The moment I closed my eyes, I felt her body weight against mine. Her smooth legs grazing along my thighs, her heated palms against my bare chest, and her perfect lips pressed to my neck.
"Ember..." Her name alone seemed to elicit further desire for me, as if slipped out of my mouth. There was more than desire though, it was always more than lust with Ember.
I didn't know where we were, but it didn't matter. Not right now.
"Ember, what's happening, baby?" Muttering into the curls of her hair, I closed my hands around her waist – the curves between her hips and her breasts where my hands always seemed to fit perfectly. I shook my head, wondering aloud, "Is this even happening?"
"Well, it definitely feels like you want it to happen." Ember smirked, climbing into my lap and sliding against my crotch.
"Tease," I accused, even as I caught my bottom lip between my teeth.
"You love it." She grinned at me, leaning in close to me, her nose grazing against mine.
"You know I do." And with my hands tightening around her waist and a quick tilt of my head, I kissed her. Instantly feeling that reminiscent euphoria that could never grow tiresome. Not with her; not with Ember.
She moaned into my mouth as our kiss intensified and I pulled her even closer to me. Her body moved seamlessly against mine; our bodies tied together in a harmonic rhythm.
"Is this reconnecting enough for you?" She murmured against my lips, pulling off my t-shirt and pressing hard against my chest – never ceasing her grinding over my crotch.
But she's dead. A pile of ashes. The thought sliced into my mind, through the lust and love-filled haze with blinding starkness; reminding me of what happened at Lake Oldoy.
I cut off the kiss abruptly, pulling my head back from hers, cupping her face in my hands and frowning at her. "Are you even really here?"
Tilting her head, she frowned back at me, a smile still playing on her lips. "What are you on about? Of course I'm here."
The memory of Ryder's fear after Killian somehow imitated me back in Hopecliffe resurfaced – bringing along it a rush of nausea. My hands froze on her waist.
"Tell me about the first time I touched you." Forcing a smirk on my face, despite my sudden discomfort, I squeezed her waist lightly.
"Hmm..." She hesitated, before deciding., "You...shook my hand."
Breath catching in my throat, I pushed her away from me. "You're not my Ember."
"What a shame." Killian's voice echoed around my head, accompanied by him clapping his hands together slowly in some sort of bizarre congratulatory way. "Though I was hoping to see a little more of the show."
As if commanded by unspoken instructions, Ember leaned forwards and pinned my wrists against the wooden headboard.
The previously-blurred surroundings cleared to reveal the fact we were in Ryder's dad's ranch in Montana; in the room Ember and I shared throughout that frigid indifference in our love. Killian stood near the window, his dark outline stark against the brightening light of dawn.
And there I was, completely vulnerable wearing nothing but boxers.
Adrenaline starting to saturate my veins, I tried to pull my arms down to defend myself, though it seemed they were stuck. Barred; just like when he killed her at Lake Oldoy and I couldn't do anything except watch.
"What the fuck, Killian?" I growled, willing myself to shift – a futile attempt.
'Ember' (not Ember) tied some necklace around my neck, silver burning into my flesh as soon as it made contact with my skin. The instant pain forced me to cough, which turned into dry heaves as I spluttered out bloody droplets of dark violet powder.
The same powder I now noticed lingered on Ember's lips. Wolfsbane.
At least that explains the haziness...
Laughing through the dull agony infiltrating my veins, entirely muting the adrenaline and fight instincts kicking in, I glared at Killian, "What do you want now?"
He shook his head, refusing to answer.
"Is this okay, Theo?" Ember pressed her hands against my bare chest, lowering her face to leave searing kisses over my ribs.
The wrong kind of searing – her lips left literal traces of fire across my sin. The raw and unrefined exposure to flames made my body shake with pain. Just as Killian refused to give reasoning, I refused to let my pain be shown.
And, for the first time ever, I squirmed under Ember's touch. This wasn't her. This wasn't what I wanted. I just wanted this to all stop.
