Scorch Song (Firebloods Book 2)

by Casey Hays

  “Seriously? If anything, you’re the one who’s used me,” I counter.

  “Never.”

  His eyes hold mine, making everything awkward. Because his answer tugs at me a little. I ignore the feeling and make another move to go.

  “You’re worried about Kane finding out you were here.” This stalls me right in my spot. “But I rather enjoy the competition.”

  He sounds so aloof—so bold and arrogant in his assumptions—and this is the reason Rylin rubs me the wrong way. Here he goes again, assuming he knows what I’m feeling or what I want or what I need. And as much as he tries to hide behind indifference, I’m not fooled.

  “There is no competition,” I snap.

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure.” Defensiveness stings me enough to fire back. “And just for the record, I love Kane, all right?”

  I inhale, kind of surprised at myself for blurting this truth to Rylin. But when he stiffens, shifting under the weight of my words, a tiny twinge of satisfaction steals in, so I figure I might as well lay it all out there for him.

  “I’ve loved him since I was a little girl. There’s a piece of him imprinted on every single particle of my life. He’s the only person who was brave enough to tell me who I really am—” I break off. That’s enough baring of the soul. I’m pretty sure he gets it. “There is no competition.”

  “That’s a nice picture.” Here comes his indifference again. “Cozy and safe.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. He has no idea how wrong those terms are in defining what I have with Kane.

  “Have you never wanted to explore something different?” He stands, moves in close—too close, in my opinion, and his question spins on the air between us. “Someone different? Someone who could offer you the unfamiliar?”

  “Not… really.” He is so close. I slide back a full step.

  “No? You’ve never wanted to taste a different kind of fire? To be taken to heights you’ve never seen before? It could be very excitin’.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, and he makes the admission Kane suspected all along, his intense gaze holding me. “I wanted to be the Fireblood that would lead you to your own truth, you know? But I waited too long. Things would have turned out differently for you if I hadn’t.”

  I don’t really know what that means, and honestly, I’m afraid to ask. I mean, he confessed a lot right there, and so you can imagine why I’d be speechless. I swallow a huge lump in my throat, which brings up a shiver even in the summer heat. When he brushes a finger across my cheek, I can’t move a muscle.

  “Jude, you can’t begin to understand what you will face with the Contingent.” His eyes tweak with tenderness. “I’m scared for you.”

  “Well don’t be.” I try to sound brave, but my stomach twists into a maze of knots.

  “You’ve never seen a hybrid on trial.”

  “And you have?”

  “Yes. And an execution.”

  A guillotine might as well fall with his words. They are absolute, digging a hole right through the center of my chest, and whatever I might have said next freezes up like icicles in the back of my throat. I try to swallow; I can’t.

  “They showed no mercy.”

  “Who did you watch die?” I choke out the words around the ice.

  “My sister.”

  His Fireblood eyes blaze up about as hot as my sudden shock and die out just as quickly. He lowers them to the deck, an old pain reviving, while I find my voice.

  “I—I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “You wouldn’t.” His hand quickly sweeps away a lone tear, but I don’t miss it. “She was my father’s daughter—with his human mistress. Back in Ireland.” He pauses. “She was mentally challenged. Couldn’t be camouflaged.”

  “Like the boy at...”

  He says nothing, and the mystery of that boy from Willow Springs takes another turn. I can’t bring myself to finish my thought because I understand. It just as easily could have been me in that mental hospital. The only difference? I got lucky enough to be blessed with a whole lot of “human.”

  I take in Rylin, feel his pain as he fights his tears. Seeing him like this makes him seem that much more human himself.

  “When did it happen?”

  “Seven years ago. She would be fifteen now.”

  Fifteen? That means… the Contingent killed a child? I reel in my shock because I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “What was her name?”

  “Clara,” he whispers.

  Instinctively, my fingers fold over my ruby. Rylin doesn’t miss it.

