by Casey Hays
And I want it.
I bound off the swing, breaking our connection.
“Times up,” I breathe.
“Right,” he nods. His flames ebb, absorbed backwards into the hazel, and he shoves to his feet, tall and towering over me. “Thank you for listening to me. And for forgiving me?”
He cleverly turns this into a question.
“Don’t press your luck,” I smirk.
With a soft smile, his eyes disappear behind his sunglasses, and I think that this strange hunger that encompasses me will ease.
It doesn’t.
Somehow, Rylin McDowell has awakened his own hunger in me. And he didn’t use one single note of his mantra to do it.
Sonata
Kane and Jude
“Why didn’t you let me hear your mantra?”
“Because… I wanted you to want to hear it.”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“I didn’t know. But shoving my way in was not the answer.”
I smile at his sarcasm. “I’m not sure I would have minded.”
“You would have. You did. Remember Rylin?”
“That’s different. He’s not you.”
“You would have minded.” His words are sure. “If I’d crossed the same line he did before you were ready, I might have blown everything we have now.”
“Such patience,” I tease.
His fingers trail along my back.
“It changes you once your mantras touch,” he says.
I smile again, snuggling in. It’s breathtaking, the link. Intimate but pure, like a choir of angels singing right in the middle of a lightning storm. And it moves you… like the heat of the sun burning your skin into a bronzed glow or the icy shock of a snowflake hitting your tongue and melting instantly. It hurts, but only long enough to let you know you’re alive. Nothing but beauty follows.
“When a link is made,” he whispers. “It’s hard to break the bond it creates.”
These words are magic.
“Good,” I whisper.
Sweet silence, and then…
“Did yours ever… touch his?”
An awkward pause. I prop my chin on his chest to meet his eyes. “I heard his, but… no, it didn’t. Yours, Kane. Only yours.”
My fingers thrum against his chest over his heart, and his mouth finds me. First my neck, then my chin, my lower lip. Vanilla teases my tongue. Fixated on my face, a tear pricks his eye.
“I think I screwed up,” he whispers.
“Why?”
“Because…” He hesitates. “You’ve always been in my head. But now… you’re in my blood. What if I give you away?” I push up as understanding floods in. His finger traces my cheek. “What if—”
My lips stop his words. His chest sinks away beneath me.
“I’m not scared,” I whisper against his mouth.
His fingers are in my hair now. “Maybe you should be.”
“I’m not even afraid to die if it means I get all of this first.”
“Don’t say that, Jude.” His lip trembles. “Not unless you mean it.”
“My life has been a lie.” I sweep my hand through his hair. “This right here… with you. It’s the only true thing I’ve got. I mean it.”
Six
Guilt. That’s what Rylin McDowell stirs up in me. No matter how innocent or trivial our conversation may be, he walks onto the scene, and I feel like I’m cheating. And then, I feel ridiculous for feeling like I’m cheating. Because I’m not cheating, and that’s the simple truth.
So… why do I feel like such a jerk?
Kane shows up a half hour after Rylin leaves, just in time to catch the last hour of a motocross competition he’s been anticipating for weeks. I’m actually grateful when he barely kisses me and jets for the den. It gives me time to compose myself. And see? That’s what I mean. Why? Why do I feel the need to compose myself? So Rylin spent five minutes on my front porch. There should be no composing necessary.
I wish it were that simple, but it just isn’t. Rylin rubs Kane the wrong way—usually on purpose. And it’s becoming pretty obvious he uses me to do it these days. So yeah, composing myself before diving into the fray is an excellent idea.
I push the front door closed with a sigh. Why does this keep happening? Rylin pops into my life, my head, and I feel this obligation to talk to him. A few crazy words, and he has everything I know and feel and want all jumbled up. And you know what’s really crazy? I have no idea what he’s talking about half the time. The guy never gives a straight answer for anything. And still, whatever it is he did or didn’t say… it just lingers. Haunting me.
