Page 91 of Commanding Flame and Shield
SUN’S UP
AUGUST
Those damn silk pajamas would be my undoing. I knew it the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, scrunching a towel through her long, wet hair. Alvara gave a quick motion for me to take my shower and then zipped across the room towards the solitary queen-sized bed. I moved with the same urgency into the bathroom she’d just vacated. The door clicked shut behind me. Even the scalding hot shower did nothing to erase the image of that black lace trim edging the silk gown. The way it clung to her curves, against her tight breasts and nipples, hard with cold. The way the lace plunged down between them, or the porcelain white skin beneath it. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And caused my heart to thunder with such fever, that it took the frigid jolt of turning the shower to the coldest setting to finally douse the reaction she elicited…over several agonizing, disciplined minutes. Desire was a cruel mistress, indeed.
Dried and dressed, I kept my eyes glued to my feet when I entered the too small room. We needed distance between us. Perhaps a football field would be enough for my breath to deepen a bit. Or a canyon.
Marcus had shown me where the spare blankets were kept, and I grabbed them out of the wood dresser before hastily throwing together a bed on the floor. She protested for a moment, murmuring something about her clothes, which I was adamantly trying not to think about. I turned down her absurd offer to sleep on the loveseat, which would have been much too constricting for even her frame, and bid her goodnight.
Several heartbeats later, she whispered back, “Goodnight, August Porter.”
Every time that musical voice said my name it was a song to my soul. My heart began to race again, and I breathed in as deeply as I could to steady the physical response. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Finally, after what might have been hours, or might have been a few eternal minutes, she spoke. Her light voice was soft as the silk that clung to her, despite her senses being acute enough to know I didn’t slumber.
“August?”
“Hmmm?”
“What do you miss the most?”
The question was a bit left field. I hesitated for a breath or two. “About…being human?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Damn. I haven’t really...let myself think about it.” A dozen things wrapped through my head, her own emotions shifting to nerves...and what seemed a twinge of guilt. Not that this was her fault.
For a moment, I craved the simplicity. The ease of mortal life. Of day-to-day challenges. But...primarily, it was the faces of my family. And then there was Freya. “My friends and family, I suppose. But most of all, I miss Freya.”
“Your baby sister.”
“Yeah. She’s way younger than James and me, but she...she’s so full of life. A complete pain in the ass—so stubborn, full of shit, irreverent in all the best ways. Somehow sensitive, but also untamed. But she’s so caring for those she loves. For her family—her friends. Loyal to a fault. She was always so...nurturing with the people in our life. Wise beyond her years...I think...If I was to pick one thing I would want back, it would be Freya.”
Sorrow washed through the room like a river. Whether it was Alvara’s or my own, I wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps a mix between us. For another long line of breaths, we were silent.
“Irreverent?” She chuckled. “After the discipline twins before her?”
I huffed a laugh, stuffing down the growing bruise in my chest. “Yeah, she didn’t exactly take after us. But I loved it—when it was directed at other people that deserved it.”
“Tell me a story?”
My lungs demanded a great, heaving breath. I closed my eyes, dropped my shield, and let her in. Her breath caught as the walls fell and those phantom touches of her mind wrapped into my own. It must have been odd, I supposed, not knowing everything about someone she cared for. But she hadn’t asked again. Not since the night we rescued Sarah. And I wasn’t sure how much energy she needed, or how to remind her my offer stood. So instead, I opened the memories I wanted her to see.
Freya, age two, eyes still a mix of green and blue, her auburn curls tight around her cherub face. Demanding and directing James and me to do as she said in her broken little language…
...Freya, hair now as low as her shoulder blades, round face that of childhood. She wore a moss green dress that matched her eyes, and a red backpack. I wiped a tear away from her face, grabbed her little hand in mine, and walked her across the blacktop. She turned for hugs from our mom and dad and then went to her first day of kindergarten...
…The roar of the lawn mower came to an abrupt halt as I swore. Freya, now age ten, fell to her knees in the grass, tears streaking her pretty little face as she scooped the bloody toad up into her hands.
“August!!! How could you?”
“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t see him!”
“He’s so little! He barely had a chance to live!”
“Freya! I swear! I didn’t see him.”
“Murderer!” She spat as she rose to her feet, sprinting for the house.
