“Away,” he said, offering nothing more.
I took a step forward, wanting to take every one keeping us apart, but I was frozen in place.
“You were going to leave without saying good-bye?” I asked, no longer able to keep the tears contained. I was sick of holding back.
His shoulders fell, his head following suit. “I didn’t have a chance to say this before, but for closure’s sake, I think I need to.” His eyes aligned with mine, flat as a blank canvas. “Good-bye, Bryn,” he said firmly, before throwing himself out the door, leaving me behind.
I couldn’t find the words to respond in turn. I couldn’t say them to him again. Once had taken enough of my soul away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FIRE
Patrick made the initial explanations since I’d fallen into a semi-coma the past twelve hours after losing William all over again. Paul had accepted it all without a question or peering about for cameras to see if he was being punk’d. I thought I’d accepted all the impossible mysteries of Immortality with ease, but Paul made me look like the severest of skeptics in comparison.
Patrick made sure to let me know I’d have the responsibility of tucking Paul under my wing since the one who’d changed him wasn’t up for it . . . something about having better things to do. I tried not to think about better things to do in a literal sense.
When I’d asked Patrick if he’d consider the Immortal equivalent of “mentoring” Paul, he’d keeled over laughing, saying he’d have even more motivation to figure out my talent training so he could use it to kill himself. As per usual, his sick humor was lost on me.
“Dying was like the best thing to happen to me,” Paul said, throwing himself back onto the sofa, a wide smile making its way over to me. I couldn’t get over the change in him, how he’d gone from knocking on death’s door to radiating vigor.
As any and every female could attest to, Paul had been good-looking in his Mortal life, but the passage into Immortality had enhanced him in such a way he could have been the result of a Swedish model mating with a Greek God. He was a Disney hero incarnate—wide, roguish smile and all. “Well, maybe the second best thing to happen to me.” His eyebrows danced feverishly my direction.
Patrick stuck his index finger in his mouth, throwing the book he had in his lap to the ground. “I’m through playing baby-sitter for one day. You kids going to be alright on your own or do I need to tuck you into bed with a warm cup of milk?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ve got the tucking into bed covered.” Paul looked over at me, no hint of shyness in his expression, just rugged, assured confidence. It seemed Immortality had exponentially enhanced his confidence as well.
“Whatever you say, cowboy,” Patrick said, obviously annoyed, as he rose from the chair. “See you two in the morning.”
“You can stay here,” I said, absently pushing back my cuticles.
“I’d rather not,” he said, turning for the door. “I’ll leave you two . . . alone.”
“This is great,” Paul said, curling his hands behind his head and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “There’s bro-code for Immortals, too.” He looked over at Patrick, bowing his head slightly. “I appreciate it, man. I’d say some alone time is definitely in order.”
I heaved my exasperation. What exactly about my unending cold-front gave Paul the impression he was gaining footing? I was just about to launch into some snide reply when a flaming object hurled into the room, shattering the large picture window behind Paul.
My body responded instantly and efficiently. I rolled towards the couch, pulling Paul down and away from the window and where the flaming torch had ignited the carpet. Patrick moved as quickly, extinguishing the snarling flames with a blanket he’d pulled from the rocker.
“What the?” Paul said, looking between the two of us.
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Patrick said absently. “A really bad feeling.”
I crouched next to Paul, covering him with my body as I scanned the room like a feral cat. There was a thick silence, none of us so much as breaking it with a breath, when hell decided to explode around us.
An inferno of torches broke through every window in the living room, falling in a circle around us. One landed on Patrick’s back, igniting his shirt instantly, as if the flames were as supernatural as we were.
Afraid to move and expose Paul—he was Immortal, but new enough his skin would burn—I tossed Patrick one of the throw pillows from the couch. By the time it reached him, he’d already torn out of his shirt, but flames still scurried across his skin, diminishing once there was nothing left to ignite. This was the first time I’d seen Patrick shirtless and all I could think was that DNA had done the Hayward boys good.
Yep, situated at the epicenter of a raging fire, that was what went through my mind, but, thankfully, it was short-lived.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I yelled over at him, as the flames devoured the curtains.
Patrick shook his head. “It’s a trap. They’re trying to flush us out. We go out there, we’re dead.”
We’d arrived at the same conclusion, needing no faces to confirm who was the bearer of the flaming torches or who was waiting for us outside. “Paul’s dead if we stay in here,” I yelled, the flames becoming louder, hissing all around us. The bottom of the rocking chair was catching fire, smoldering with its imminent destruction.
“We stay here,” Patrick commanded, crawling towards us, covering the exposed part of Paul’s body with his.
