“No.” The single word, spoken by a man, was completely unyielding. Somehow the voice was familiar, or maybe the tone, but I couldn’t place it.
“He needs to heal,” insisted the woman. “He’s burned far too badly to give him much comfort otherwise. After he’s better, we can worry about his addiction. It’s too much all at once.”
The man didn’t back down. “Giving him curequick will only prolong his dependence. It’s been five days since they found him. With our metabolism, five days is halfway there.”
The blackness I’d crawled from invited me to return, but I clung to the familiarity of the man’s voice. It was the only thing that seemed to cut through the cravings and the pain of . . . what? I didn’t remember doing anything that could bring this agony.
“Not with his level of addiction, it isn’t,” the woman said. “Our bodies record the need for curequick in a way similar to how they record our memories even if our heads are severed—as long as our other two focus points, the heart and reproductive system, are intact. His recovery will take at least two months and maybe up to six.”
“Look, I know your first priority as a doctor is to make your patient comfortable, but do not give him curequick, or you’ll answer to me.” The man’s voice betrayed controlled anger, and I knew he had every intention of fighting for what he believed.
“I’m sorry, but my patient is an adult, and he has the final say.” The doctor’s voice moved closer. “Blaze, I’m Dr. Strout, I’m here to look after you. I can give you curequick with the sedative. Would you like that?”
I wanted to say yes. In fact, I wanted to beg for the curequick. But all at once I placed the other voice as that of my foster father. “Ritter?” I whispered. The effort sent shards of glass rippling down my throat.
“I’m here, Blaze. Your partner called me when they found you.”
I struggled to open my eyes and could almost make out his face through a thick haze. “Where . . .?”
“You’re in London. I flew here as soon as I heard.”
That wasn’t what I meant. “Kenna?”
“She’s safe. You want me to get her?”
“No.” The last thing I wanted was for her to see me like this.
There was more I wanted to know—about Brigida and her children, and the town. But my ability to even think had fled, and the torture I was experiencing cranked up a notch.
“Would you like the curequick?” The doctor asked again. “I wish I had an alternative to offer, but there isn’t one. We can wean you off it later when you recover. It’ll be easier then.”
“Blaze, don’t,” came Ritter’s voice, both firm and soft, punctuated by a pleading I hadn’t heard from him for over a hundred and sixty-seven years.
I remembered the day he’d arrived in Portugal, standing in front of me with an uncertain expression as he explained that he’d been a friend of my grandfather’s—great-grandfather’s, I would find out later—and was there to take me with him to America. If I agreed.
I had. He had saved me then when I’d trusted him, and maybe he could help me now.
“No curequick,” I said, the words barely a whisper from my parched throat. Never again.
As if to taunt me, the agony in my body became all encompassing. I need it now! I screamed inside my head.
“Give him a painkiller,” Ritter ordered.
“It won’t help. Not much. A sedative would be better, though it won’t last.”
“Give him both.”
I didn’t feel the prick of a needle, and it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference if I had.
“You staying?” I asked Ritter.
“I’ll be right here. You can do this, I promise.”
From the moment he’d taken me in at thirteen, he’d kept every promise he’d made to me. Maybe I could do this.
The darkness threatened to take me, and this time I dived in.
TIME PASSED WITH THE EVER-constant, agonizing torture, a need so deep I didn’t know how I’d make it through another second. As my body healed from the burns, the demand for curequick increased tenfold. Every hour, I questioned my decision, but each time I thought to give in, Ritter was there, a barrier between me and any chance of curequick.
I lived for the moments of blessed unconsciousness, though these were haunted by images of a crying toddler screaming for his mother, and a little girl with a bullet hole in her chest.
Then after what seemed like an eternity, the haze partially lifted, like the dawn after a storm, and I awoke from a fitful sleep with only the familiar cravings instead of the blinding ones that made me want to curl into a ball and weep. I still wanted curequick—and quite badly—but it was nothing compared to the hell I had endured.
I looked over to see not Ritter but Kenna by my bedside, tucked in a chair, her red hair fanned over her face. Sleeping, she looked vulnerable, nothing like the tough warrior I knew her to be.
I must have made a sound because her eyes popped open, her hand sliding almost imperceptibly to her gun inside its holster. Without shifting position, she scanned the room until her gaze fell on me. Abruptly, she sat up. “Oh, you’re awake.”
I wanted to tell her to leave almost as much as I wanted to beg her to stay. The need to see her won out. “Was I dreaming, or was my father here?”
“Oh, he’s been here nonstop until today. I finally made him leave to take a shower.” She made a face. “Believe me, after seven weeks sitting in here, he needed it.”
“Seven weeks,” I mumbled. Only seven?
“I know. A long time.”
I wasn’t about to admit that it had felt like much longer. A year in purgatory would be a vacation after the past seven weeks.
“Ritter made me swear on my life to protect you from any offers of curequick. Though the doctor is just as happy as we are that you’ve made it this far.”
Even the mention of curequick conjured a desire so strong I wanted to leap up and go find the drug myself. I pushed the need down, and to my surprise, it receded to a manageable level. “So, what happened in Portugal?”