  “That won’t save you.” He nods, and it feels definite enough to make my mouth go dry. “In reality, you can’t camouflage yourself any more than she could. The Contingent will frown upon that as much as they will frown upon your very existence. And Kane and his family will not be given leniency for their part in hiding you. Trust me. I’ve seen it in action.”

  Well, that’s just great. Talk about deflating the last of my hopes.

  His words work to drive home the very strong misgivings about my own impending first meeting with the Contingent. Everything I said to Kane—all those brave announcements that together we could do anything—they slowly begin to crumble all over this deck. With a sharp swallow, I straighten, working to hide the sudden tension that entered the conversation the moment he told me he had a sister.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  The words shake out of me on a weak whisper, and I don’t know why I’m asking Rylin this question. I mean, I’ve been asking it of myself ever since I knew I needed to. I guess it’s because he’s here now, right in front of me. He’s the one person who sees things differently where the Contingent is concerned, and I need another opinion.

  “You find a different way to fight them. With your dreams.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My sister could dream, just like you. Just like the boy.” He laughs softly and catches hold of my fingers, toying with my ring. “She let me in a few times, and I knew instantly. In her mental state, they were of little use. But there was potential, and lots of it.”

  “Potential for what?” I absorb this. “They’re just dreams.”

  “You think that’s all they are? The one thing every Fireblood in the entire world desires.”

  “Yeah,” I concede. “There’s nothing spectacular about seeing pictures in your head at night. They’re just… left over memories that your brain jumbles up into some ridiculous fantasy world that almost never makes sense.”

  “Then how do you explain my being there? And the boy? Your father?”

  “It doesn’t change anything just because you have the power to get inside my head.”

  I start to pull my hand from his, but his fingers clamp, holding me in place. “If you can let another person’s consciousness into your mind, even that of someone who’s died, then perhaps it’s more than just a dream.”

  “Are you saying you think—” I work to wrap my mind around this. “Dad was really there?” Skepticism writes itself all over that question.

  “I think anything is possible.” He squints in the sunlight. “I think you have a lot more control over your dreams than you want to believe.”

  “Control?”

  “Yes.” His hold on my fingers tightens as a flood of enthusiasm marks his words. He tugs gently, and my ring slips off.

  “Rylin—” I lunge for the ring; he holds it just out of reach, keeping a grip on my hand.

  “Just give me a minute to prove myself.” The pleading quality in his voice makes me pause, fixated on his face. “Because I think you can make things happen. I think my sister could have too if she’d been in her right mind. I need you to believe that.”

  I say nothing, losing myself in the faint, greenish flickering. A slight shift, and the decamouflaging effect begins. The freedom of it grabs hold immediately, I fight to keep my guard up. Because I know… Rylin could move right in and fully decamouflage me in the snap of
a finger if he wanted to. Already, he’s helping to ease it off. In the window behind him, I catch a glimpse of my face, my eyes flecked with gold.

  “You can affect outcomes, Jude. In real life.”

  My eyes snap from my own reflection and rest on him. And there’s where the insanity line must be drawn.

  “No.” I pull my hand free of his and shuffle back a pace. “That is definitely not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look, it’s crazy enough that you think I can control dreams. But to say that what happens in my head can change real life? No. That’s… preposterous.”

  It’s the biggest word I can think of to describe my exasperation at his suggestion.

  “Oh really? But a six-foot-five boy with fiery eyes who can burst into flames and fly as high as the moon is completely natural.”

  I narrow my eyes, aiming my wrath straight at him. Oh yeah, throw that in my face.

  “You should at least consider the possibility. Test it the next time you dream.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Start by talking to your father. Be deliberate about what you say.”

  “Rylin, I don’t have control over what happens while I’m sleeping. Look, things happen to you in a dream, not the other way around.”

  “What about your ruined dress?”

  “What about it?” I squint at him, unconvinced.

