Get down.
The command came out of nowhere before crystallizing in his mind. Harsh and masculine the order repeated. The taste of ash coated his tongue. Cole spat. Shit, he wasn’t even sure which way was down. He dropped to his knees. The smoke wasn’t so dense. He supposed he owed whoever had invaded his head a thanks. And he would right after he found Wendy. He had to find Wendy.
He started crawling. The scream of horses joined Miranda’s scream. He could hear her chanting in his head.
Please, please, please, please . . .
He didn’t know if she was begging him or praying to God. In the end it didn’t matter, because without God’s help there was no way in hell anybody’s ass was getting out of here.
He kept going, digging through the smoke. He got back by the tack room where the water trough was. This far back in the barn, the fire wasn’t so intense. The bastards must have set fire to the front and sides but left the back. Still, he didn’t see how little Wendy could be alive. He leaned back against the wooden trough. In his mind Miranda chanted. He wanted to swear and curse. He wanted to pray. He didn’t have the breath for anything but another hoarse call of Wendy’s name.
There. That might have been someone.
“Wendy,” he called her name again, and this time there was a cough and a splash and an answer.
“Here!”
He blinked and sat up. Son of a bitch, she was in the water trough. Smart little girl.
He crawled up onto his knees and reached into the trough. She was right there, shaking, coughing. Her face was streaked with black ash, her hair was a wild tangle, and her big brown eyes were bloodshot and terrified.
“You, Wendy, are one beautiful little girl,” he told her. “What do you say we get out of here?”
She nodded.
“Then dunk under that water and get your hair really good and wet,” he told her. “Then we’re going to leave.”
“But the fire . . .”
“Isn’t going to touch you,” he finished for her.
He wouldn’t let it.
For a split second she hesitated, but then she pinched her nose closed and went under the water. Before she could pull herself up, he grabbed her dripping out of the trough and held her against his chest. Her arms crept around his neck as she coughed and shook.
“I knew you’d come for me.”
“Good girl.”
She pulled the bandanna down off his face.
“I heard you.”
He nodded and looked around.
“How did I hear you?”
That wasn’t something he needed to go into right now. “Save your breath.”
While he figured out how to save their asses. One thing was sure. They couldn’t go back the way he’d come in. The front of the barn was a wall of living, breathing fire. Arms of yellow and orange snaked out of the black, wrapping around fresh wood, pulling it into the conflagration, creating more smoke. More destruction. More death. Cole closed his eyes for a second. The horses had stopped screaming. Such a waste.
“Are we going to die?” Wendy whispered hoarsely, her gaze following his.
“Not today,” he told her, standing. The devil wasn’t taking her today.
She clung tighter. Yanking the bandana from around his neck, he dipped it in the trough.
“Lift your face up.” The order came out a croak. He tied the fabric around her face. She tugged at it. He couldn’t stop coughing long enough to tell her to leave it be, so he just shook his head at her and held it in place before heading to the back wall, bracing his back against it and lying down.
He sent a thought to Addy as hard as he could, picturing the back wall of the barn. He didn’t know if it were actually possible to transmit thoughts, and this was a heck of a time to find out. He waited in vain for a response. Above timbers creaked and sparks fell. There was no response. He sent the same image again. Unfocused. Just tossing it out there. He didn’t care who the hell opened that back wall. Friend or enemy. He just needed to get out. This time there was a response. Masculine, calm, incredibly powerful.
We’re coming.
Cole’s body covered Wendy’s. She cried out, her little arms going around his neck again; she was clinging to him, putting all her faith in him.
“Help’s coming,” he told her. He blocked her view of the flames with his shoulders, feeling the bite of the multitude of ashes peppering him through his shirt.
“We’re just going to lie down here where the air is fresher and wait a bit.” She coughed and nodded at him. He pushed her hair away from her face.
“You all right?”
His voice was more of a rasp, and the question ended in a cough. But she didn’t seem to know what that meant. She started chattering in his ear. Nothing had ever sounded so good.
Hurry the fuck up, he told that energy in his head.
Already here, the answer came back, and they were.
Axes struck at the back wall, the thuds punctuated by gunfire and men’s shouts. Whoever was standing there had bullets flying around him. The weakened rafters creaked another warning. The whole place was about to collapse.
He looked down at Wendy.
“Do you know how to pray?”
She nodded. She folded her little hands in front of her. He’d never felt so helpless.
“Then start.” It took a lot to get those words out.
She did, “Now I lay me down to sleep.”
He wanted to curse because he had enough bad luck without her putting ideas into anyone or anything’s head with “And if I die before I wake.” Instead, he stroked his hand over the top of her head.
“Don’t get fancy. Just ask God to make that man on the other side of the wall strong and keep him safe. That’s all we need.”
He didn’t add “and for him to hurry.”
