"This night would mark the start of our calling. They would hear our voices in the echo of gunshots, see our faces in the smoldering flames, feel the tremors of our footsteps stalking behind every startled heartbeat. The world would know us like they never have; we are more than just monsters.
"This is where our destiny begins."
The words rang in his ears, hardened his bones. He lifted his head to the copper skies, the taste of dirt and ash on his tongue. Perhaps for the others, this was where their destiny began.
As for his own, it all started with a game.
*
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
With a speedy hand, Vincent brought a card up from the deck and slapped it against his forehead. He struggled to hold his grin as he watched his opponent do the same. He couldn't see his own number, but across the table, an Eight of Hearts pressed between Kailan's eyes.
The small group that had gathered around them erupted in hoots and guffaws at the draw. Their reaction made Vincent crumble into a tipsy laugh, lowering the card in his palm. Eight of Spades; they'd matched again.
"This isn't any fun if we keep matching." Kailan plucked up a shot glass from the center of the table. He reached across with the offering, and Vincent took in with a sense of challenge.
"I've got all night." Vinny tossed the drink back and recoiled with a deflating hiss. "I think you're scared," he added, voice gruff from the burn.
"I don't get drunk, Vinny, you know that." Kailan tipped back his own glass, lassoing up the loose cards to shuffle the deck. "I'm out, someone else can take my place."
He began to rise from his seat, when Vincent interjected.
"One more," he pleaded, a white catty grin budding from his lips. "One more, or I turn the music up."
Kailan rolled his eyes and slumped back into his chair. "You know how many 'one more's we've had?"
"One more," he repeated with a dimpled smile.
Kailan shook his head, but his grin stuck as he fanned the cards from one hand to the other.
From across the table, Vincent observed.
Perhaps it was the intensity that burned in his eyes, or the crescent smirk that could frighten the Cheshire cat himself. But Kailan could silence a crowd with only a look. It was an aspect of his appearance that Vincent admired—not only did he admire it, but as much as he'd never admit it, he found it pleasurably intriguing. Seeing Kai's deviant grin was like being patted on the back by the devil himself.
Most seemed to avoid him for his mesmeric, yet intimidating, appearance. If it weren't for his narrow glare and sharp, stenciled features, he'd seem entirely harmless—but Kailan always wore the same expression; a dark, resting stare, covert and calculating, like he was balancing the world between his teeth and it was only a matter of time before he sunk his fangs into it.
Despite his appearance, Kailan was amusing; energetic; fun in a rebellious manner. He was a trouble-maker, much like Vincent himself—but the affect he had on a room was almost laughable. They all seemed to hush the moment he stepped inside. To all, he was an anomaly.
Well, to all but one.
There was a presence beside him—one that Vincent had spent the past hour ignoring. Sage sat between them, watching the game go on and nervously nipping at the sleeve of her sweater.
Sage Williams: a cute girl, but inhibited. The kind of docile doe that didn't speak unless spoken to. She was pretty; elegant; sweet. Everything Kailan could want in a girlfriend, and everything Vincent despised.
And yet, she was here, in his penthouse, patiently waiting to steal away Kailan's attention.
"...Three," Kailan announced, and Vincent drew his card from atop the pile, snapping it to his forehead with a single finger.
Vincent beamed, reading the number on Kailan's card. "Two." He'd surely won this time.
But Kailan's expression was just as smug: "Ace."
"Shit." Vincent laughed, forcing down another bitter shot. "You rigged it, didn't you?"
Kailan only shrugged and stood from his seat. As he rose, so did Sage.
"We're gonna get some air," he said, his arm a constricting boa around her shoulders.
Sage flushed, of course, chewing on her lip as Kailan guided her out.
"I'll be back, don't get wasted."
As they left, Vincent tossed his card atop the table, puffing out a frustrated breath. It was rare that he see Kailan anymore without Sage tagging along. They'd only been dating a week or so, but she stuck around like gum to the pavement.
He passed a quick glance over his shoulder, and sure enough, she was still stapled to Kailan's side. It was the first time Vincent had ever seen him affectionate with anyone. It was a strange feeling—a nagging anxiety that pressed against his chest and twisted his insides. He took another shot, observing the laughing grins on their faces as they parted to the balcony. Never before had Vincent been brushed aside. They'd always been inseparable, the two of them. Kai and Vinny. Just Kai and Vinny; they never needed anyone else... and then Sage showed up like an injured puppy.
