Charred Heart (#1, Heart of Fire)

by Lizzy Ford

  “This doesn’t make sense,” she voiced his thoughts aloud. “None of this does.” Her nearness was distracting him, quieting his emotions in a way that warned him the only problem with his plan was going to be the insane attraction he felt towards her.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  She focused on their surroundings and the different mountain ranges in each direction.

  “That’s Elephant Head,” she said, pointing to a mountain that resembled the smooth, sloped forehead of an elephant. “The Field is at the base.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She glanced down at their clasped hands, and he sensed she was as rattled by their bodies touching as he was. She said nothing, though, and tugged him in the direction of the mountain.

  Hopefully, this works.

  Chapter Eleven

  Skylar was sweating by the time they reached The Field. Chace’s grip on her was firm, and he hadn’t said a word to her since leaving the cabin.

  Which was good, because she was pissed at him, at The Field, at not understanding why he didn’t behave like any shifter she’d ever heard of. His assertion that she was wrong about the thousands of years of slayer history was absurd.

  Except what he said almost made sense. She’d missed her annual session at The Field, and she wondered if her dreams were connected to missing her monthly and yearly refreshers. Last night was the worst. She was almost grateful to wake up and find a dragon standing beside the bed. The more she thought about the dreams and the possibility that Chace was right about her being brainwashed, the more distressed she became.

  She tried to push the dream away, but it was harder when she was hungry, hot and tired. It didn’t help that Chace’s dragon fire was stirring her body in ways that took away from her attempts to center her focus.

  One of the dreams was creeping back, the one where they were running from the farmhouse. She feared looking up, in case the great dragon from the vision was circling them.

  Ginger. Skylar abruptly remembered her mother’s name. She shouldn’t have any memories of the woman who allegedly died so long ago.

  “What’s wrong?” Chace’s low, soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Skylar realized she’d stopped walking and stood with her eyes closed, reliving the tender memory that shouldn’t exist. She opened her eyes to see the tans and browns of the desert.

  “Nothing,” she murmured. “Didn’t sleep well last night.” She started forward once more, pulling her hand free of his after the few hours walk.

  It was easier to push the memories away without Chace’s magic fluttering through her.

  The Field was visible, a single-story, long, adobe-style building hugging the base of the mountain. Located half an hour from the nearest house, it rested at the end of a dirt road behind thick stone walls. Seeing it made her more anxious than she expected.

  “How often do you come here?” Chace asked. There was a note of uneasiness in his voice.

  “Monthly for a one-day refreshers,” she replied. “Then once a year, we spend two weeks here to get physical check-ups and re-certified in our fields.”

  “So that’s when they brainwash you.”

  She rolled her eyes, not wanting to argue with him again yet feeling unsettled by the routine visit to The Field. She should be happy for bringing in the last dragon. She was conflicted as much by her attraction to him and her sense of duty as she was by her too-real dreams. Being around him made her doubt her world.

  She reached the entrance of the compound and paused, going to the guard shack beside the main entrance. He held out a thumb print scanner, eyes straying to the large dragon shifter standing too close behind her.

  “Bringing in a shifter,” she said with forced lightness.

  The scanner turned green.

  “Voluntarily?” the guard asked skeptically, eyes on where the golden lasso should’ve been.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Long story.”

  He nodded slowly and stepped aside. “I’ll tell Caleb you’re headed to the rehab facility.”

  “Thanks.” Skylar didn’t need to look behind her to know that Chace was following. She almost wished he wouldn’t, so she wasn’t caught between the disappointment of never seeing him again after today and the hope that she could return to her normal, simple world once he was gone.

  She crossed a large courtyard edged by official SUVs and went to the thick, metal door leading into the compound’s side entrance, the closest to the containment facilities. Pressing her hand to the hand scanner, she waited for the familiar click and opened the door.

  “Thank god!” she breathed as a whoosh of air conditioner hit her. The desert sun was horrible, even in autumn.

  “You’re that eager to get rid of me?” Chace asked, irritation in his voice.

  Far from it. She hesitated then refrained from responding, instead walking down the hallway. She didn’t know what to think about Chace or his claim of wanting to help other shifters escape, and letting her mind even acknowledge how incredibly well he knew how to use his mouth and tongue.

  She entered a small vestibule secured by two locked doors. One led into the compound while the other led into the rehabilitation center, an area she wasn’t authorized to be. Today, however, her gaze lingered on the door opposite the one she entered, and she wondered what was there, and if it was as bad as Chace seemed to think. True, she’d never seen any shifter after she helped bring him or her in, but she’d never thought twice about where they were resettled or what they went through to become non-threats.

  “You did it,” Caleb sounded surprised.

  Realizing he was waiting for her to speak, she faced him. His dark eyes were on Chace, his body tense. He held one of the golden ropes.

  “Caleb, this is Chace, the last dragon shifter,” she said. “He’s … interested in being rehabilitated.”

  Chace said nothing, though she sensed him bristle at her words.