He could see the flames licking across the hay on the floor. It was a race now to see what got to them first. The fire, the smoke, or help. He put his hand on the side of Wendy’s face before sliding it down and slipping his fingers behind her head to her nape, and then he pushed himself up so he could get leverage with the other while still hiding the approaching flames. It would only take a second to snap her neck. A horrible damn-him-to-hell second. But she wouldn’t die screaming with fire eating at her flesh. God forgive him, if she had to die, she’d die by his hand before he let that happen.
The axe bit through the wood.
“Might wanna hurry it up,” he yelled.
He didn’t know if they could hear.
The blade bit through wood, again and again, chipping away at the wall when Cole needed the axe to break through. The heat of the fire seared through his boots. He kicked at it, pulling Wendy up. Finally an axe blade broke the rough wood beside his head.
“Now,” he hollered. “Get us out now.”
They had to get them out of there now. The wood splintered, and there was a roar. Nails screamed in protest as they were ripped from their foundations. Smoke billowed out ahead of Cole.
Arms reached in. Flames licked up. He rolled, taking Wendy with him, pushing her in the direction of those hands. She was snatched from his grip while the flames ate his shirt. Relief shuddered through him. She’d made it.
He coughed some more. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t take his eyes away from the flames consuming his clothing. But he didn’t hurt. At least he didn’t hurt.
Closing his eyes, he sent a message to Miranda.
She’s out.
“Christ, he’s fucking burning up! Somebody get some water.”
He heard the cry, but he didn’t feel anything. The world was a dark, smoky place. And Wendy was safe. It was a good day.
“Give me that bucket,” somebody yelled.
Water hissed to steam. Another victim of the fire.
His lungs burned, and the darkness clawed at him. He pictured Miranda’s smile when she had her daughter back. Pictured the relief and joy. And fell back into the darkness.
* * *
“I don’t know what the hell you want me to do with him,” Isaiah said. “A human can’t survive these wounds.”
They were just standing there. Clark, Blade, Isaiah, Addy. Miranda stared at Cole’s unconscious body. Why weren’t they doing something?
“Do something anyway,” Addy snapped.
“You will save him,” Miranda ordered, pushing anything but conviction away.
“He’s burned badly,” Blade said, his black eyes as flat as his expression as he relayed that information. “Probably his lungs, too.”
Miranda didn’t want to hear that. “He went into that burning building to save my daughter. You won’t let him die,” Miranda commanded.
“He’s human. Put him out of his misery,” Clark interjected.
“Isaiah?” Miranda said, moving to the bed, closer to her sword, placing herself between Cole and them.
“What, Miranda?”
“Kill him.”
Addy gasped. “You bitch.”
Isaiah grabbed Addy’s arm and held her back. Blade just smiled.
“You might want to clarify who you want dead.”
Miranda didn’t hesitate. “Clark.”
She wanted Clark dead. He’d left her daughter to die as if she were nothing. She wanted him more than dead. She wanted him to suffer.
Clark swore.
“Oh.” With a wave of her hand, Addy dismissed Clark. “Him you can kill.”
“That might be premature,” Isaiah countered.
Miranda looked at him. “You promised me once that anything I needed you’d give me.”
“I did.”
Addy glared at Clark. “Reapers keep their promises, husband.”
“They do.”
“I want him dead.”
“Go to hell,” Clark snapped at her.
Miranda wanted to slash her talons across his mouth. “You will no longer talk to me that way.”
“I’ll talk to my intended any way I want.”
“You’re a coward, a thief, and I suspect impotent.” She all but spat those words, disgust pouring out of her until it felt like it filled the room. “I’ll never marry you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“You left a child to die. My child.”
“Shut up.”
She lifted her chin. “Make me.”
Clark waved his hand to include the others. “Do you think they’ll save you? They’re bound by mating law. I could beat you right here, and they’ll let me.”
“Is that true?”
Blade smiled a cold smile. “He could take a swing.”
Isaiah went still. “He is that stupid.”
Clark took a step back. “They won’t always be there.”
Miranda closed her eyes against that truth. Clark was right. Isaiah and Blade wouldn’t always be there.
The whisper came strong but silent into her mind. A voice yet not a voice. A thought yet not a thought. Strong, masculine, and foreign.
Make your choice, girl.
Blade was in her head. She looked at him. He stared calmly back at her. A choice. She had a choice. Placing her hand on Cole’s shoulder, over the place where she’d left her mark in the wake of that incredible kiss, she finally understood. Even through the material of his scorched shirt, the contact made her palm tingle. Reaper or human. She had a choice.
Do it.
“I accept this man as my mate.”
Clark snarled. “The hell you say!”
She faced him squarely. “I reject your suit, your interest.” It felt so damn good to say this. “I reject you.”
“He’ll never have you,” Clark snarled, stepping in.
From Cole came a wild surge of energy in a room gone strangely cold. The first sign of life she’d felt from him since they’d brought him in, and it’d come in defense of her. She bit her lip, a sob fighting for freedom.
