Forbidden Fire (Forbidden #2)

by Kimberly Kinrade

  Forbidden Fire

  (Forbidden Trilogy, #2)

  by

  Kimberly Kinrade

  Forbidden Fire

  By Kimberly Kinrade

  Published by Evolved Publishing

  Copyright 2012 Kimberly Kinrade

  Thanks to my teammates at Evolved Publishing:

  Lane Diamond and John Anthony Allen for the exacting edit, and Sarah E. Melville for the epic cover art.

  You may not use, reproduce, or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews. All rights are reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  To Dmytry, because I couldn’t have written this without you.

  You are the love of my life and the most amazing man I've ever known.

  Thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Sam

  Chapter 2 – Drake

  Chapter 3 – Drake

  Chapter 4 – Sam

  Chapter 5 – Drake

  Chapter 6 – Sam

  Chapter 7 – Lucy

  Chapter 8 – Sam

  Chapter 9 – Lucy

  Chapter 10 – Sam

  Chapter 11 – Lucy

  Chapter 12 – Sam

  Chapter 13 – Lucy

  Chapter 14 – Drake

  Chapter 15 – Sam

  Chapter 16 – Lucy

  Chapter 17 – Sam

  Chapter 18 – Sam

  Chapter 19 – Lucy

  Chapter 20 – Mr. Black

  Chapter 21 – Lucy

  Chapter 22 – Sam

  Chapter 23 – Lucy

  Chapter 24 – Drake

  Chapter 25 – Lucy

  Chapter 26 – Sam

  Chapter 27 – Lucy

  Chapter 28 – Sam

  Chapter 29 – Lucy

  Chapter 30 – Sam

  Chapter 31 – Lucy

  Chapter 32 – Sam

  Chapter 33 – Lucy

  Chapter 34 – Mr. Black

  Chapter 35 – Sam

  Chapter 36 – Sam

  Chapter 37 – Drake

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  What's Next?

  Chapter 1 – Sam

  The warmth of Drake's lips against mine sent butterflies spiraling through my stomach. His strong arms tightened around me just enough to make me feel safe without stealing all the air from my lungs. I rested my cheek against his chest and breathed in his unique scent—part campfire, part wind. Everything about that moment in our bed felt right... until the butterflies in my stomach turned into angry bees bent on killing me.

  My legs itched as if unseen bugs crawled through them; I couldn't keep them still. Hot and cold, my body fluctuated between extremes as I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat refused to comply.

  "Drake!" My mind called to him even as my body pushed away from his.

  He held onto me and refused to let me crawl into my own misery. "Sam, what's wrong?"

  I tried to speak out loud, but couldn't. "I don't know. Something is happening to me. Something isn't... right."

  Drops of sweat trickled down my forehead and stung my eyes. I shivered and clutched at Drake. My hands wrapped around his taut muscles as if trying to absorb their strength.

  His hand dropped to my swollen belly, and he switched to our mind link. 'Is it our baby?'

  My mental whimper made me cringe, but I couldn't help it. My body had been invaded by aliens. I wanted to tear my skin off and crawl out of myself. A ball of anxiety grew in my chest, smothering any of the peace I had felt just moments before. "It's not my stomach, it's everywhere. Like a poison or... Ahhhh!"

  The pain that ripped through me swallowed up all thoughts of words. If I hadn't already been lying in bed with Drake, I would have crashed to the floor. A vague need clawed at me—some unnamable craving that made no sense to my mind, but which captured the needs of my body.

  Some thing was missing, and its absence sent my nervous system into chaos.

  Drake covered me with a blanket, and pressed his cool hand against my head as he brushed long, sweaty strands of dark hair from my eyes. "I'm really freaking out here, Sam. You're pale, clammy, and you can't stop shaking. I don't know what to do. I think I should take you to the hospital." The skin around his blue eyes tightened in worry.

  I spoke through chattering teeth. "You can't. Baby. Experiments. They might take me away."

  I couldn't summon enough clarity to tell him why this was such a bad idea. I'd spent my whole life in a lie. The people who'd raised me as a paranormal spy, for hire to the rich and powerful, had given me everything any girl would ever need to live comfortably. Then they impregnated me against my will and held me prisoner.

  If it hadn't been for Drake, I'd have never gotten out.

  Drake and I met telepathically, after they kidnapped and imprisoned him at my school. We fell in love before ever meeting in person. Through him, I had learned not only to read minds, but to control them—a gift I often wished I could give back. But it had saved us.

  We were free, but hunted.

  We couldn't go to a hospital, where we might be reported or discovered. It was too risky.

  I didn't realize he'd gone until he came back with a cool washcloth and pressed it against my forehead. "If you aren't feeling better soon, we're going to the hospital. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and get you out of there, if it comes to that." He towered over me, his spiky blond hair disheveled from our recent make-out session that now seemed so long ago.

  My body shuddered, and not just because of my symptoms. Whatever it takes could mean a lot of things to Drake, including—but not limited to—physical violence and total mind control. The darkness of his paranormal talents scared me and seduced me in equal measure.