Like his mantra.
Ugh.
Why can’t I learn to just ignore him? Even as a kid, I wasn’t able to do it.
I hang back in the kitchen, keeping myself busy. The late afternoon shadows make the kitchen dim enough for the need to turn on the overhead light. I cut up some fresh strawberries, stealing a tangy sweet bite every once in a while. I add a few items to the grocery list. I test the expired milk and gag as I dump it down the disposal. And one more item makes the list.
From the den, Kane lets out a whoop a couple of times, and even calls Jonas once to ask him if he “saw that awesome trick.” The announcers’ voices rise in excitement over the roaring of engines and the chanting crowd. Kane catches my eye over the dividing railing when he turns to click on a lamp in the darkening room. He winks; I smile, and even blush a little. His black hair is longer than it was last week, and a little bit shaggier, and I love every bit of it. I love every bit of him. I lean against the bar, wipe my hands on a dishtowel, and drool over him for a minute.
How in the world did I get so lucky?
He could have had anyone, and I’m not kidding. Anyone. Another girl. Another Fireblood possibly, but this amazing guy picked me. He sits in my den and watches my television, and I could saunter right over, climb into his lap, and plant a sloppy, wet kiss on his beautiful lips, and he wouldn’t mind a bit.
He crosses an ankle over his opposite knee, stretching an arm along the back of the sectional. It’s the perfect invitation. And since composing myself must at some point come to an end, I skip down the steps and snuggle into his side. He draws me in and lands a kiss on the top of my head, and I wait for the right moment to tell him about Rylin’s little visit. Because it must be done.
“Are you getting hungry?” he asks. His breath is hot on my forehead.
“I could eat.” I welcome the chance to stall just a bit longer. “I have some leftover sandwich meat.”
“While that is tempting…” He brushes my hair away from my eyes. “Mom’s making her shrimp tortellini bake, and of course, you’re invited.”
“Yum. Much better than sandwiches.”
I watch a competitor spin a full three-sixty several feet in the air and land in perfect form as his wheels hit the ground. My heart thuds along with the roaring of the crowd and the buzz of motorcycles, but not because of the performance. Nope. It’s that guilt creeping back in. Here we sit, not even an inch between us, but the weight of my conscience cuts a huge, gaping divide.
And then, because everything is so cozy at the moment, I second guess myself. Maybe I’m overreacting. I mean, Rylin didn’t feed me his mantra, and I didn’t dare let him into the house. That says a lot, right? So maybe I should just keep my mouth shut about the whole thing. Maybe it’s not such a big deal.
Except… it is. And the huge knot in my stomach testifies to it.
My dad had this saying: “It takes the light to slay a monster.” When I was a little girl, this carried a different connotation. One of literal monsters under the bed. But the metaphor made a lot more sense as I got older, and it’s glaringly loud today. You see, the only way to keep Rylin from infesting my life again is to make sure someone knows about him. This time, instead of my dad, it’s Kane.
“I need to tell you something.”
I don’t like how my voice sounds. Shaky and unconfident. I
toy with a hole in my jeans, scratching at a bare patch of skin.
“Okay.” Concerned, Kane clicks off the television. The sudden silence cuts like a knife. “What’s wrong.”
I peer at him. “Don’t get mad.”
A tiny crease takes the spotlight right between his dark brows. The air-conditioner clicks on, humming low. I make myself breathe. In. Out. The remote dangles from his fingers.
“Why would I get mad?”
Another breath. “Well… because… Rylin was here today.”
Silence steals in, a thick wall of uncomfortableness.
“What did he want?”
I shrug. “To apologize, mostly.”
“He thinks that’s all it takes?” Kane comes to his feet, tossing the remote on the coffee table. Hands on hips, he processes my news.
“It’s a start.”
I shove my hands between my knees, a cringe in the motion as Kane’s eyes darken. And then, the lump in my throat grows as I consider which part of Rylin’s visit I should broach first.
