“Who the hell do you think lit this fire?” Mark asked. “They knew we’d be here. They wanted us to find him dead.”
Daniel stiffened. He’s right.
“Tristan, can you take me to the top.” Even though I fucking hate flying.
His brother nodded. In an instant his skin changed to the stunning color of wet stone, and grey wings spread behind his back. Wordlessly, Tristan grabbed him beneath the arms and lifted him up.
Keep your head, Daniel ordered himself.
As they rose higher and closer to the house, the heat from the fire overwhelmed him. It felt so damned good. He closed his eyes, glorying in the smoke and the heat. His mind spun. How had he gone so long without touching fire? He’d thought being exposed to the fireplace in their home had slowly numbed his deep need to indulge, but it had all been a lie.
When Daniel reached the window, he raised his hand and harnessed the power of the flames. Instantly, the fire moved through him. The smoke parted back from the window, and a groan tore from his lips.
Tristan deposited him in the window and flew away. Daniel knew Tristan could endure the high heat, but like most, avoided it when he could.
For a moment, Daniel didn’t move. Instead, he called the flames to him. They coated his body, racing along his skin. His emotions dulled and his senses awakened. He felt so damned good, alive for the first time since his death. He needed this. He was a fool to convince himself otherwise.
“Is someone,” the man’s voice was interrupted by a series of deep coughs, “there?”
Daniel shuddered. Focus. God damn it. I've got to get him out of here.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Using his abilities, he parted the smoke in front of him and stared, not believing the sight before him. Those angels are fucked up.
The man had been nailed to the wall. Blood ran from the wounds in his arms and legs, and his head hung, as if he hadn’t the strength to raise it. As Daniel came closer to him, the man lifted his head. His skin was pale beneath the soot that coated him, and as his lips parted, Daniel spotted two sharpened canines.
A vampire is the God of the Night. The Fates must have had a field day with that one.
“Are you here to help, mage?” he questioned, eyelids drooping.
Daniel stiffened, remembering his purpose. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Kneeling before the vampire, he gripped one of the nails in his leg. He hesitated.
“Do it,” the vampire murmured.
Daniel nodded and pulled.
The vampire’s scream came, raw and choked. He probably screamed like hell when they put them in.
Daniel didn’t hesitate. He moved to the next one and the next one. He tried to block out the screams of the vampire, but he could still hear them. Knowing that he was hurting an innocent like this turned his stomach, and yet he knew slowing down could cost them both their lives.
The smoke continued to thicken. Daniel pushed it back with his powers, but he could sense the flames devouring the wood in the floors beneath their feet. Soon everything would come crashing down, and he planned for them to be far from there when it did.
Standing, Daniel kicked the dozen or more nails out of the way and reached for the ones going through the vampire’s palms and arms. It took a painfully long time to yank them all out, but when he was done, the man sagged into his arms.
Daniel dragged him through the house, his pulse racing each time the floorboards creaked. When he got to the window, he sent flames shooting out in a signal he knew his brother would understand. Within a minute, Tristan had returned. Silently, he handed the vampire to his brother.
“I’ll return,” Tristan promised.
He nodded, watching as they shot back to the ground.
Daniel turned back to the room and froze. Something was written on the wall in blood, behind where the vampire had been nailed. Moving closer to it, he squinted, struggling to put the words together.
Got yah.
He frowned. Clearly if they had gotten to this room and found the vampire they knew that the angels were involved. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Reaching out, he touched the wall. It was a mistake. He could feel the fire on the other side of the wall. The heat and power of the flames crashed through him like waves.
He gasped, and every hair on his body stood on end. He forgot the weird message. He forgot his purpose. Instead, he coaxed the flames to tear through the wall. They obeyed, reaching to touch his palm, to sweep over and through him.
His entire body heated. He groaned, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. It felt so good to taste it again, so good to give himself to the magic.
A warning rang somewhere in the back of his head. Fire mages weren’t immune to flames. They could handle a lot of fire, but even they had a limit.
Which is exactly how he died not so long ago.
But the warning drifted away like smoke, and everything grew bright and beautiful. There was no pain, no worries. Nothing but the fire.
He swore it spoke his name. Shouted his name. But the flames couldn’t speak.
His eyes closed, and he felt himself being carried away into euphoria. Into heaven.
And then, the fire was gone. His eyes snapped open. He was in the air. Far from the house. His legs dangling over the sky. The ground far below.
He swore.
Tristan spoke from above him. “Calm brother.”
But the fire! He could still feel it. Taste it. He needed more and he needed it now!
He struck out at the gargoyle who carried him. But the massive stone creature didn’t flinch. Tristan continued to fly him above the castle, in lazy circles.
“Put me down!” he roared.
“Not until you’ve gained control of yourself once more.”
“I’m in control,” he grated out, but Tristan ignored him.
Minutes
