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“Ella!”
The voice feels far away, even though I know he’s right over me, screaming into my face.
“Noel…”
“Ella!”
Powerful hands slam into my sternum. He hits me again, and then suddenly his mouth is on mine.
His air is filling my lungs.
With a rasping, violent cough, suddenly, I can breathe. Air fills my aching, choked lungs as I cough over and over.
I look up, and suddenly, all I know and see is him: soot-streaked, beautiful, and—
“Noel, you’re on fire.”
He flinches, jerking his head around and scowling at the flames dancing across the shoulder of his jacket. Not scared. Annoyed. Pissed that the literal element of destruction had the gall to fuck up his suit.
He hits it out with a palm before he yanks the whole jacket off. He bunches it up, slipping it beneath my head.
“I need you to lie—”
I cup his face, and with the very last ounce of my strength, I lean up and sear my lips to his. I sob into his mouth, kissing him desperately, whimpering as his arms surround me, pinning me to him.
“I told you to lie down,” he growls with a small smirk on his face.
“I’ve been told I have a problem with authority.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Jerk.”
“Brat.”
“I—”
Something behind us, back inside the house, explodes. And a horrified cry carries even over the sound of the townhouse burning and the sirens approaching.
My head twists around, and horror fills my heart as I watch the blond man Noel’s age scream in anguish again as he bolts across the street towards the gaping, fire-breathing maw of the front door.
It’s Oliver Prince.
Noel hisses, lunging to his feet.
“Oliver!No!”
Oliver halts for one second, his shoulders heaving. He turns to us, his face a mask of pure horror and pain.
“He didn’t come out yet!” he roars. “Noel, I’m getting him—”
“Oliver!” Noel roars. “Oliver,please—”
“He’s myson, Noel!” Oliver chokes.
His face twists in anguish.
“He’s myson.”
