted to face it alone.
And she was okay with that.
* * *
Trace pushed to his feet and grabbed the crutches Cordray had given him. Tucking them under his arms, he hobbled down the steps and across the yard to the enclosed fire pit.
Behind the wall of shrubs, his mother, ghostly yet beautiful, waited for him.
“Mother?” Peacefulness washed over him.
“Trace . . .”
He stared at her, unable to speak.
“You’re free now,” she said.
Part of him wanted to be angry that she was only just now showing herself, after all this time, but he simply couldn’t find the emotion. All he felt was love.
She shimmered and touched his face. “Now you understand.”
And he did. The answers flashed inside his head like lightbulbs turning on. About his childhood. His power. Her magic. Her death.
She’d died because that was how it had to be. In death, she was more powerful than she ever could have been in life. All this time, she’d been watching over him, guiding him, protecting him. And she’d protected Brak and his father, too. But she’d never let her presence be known, because he needed to find his way without her. What he thought had been a lack of affection turned out to be a lesson he’d had to learn to survive.
The years of guilt, the struggle to control his power, the search for a mate and a place where he fit in. All of it had been about learning how to rein in the magic she’d given him so he could forge his own way into the future.
“You see?” she said. “You were always the stronger one. Your power was always stronger than Brak’s. It’s why your father and I were so hard on you. It’s why we treated you the way we did. Because we loved you enough to put our selfish needs aside. Every time you fell, we wanted to pick you up, hold you, and take away your pain. But we knew if we did that, we’d be destroying you. We had to be harder on you than we wanted to be so you grew up strong enough to control your power.” She touched his hand. The sensation felt like ice but calmed him anyway. “You’re strong enough now.”
He’d thought his parents hadn’t loved him as much as they’d loved Brak, but that wasn’t the case at all. They’d loved him tremendously. Enough to put aside their own desire to protect him. To ensure he grew up with the abilities to cope with the power she’d gifted him inside her womb.
“I think I finally understand.” Tears balanced on the rims of his eyes as he nodded. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Trace. Tell your father and your brother I love them, too. That I’m always with them . . . and you.”
He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of jasmine he’d always associated with her. “I will.”
She took a step back as if preparing to leave.
“Wait. Will I see you again?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“But—”
Her fading image smiled. “You’ll be fine. You’ll all be fine, and I’ll always be nearby. Now, forge your path, Trace. Forge it with your mate . . . with your family . . . and be happy. That’s everything I ever wanted for you.”
He watched her disappear, knowing that even though he would never see her again, she would always be with him in his heart. In his mind, she would be there. But no longer would he see her as she’d been burning on the pyre outside their home when he was a child. Instead, he remembered her for the amazingly strong woman she’d been. Strong and fearless, facing death like a warrior.
He grinned, recognizing in himself all the qualities he now saw in his mother.
Just as Cordray had said, he was the phoenix risen from the ashes of his troubled youth. No more was he the terrified, victimized child burdened with guilt. He was a mature male. A male who’d found his purpose, his path, and his mate. He owned his power, not the other way around.
Glancing toward the fire pit, he pulled the box of matches from his back pocket and tossed them into the grey, powdery coals that had once been logs of wood. As he did, a weight lifted off his soul. He’d faced his past, his fears, and his demons. He no longer needed the matches to remind him of where he’d come from and the dangers his power presented.
Feeling lighter than he ever had, he turned and hobbled back to the house.
Cordray met him at the door. “Everything okay?” Her inquisitive gaze explored his face.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her inside, where he pressed her against the wall and kissed her. When he broke away, he stared deep into her sapphire eyes, drinking in her soul. “Everything’s perfect. Just perfect.”
Chapter 42
Trace lay propped on his elbow, watching Cordray sleep. It had been two days since the fire. Two days since he’d said good-bye to his mother. It seemed like a lifetime.
Then again, every minute spent with Cordray felt like a lifetime, but in the most glorious way.
Micah and Sam had agreed to take the kids for the day, allowing him and Cordray much-needed alone time with one another, especially since it felt like his calling was on the verge of blowing wide
open any moment. They hadn’t had ten minutes to themselves since moving the kids, Mya, and Brenna into Cordray’s North Shore mansion, and Trace had been nearly volcanic in his need to claim her before Mya and Brenna had left with the kids this morning.
They’d spent all day in bed. First they’d fucked. Then made love. Then fucked some more. Until finally they’d fallen into an exhausted, sated sleep.
Now Trace was awake, needing her again, but wanting to watch her sleep even more. She was so beautiful as she slept. Peaceful. Angelic. Her black and blue hair tousled and strewn like silky tendrils over the pillow.
She lay on her back, angled toward him, with her forearm over her stomach.
He leaned in and kissed the expanse of skin along her collarbones, leaving a soft, tender trail from right to left. Then pulled back and waited, smiling as she inhaled deeply.
Her eyes fluttered open a couple of seconds later, and she smiled when her gaze met his.
“Do you mind?” She stretched out beside him like a giant cat, lithe and sleek, rolling to face him. “How many times are you going to do that while I’m sleeping?”
He lowered himself, folding his arm under his head so he could lay eye-to-eye with her. “I like waking you up like that. It means I’ve still got it.”
She blinked sleepily and grinned. “Baby, I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re always gonna have it.”
“Yeah, well, I enjoy reminding myself.”
“At the expense of my REM sleep.”
“Okay, go back to sleep then.” He shifted closer.
“Why? You’ll just wake me up again.”
He smiled and skimmed his palm over the slope and fall of her hip. “Only because I love the color of your eyes.”
She closed them for several seconds then popped them open again. “How’s that?”
He shook his head. “It’s just not the same. It’s kind of fun watching the sleep drain out of them.”
She shimmied closer and pressed her palm to his chest. “You know, they say that lack of sleep leads to hallucinations and even psychosis.”
“Yeah, well, you’re already crazy.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Crazy for you, asshole.”