  “I told you to fix it, and you did.” Irritation begins to seep into his voice. “Why is this so hard for you? Haven’t you experienced enough of the extraordinary to make you a believer?” He swallows, casting his eyes over the desert and working to control the thick mass of emotions that are clearly rifling through him.

  I take this moment to really consider what it is he’s asking of me. It’s not a deep concept, not in light of what I already know. He’s right in that regard. Firebloods can visit dreams. Okay… that I’ll buy because I can’t deny it. But…

  “What is it you think I can do?”

  “I think… the power to compel you lack while awake happens while you’re dreaming. And I think you can compel Firebloods.”

  “What?” Disbelief floods in, and I give him a firm shake of my head. “No. That’s—No. I can’t compel anything.”

  He rubs at his chin. “You wouldn’t believe the things my sister could do. Move objects with her mind. Make people think things were there that weren’t. She’d dream it first, and it would happen later, but I always knew it was her. I’d seen it, and I’m certain it was a form of compelling. Delayed, I suppose. But she didn’t have the mental control that you do to change the outcome. The potential was there. It just fell short. Every time. But you, Jude.” He pauses on a heavy sigh. “I believe you can do it. If you’ll just let it happen instead of fightin’ it.”

  Let it happen? I stare at him, stunned.

  “I’ve been dreaming for a very long time. You’re not right.”

  I didn’t mean to share that thought, but I feel him hear it. He plants his eyes on me, fire burning low inside the hazel hue, and he drags me into a silent conversation.

  “I am right, Jude.”

  I peer at him. Okay, we’re doing this.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “How do I know that’s not a lie?”

  “Because if you put me to the test, I’ll prove it to you.”

  We stand completely still, connected inside our minds, until he takes hold of my hand and drops my ring into my palm. I clutch it—feel its effect instantly—and slowly, his mind unlinks from mine as I sink beneath the camouflage. He steps back and hooks his fingers into the crooks of his elbows.

  “I really wish you’d stay out of my head,” I whisper.

  “I wasn’t in your head.” One auburn brow dips in amusement. “You were in mine.” A grin teases. “I quite liked it.”

  “Shut up, already.”

  His grin transforms into a full laugh, and after a few seconds, I smile with a shake of my head and slip the ring safely back into place.

  “I know how you feel about me,” he says. “I’m not asking for your love, Jude. I’m not even asking you to like me.” I freeze, surprised that he even said it. He shrugs up one shoulder, and that pesky strand of hair that always falls over his eye doesn’t disappoint. “Only to trust me.”

  An unexpected breeze eddies up between us, whipping at my hair and rustling my blouse and definitely bringing the tiny bead of sweat trickling down my spine to my attention. Rylin’s locks ruffle up, too. I focus on the tiny freckles running across the bridge of his nose. I’ve been trying so hard not to like Rylin—for many reasons. Today, I can’t think of a single one, and I feel the power of betrayal in that thought. But with his eyes on me, the idea doesn’t seem so abstract.

  This sudden revelation ripples through me with the breeze that rustles the foxtail grass bushes lining the porch. It’s a hard thing to grasp, this idea of trusting Rylin. I’ve conditioned myself not to. Even Kane has aided in adding to my mistrust. I mean, Rylin is a renegade. He could be leading me into a firestorm. I can’t trust a renegade.

  It’s wrong.

  Even as I come to this conclusion, I balk. If it’s so wrong, why does the idea of it feel so right?

  And… now I’m panicking.

  “I’ve gotta go.”

  I don’t look at him again, and I don’t wait for his response. I simply turn and whisk down the wooden steps that will take me to my car.

  And along with the roar of my engine, my traitorous heart pounds in my head until his house is out of sight.

  Sonata

  Kane and Jude

  The radio hums low. We dance.

  “So I can’t compel anything?”

  Not that I would, but the option seems important.

  He smiles. “We probably shouldn’t test that just yet.”

  He spins us, lowers me into a dip. I let my head hang, my long hair sweeping the floor.

  “What is it like?”

  I swing up to meet his eyes. They penetrate, a deep green.

