by Rose Wulf
“And did you consider how poorly that could have gone?”
No, Mom, I never once considered that I might possibly die and take our family legacy with me. She bit the hurtful sarcasm back. There were days she truly hated being the one with the all-important duty of carrying on their family’s elemental heritage. Not only did she get stuck with the one power that was entirely useless in a dangerous situation, but she was also treated like a prisoner in her own family half the time. She only had the freedom to be her own individual when there didn’t appear to be any immediate threat to their survival. God forbid she do the morally right thing and try to save a friend.
“I don’t get,” Angela said, disregarding her mother’s question, “why you hold me to this double standard. You of all of them should understand how I’m feeling right now. Would you have sat back and twiddled your thumbs if you were me? If you’d had the chance to save Uncle Trevor or Uncle Gregory, wouldn’t you have taken it, even if it was risky?” She knew it was a tasteless question to ask, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the words.
Lillian sucked in a sharp breath as a moment of poignant, expectant silence filled the room. “Angela Hawke,” she finally breathed, disbelief heavy in her voice. “I don’t appreciate that comment in the slightest. Of course, I’d have done anything I could to save my brothers. This is hardly the same situation.”
“Maybe,” Angela allowed, her hands curling into the fabric of Vaughn’s burnt shirt. She hadn’t been able to really take stock of his appearance earlier, but outwardly, it really looked like he’d taken an elemental beating. His clothes were a mess, his body bruised and burned. She always deliberately healed the lesser injuries last, meaning they were still on display, glaring up at her. “But he was risking his life in a fight that wasn’t even his, because of me. And there have been situations in the past that weren’t so different,” she continued. “Yet I’m always held back on a leash like some house pet. I know the family heritage is important, and I know I’m not good in a power-fight, but aren’t I supposed to stand for something? Or am I supposed to be the girl everyone dies for?”
“You do stand for something,” Lillian reminded her, her voice still tight with irritation.
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Something more than a legacy, Mom. I don’t want to spend my life as an object. I’m a person, with feelings and morals and emotional triggers just like anyone else.” She pulled in a breath to stabilize her voice and turned a pointed look to her mother, managing to keep it—barely—from becoming a glare. “I refuse to sit back and let someone I care about die for me when there’s something I can do to help.”
Lillian’s eyes widened as if she were surprised by Angela’s declaration. And maybe she was. Angela had never let herself say it quite so bluntly. But there shouldn’t have been any shock in her words. She was the product of her parents’ raising. They were the ones who’d instilled her with a sense of morality and human decency. They were the ones who’d taught her to care about people—family, friends, and even strangers.
“Are we done arguing yet?” Angela asked after a long minute of silence, her gaze focused again on the faintly glowing man in front of her. “I’m tired, and I’d like to be alone.” It was an understatement, really. She was exhausted—physically, thanks to the lightning—and emotionally, for a dozen reasons. All she wanted to do was get Vaughn healed up, get him upstairs to the room he’d be borrowing, and crash on the nearest couch. Although she wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to some tea or a little food in between, she wasn’t about to ask.
Behind her, Lillian sighed exasperatedly and replied, “For the record, I’m glad you’re both all right.” She didn’t say another word as she turned and left the room. The rest of the family cleared out with barely a mumble. Angela didn’t pay them any attention. She’d probably irritated some of them with her argument, but she didn’t care.
Angela didn’t pay any attention to the clock. She didn’t know how long she sat there, her hands poised over Vaughn’s chest. She only knew when the tension inside her finally began to ease. He was nearing the end of his healing, or, more accurately, the part where she actively worked to heal him. Most of what was left to be done wasn’t physical. The physical aspect of repairing a wound was only ever one part. There was energy to be restored, too, and that had to be built back up. That was where the healing sleep came in. The worse the injuries, the longer that part of the process took. Although, in Vaughn’s case, she’d certainly seen worse. He’d gotten lucky.
“I made up Blake’s bed,” Christopher said suddenly, jerking Angela out of her thoughts.
Her head lifted and she found her father smiling comfortingly at her from the other side of the couch. His eyes were tired with concern, but his smile felt genuine. “He looks about ready to be moved, don’t you think?”
Angela blinked and looked back down at Vaughn obligingly. Her father’s powers of observation were quite astute for a man who’d only married in to their insanity. Her own smile lifted her lips, slightly, and she met her father’s gaze again with a nod. “Another minute or two, I think. Could you start me some tea, please?”
“Sure,” he replied.
Releasing a breath, Angela closed her eyes and focused on what she could feel of the injuries she was healing. There was still some tenderness to them, but nothing to worry about. She could stop now, and maybe if she took a little breather, she could chase away even that soreness with another short healing session. The worst that would happen was he’d wake up before she got to it.
