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I was so fucking awful to her. She was so afraid, and I just kept hammering at her.
“You are meant to serve, Omega!”
“Let go of me!”
The sound of fear in Idril’s voice snaps something inside of me. I tap into my enhanced speed, hating myself for forgetting to top up on blood the last few days.
NO!
“After everything I’ve done for your father and mine, I think I deserve to decide how your part in this story ends.” Cage’s voice is manic. Fucking psychotic.
“You don’t get a say in any part of my story,” Idril snaps back, voice shaking with fear. And even though I’m fucking fizzy with fear of my own, I’ve never been more fucking proud of someone in my life.
I’m less than ten feet away, now. So, so fucking close. And then I’m there, sliding to a stop at the door to the game room. The room is dim, television on but paused mid-game. The bright light cast harsh shadows across Idril’s terrified face as she stares up at Cage, looming over her.
Cage, who has his hands wrapped around the upper arms of my—the—Omega, having walked her all the way across the room, less than two feet away from the fireplace.
A fireplace that’s roaring with flames, snapping and crackling like they’re alive. They sway forward, reaching for the Omega like they’re grounding her.
Supporting her.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Cage’s voice softens. His grip on Idril’s arms tightens.
Time slows… my whole world coming to a stuttering halt. With his back to me, I can’t see his face. But I can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice as he leans in closer and whispers, “No one cares about the opinion of a dead girl.”
Idril’s eyes widen as, with all the strength of his Species and Designation, Cage shoves her.
Directly into the fire.
The flames roar, flaring higher. A door slams open somewhere down the hall a breath before cool spring air hits my senses. Wind screams down the empty hall, shooting past me and into the lounge, shoving me forward.
I don’t stop to think. Eyes locked on the only fucking thing that matters, I use the momentum from the wind to my advantage and lunge forward.
Sprinting straight for Idril.
Chapter 11
Idril
Iknow pain. I’ve lived with it for years. Even now, my joints scream as I fall backward, into the flames. My hands scrape along the brick, tearing at my fragile skin.
I prepare for the acrid smell of burnt flesh and hair. Will I smell my flesh burning or will I feel it first?
My limbs tense, coiling tight. My fingers scramble at the brick at my sides. I feel the heat of the flames licking at my clothes, right as something steadies me—like a hand pressed against my lower back. The sensation lasts only a second, but it’s enough time for me to wrap my fingers around the edges of the fireplace and shove myself back.
I spin, stumbling and nearly losing my tenuous grip and falling back into the fire. My hand flies out, reaching instinctively for the nearest solid surface.
The back wall of the fireplace.
My mouth parts, but no sound passes my lips.
Inside… I’m screaming.
I flinch, but I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to my hand passing directly through the fire, or in reaction to the meaty thuds of flesh meeting flesh behind me.
The hearth is small, even for me. I can easily reach the back brick without falling into the flames, and I do. My left hand smacks against hot stone while the fingers of my right hand grip the hearth’s edge for dear life. The hem of my shirt is so long it hangs into the flames, and even though my entire arm is engulfed in fire, my brain latches onto how quickly the cotton catches. I will never understand the absurd thoughts going through my mind at this moment, but it’s not the heat or pain that makes me finally yank back my arm and cradle the limb to my chest.
It’s the reminder that I only have two shirts. And if I ruin this one, I probably won’t get another.