  ***

  Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke—who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught—and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting.

  And then I dreamed....

  ***

  The needle plunges into me, tearing through skin in one small, sharp poke. Yellow fluid drains from the vial and into my veins.

  I float outside my body, above a younger version of myself sitting on the hospital bed. My brown hair is longer, a child's cut with blunted bangs and pigtails. My blue eyes look brighter, more innocent. "Why do I have to get this all the time? What does it do?"

  Dr. Sato also looks younger, though very old to my child-self, her Asian features smooth and pronounced, her white coat and stilted accent forever the same. "You not get it all the time. Only every three months. It vitamin. It make you strong and healthy. Make you feel good."

  I struggle to slip into her thoughts, but they're all mumbo-jumbo, the sounds foreign and harsh to my young mind. I haven't yet learned many other languages, just one or two common ones. Her Japanese dialect is not common, and no amount of mind reading will change the fact that I cannot understand her words. Trying only gives me a headache.

  Then it's okay. I don't mind not knowing, not hearing her thoughts. All is well.

  Time slips forward and again I'm in a hospital bed, o
nly this time I'm older... and unconscious. My legs are spread. My sleeping form does not move.

  A male doctor I've never seen sticks something inside me—

  I scream. And scream. And scream.

  No one hears.

  ***

  "Sam. Sam!"

  Fingers dug into my shoulders, pulling me from my dream fragments. Ghostly hands clawed at my mind and tried to carry me back into my nightmares, but Drake's hold on me didn't waver. His mind probed mine; my consciousness had no choice but to wake up and take control.

  My throat cracked when I spoke. "How long have I been asleep?"

  He sat at the edge of the bed and kissed my head. "A few hours."

  "I feel worse than before I slept, like I ran a marathon with a hangover."

  The right side of his lips curved up in his signature half grin. "You've never had a hangover, so how would you know?"

  I smirked. "I don't have to get drunk to know the aftermath doesn't feel so great. Intelligent people learn lessons without having to make all the mistakes. Unlike some, who think that chugging beer through—what do you call those things? Beer hats?—is a genius thing to do."

  "That's the last time I tell you any of my secrets."

  "Uh... I can read your mind."

  "True. Speaking of reading minds... yours was screaming at me while you slept. Then you actually screamed. What were you dreaming, Hon?"

  Only bits and pieces of my dream remained–the terror, the invasiveness–but no real details. Something nudged at the back of my memory, though, an important piece of the puzzle that my subconscious mind needed me to remember.

  "I think I'm hungry. Or thirsty. Or... something." What? What did I need to feel better? I resisted the urge to scratch the skin off my restless legs, but it was so hard. Everything ached. Everything had a wrongness about it.

  Drake left to get me food. I forced myself out of our Queen-sized bed and made my way to the bathroom we shared with Brad. Sharing a bathroom with two men was not the highlight of my new life, but we were lucky Brad had a place for us at all. He'd even kept all of Drake's stuff when he left their old apartment and rented this one. I would forever be grateful to Brad for standing by Drake the way he had all these years.

  I wiped down the sink with a piece of toilet paper, erasing evidence of men who brushed their teeth like children, and splashed warm water over my face. My symptoms were all so muddled–pregnancy and illness duking it out for supremacy in my miserable body. Dizziness. Restless legs. Nausea. Anxiety. Shakiness. Those all seemed new. Well, not the nausea, but what had once been run-of-the-mill had turned into a Code Red vomit fest. Not normal.

  Time for Google.

  When Drake returned with a turkey sandwich, a salad and water, I sat propped-up in bed with the laptop on my legs.

  My search results revealed a lot of random diagnosis. Adrenal insufficiency. Environmental allergy. Hormone imbalance—very likely, all things considered. Unknown pathogen—thank you, Google, that's very useful.

  The one diagnosis that kept popping up again and again was the one that scared me the most.

  Drug withdrawal.

  Chapter 2 – Drake

  St. Michael's Catholic Church occupied the entire corner of Naples and Coeur D'Alene Avenue in a quaint neighborhood of Venice, where kids played ball on the street and women sold Tamales from their pushcarts on the corner. Typical Southern California.

  The church had been Drake's fifth foster family's contribution to his life. He didn't remember the family all that much—they all blurred together after awhile—but he did remember this church and Father Patrick. It had been too long since Drake visited the old Priest. Now he needed him more than ever.

  Sam and Drake escaped the clutches of Rent-A-Kid just over a month ago, and for the last two weeks, Drake had stood by and watched as Sam suffered. She'd grown gaunt and pale, and lost too much weight, especially with their baby growing inside of her. She shook all the time, and cried when she thought he wasn't looking. Drake had seen people come off meth... and that's what Sam looked like.

  He hadn't taken her to the hospital. She was too scared they would keep her for drug use while pregnant, or something. Drake knew he could get her out, no problem, but she didn't want him using his powers that way.