“He needs to stay the hell away from you,” Kane says. He edges around the coffee table and paces the rug.
“I know. I’ve told him that. He just keeps popping up anyway.” I plop against the back of the couch and slink low, hands clasped over my stomach.
“That’s it.” He makes a move for the steps. “I’m going over there.”
“Where?”
“To his aunt’s house.”
I sit up. “And what are you going to do when you get there?”
“Nothing. Just… talk to him.”
“Your definition for ‘talking’ is not someone else’s definition for ‘kick his ass,’ is it?”
He hops up a couple steps. “You know, you really shouldn’t put ideas in my head.”
“And what if things get heated again? Like last time you ‘talked’ to him?”
This halts him completely. With a frown, he spins and moves back into the den.
“Look, I’m just tired of him bothering you. He needs to cut it out.”
“Fine, but I don’t need you to go take care of him for me.” I say the words with a sassy air. “That’s not why I told you he was here.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m not going to keep anything from you.” I lug a throw pillow into my lap, toying with its edge just for something to do with my hands. “I might think about it… for a second. But… I just… we promised no more secrets.”
His cheekbone flexes once as he digests all of this. “Okay. Then what else did he have to say?”
“He told me his family are revolutionists.”
Exasperated, Kane emits a half-laugh. “That’s what he told you?”
“Yeah.”
“More like anarchists.”
“What?” It’s my turn to toss him a disbelieving laugh. “That’s a big accusation.”
“I know. And it’s true. Jude, why do you think I’ve told you to stay away from him?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” My voice grows snarky. “Your jealousy kind of fogs that up for me.”
His frown penetrates. “This isn’t about jealousy. And it’s not just his family. There’s a whole group of them. They call themselves the Renegades.”
“Renegades.” I let that term sink in.
“Yeah.” His voice grows agitated. “A dangerous pack of rebel Firebloods.”
“What makes them rebels?” My curiosity is suddenly on high alert. I perk up, fully focused.
“Anything goes. No discretion. No restraint.”
“Like… anything goes?”
“That’s right. They break laws, steal, lie. Kill. They compel at will to get what they want—what they need—at any cost. They’ll decamouflage in front of humans, use redirection to make them forget. They don’t care who they have to use, who they hurt. And flaring is just part of their daily routine.” He pauses, then adds. “Rylin’s grandfather was the founder, and he’s the sole reason the Contingent was formed. The Firebloods needed some sort of order.”
I process this, a little surprised by it. I’ll admit, I don’t know Rylin well. But anarchy? I just don’t sense that in him.
“So you’re saying Rylin is one of these renegades?”
“Yes, Jude.” He settles his gaze on me, and his eyes flare once. “And… I am a little jealous of him, okay?”
“Why?”
He slumps down next to me, scooping up my hand. I study his shadowed face, waiting.
“Because he’s seen things I haven’t. He’s lived a different kind of Fireblood life.” He shrugs. “I’ve lived in Carson City all my life, and I’m—I’m afraid he has more to offer.”
The look in his eyes unsettles me, but what bothers me even more is that I believe the words coming out of his mouth. I used to be afraid of Rylin, and I’ve tried to stay angry at him for feeding me his mantra, but honestly, ever since he showed up in Carson City again, I’ve been more intrigued than anything. He’s different. Exciting in a mysterious way that gets my blood pumping, which is why I should stay away. I guess Kane has noticed that about him too. And Rylin’s mantra was the first one I ever heard. Now that I know what I am, I’m kind of curious about him.
I blame my parents for this. They expertly stifled my own mantra to protect me. Maybe that was to our detriment. Where I couldn’t hear my own mantra, Rylin’s became the song I followed.
I’m having trouble letting go of that annoying fact.
But even with that, I’m not attracted to Rylin. Once glance at Kane, and I know it. I touch him, feel his heat, taste his music, hear his voice inside my head, and instantly, there is no Rylin McDowell.