“Something tells me they’ll be waiting for us when there’s nothing but ash left.” I looked hard at Patrick and I knew he agreed. We were dead, either way, and perhaps with the chaos of the fire, either Paul or him—or both—could make an escape.
“So it comes to this again,” Patrick said, a corner of his mouth pulling up. “You and me against the evil powers of the world.”
I couldn’t help smiling back, poor timing as it was. “We make a good team, when we’re not fighting each other.”
“Am I some sort of Immortal wimp?” Paul hollered up at us, looking furious we’d left him out of the equation.
“Yes,” Patrick and I answered in unison.
“At least for now,” I added, pulling him up with me.
Patrick came up beside Paul and glanced over at me. “Ready to throw down the pain?”
“I’ve been ready.”
“You know that gift of yours?” he said, as we each wound an elbow through Paul’s arms. “It would come in handy right about now.”
“Point taken,” I said, too much adrenaline shooting through me to worry about who I could kill or who I wouldn’t kill.
“Jump!” Patrick yelled and the trio of us lunged through the picture window, bursting through the flames to the ground two floors below. We landed in unison, and near silence, crouching low to the ground, waiting.
We didn’t wait long.
A half-circle of men holding more torches glided forward, their dark faces lit up by the orange flames licking around them. There was nothing that gave any designation of time and had someone been transported to this very moment, it would have been impossible to distinguish if we were surrounded by mercenaries in medieval England or Puritans back in Salem or the Klan in the deep South. The one thing about hate was that it was timeless, in the worst sense of the word.
“So we meet again, beautiful,” a familiar voice broke through the night, transporting me back to a time when I was nothing more than an ordinary college girl with a sad past. “I always hoped we would.”
Troy’s stocky form broke forward from the line of torches—doing a quick count, there were just under forty smug-faced Inheritors. Leaving Patrick and me with twenty each. I’d seen worse odds, for instance, William falling in love with me . . . but I wouldn’t exactly call that a victory. So maybe we were screwed, but I’d make sure I’d be the first to die if that was our destiny.
“I always knew we would, Troy,” I responded, taking a step forward. Patrick matched mine, followed by Paul. “I’ve got a little payback I’ve been meaning to deliver.”
Troy chuckled. “This is why I like you so much, defiant to the end. It’s too bad we just missed William, but don’t worry”—the whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness—“we won’t leave him out.”
“Over my dead body,” I shouted, charging forward, but Patrick materialized in front of me, stopping me. I tried shoving around him, but Patrick hadn’t become a strength instructor for no reason—he was as immovable as Mt. Everest.
Troy’s grinned widened. “Exactly.”
The line of men started forward, one unified step followed by another, nothing but smirks of destruction playing on their faces. I knew John went for intimidating, but whenever I’d had dealings with an army of his brutes, they more came across as meat-heads who were only capable of following one-word commands. Their strength might outmatch mine, but anyone with the wits of an ameba could outsmart them.
I heard Paul running forward, but I stopped him short. “Stay back!”
“Sorry, Bryn,” he answered calmly, as if he was clueless as to the destruction surrounding us. “I’ve never been a bench-warmer and I’ll be darned if I’m about to start.”
He shoved past me, harnessing a power that wasn’t typical in a new Immortal, right as the advancing wall of flames came to an abrupt stop. Seven new forms had crept in behind us from the darkness, positioning around us.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Patrick shouted, his face blanching white.
It took me a moment to figure out who the saviors around us were, but when one squared himself directly in front of me, holding his head in a very familiar way, I felt my own face falling white, surpassing Patrick’s.
“No,” I barely whispered, surging forward. I lunged past him, at break-neck pace toward the waiting men in front of us, praying once they had me, they’d leave the rest of them unharmed.
I made it half a body-length before his arms ringed around my waist, pulling me back against his chest while walking backwards towards his family.
“Let me go, William!” I yelled, trying to pry his grip from me. It was impossible—his arms were glued to me with a kind of permanency I wouldn’t have minded if we’d been in any different situation.
“I didn’t save you and turn you into an Immortal for nothing, Paul,” William shouted, striding towards him. “For the love of god, protect her.” He handed me over to Paul, but it felt forced, like he was fighting everything to do so.
Paul’s arms replaced William’s, positioning me tightly against him. Avoiding my eyes like they shot lasers, William turned and jogged back to the front of the line, taking his place between Nathanial and his father. Cora and Abigail were even there, although their husbands were fortressed in front of them, their faces snarling with warning. I pitied the man who even tried to lay a finger on Cora or Abigail. From the looks of their faces, Joseph and Nathanial would happily tear any who tried to microscopic shreds.