  “Like power at your fingertips.”

  “Give me an example.”

  My cheek meets his chest. His wings encase me, their tips dragging along the wood floor with our motion.

  “It feels like… a headache and a sigh all at once. Pain and pleasure. The healing sting of rubbing alcohol. It’s a love-hate relationship. Don’t worry. The pleasure is greater than the pain.”

  I hold still against him, digesting.

  “And inner-compelling?”

  “It’s harder, but necessary.”

  I frown. “And what you do for me?”

  He’s silent, his lips compressed into the top of my head.

  “It seems hard to be a Fireblood,” I whisper.

  “Maybe it is.” A new song fills the room; he adjusts to match the beat. “I wouldn’t really know.”

  I smile at my own naiveté. It’s hard, and it isn’t. Not if it’s all you’ve ever known.

  “And now?” I ease back. “How do you feel right now?”

  He gazes at me with eyes of fire and skin ensconced in white flame. The veiny orange markings of a Fireblood seep through his flesh, his shoulders flanked by jet black wings, full and iridescent. Beauty defined stands in front of me. I slide my own orange-hued hand across the palm of his, over his wrist, and up his forearm, firmly clamping my fingers into the crook of his elbow. He cups my own in a mutual hold. I invade his mind.

  “How do you feel now?”

  My lips brush against his. He goes completely still.

  “Complete,” he whispers.

  Eleven

  Fifteen minutes after I leave Rylin’s, I pull my Volkswagen up to O’Reilly’s Auto Repair and cut the engine. The place is hopping with activity. Mechanics work on various vehicles hitched up on jacks or elevated on lifts that nearly reach the ceiling of the three-car garage. The buzzing, whooshing, and hissing of tools defines the area. Through
a large window, impatient customers lounge around in a stuffy waiting room reading outdated magazines and drinking complimentary coffee. I don’t see Kane, but I spot Connor just inside the entrance of the closest of the garages. I climb out of my car and make my way across the lot toward him.

  Connor holds up a clipboard between himself and another mechanic. He uses a pen as a pointer, filling him in on the next job, no doubt. The mechanic says something, nods, and disappears back inside. Connor’s cool blue eyes fall on me.

  “Well, hello there, Jude.”

  “Hi,” I hook a thumb into the front pocket of my shorts and move closer. “Busy day, huh?”

  “You could say that.” He offers a gentle smile that causes the facial muscles just below his graying sideburns to twitch. I see a hint of Kane in his features even though Kane really is the spitting image of his mom. “A lot of people are getting ready for summer vacation road trips. Last minute tune-ups. Plus, we give free oil changes to ladies on Tuesdays.” He nods toward my car. “Interested?”

  “Yeah.” Why not? I hand off my keys. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. We’ll have it ready in thirty.”

  An awkward silence ensues then where I’m not quite sure what else to say. Connor isn’t super talkative, which translates into my not knowing him nearly as well as I know Gema. Of course, it doesn’t take conversation to know the Contingent is on his mind. I can tell simply by how he looks at me. Like his life and that of his entire family is on the cusp of changing forever. But until that happens, he’s Connor O’Reilly: Businessman by day; Fireblood by night. Now there’s a logo for you.

  “Well, I know you didn’t come by to chit-chat with me.” He drops the pen into the front pocket of his shirt and waves the clipboard toward the office entrance. “My bookkeeper called in sick, so I have Kane working on payroll today.” He winks. “Got to teach him all aspects of the business, and the kid is pretty good with numbers.”

  I smile. “Okay.”

  The smell of burnt rubber mingles with the scent of black coffee as I push through the glass doors that lead to the office lobby. The receptionist, busy arguing over a bill with a bald-headed client at the counter, doesn’t see me as I slip past her to the hallway. In a back room, Kane slouches over an adding machine, looking horribly disgruntled. Clearly, he’s not happy about being forced into desk work. I tap on the half-open door, catching his attention.