Her arms fell to her lap and the soundless golden glow of her healing power faded away as her gaze landed on Vaughn’s resting face. All of a sudden, her lips tingled again with the memory of his kiss and she swallowed heavily. She could still taste him on her tongue, still feel the power of his grip and the hunger in his kiss. It had been brief, and entirely unexpected, but she’d never once been as breathless as when he’d released her. Even now, now that she could take a minute to think, her heart was pounding wildly in her chest and she had the ridiculous, nearly irresistible urge to lift her fingers to her lips as if to confirm that the kiss had even happened. Why had he kissed her? Did she dare hope it meant something? Surely it meant something. There was no way it hadn’t meant something.
It sure meant something to her.
The question was, what was she going to do about it?
Chapter Seven
“That impulsive fool,” Jacob snarled as he and Sarah stepped into the hallway. They’d only just finished helping his younger brother into bed after having had to track the GPS in his phone to find him earlier in the evening. Sarah could sympathize with her husband’s frustration, but she couldn’t justify outright insulting Eric. Eric hadn’t done anything Jacob wouldn’t have at least considered himself, and Eric was certainly suffering for it now. But Jacob didn’t see it that way. “He could have ruined everything!”
Sarah scowled and moved up to Jacob’s side in the hopes that he’d lower his voice if he realized his audience was right there. Eric didn’t need to overhear this. “Ruined what?” she heard herself asking. Before Jacob could turn his wrath on her, she added, “He saw an opportunity and took advantage of it, the same as any of you have in the past. And he nearly paid for it with his life.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, the burn scars discoloring one side of his face, making even that simple expression look like an agonized grimace. He never would get that eyebrow back, and his pride wouldn’t allow for any kind of cosmetic touching up. “Ruined what?” he repeated incredulously, his voice low. “Eric’s not the only fool around here if I have to explain it.” He turned his back to her and stalked down the hall toward the room he’d taken over since they’d moved back into the house.
She stared after him for a long second, faintly astounded at his response, before her anger bubbled to the surface and she found herself following him. She caught the door before he could slam it, her hand aching for a beat with the impact. “I
will not tolerate you talking to me like that, Jacob. I understand you’re mad at Eric, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. You’re not your father.”
Silence hung in the air as she realized what had just slipped from her lips.
Slowly, Jacob turned to face her again, his scarred expression largely unreadable. But she could see the tic in his jaw, and the tightness of the unscarred side of his lips only confirmed what she already knew. He didn’t like what she’d said. And, honestly, she hadn’t meant to say it. Mentioning Victor in almost any way was forbidden in his presence. At least for her. It wasn’t an issue she pushed.
The air around her grew humid, thickened, and she swallowed heavily. She’d committed suicide as far as this particular argument was concerned. It would be best to bow out while she could still manage a modicum of grace. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, averting her gaze and letting her hands fall to her sides. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’d appreciate it if you could leave me alone for the night,” Jacob interrupted coldly.
His tone and his words surprised her and Sarah’s eyes snapped back up in search of his. All she found was his back. “Jacob,” she began carefully, “I—”
“Get. Out.” This time, his tone was harsh, menacing, and it sent a chill of discomfort down her spine. He’d barely turned his head toward his shoulder, letting her see only his unblemished ear and the beginnings of his jawline.
Releasing a breath, Sarah stepped backward, lightly looped her fingers over the doorknob, and mumbled, “Goodnight,” as she pulled the door gently shut. As much as she hated it, this was the best she could hope for after that faux-pas.
****
Eric’s laughter echoed in Angela’s ears, but she barely heard it over the sound of her heart shattering in her chest. Blood coated her hands and forearms like a second skin, dripping from her useless fingertips and soaking the sleeves of her shirt. So much blood. But none of it was hers. She wasn’t hurt at all. Not on the outside. Not yet. Fire roared and crackled all around her, slowly closing in, so she knew it was only a matter of time. She didn’t care.
It was all her fault.
Vaughn’s body—devoid of any kind of life, impossibly mangled and charred beyond true recognition—was at her feet. It had happened again. Eric had come after them, after her, and Vaughn had thrown himself in between them for her sake. He was too stubborn. He never listened, no matter how stacked the odds were against him. He refused to accept that it wasn’t his fight. Only now he had no choice, because now he would never be able to fight again. And it was all her fault.
Her throat was swollen so badly she couldn’t draw breath. Or was she even trying? It was hard to tell. All she could really see was red and Vaughn and the ultimate proof of her failure. Failure to properly care for the people she loved. Failure to respect their wishes even in death, because she hadn’t so much as tried to find her feet, let alone run away like Vaughn had asked. Begged, really. He hadn’t wasted his final breath on their enemy. He’d looked back at her and told her to run. Pleaded with her to escape while she had the chance.
“Angie.”
She could hear him even now, telling her to get out. Eric was still there, laughing, and the fire was still enclosing around her. Smoke was probably filling her lungs, but she couldn’t feel it. Everything was starting to blur.
“Angela, wake up!”
Angela jerked upright, her heart slamming in her chest and tears rolling down her cheeks. For a moment, she couldn’t pry her eyes entirely open and she didn’t understand why. Not until she realized she was blinking into the frowning, concerned blue eyes of Vaughn Prescott. A very alive, very conscious, very there Vaughn Prescott.
