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The fire listened, waiting for guidance.
Curious, Gabriel gave a little push.
For an instant, it felt incredible, the strength no, the potential in the flames surrounding him. He could level this whole forest with a thought. So much power, right at his fingertips, awaiting his direction. True control.
And then he lost it.
Seven trees caught and blazed. Eight. Nine. Fire suddenly stretched as far as he could see. Gabriel tried to rein it in, to pull the fire back to his area, but now it had fuel to burn and it didn’t care what he wanted.
The flames mocked him, each crack and snap a taunt. Burn.
Destroy. Consume.
The smoke turned thick, blinding, black against the red of the flames. Fire completely surrounded him, and he lost track of which direction was home.
A tree fell, crashing through the leaves right beside him.
Gabriel skittered sideways. Another danger: The fire wouldn’t hurt him, but a tree to the head sure would. Flames curled along the trunk, obscuring it from view almost immediately.
“Stop!” he said. Jesus, he needed Nick.
And he hadn’t even grabbed his cell phone on the way out of the house.
He couldn’t see how far the flames reached, and he hadn’t been out walking too long. Their house backed up to the woods along with a dozen others. Would the fire leap onto porches and roofs? Would he end up taking out half the neighborhood because he’d wanted one leaf to burn?
He knew what it was like to cause destruction. He’d started the fire that killed his parents.
Don’t think about that.
But he couldn’t think of anything else. He had to make it to the house. He had to get his brothers out.
Another tree fell. Gabriel bolted, praying he was going the right way.
He ran through fire forever. It felt incredible, and he hated it.
Then he heard men shouting, and before he could process that, someone tackled him and sent him to the ground.
Wet leaves were in his mouth; red lights flashed through the trees above him. Hands were hitting him everywhere. He smelled wet wool. His arms were trapped somehow; he couldn’t even find his hands to fight them off.
What. The. Fuck.
He spat leaves but didn’t get them all. “Stop!” he yelled. He didn’t even know who he was talking to. “Stop it!”
“Medic!” A woman’s voice, right close to him. “He’s conscious!”
People crouched over him. Firemen, with hats and gear and everything. Gabriel couldn’t even tell which was the woman.
Sirens and radios and diesel engines created a racket behind them.
“I’m okay,” he croaked around the crap in his mouth. “I’m okay. I don’t need a medic.”
He needed to get off this ground. He needed to make sure the fire hadn’t made it back to the house.
They were pulling a blanket away from him. His clothes had to be ruined; he could smell the singed fabric, feel the rough edges against his skin.
He coughed, and then someone was pressing an oxygen mask to his face.
God, he didn’t need a damn mask. He needed to get to the house. His brothers would be trapped. He needed to stop the fire. He needed Cold steel touched his wrists. What were they doing?