A smile spread across her face. “You saved everyone, is what.” She scooted the chair close enough that if I had been able to focus even a little bit better, I could have counted her freckles.
“I wasn’t able to break through the codes on the Emporium’s computer system with my limited tools,” she went on, “but they had plenty in hard copy that I was able to steal, thanks to their preoccupation with your fires. Apparently, you destroyed nearly all the Emporium’s buildings, including a brick one they were using as a lab. A good portion of their fields burned as well. Cities all around had to come help put out the fires. By the time Greggor and the reinforcements he called in from Italy arrived the next day, the Emporium was already pulling out. Best we can figure, they decided to cut their losses when they realized how far we—or you, rather—were willing to go to send them packing.”
“The town burned?”
“The town lost a few dozen buildings when the fire spread, but the great thing is that almost everything there is made of cement and stucco, so it spread slowly. All the people are okay—well, besides those who died before we arrived. Better yet, they came out of their odd stupor a few weeks after they stopped eating the genetically modified food. Believe it or not, in the past month, the police had to arrest five people for being a public nuisance.” She laughed.
I couldn’t join her mirth. Not yet. “And Dona Mafalda’s daughter?” I held my breath, seeing again the little children who’d stalked my dreams.
“Actually, Brigida’s the reason we found you. Your tracking chip was damaged when you were burned, so at first we suspected the Emporium took you with them. But she reported to the police about you disappearing into a wheat field after saving them, and we had ears out waiting for just that kind of intel. We searched the field and found you. Burned to a crisp I might add. You must have been passed out there when the fire jumped to the field.”
I might have also acc
identally set it ablaze. “Her children?”
“They were a little hungry and a lot scared, but they’re fine. Thanks to you. Often it’s the wee ones who are the most resilient.”
I let out a sigh, releasing the tension that had built inside me since waking. “That’s good.”
“The town will recover before too long, though the depressant will remain in their organs for years to come. However, only the pregnant women and their children are at immediate risk, and with the formulas I stole, we’ve managed to come up with some countermeasures to save the babies.” A slight frown marred her face. “Some of the older people may still die before their time, but they’re lucky we caught it when we did.”
“At least it wasn’t a virus that could spread like a biological weapon.”
Kenna grimaced. “That’s probably next on the Emporium’s list.” Her voice was light but deadly serious. “Regardless, we’ll keep a sharp eye out for any more unexplained decreases in population. By the way, you were right. All the documentation points to their intention of eventually getting rid of any sick or aged who might be a drain on society. And they were pleased about the side effect of infant mortality because they felt it would help them control the mortal population.”
“That control will never happen. Not while we’re still alive.”
Her hand slid into mine, sending a different kind of sensation pulsing through my body.
“You might have a fever,” she said. “Your hand’s burning.”
“No, I . . .” How embarrassing to show my reaction to her this way. “Just a few overheated atoms.”
“I like the sound of that.” She leaned forward and kissed me. My hand went up around her neck pulling her close, enjoying the taste of her lips. She felt so good, and smelled even better. Far better than any drug.
I was about to investigate her mouth further when Ritter reentered the room, his hair still wet from his shower. “Feeling better, I see.” His smile mocked, but his dark eyes danced with amusement.
Releasing Kenna reluctantly, I reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Not great, but I think I’m going to be just fine.”
“I knew you would be once you made the decision. I’m proud of you, son.”
Ritter never gave praise unless it was merited, so this, and the way Kenna watched me with her baby blues, her lips moist and reddened with my kiss, finally made it all real. I had fought both the Emporium and my own personal dragon and had come up the victor.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Ritter asked.
I started to shake my head and then remembered. “Well, there is this old guy I borrowed a motorcycle from. I really need to get him a replacement.”
NOTE FROM TEYLA BRANTON: Thank you for downloading this book and for spending a little time with me in my world! If you enjoyed Set Ablaze, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. For your enjoyment, I have included a bonus preview of Mortal Brother, a novella in the Unbounded series that tells the side story of what happened to Erin’s brother Chris while he watched over the plane in Mexico during The Cure (Unbounded Book 2). Or, if you enjoy contemporary romance, I have also included a bonus preview of House Without Lies that I wrote under the name Rachel Branton. You can learn more about me and my books in the About the Author section following the sample chapters, but don’t forget to sign up on my website for free books and other subscribers exclusives. THANKS!
THE END
Bonus Preview
THE MEN CRAWLING ALL OVER my plane were the first indication that something wasn’t right. Well, it wasn’t exactly my plane, but I was a Renegade, and it belonged to our group, even if I was mortal and wouldn’t live two thousand years like my Unbounded comrades. Besides, I was the only one who could fly the plane, so I considered it mine.
I’d thought taking care of the plane in this little out-of-the-way airstrip in the Mexican jungle while my friends looked into an attack on the medical lab we funded here was little more than babysitting duty, something to keep me away from the real action. Safe. More than a bit irritating, but if staying behind meant staying alive, I’d deal with the irritation for my two children, who had been through more than any children should since their mother’s murder two months earlier. I’d nearly lost them, too, yesterday when the Emporium had attacked our stronghold in Oregon, so being safe wasn’t all that bad.