"No, please, stop," I pleaded, unable to push her off me; my hands still somehow chained to the bed.
It wasn't okay; not in any way. Much, much less than okay.
Despite my protestations and the silver and wolfsbane poisoning flowing through me, my body responded eagerly to the touches – sickening me further. I writhed under her, exposed and vulnerable to whatever was about to happen next.
Is this her revenge for me letting her die? I thought, momentarily once again forgetting that this... this girl was not Ember. She only looked, spoke and acted like her.
She is not here.
Killian was controlling her, dictating her every move like she was some sort of puppet.
It all made me think of mine and Ember's shared hallucination.
Having to ask our loved ones something only they would know was exactly what Ember and I did in our weird shared hallucination that Evan Woodman kindly gave us. Bastard.
The way she burned me.
With the flames sparking up from nowhere, there was nothing either of us could've done to stop it. Instead of fighting it, I'd held her close and kissed her in what was my last conscious moment within the hallucination.
And if I was going to die, which it really felt like I was, kissing Ember was the best way to go.
Yet the love I had for her didn't counteract the excruciating pain of being burnt. The sensation of Ember scorching my skin, albeit one manufactured by hunters, was one I could never forget.
And as the girl in front of me ignited her palms into torches of fire, and as Killian curtly nodded his head, I struggled much harder. Thrashing around my body, I growled in fury, through now my legs also seemed to be fastened to the bed – trapping me even further.
"You don't have to do this, Killian!" I pleaded, figuring this was the time for a last resort. Begging, that is. Pitiful, but necessary.
Her flaming hands were a mere inch from my sweat-covered chest; tendril of fire reaching forwards to lick my skin.
"Oh, I know I don't have to." Killian spoke, voice concise and measure. Yet a hint of mild amusement entered his cold voice in his next words, "But, you see. The thing is, Theo. I want to."
Without a moment's hesitation, without a flicker of remorse in her eyes, Ember firmly planted her hands against my chest.
The fire engulfed my body instantaneously, flames enveloping me in their dance of destruction.
One part of me was in more excruciating agony than the rest of my body – and even that was hard to exceed. I had a mere second to glance down at my red-hot chest; and there, in the centre of my chest, a silver pendant searing into my melting skin.
My senses quickly became overwhelmed by it all; I could smell my own burning flesh and I could hear Killian laughing to himself. My vision filled with flames – the pain numbing into oblivion.
~
"Theo? Theo, dear?" A woman's voice brought me back to reality.
Snapping my eyes open and gasping for air, I clawed at my choked-up throat. I fell down onto my knees, landing on grass.
What the fuck?
"What's wrong? What's the matter?" Mrs Milburn asked, desperate to help, sinking down on to her knees next to me.
I shook my head, grasping at the damp grass beneath me – before running my hands over my chest and checking my body.
I was alive. Breathing, blood still flowing through my veins. No sign of burn on me.
"It's alright. You just fell asleep." Mrs Milburn's well-meaning hand squeezed my shoulder, attempting to reassure me.
But it's not alright. That wasn't just a nightmare.
"Okay." I nodded, patting her hand and getting to my feet. The ground rocked beneath my feet, but I kept my balance, forcing a smile on my face.
Turning away from Mrs Milburn, I looked up at the darkening sky.
"What time is it?"
"It's the evening now. I... didn't even notice you'd gone to sleep out here."
That meant two days, and three nights until she would return to me. Everything was becoming dependent on her rebirth, like I was judging all other events on that.
But I was still reeling from the dream to think about Ember coming back to life.
With my head spinning and my stomach churning, I couldn't decipher whether that 'dream' was real or not. As far as I could tell, there was no physical evidence on my body, though the emotional and mental evidence that lingered in my mind would prove itself to be persistent.
"I was just asleep?" I checked with Mrs Milburn, "You didn't... You didn't see anyone else out here, did you?"
I doubted reality because of how plausible the entire dream was. Fucked-up, sure, but plausible too.
"I didn't, no." She shook her head sadly. "Come on inside. I'll make you something hot to drink."
