Burned

“No. I used to be a candy striper at St. John’s E.R. I seen a whole lot of crazy there.”

Wishing she’d had some “whole lot of crazy” experience, Stevie Rae pressed her lips together and tried not to think at all as they zipped the dead kids into five different bags and followed the boys, grunting under the weight of their burdens, out through the main depot building. Silently, they let her lead the way to a dark, deserted area beside the train tracks. Stevie Rae knelt and pressed her hands against the earth. “Open, please, and let these kids return to you.” The earth quivered, like the twitching skin of an animal, and then split, open forming a deep, narrow crevasse. “Go ahead and drop them in,” she told the boys, who followed her orders grimly and silently. When the last body had disappeared, Stevie Rae said, “Nyx, I know these kids made some bad choices, but I don’t think that was all their fault. They are my fledglings, and as their High Priestess, I ask that you show them kindness and let them know the peace they didn’t find here.” She waved her hand in front of her, whispering, “Close over them, please.” The earth, like the fledgling at her side, did Stevie Rae’s bidding.

When she stood up, Stevie Rae felt about a hundred years old. Dallas tried to touch her again, but she started walking back to the depot, saying, “Dallas, would you and Johnny B look around out here and make sure any of those kids who got out through the depot understand that they aren’t welcome back? I’ll be in the kitchen. Meet me there, ’kay?”

“We’re on it, girl,” Dallas said. He and Johnny B jogged off.

“The rest of you guys can go to the Hummer,” she said. Without a word, the kids headed down the stairs that led to the basement parking lot.

Slowly, Stevie Rae went through the depot and climbed down to the blood-soaked kitchen. Kramisha was still there. She’d found a box of giant trash bags and was cramming rubble into them, muttering to herself. Stevie Rae didn’t say anything. She just grabbed another bag and joined her. When they had most of the mess stuffed away in bags, Stevie Rae said, “Okay, you can go on now. I’m gonna do some earth stuff and get rid of this blood.”

Kramisha studied the hard-packed dirt floor. “It ain’t even soaking in.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna fix it.”

Kramisha met her gaze. “Hey, you’re our High Priestess and all, but you gotta understand that you can’t fix everything.”

“I think a good High Priestess wants to fix everything,” she said.

“I think a good High Priestess don’t beat herself up for stuff she can’t control.”

“You’d make a good High Priestess, Kramisha.”

Kramisha snorted. “I got me a job already. Don’t try to put no more shit on my plate. I can barely handle this poem stuff as it is.”

Stevie Rae smiled, even though her face felt oddly stiff. “You know that’s all up to Nyx.”

“Yeah, well, me and Nyx gonna have us a talk. I’ll see you outside.” Still grumbling under her breath, Kramisha headed down the tunnel, leaving Stevie Rae alone.

“Earth, come to me again, please,” she said, backing up to the entrance to the kitchen. When she felt the warmth build below and through her, Stevie Rae held out her hands, palms facing the bloody floor. “Like everything else living, blood eventually goes back to you. Please soak up the blood of these kids who shouldn’t have had to die.” Like a giant earthen sponge, the floor of the kitchen became porous, and as Stevie Rae watched, it absorbed the crimson stain. When it was all gone, Stevie Rae felt her knees wobble, and she sat down, hard, on the newly cleaned floor. Then she began to cry.

That was how Dallas found her. Head bowed, face in her hands, sobbing her guilt and her sadness and her heart out. She hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen. She only felt his arms go around her as he sat next to her and pulled her into his lap while he smoothed her hair and held her close, rocking her like she was very, very young.

When her sobs turned into hiccups, and the hiccups finally stopped, Stevie Rae wiped her face with her sleeve and then laid her head on his shoulder. “The kids are waiting outside. We need to get goin’,” she said, even though she was finding it hard to move.

“No, we can take our time. I sent them all back in the Hummer. I said we’d follow in Z’s Bug.”

“Even Kramisha?”

“Even Kramisha. But she complained about having to sit on Johnny B’s lap.”

Stevie Rae surprised herself by laughing. “I’ll bet he didn’t complain.”

“Nah. I think they like each other.”

“Ya think?” She leaned back so that she could look into his eyes.

He smiled at her. “Yep, and I’m gettin’ kinda good at tellin’ when someone likes someone.”

“Oh, really? Like who?”

“Like you and me, girl.” Dallas bent and kissed her.

It started out as gentle, but Stevie Rae didn’t let it stay like that. She couldn’t really explain exactly what happened, but whatever it was, she felt like a torch flaming out of control. Maybe it had something to do with having just come too close to death and needing to be touched and loved to feel alive. Or maybe the frustration that had been simmering inside her ever since Rephaim had first spoken to her finally boiled over—and Dallas was the one to be burned by it. Whatever the reason, Stevie Rae was on fire, and she needed Dallas to put the blaze out.

She tugged at his shirt, murmuring “Take it off . . .” against his lips. With a grunt, he yanked it over his head. While he was doing that, Stevie Rae pulled off her own T-shirt and started kicking off her boots and unbuckling her belt. She felt his eyes on her and looked up to meet his questioning gaze. “I want to do it with you, Dallas,” she said in a rush. “Now.”

“Are ya sure?”

She nodded. “Totally. Now.”

“Okay, now,” he said, reaching for her.

When their bare skins touched, Stevie Rae thought she’d explode. This was what she needed. Her skin was ultrasensitive, and everywhere Dallas touched, he scalded her, but in a very, very good way because Stevie Rae needed to be touched. She had to be touched and loved and possessed over and over to wipe away everything: Nicole, the dead kids, fear for Zoey, and Rephaim. Always, before anything else, there was Rephaim.

Dallas’s touch seared him away. Stevie Rae knew she was still Imprinted with Rephaim—she could never forget that—but just then, with the slick heat of Dallas’s sweaty skin smooth and human and real against hers, Rephaim seemed so distant. It was almost as if he was moving away from her . . . letting her go . . .

“You can bite me if you want to.” Dallas’s breath was warm against her ear. “Really. It’s fine. I want you to.”

He was on top of her, and he shifted his weight so that the curve of his neck was pressed against her lips. She kissed his skin, and let her tongue taste him, feeling the pulse there and the ancient rhythm of it. Stevie Rae replaced her tongue with her fingernail, caressing lightly, finding the perfect spot to pierce so that she could drink from him. Dallas moaned, anticipating what was to come. She could give him pleasure, and take from him at the same time. It was the way it worked with mates—it was the way things were meant to be. It would be quick, easy, and feel really, really good.

If I drink from him, my Imprint with Rephaim will break. The thought made her hesitate. Stevie Rae stopped, one sharp fingernail tip pressed against Dallas’s neck. No, a High Priestess can have a mate and a consort, she told herself.

But it was a lie—at least for Stevie Rae it was. She knew, in the deepest recess of her heart, that her Imprint with Rephaim was something unique. It wouldn’t follow the rules that usually bound a vam-pyre to her consort. It was strong—amazingly strong. And maybe it was because of that unusual strength that she couldn’t bind herself to any other guy.