  If he couldn't use his gifts to protect his child and girlfriend, then what was the point of having powers at all? He didn't understand Sam's problem with using para-powers that were a part of them. How could it be wrong if it's how they were born?

  He pushed the large, wooden carved doors in and stood for a moment, letting the silence and holiness of the place rest over him like a shawl.

  As if psychic—and Drake had long suspected he was—Father Patrick shuffled down the aisle with arms wide open. "Drake, my boy, it's been too long. Too long. I've been worried for you."

  The old man, a good foot shorter than Drake, wrapped his arm around the taller man and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

  "I've sensed some darkness around you, boy. And I've been saying my prayers."

  Drake followed him down the aisle and through a side door into the priest's office. "I could use your help, Father."

  "It's not my help you need, but our Lord Father's help." He smiled and sat behind his desk. "Yes, I know, you don't believe in all this, but that doesn't mean He doesn't believe in you." He waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind all that. What can I help you with?"

  A plump woman, dressed in an orange muumuu that matched her hair, opened the door and peeked her head in. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, Father, but I thought I heard...." Her voice trailed off as she made eye contact with Drake. "...and I did! Drake, look at you, such a big boy. Where have you been? You should see the patio and garden this time of year. So lovely. Everyone is just so grateful for all the work you did on that. We have never seen a young man with so much strength."

  Mrs. Maypol squeezed his bicep and giggled, then kissed Drake's cheeks and hugged him so hard a normal person might not have been able to breathe. He smiled big and hugged back, more gently so as not to crush her.

  He looked to the priest and to Mrs. Maypol. These people had been his family growing up. Whenever he could sneak away from whatever foster home served as temporary residence, he came here. Through the years, it just seemed natural to help them out with different projects around the place. He never took to their religion, but always believed their hearts were in the right place.

  "It's good to see you, Mrs. Maypol. I've been out of town for awhile, but I've missed you all too."

  "Well, I'll leave you to your talk. I just had to say hi!" She bustled out as quickly as she'd bustled in.

  The priest settled his eyes on Drake. "You're in some kind of trouble, I suspect?"

  Drake debated how much to tell him about what he'd gone through. Trust wasn't the issue; he didn't want to put Father Patrick in danger if anyone should come looking for him. They might not find his connection to this church, but he couldn't risk it.

  "I'm not even sure I should have come here. It could be dangerous, but I didn't know who else to talk to. Father, you know how I've always been... different?"

  The priest chuckled. "Yes, different. That's one way of putting it. I seem to recall a young Bishop who will never return to this church because he believes it is haunted and that his soul became possessed one Sunday while doing a guest sermon."

  Drake laughed. He hadn't thought about that day in many years.

  ***

  At ten years old, Drake was just starting to test the limits and boundaries of his powers. When the Bishop yelled at one of the other kids for not kneeling properly during the Sacraments, he became the perfect target.

  The man stood at the front of the church, full of pomp and arrogance, proclaiming God's intention that even the poor give of their last dime to further finance the Armies of God. It irritated Drake that this man, who knew nothing of the people here, would drain his foster family of what little they had out of misguided guilt.

>   Time to play a little prank.

  As the Bishop droned on... "To any who hold back even the smallest penny of abundance, everlasting misery shall surely follow you for your lack of faith and lack of support...." Drake slipped into the Bishop's oily, weasely little mind. "And so we petition you as Christ petitioned His followers, to give until it hurts, for only then will you...." –and Drake was in— "...dance the hokey pokey in heaven."

  A murmur of surprise started like a wave through the packed congregation. When the Bishop actually started doing the hokey pokey, bursts of guilty laughter hiccupped throughout the crowd.

  Father Patrick, sitting on stage behind the Bishop, looked straight into Drake, and the ten-year-old understood in that instant... the Father knew.

  ***

  "That was how we met." Drake closed the memory back up, putting it away carefully in his mind. He didn't have many happy memories, but those he did he guarded fiercely.

  "A day I shall forever cherish," Father Patrick said. "And between you and me, that pompous Bishop deserved a bit of humbling. But, back to the point of it all: yes, you are different."

  "There are more of my kind. Not exactly like me, but with different abilities. All kinds of powers, things you wouldn't believe if you saw!"

  The priest's eyebrow arched up in surprise. "How many?"

  "I don't know exactly, but an entire school's worth, and younger kids in another facility. They're using them, doing horrible genetic experiments, and... I've fallen in love with a girl. Sam is her name, and she's pregnant with my child. I'm going to be a dad, and... the kicker is... we've never even...." Drake hesitated. "We've never known each other in the Biblical sense," he finished.

  The priest laughed full belly at that. "You can use the word, boy. Sex. I'm a priest, not dead. I'm familiar with the word. As to the rest, I need to give this some thought."

  Drake fidgeted in his chair. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

  "No, but this is a lot to take in. I'm not surprised that there are others with special gifts. History, and my own life experiences, prove that, whether through supernatural or genetic intervention, some people are blessed with incredible powers. But an organization that would exploit these children, use them and experiment on them? This is the highest level of unholy. They must be stopped."