Except now I’d bet the men trying to get inside that plane weren’t doing it for my welfare.
“More?” asked Diego Molina, the young Mexican who, along with his father, ran the airstrip. He put his hand on the pot of bad coffee sitting on the small table between us—the third pot since my arrival several hours ago. The coffee and the stale biscuits made me wonder if they were trying to poison me or simply weren’t used to entertaining. If it hadn’t been for the delicious smells coming from the attached kitchen and a promised dinner, I would have already retreated to the privacy—and comfort—of the plane.
“He is probably sick of that swill,” a young woman said, appearing from the kitchen for the first time. She set a sweating can of beer in front of me and smiled. It was the first I’d seen of anyone besides the two men since my arrival. She wore tight, American-style jeans and a light blue tank top that hugged her small curves. She looked barely out of her teens and pretty in a dark, exotic way, with long black hair and eyes that were almost too large in her narrow face.
Ignoring the can, I jumped to my feet and strode to the small open window, stopping to draw out a pair of binoculars from my backpack of survival gear so I could see better. Across the wide expanse of dirt that separated this small building from where my plane sat, the strangers were inspecting the underbelly of the plane, presumably trying to find another way inside besides the locked door. That wasn’t happening any time soon. Only our Renegades knew the combination to the hatches, and there was a handprint reader for added security. While they could eventually break the codes or drill through the mechanism, it would take time.
“What are they doing to my plane?” My hand went to my pistol, which suddenly seemed inadequate protection against the half dozen men. Rough men, who looked prepared to do whatever it took to achieve their goal, if the rifles slung over their shoulders were any indication.
Diego followed me to the window, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “I don’t know,” he said, his accent thicker than ever. Turning, he rattled off something in quick Spanish to his father, César, who still sat at the table.
The two men exchanged more rapid conversation, and then the older man stood and clumped to the outer door, pulling it open. A short time later, he was in the sedan he’d picked me up in and was speeding toward the plane. The men stopped banging on the lower hatch when they saw him coming. They clustered as they waited, and I thought it a promising sign when none of them attacked him as he climbed from the car.
The goodwill didn’t last. We were too far away to hear anything said, but the violent gesturing told me the newcomers were angry. The pistol one of them waved around also spoke loudly of their intentions. Diego’s father nodded and lifted his hands in an obvious plea for them to wait. Then he returned to his car and drove back across the dirt.
When César arrived, his wide, sun-darkened face was even darker with anger as he exchanged more words with his son. Diego looked the picture of a wounded child who had done something he knew he shouldn’t have.
The girl’s head yanked back and forth between them as she followed the conversation, the flush rising on her face making her more compelling. She spoke to the men, and Diego answered her sharply. I was beginning to regret that I hadn’t paid more attention to learning real world Spanish. I just hadn’t needed it in my hometown of Kansas City.
“What is it?” I demanded.
César pointed at his son. “Diego mahk dee deal wid bandeets. Day loose men. D
ay are wanting plane or keel us.” His disgust was obvious, but his English was even more heavily accented than his son’s, and I had no idea what he was saying.
“What?” I asked.
“Bandits want your plane,” the girl said. “Diego made a deal with them, and they want it because the deal didn’t work out. They will kill us if we don’t give it to them.”
“No way.” I slid my pistol from its holster, glad my Renegade training meant I carried extra magazines and more target practice in a month than most mortals had in an entire lifetime. “They are not taking my plane.”
Cost aside, the plane was our way of rushing back a cure we desperately needed for the husband of Stella Davis, one of our Unbounded Renegades. Bronson was dying of a rare autoimmune disease, and our lab here in the Mexican jungle had reported a breakthrough with a cure. But two days ago, the lab had been razed to the ground, and my team was tracking our scientists that we believed had escaped with the research. I wasn’t about to let my people down, especially after what had happened at our stronghold yesterday. It was more than just the life we’d lost. Far more.
“You no understand,” Diego shouted, punching his fist in the air. “Your friends keel their men. They no leave. They will keel you.”
I pointed my gun at him. “What deal did you make?”
No one answered for a long moment. Then the girl said, “They were supposed to rob your friends.”
That almost made me laugh. Against my younger siblings, Erin and Jace, and the experienced Renegades with them, an entire army of mortal bandits wouldn’t have stood a chance. Unbounded can’t be killed, not in the normal way. Head and heart and reproductive organs had to be completely separated. No two sections could remain attached or they would fully regenerate. Unique abilities made Unbounded even more powerful, but of course, these people knew nothing of Unbounded.
“You sold us out?” I spat at Diego. What a creep! We’d paid them a small fortune to land here and to park the plane while we finished our business. The weaponry alone that we carried would have been attractive to any militant group, but I’d expected some honor in dealing with César, who I understood had worked with our Renegades in the past. Apparently, his son was greedy.
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