  “He came voluntarily?” Caleb asked.

  “I did,” Chace answered. “You won’t need that.” He pointed to the lasso.

  “It’s protocol.”

  “He means, he can melt it with his magic. They don’t work,” Skylar explained. “So, you’ve met. He’s all yours.”

  “Great work, Skylar,” Caleb said with a rare smile. “You’re here for your monthly refresh?”

  “Yep,” she said and started away. “Out of curiosity, how long does the rehab take?”

  “Depends.” Caleb looked from Chace to her. “He’s older, so it might be longer.”

  Though she didn’t expect him to say more about the secret program, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed by the vague answer.

  What do you expect, Sky? She asked herself silently.

  “If you’ll come with me, I’ll give you a tour before we start discussing the program,” Caleb told the shifter.

  She watched Chace join Caleb at the other door, uncertain why her instincts were growing more restless. The farther Chace got from her, the more unsettled they became, as if some part of her knew what lay beyond the door behind Caleb – and that it was not a place Chace was going to return from.

  “Follow me, please,” Caleb said in a clipped tone. He opened the door and walked through.

  Chace paused to look back at Skylar. The direct gaze further distressed the instincts she didn’t understand.

  “See you soon, Sky,” he said.

  I don’t think so. Biting her tongue to keep from saying anything, she watched him step through the doorway. The heavy door swung shut, sealing them both away from her vision. She suddenly wanted to know what was on the other side of a door she’d never looked at twice.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Shaking her head, she left the area and strode through the compound to check in with the medical crew that ran the monthly check-ups before she went for her refresher. A nurse led her to a private room.

  The routine physical was the same every month. Skylar sat on the table and waited, swingi
ng her legs. A moment later, the door opened.

  “Heya, Sky,” said the doctor, a young, recent graduate of medical school a few years older than her. “How’s life?”

  “Good, doc,” she murmured, thoughts on her weird two days with the dragon shifter.

  “You don’t sound like your normal happy self,” he said with a smile.

  “Didn’t sleep well,” she admitted. “Then trekked across the desert this morning. I’m hungry and hot.”

  “That I understand,” he said. “Tell me about your sleep problem.”

  She considered. “Just … weird dreams. Nonsensical really.”

  “Oh? Like what?” He set down the medical record in his hands to focus his attention fully on her.

  Weird. Normally, he asked a few routine questions, listened to her heart and walked out. She didn’t remember the last time one of the doctor’s had really paid attention to anything she said.

  When she didn’t respond immediately, his eyes went to her bandaged wrists.

  “What happened?” he asked, taking them.

  “Got caught by a shifter.” She winced at his touch.

  He unwound the gauze around each wrist to study them.

  “These don’t look bad. Probably painful, though. I’ll have a nurse clean these up and re-bandage them,” he said. “Drop by the pharmacy on your way out for some antibiotics.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, these dreams.”

  She made a show of looking at her wrists, not certain she wanted to share her dreams with him.

  “They’re nothing,” she said at last. “Just of my family.”

  “But they’re upsetting you?”

  She shrugged.

  He was quiet for a moment then picked up the tablet computer. He jotted something down on it then smiled.

  “You’re late for your annual refresher, and you’ve brought in quite a few shifters lately. The yearly visits help us assess stress issues with the job. Maybe you’re repressing some angst about work. Perfectly normal.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yep. Just stop by the psych’s office on your way out, okay?”

  She nodded, somewhat relieved by his nonchalance.

  “Take care and see you next month,” he said cheerfully.

  She smiled. He left and was quickly replaced by a nurse who bandaged her wrists before okaying her to leave.

  Ten minutes later, Skylar entered the office of the resident psychiatrist, a fit man in his forties with a friendly smile and dark eyes.

  “Skylar!” he exclaimed. “Come on in.”

  Do The Field people normally irk me? She managed a smile, shrugging off her agitation as a side effect of the long walk and no breakfast. The staff at the compound were normally nice, but she didn’t recall them being overly friendly before.

  “Hmm. I can move a few appointments around this morning. You’re late for your annual, so I want to go ahead and treat you,” he said, studying notes on a tablet. He sat behind a modern desk, in front of which were two chairs. “On the table. We can do some meditative work.”

  She glanced at the massage table that served as his meditative table. Never had she dreaded it before, but this time, her instincts were wriggling.

  It’s just a mandatory nap, like usual, she chided her restless mind. Just because the shifter she brought in claimed this was somehow part of her brainwashing …

  Queasy, she went to the table anyway and lay down.

  “My wrists are hurting. Might be hard for me to concentrate,” she said, holding up her arms.

  “Not a problem at all. I’ve got something that’ll put you under in a few seconds.” He crossed to the small refrigerator in a corner of his office and withdrew a small bottle of clear liquid. Grabbing a disposable syringe from the top, he expertly opened it and prepped the shot.

  “Relax,” he urged, approaching. “This is the same thing we do for your yearly.”