“V-Vaughn?” she croaked as heat flooded her face and she reached up, self-consciously wiping the crust of sleep from her eyes. Reality was returning to her now, finally, and she realized she’d clearly dozed off. Passed out is more like it. And this wasn’t how their next conversation was supposed to begin. She’d been intending to be awake before him, for one thing. Now it was just going to be awkward.
One corner of his lips lifted with faint amusement and Vaughn sat back on his haunches, his hands returning to his lap. Only then did she realize he’d had one hand on her shoulder as if trying to shake her awake. “There you are,” he teased. His grin vanished. “You looked like you were having a nightmare. And why are you sleeping on a couch?”
Angela blinked at him, feeling as though he’d just turned her into a yo-yo. Which was she supposed to respond to first? “Ah.” She stalled, swallowing in an effort to clear the morning frog from her throat. “I was. Thank you.” Oh, God. “For waking me up, I mean.” Stupid. Why was this so difficult? She couldn’t even figure out what she was supposed to say!
Vaughn inclined his head. “Don’t mention it.” He paused, sighed almost inaudibly, and pushed to his feet before asking, “So I’m guessing this is Blake’s room?”
“Um, yeah,” Angela heard herself replying, reflexively looking around as if she didn’t know what the room looked like. Then again, Vaughn shouldn’t have known. He’d never seen the inside of any of her brothers’ rooms as far as she knew. “How did you know?”
He shifted his weight and cocked an eyebrow at her as if the question was silly. “Wild guess.”
She felt like smacking herself on the forehead. The room was decorated in shades of blue and there was a framed painting of a giant wave crashing onto a sandy shoreline along the far wall. There was really only one brother whose room it could be. “Sorry,” she grumbled, embarrassed.
“Forgiven,” Vaughn teased. “Seriously, though, why aren’t you in your own room? It’s gotta be more comfortable than that couch.”
Angela met his gaze again and something about the contact reminded her of the lecture she’d been planning for him. She narrowed her eyes, shoved to her feet, and took the remaining step necessary to properly invade his personal space. As much as she could, anyway, since he was at least four inches taller than her. “What the hell were you thinking?” she hissed, barely remembering that it was probably crazily late and shouting would wake her parents.
Vaughn leaned back a couple of inches, eyebrows arching again, this time with confusion. “Excuse me?”
Not willing to give him room to breathe, Angela pushed. “What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Her voice hitched on the last word, tears stinging her eyes, and before she could think better of it, she’d thrown her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself against him. “You idiot! Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again!”
He froze for a long second, her words hanging in the air, and then his arms came around her waist tightly. “I’m sorry, Angie,” he whispered, sincerity softening his voice. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”
“I know that,” she said, doing her best and failing miserably at not sniffling against the collar of his shirt. His utterly ruined shirt. “But you did, and I won’t ever forgive you if you do it again.” It was a complete lie, but it felt better to say it.
Vaughn chuckled, the sound brief and short, and let his cheek bump into her temple. “Whatever you say,” he promised. He was probably lying, too, but it made her feel good to hear it. “Thank you, by the way,” he added after another long second.
Angela sighed and let her eyes close. “For what?”
“For running when I told you to,” he replied. “And healing me later.”
That’s right… Steeling herself, Angela loosened her death grip on his shirt and forced herself to ask, “Vaughn, why did you kiss me?”
Again, he tensed around her, for just a split-second, and then his grip loosened, too. “Angela,” he hedged, his tone making it plain he didn’t particularly want to answer that question.
Unwilling to let him off the hook so easily, even if he’d earned a reprieve, Angela leaned back enough to look into his eyes and pushed. “Tell me. Please.”
He hesitated, but he didn’
t look away. Blue held blue and Angela found herself wondering how many shades apart their eyes were. She was pretty sure his were darker. At least a little. His thumb stroked over her cheek, rubbing along her jaw, and every thought—no matter how absurd—went flying from her head. His hot breath washed over her lips and then he kissed her again. Only he hadn’t yet released her from his gaze.
He watched her watch him as he curled his hand around the back of her head, threading his fingers through her long hair, and her lips parted in invitation. His tongue slipped in, sliding along hers teasingly and drawing strangled moans from deep in her throat. Her eyelids drooped as her hands curled into his shirt again, but they didn’t close all the way. Neither did his. She could see in his eyes that he was completely aware of what he was doing. It wasn’t any kind of an impulse. He’d made the decision to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. And, as silly as it was, that was answer enough for her.
She let her eyes close and stroked her tongue over his, relishing the rumbling growl that vibrated past his lips in response.
The soft thud of a door closing down the hall startled them apart, reminding them they weren’t alone in the house. Angela’s hands landed on his chest, just beneath his shoulders, and her face flushed self-consciously as she struggled to catch her breath. He was breathing a little unevenly, too, though, and she liked that.
“Damn,” Vaughn grunted, pulling her into him. “I feel like a teenager again.”