Nearly seven years of friendship, and one girl to unravel it all.
"Vinny?"
His attention was directed back to the table by a gentle touch on his arm.
"Play one with us?" A pair of blondes had slipped into the vacant seats, one refilling shots, the other shuffling the cards in a lazy fashion. She wasn't nearly as good at it as Kailan.
He'd hardly have time to respond before he felt the sharp pinch of acrylics dragging down his chest. A pair of arms had draped around his neck, gripping his shirt in a possessive fashion.
"Hey handsome," from over his shoulder, the voice licked at his ear—something smoky and husky, but all the while feminine. He could identify her by the deep burlesque ring in her speech, and the sweet cherry-scent that wafted from her skin. She was one of the collegiate women he'd invited.
He looked over her shoulder, admiring the dark ashy black that traced her eyes, and her lips—red and rich with poison. How could he forget those lips? It was only last summer when he'd left her sprawled out nude, twisted around in silk sheets like a gift from sin itself. Once more, she seemed to be coming to his rescue.
Her claws roamed his chest as her breath passed against his neck. "Well, are you going to get up or not?" she said, her voice ringing with a sort of promiscuity.
"I'll be back. Play without me for a bit," he assured the blondes, paying no mind to their soured expressions.
She took him by the arm and they made towards the heart of the party. Perspiring bodies passed in a peripheral blur; drunks, and dancers, and lip-locked deviants, all smashed together in the belly of his loft.
It was a beautiful night—the light of the moon broke through the glass walls, wrapping bare shoulders and sweating skin in a glistening blue. The sky was one large pejorative eye looming over them; judging their every vice. If there had really been a man on the moon, he'd surely be shaking his head in disapproval.
No one's attention was on the stars, however. Most of the eyes he drifted by focused solely on him. Why? Because he was Vincent O'Connor; the boy who bled green. He was blessed by his status as a young tycoon; a title that made these parties all the more mandatory. An excuse to get drunk and bed the hottest college girls available—that's all it was to him. At least half of them already began guzzling down expensive alcohols and grinding against one another in a mob of lascivious flashes of skin. And he was in the epicenter of it all, being escorted into privacy by the lustful hands of an older woman. At seventeen years old, what more could a boy ask for?
She seemed to know just where she was headed, twisting her fingers around his own and drawing him away from the madness. As they reached his room, he tapped in the pass code to his electronic lock—just another simple luxury he'd purchased to keep the maid out of his personal belongings, but it became useful in moments like these. Times when he wanted privacy in a place that was anything but.
With space now, she turned to face him and her arms enfolded tight around his waist.
"I've been thinking about you a lot." Her voice was low and harmonious, but it disappeared into only a murmur as she loomed ever so close to his lips. "Have you been thinking about me?"
"Of course," he replied craftily, brushing a long red lock from her smoky eyes. "How could I not?" But he was lying. He couldn't so much as remember her fucking name. He only knew that she was one of the most remarkable lays in his life, and he'd be an idiot to pass up the opportunity. There was only one issue.
"But I can't," Vincent declined.
Her brows knitted in a way that both whispered with desire and whimpered with disappointment.
"Anytime," his voice was nearly a whisper as he cupped her chin and drew her eyes up to him," Just not tonight."
"Why not?" she fussed curiously. Then her stare hardened in realization, "Oh. You mean your friend?"
"I don't want to ditch him, that's all," Vincent explained. Kailan didn't have a whole lot of friends—it was unlikely he knew a single soul at the party. It'd be a shitty thing to leave him alone.
But the woman only drew her focus away from Vincent's eyes, and over his left shoulder. Then her smirk grew. "He doesn't look too sad about it."
As he followed her gaze, something shattered inside of Vincent.
Kailan and Sage had returned from the balcony, and found solace on the upstairs railing. They were watching the waves of dancers below, but that was hardly all. From so far away, Kailan's words were drown out by the music, but he was speaking with discretion. His head tilted, his words pressing against Sage's ear like he was spilling secrets with every syllable. "Have you had your first kiss yet?"
Reading the words couldn't be any easier.