Despite not wanting to go inside (where everything would remind me of her) nor watching a hot drink (which would only relax my senses when I was trying to stay alert), Esther Milburn wouldn't take no for an answer, and she took me by the arm and led me inside.
The warmth of the house compared to the cool evening outside overwhelmed me instantly, blanketing me in stifling heat. A sheen of sweat began beading on my forehead and I could feel fiery palms pressing themselves to my chest.
Bolting up out of the kitchen bar stool I'd been sat in, I spluttered out, flustered, "Sorry, umm. Need the toilet."
Ignoring her offer of a small bathroom just off the kitchen, I raced upstairs – taking the steps three at a time in quick strides.
I burst into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind me. Setting the cold-water faucet going, I flung open the window behind the sink – before splashing the cold water up at my face.
Yet the heat wouldn't subside; it felt like my chest was burning all over again... aching with the surges of an invisible fire. Pulling my t-shirt over my head, I fumbled for a moment, trying to cup the water and pour it over my chest.
Then, out of nowhere, the head died away, freezing me in confusion and doubt and dread.
A single and short shot of pain burst through the centre of my chest, forcing me to grip onto the edges of the sink and grit my teeth to stop from crying out in agony (shut up).
I panted as I slowly rose my eyes to find a mirror's reflection. I was drenched in sweat; my muscles taught with adrenaline, the iron urn of ashes disturbingly cold against my skin – but there, right in the centre of my chest, resting between my pecs, was a shape branded into me.
Still with remnants of wolfsbane powder around it, and smooth due to the imprint being made by silver, an ankh had been melted into my skin. An Egyptian hieroglyphic, whose meaning I'd come to know so well.
The key of life.
The symbol of immortality.
An emblem linking Killian and Ember together. I traced my fingers over it as the burning died away as quickly as it had arrived. What if this links me to the two of them as well?
Only one thing was certain in my mind; I had physical, ocular proof to that dream potentially being real.
~
I knew that as soon as the rest of the pac– the others showed up, it would overwhelm Mrs Milburn. And she didn't need any more of that going on. I had to find somewhere new for us all to stay.
Dodging Mrs Milburn's questions and worries, while ignoring the literal brand on my chest, I left the supposed safety of her house; trading it for the suburban streets of Lake Oldoy. It was night by now, and I glanced up to see a sky riddled with stars.
I didn't know Lake Oldoy well enough to wander around it at night, but I knew of a few places: the Milburns' house, Neal and Lis's place, Wednesday's house, Challis High School, the lake itself.
Memories that were fairly recent yet felt lifetimes old drew me to Wednesday's. I'd only been there twice, but it felt like so many things had happened there the first time. The second time, I'd gone with Ryder to find it boarded-up. But the first time... I'd reunited with Ember after I shut her out, and we decided on some semblance of a plan to stop the hunters... It led us to finding Halia, which ultimately led to me finding the remainder of my old pack.
Not like that exists anymore, though.
The logical part of my brain kept telling me that I should let the old pack go. But I couldn't easily let go of something that I'd worked so hard to save; that I'd tried so hard to get back to.
I was separated from them and saved from the torture and death they all had to endure. Even now, staring up at the boarded-up windows of Wednesday Mortelle's house, the trauma of all the doubt and all the uncertainty flooded back – dredging up sickening ideas I couldn't leave in the past.
Things were shifting, that I knew. Whether it was the best decision to split apart so soon was a different matter, in my mind, at least.
Sighing out heavily, I trudged around the side path to reach their back yard – clambering up over the fence gate and jumping over. I don't know what I was expecting, but the back yard was much bigger than I'd thought; even in the darkness, I could see that the boundaries either side disappeared into the woods behind the house.
My ears pricked up at the sound of a muffled echo, stopping me dead in my tracks. Then deathly silence.
I dismissed it; my senses must still be heightened after that dream experience...
Trying the backdoor, I found that it was locked firmly. Though, after a quick shove, it opened easily – swinging open with a creak.