“Neither will you,” Miranda snarled right back at him, dropping her hand to the mattress, closer to the sword hidden beneath, but it was Addy who yelled for Gaelen.
He poked his head in the door.
Addy waved to Clark. “Please escort Clark back to his home.”
“I’m a member of the council, bitch. I don’t take orders from you.”
Isaiah grabbed Clark by the neck, his talons embedding just over the jugular and backed him toward the door. A trickle of blood spilled down Clark’s neck.
“But you do take them from me.”
There was nothing more intimidating than Isaiah when he went all cold Reaper. Miranda smiled as Clark’s bravado slipped along with his gaze.
Gaelen grabbed Clark’s arm. “Come along, boy. Puffing up now won’t change history.”
The whole village knew of his cowardice. Miranda had made sure of it.
The closing of the door blew fresh air into the room. Miranda took a deep breath. It filled her lungs, her spirit. She felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
A 220-pound one.
Her gaze flew to Blade. Nothing in his expression reflected the amusement in that quip. Was he the one talking in her head, or wasn’t he?
“About damn time you did that,” Isaiah growled, coming back, wiping the blood from his hand with the rag she used to clean.
“I didn’t realize I could.”
It wasn’t a mistake she’d make again.
“There’s always a choice,” Blade interjected.
Addy interjected. “He won’t go away.”
“He will if he has any sense.”
Addy snorted. “There isn’t a lick of sense in that Reaper’s body. He’s made of up pride and self-indulgence.”
“Then he will be dealt with.”
Blade didn’t sound worried about the potential confrontation. But then again, Miranda decided, looking at the enforcer, if she had that much muscle backing that much confidence, she wouldn’t be worried, either.
“What about Cole?” she asked.
Blade shook his head. “If I could work miracles, I’d walk on water rather than circling around rivers looking for a shallow stretch.”
“That’s not an answer,” Addy snapped.
“If his lungs are burned, there’s nothing to do.”
“If?” Isaiah asked. “You think there’s a chance they’re not?”
Blade shrugged. “I’m just saying I can’t give him new lungs.”
“Convert him,” Addy whispered. “Make him Reaper.”
No!
The “no” echoed in Miranda’s head. She looked down at Cole’s completely still body and knew, just knew, her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. That was Cole’s choice, voiced in her head. She ran her eyes over his body. Bits and pieces of his clothing still clung to his badly burned body. She tried to imagine how he must have felt, knowing the fire was consuming him as the hole opened in the wall. She tried to imagine how much self-sacrifice it took for him to shove her daughter through first. How much courage it had taken in the first place to charge through the flames to save a child that wasn’t his. Placing her hand on the one spot on his forearm that was whole, she squeezed gently.
Thank you.
“Takes three bites spaced out, Addy,” Isaiah said. “He doesn’t have that much time.”
“Then keep him alive long enough to find that time.”
Addy took a step closer. Miranda didn’t move from where she stood beside Cole. A snarl built deep inside her. She tightened her grip on his arm.
As one, Blade and Isaiah looked at her.
“I agree, converting him would be the sensible choice,” Blade said
in that calm, commanding way of his, his near-black eyes never leaving her. For once Miranda didn’t care if he saw to her soul. Her daughter was alive with only a few burns and a cough thanks to this man. It was her turn to protect him.
“What do you know, Blade?” Isaiah asked.
Blade turned his attention to Isaiah, his shoulder-length hair falling forward, hiding his expression. Miranda didn’t fool herself that he’d turned his attention away from her.
“By rights he should be dead, but he’s not.”
“He’s always been strong,” Addy interrupted.
Blade nodded. “But I suspect the reason he’s not dead is he’s already halfway to conversion.”
“How is that possible?” Addy gasped.
“He’s been bitten twice,” Blade explained. “Once during the battle and once since.”
As one, everyone looked at Miranda. She moved her hand back to that spot on Cole’s shoulder. Almost but not quite touching. Her palm tingled. Coincidence? “It just happened,” she confessed in a whisper.
A smile tweaked the sternness of Isaiah’s expression. “It can.”
“He’s compatible?” Addy asked.
Blade nodded. “Always suspected the man had Reaper blood in him.”
“How can he have Reaper blood if we don’t even know how the hell we got it?” Isaiah asked.
“That would be what’s called an interesting question.” Blade grabbed a chair and set it down backward close to the bed before straddling it and resting his arms across the back.
Inside Miranda the snarling resumed. He was too close. “The other one will be what happens if we don’t convert him.”
“What’s the danger?” Isaiah asked.
Blade shrugged. “A man with Reaper blood half converted is not the same as a human twice bitten.”
Isaiah ran his hand through his hair. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Nope.”
“Then what are you basing this on?”
“The man ran into a burning building through a wall of fire to save a little girl that logic said was probably dead anyway,” Blade pointed out reasonably. “And came out alive. And, more importantly, the fact that he’s lying there healing while we’re debating what to do to save him.”
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