  I don’t recall there being needles involved. Skylar realized she was gripping the edges of the table tightly enough for her bandaged wrists to pulse.

  Skylar’s instincts were at a roar, and she didn’t understand what was wrong with something she supposedly went through every year. She forced herself not to look at what he did, wanting to believe that the doubt she’d felt around the dragon shifter was a byproduct of his strange magic and nothing more.

  “The doctor said you’re having strange dreams?” the psychiatrist asked. He pushed up the sleeve of one of her arms then swabbed the injection site with alcohol.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Do you remember what they were of?”

  “My mom. Nothing really concrete. Just random images,” she hedged.

  “If they were real enough to interfere with your sleep, I’d say there’s something to them,” he observed. “How have you been feeling lately?”

  “Good. Just frustrated with the dragon I’ve been tracking.”

  “Stressed?”

  “Eh, not really,” she said.

  “The doc says you were a hostage?”

  “I guess.”

  “That can create a great deal of psychological stress, may even have you relating to your captor.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said slowly. “I mean, some of what he said makes sense.”

  “Perfectly natural,” the psychiatrist said with a warm smile. “What did he say that made sense?”

  “Well …” Skylar was thoughtful for a moment. “That slayers are a new thing, something he hasn’t seen in his thousand years.”

  “You know that to be untrue.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she agreed, mind on the history classes she’d taken during her training. “But he also said we were brainwashed. And then I started remembering things about my mother, about growing up with her, that just aren’t possible. I mean, she died after I was born. Why do I remember her?”

  “These are the dreams you’re having? Of your family?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can address those during this session.”

  She glanced at him. The sting of the needle entering her arm made her stomach turn, and she focused on deep breathing. He withdrew the needle and crossed to a biohazard bin to throw it away.

  “Close your eyes, Skylar,” he said. “This won’t take long, and you won’t remember the discomfort.”

  She obeyed. The solution he injected into her felt like it was trapped in her arm, making the muscles around it ache. The place grew warm then uncomfortably hot but didn’t leave the small area where it was contained.

  “These will monitor your brain activity while you are in the meditative state.”

  She felt the cold, moist pressure of round monitoring pads on either temple. A machine nearby whirred to life, and she heard the psychiatrist’s rustling stopped as he sat.

  “As the serum takes effect, I want you to focus on your training,” he said. “The history of the slayers, the dragons who have caused numerous deaths in the past two decades, turned people into fried chicken.”

  Chace doesn’t like fried chicken. The thought caught little traction before fluttering through her mind and being swallowed in the darkness that was closing in.

  Skylar slid silently into a drugged sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thus far, the building resembled a science laboratory. Chace peeked into each door they crossed, his senses recording everything from the whir of air conditioning to the hue of the walls to the distant scent of cleaning products and ... something else. Something that made him pause. It was elusive, too faint for him to determine the direction it came from or what exactly it was.

  But he suspected it was the scent of other shifters.

  “… the medical clinic where we check everyone who comes in,” Caleb was saying, pausing at a doorway.

  Chace glanced in, seeing a receptionist desk, waiting area and short hallway lined with exam rooms. His gaze lingered on the waiting area, and he almost laughed. He didn’t se
e half a dozen shifters waiting patiently to be reprogrammed.

  “This will make the staff more comfortable,” Caleb added, holding up a golden lasso.

  It was thicker than the one Skylar had possessed.

  “Whatever,” Chace said, unconcerned. “I burnt the last one to a crisp.” He reached for it.

  Caleb handed it over, and Chace draped it over his neck.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  “Very.” Caleb’s smile was confident.

  “Now, tell me what really goes on here,” Chace ordered him. “No more of this crap about rehabilitation.”

  Caleb strode into the clinic, motioning for Chace to follow. Chace did so. He tossed the tail end of the rope over his shoulder to keep it from bumping against his chest with his movement. His eyes scanned the rooms they passed.

  They were all empty, but the faint scent was stronger. Shifters had been in this clinic, even if he didn’t see them now.

  Caleb ducked into one room

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll have a nurse come in to check on you.”

  “I’ll stand.” Chace entered the small room and glanced around.

  Nothing was threatening about this clinic or different from a normal clinic. Mr. Nothing had warned him, but Chace wasn’t seeing the issue yet, aside from the brainwashing the slayers went through.

  “How do you rehabilitate shifters?” He tried again.

  “We inject them full of a solution that takes their magic away.”

  Chace’s gaze returned to Caleb in interest. “Explain.”

  “That’s all there is to it.” Caleb shrugged.

  A nurse entered with a smile at Caleb that turned nervous at the sight of Chace.

  “He’s got his lasso on. You’re fine,” Caleb assured her.

  “You take their magic and just free them?” Chace asked skeptically.

  “Not exactly.”

  The nurse took his arm and wrapped rubber around his bicep tightly then peered at his arm, looking for a vein. Chace felt her tap it then swab him down before drawing a needle out of one drawer.