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Riot was never on my list.
He was never supposed to know what I am, but it’s him or me, and I refuse to let something as trivial as dying get in the way of my plans.
“Stars, dammit, woman!” he whisper yells. “Take a deep breath and put that out before someone else sees what you are.”
Riot’s gaze drops to my hand and the world seems to freeze for a heartbeat. My palm is on fire, completely engulfed in vibrant red flames that dance with an ethereal glow. I stare at it in awe, a mixture of fascination and fear coursing through me. Lifting my palm, I cautiously move my fingers and the flames obediently follow my every gesture, licking at the air like a mesmerizing dance.
But the enchantment is short-lived. Panic sets in when I try to extinguish the flames by shaking my hand. The fire clings to me, stubbornly refusing to be snuffed out, now casting an eerie glow on Riot's face. Confidence turns into an unsettling panic as I realize I can’t control the blaze. Frantically, I try to push my magic back inside the mental box where I usually keep it, but it won’t go.
My magic rebels against my attempts, pulsing with a heart-like rhythm inside me. It feels alive, strong, and hungry for something more than just containment. Fear tightens its grip as I recognize the insatiable craving. It hungers for something, something that sets my instincts on edge. Blood. Sex.Him.
“Can I touch you?” Riot cautiously asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Don't! I'll burn you," I warn, the weight of my magic lingering in the air.
Riot ignores my plea and gently sets his hands on my arms. He pulls me into him slowly, my fire tucked between us. I brace for the flames to burn through my clothes and for him to cry out in pain, but the sound never comes. Instead, he holds me tighter, his arms enveloping me until I'm surrounded within the warmth of his embrace.
He holds me and, in this moment, I feel a fusion of his strength and the raw intensity of my power. His arms, far from the skin-and-bones impression I had, are strong, built from lean muscle. The armor beneath his shirt is unyielding, molded to fit over carefully hidden muscles yet masking his strength. The warmth of my fire dissipates, and soon there’s nothing but the heat of our bodies between us.
As Riot steps back and his hands move to my arms again. I notice a hole burnt into the center of his shirt, a testament to the potential danger he willingly faced. It's something his jacket can hide if buttoned. Otherwise, he looks unharmed.
"Are you alright?" he asks, concern etched on his face.
“Are you going to kill me now?”
“No. Why would I?”
I believe him. I feel his earnestness and curiosity vibrating through my webs. Still, I address the elephant in the room, something that’s plagued my thoughts but I’ve yet to say out loud. “I’m a Cerise. You’re a Hunter. It’s your job to kill me.”
“My job is to keep Bash safe until the Culling is over. That’s all,” he explains, his hands rubbing down my arms in a comforting gesture. A frown creases his forehead as he touches me and the concern I thought was gone plagues his face again. “You’re still too warm. We need to get you outside and cool you off.”
“Why?”
"Because your magic is tied to your emotions. It exploded because you reached your tipping point, but it's also affected by your surroundings. You're an ember," he explains patiently, a glint of understanding in his eyes. "If we get you out in the snow, you should be able to regain control."
Riot starts down the path toward the atrium and I follow, the weight of his words sinking in. “How do you know I’m an ember?”
"Kind of obvious," he replies casually, his tone suggesting that my magical nature would be apparent to a Cerise. He unlatches the door to the outside and holds it open. A cold breeze sweeps through, carrying with it the crisp scent of snow. Flurries cling to my skin briefly before melting away. "Didn't your mother teach you about your powers?"
"My mother's dead."
"Right," he says, as if he already knew. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't kill her."
"I didn't, but that doesn't make me any less sorry."
"Why? Because youknowme? You're a Hunter. You've killed dozens, if not hundreds, of Cerise. Don't pretend to care." Heat pools under my skin again as I step outside. The snow melts into puddles beneath my feet, while the cold air provides a paradoxical comfort.
"Deep breaths, Khiara," Riot urges, his voice a calming presence in the wintery silence. "I'm not trying to piss you off again."
"You should stop talking then," I respond curtly, a defensive edge to my words.
"Fine," he concedes, and we continue through the snow-covered grounds in a tense yet strangely serene silence. The fire inside me withers the further we walk and soon I’m shivering. Riot watches me hug myself to try and get warm. After a few freezing steps, he removes his coat and hands it to me.
“I don’t want it,” I protest, trying to reject the warmth he's offering.
“Put the damn thing on and stop being so stubborn.”