I refrained from rolling my eyes, imagining how Ember would be shaking her head and laughing at me. Her peals of laughter would light me up inside, making me smile and–
She's not here. So stop thinking about her.
It must've been months since Alistair Mortelle, Wednesday's dad, was here. And yet there wasn't a trace of dust anywhere – no signs of anyone having left in a hurry.
Momentarily leaning against a doorframe, I inhaled the still, stagnant air through my nose. The only chemosignals I could pick up were calm, collected... Whoever was last here had very clear and certain intentions. But there was something else; something more, hidden below the almost impenetrable façade.
A muted emotion, blanketed by the calm: anger.
A muffled scuffling dragged my attention upwards; higher than the second floor. Anticipation crept into my veins, settling into a mantra that echoed my heartbeat – my temples pounding with rushing blood.
The second floor was empty – well, it was filled with the same things that had been there when we all came to see Wednesday – on one of the occasions that she took a turn for the worse. Again, no dust or grime on any of the surfaces. The only sign that the Mortelles weren't there was the boards covering the windows.
Another scuffle; someone or something is definitely in the attic. It was the only place left to look.
Approaching a hatch in the ceiling, I suddenly felt completely vulnerable. I had no idea who or what was up there, and I was alone. No one knew I was there.
Because what if something happens to me and I can't protect Ember's ashes?
I swallowed away the unprecedented anxiety, willing for it to subside as I pulled the ladder down. I had to be on full alert, fully ready for whatever was in the Mortelles' attic; fear wasn't something I could afford to experience.
Just fucking do it, Theo. I told myself angrily, trying to shift the nervous anticipation into actions I could actually act upon.
Grasping onto the wooden rungs, I let my internal control slip enough for my claws to push through my nail beds and for my eyes to transition – holding back from shifting entirely. With my improved vision, I stepped into the dark attic, wooden floorboards creaking below my feet.
The room stretched the entire span of the house's roof, the slope of the roof forcing me to duck down. Squinting, I scanned across the room, left to right. There were boxes stacked on both sides, but nothing else remarkable or out of the ordinary.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flicker. Frowning in that direction, I paced towards it; noticing how my vision seemed to warp around a particular area.
Fingers trembling, I reached my hand out towards it – stopped by some sort of invisible barrier.
"What the hell?" I murmured, raising my other hand and pushing against it harder.
It was just like the barrier, the invisible cage Killian someone trapped me in... Someone is hidden behind here.
The thought clicked and instantly my body snapped into action. Using all the strength I could summon, I pushed hard against the invisible barrier, gritting my teeth and planting my feet firmly to the floor as it resisted me.
I hit it again, and again, and again.
Until it crumbled away entirely, the chunks of transparent shield disintegrating as they hit the floor. A deathly cold shiver danced down my spine as I saw what lay before me.
There was an unconscious girl sat in an old mauve armchair, with heavy silver chains restraining her; eating into her skin. To the right was an IV drip bag containing a dark purple substance which was slowly trickling into her body and poisoning her via a single vein. Refusing to heal were a set of claw marks across her bare arm, arrow wounds in her shoulder blade and thigh, and a knife-like slash across her cheekbone, stretching from her nose to her ear. Permanent burn scars covered her right arm and the left side of her face and neck; the skin ugly and twisted.
Despite the dried blood and ashy complexion dulling her ebony skin, she could've been Jade.
But I'd been having to quickly learn how to recognise people who weren't who they seemed or claimed to be.
Alistair Mortelle has successfully captured and caged the elusive Victoria.
Just like Mr Rochester's insane, secret wife in Jane Eyre, Victoria was chained up in an attic. Though I seriously doubted whether she was anyone's secret wife.
Discomfort prickled through me; not because I pitied Victoria, but because I merely understood the agony of torture. What Alistair had done to her was freakishly similar to any well-trained hunter's methods.
And here I was thinking her was just a friendly dad of a witch. Why can't these things ever be straightforward?