Moving in, I wrap my arms around his neck.
“You don’t have to worry about Rylin,” I whisper.
“I know that.” The familiar little muscle in Kane’s jaw flexes. “But I do have to worry about his mantra.”
Geesh. It’s like he read my mind.
“Kane—”
“That’s how it works, Jude. Good or bad, our mantras will find who they find. And his found you.”
Streaks of hurt and pain resonate with the words.
“But I don’t like Rylin like that, so why—”
“It doesn’t matter. It boils down to the song. And a link is hard to break.” He cuts me off again, bitterness seeping into his voice. “But I’ll have no problem breaking his neck.”
“Okay, look…” I readjust on the leather cushion, crisscrossing my legs and cupping his face. “I have never made a link with Rylin.”
“How do you know?” He grips my wrists.
“Because I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” My answer is a harsh whisper. His emerald eyes hold mine. “Can I even link with more than one person?”
“Yeah, Jude, you can. And you’re not strong enough to prevent it.”
“So you’re saying I’m weak.” A tiny grain of irritation rubs in. I lift my hands from his face, but he holds my wrists fast in his grip.
“No. That’s not what I meant,” he defends, but it’s too late. I yank free and move enough to put an inch between us. “It’s just, in general terms, this is all new to you.”
I get that. I’m still mad.
“General terms. Well, let me be specific.” I gear myself up, poking him hard in his chest. “No matter how many times he’s tried, Rylin McDowell has never linked with me. Ever. Do you get me? So don’t go on some crazy Fireblood crusade to fix everything for me because you’ve decided I can’t handle it. Give me a chance to learn.”
His stunned expression keeps him perfectly still for what seems like ages before he laughs.
“Oh… so you’re laughing now?” I shake my head, not amused. “Suddenly all of this is funny?”
“No.” His hand finds mine, bringing it to his lips to kiss my fingertips. “I just… I think your delivery was cute.”
His smile fades, and I see them—the tears that stand out on his lashes. He blinks them away and tips hi
s forehead into mine.
“I’m sorry,” he explains, a tenderness lacing his words. “It’s just… it’s not always about what you can handle. You don’t have to be attracted to someone to form a link. It helps, but it’s just… not the determining factor. It’s all about the song in the end. Even the most scandalous Fireblood can have a beautiful mantra. It can be deceiving.”
A tightness in my chest signals how terribly right he is. I’ve never linked with Rylin, but experience tells me his mantra is one of the most tantalizing sounds I’ve ever heard—nearly right up there with mine. I’m irritated all over again at that Irish redhead, and I work to rein in my emotions. Even when he’s not here he gets me riled up.
“It’s Rylin I don’t trust,” Kane continues. “Not you. But you don’t have a lot of experience in this area.”
And… that pretty much sums it up. I pull in a breath.
“He promised me he’d stay out of my head,” I assure. “I think he meant it. And I know how to keep my guard up.”
I lift my ring and waggle my fingers, drawing a smile out of him. I make my move then, catching his bottom lip between mine, assuring him with my kiss that he has nothing to worry about.
“A renegade’s promise isn’t worth much.” He kisses me between sentences—the soft and sweet kind of kisses that melt you from the inside out. “But I can’t tell you what to think. Or do. Just… be careful.”
“And you promise you won’t beat him to death?”
He rolls his eyes. “He gets a stay of execution… for now.”
I snuggle into his chest just as his phone buzzes where he left it on the coffee table. A picture of Gema in a blue painter’s smock and a bright smile beams at us from the screen. Kane scoops it up. You don’t know how grateful I am for the interruption.
“Hey, Mom. We’re—”
Gema’s voice echoes faintly on the line. I can’t make out the words, only her tone, which doesn’t come close to matching her smiling profile image.
“Okay—Yeah, Mom. I—” He shoves to his feet, pushing me out of the way. “All right, I’ll—” The call cuts short.
“Did she hang up on you?”
