Page 6 of Flames

His tenderness sends a lightning rod of anguish directly to my chest. I want him to comfort me. I want him to take the hurt away and make it so I don’t feel this way anymore because it’s already been too long to bear. But at the same time, I don’t want him to do that. I want to feel this—all of it—because how else will I know that Sam was real? That he was mine? That I really did love him, and he really did love me?

“It’s okay, Nova.” Mack pulls me toward him. He’s naked, as he always is after a shift, and kneeling on the floor behind me. I lean into him and run my hands over his chest, peppered with hair but still smooth. I rest my head above his heart, but when it beats in my ears I jolt back. I push him away from me.

“It’s not okay.” I shake my head. I push him again. The push turns to a shove, which turns to me thumping him with my fists. “It’s not okay. It will never be okay again.”

I’m not hitting him hard, but the last shove I give him causes him to topple backward. I haven’t hurt him, but the fact I’m taking my pain out on him makes me cry even harder.

I clutch my hair. Raw, acrid tears burn my throat. “Mack…” I say his name as if I’m calling to him from a distance. “Mack, he’s gone.”

Mack rights himself onto his knees and pulls a blanket from the couch, covering himself with it. “Yes, Nova,” he says, keeping some distance between us, not attempting to touch me, “Sam is gone.”

A scream escapes my lips before I can stop it. I stand up, whirl around, and swipe the collection of empty glasses and mugs from the coffee table. They shatter as they meet the hardwood floor. Fire blooms in my palms, and I hurl it at the couch.

I scream again. Mack calls my name, but I don’t hear him. Flames surround me. I’m going to burn this place down. The whole fucking place. If I can’t be here with Sam, I don’t want it here at all. I don’t want to be here. I’ll set it alight and let the flames have me.

A silhouette moves toward me through the fire. Not Mack; there’s no way he could. It’s Luther. As if my heat doesn’t touch him, he slams his hands onto my arms and squeezes hard. “Nova, stop.” He meets my eyes. “Stop.”

“I can’t,” I shout. Then in a whisper, I say it again. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He pulls me to him and envelops me in his arms. Fire swirls around us, but then a wave of water washes over us. It takes my breath away. Instantly, the flames die. Spluttering, I stagger backward.

Luther lets go of me. He’s drenched, and so am I. Tanner is over by the sink. He’s incredibly pale, bracing himself on the countertop. The tap is dripping. Water soaks the floor. Kole thumps the tap to stop the incessant drip-drip-drip.

The four of them watch me but don’t speak. I start to shake. My entire body is trembling. Then the room goes black.

* * *

When I wake, I’m upstairs in the bedroom. It’s still dark outside. For a moment, one glorious moment—just a fraction of a second—a smile twitches my lips. The bed is soft and familiar and warm. I am safe here. Here in the place where I’ve felt the most loved I have ever felt in my life.

Then I remember.

I see it all over again; Sam’s face, Sam falling, Sam being swallowed by the Earth.

“Here.” Luther helps me sit up and presses a glass of whiskey into my hands.

I drink it down it one drink. It burns my throat and makes me cough.

“Okay, now another.” Luther tops the glass up with a bottle he took from next to the bed and watches as I wrap my hands around it.

My head is swimming. “It really happened, didn’t it?” I say quietly.

“Yes, it did.” Luther rubs his palm over the top of his head. Things have been different between us ever since Thessaly showed us her vision of The Original Six, yet I’m still surprised it’s Luther who’s here.

As if he feels like he should apologize for being the one at my side, Luther says, “Kole and Mack are reinforcing the shield.”

“And Tanner?” I ask.

“Tanner’s finding it tough,” Luther says. “There’s a lot of emotion in the air right now, and he’s still reeling from whatever the fuck came out of Eve’s mouth back there.”

“The flies,” I mutter. “I thought maybe I imagined it.

“’Fraid not.” Luther moves a little closer and rests his hand on my ankle. His thumb rubs small delicate circles on my skin as he continues. “At least, we think they were flies. Tanner said they were evil. They chased us but stopped when we got to the edge of the wood outside The Hollow. They left Tanner pretty shaken up. The whole thing did.”

My brain can’t make sense of what Luther’s saying, but he doesn’t seem to understand it either. I take a sip of whiskey. I can barely taste it, but it’s warm on my throat. “Ragnor?” I ask, barely able to speak his name.

“Last I saw, he was running back inside The Hollow with his zombie wife.”

“Sam’s mother,” I say quickly, my eyes flashing with heat.