Blush rose to her cheeks. She shook her head. He took her by the chin. And then, slowly, his lips found hers.
"Vinny. Come on, baby." The redhead pulled desperately on his arm, but he was a statue against her meager guidance. He stared with precision; a dead, cold feeling nipping at his chest.
As he witnessed the two delve into a kiss, everything else became irrelevant. It was nothing special—innocent if anything—but Vincent's strong, ridged features glazed over. He blamed it on the alcohol, finally tainting his blood stream. The alcohol was why it bothered him so much. That had to be it.
When he didn't respond to her persuasion, the woman brought a hand to his face, cradling the curves of his cheekbone as she forced his head in her direction. He gave in and released his gaze, but only his focus faded away; his thoughts remained.
They remained as the feisty older girl reeled him into the bedroom and shut the door fiercely behind him. As she forced him flush against it and kissed his unresponsive lips. As her hand came up to clasp a fistful of his short blonde locks, and she dug her serpent-like tongue into the arch of his neck.
His thoughts remained through it all, and the leech that nipped and teased at his flesh was only becoming more and more of a burden.
"Get off," he murmured, his tone eerily monotonous.
The redhead seemed puzzled. She narrowed her emerald eyes and smirked. "You aren't serious."
"I said, get off!" he scorned, and the woman leapt back in shock.
A look of sheer panic possessed her features, and she let out a shrill shriek.
It wasn't until he recognized the hot feeling radiating in his hands that he understood why. He lifted two bare palms to his eyes, the blue in them glowing luminously at the sight. Thick flames enveloped both of his hands, their ferocious curvatures of light leaping from his fingertips to lick hungrily at the surrounding oxygen.
His breath—hot now, from the fire—became hitched in his throat. He shook his hands to clear the flames, but they only devoured more of him, climbing down his arms and quickly inching their way up his elbows.
He let out a terrified cry and dropped to the floor, watching helplessly as the fire grew and everything became a piercing white around him.
A stormy roar hissed in his ear, a loud, savage, rumbling inferno. For a moment he wondered if he was blind—but then, wouldn't he see nothing at all? Instead, he saw light, brighter than anything he'd ever experienced. He felt the flames ghost across his arms like moths, batting their wings against his tender skin. He could feel the fire. And yet, it didn't hurt.
Through the crackling of the flame, eating away at his possessions, he could hear screaming, only screaming. And then, suddenly, Kailan was calling his name, muffled behind walls of rich masonry. He could hear the loud thud as he threw himself against the door, and when he realized it was locked, the soft subtle beeps gave enough of an indication that he knew the pass code. Of course he did. They were best friends.
He threw the door open and through the blinding light of the fire, Vincent could see him stall at the sight.
His body was feeding flames like kindling.
The yellow and orange hues lit up Kailan's face, creating eerie shadows on the walls, but as the shadows grew and stretched, Vincent's vision became thick once more with white. He could see Kailan leave the room in a haste, but the moment he was gone, Vincent's sight was consumed by that brightness again.
Beyond the fire, he heard nothing more than the terrified cries of intoxicated young adults. The music had come to a stop, now replaced with the cautionary wail of fire alarms. Then, suddenly, the heat went away, and he realized he was freezing.
At the warm touch of hands on his face, he opened his eyes, and Kailan stared back with a panicked expression. He wiped white foam from his friends features, a tipped-over fire extinguisher by his side. Vincent glanced down at his trembling arms. His shirt had been burned to bits, but his flesh remained intact and untouched. He couldn't say the same for the redhead.
Kailan helped him up to his feet, and the two stepped back, watching as the flames began to crawl across the floor and up the wall. Vincent's focus, however, was on the woman who sat with that horrified expression still frozen to her melting features. She was scorched a shade of brown and bloody red that should never impose on the human skin. Embers clung to her peeling flesh, and the smell—it was more overwhelming and putrid than the smoke that invaded his lungs.
Then Kailan was dragging him. It all passed in a blur. The shrill screech of the alarms, the shadows that danced on the wall as dozens stumbled down the stairs and out to safety, and the strong stench of a suffocating haze. It felt like a bizarre dream, and only did he awake from it when they stepped foot outside.
Vincent was rushed by paramedics, wrapped in a warm towel, and, in moments, he found himself seated in the back of an ambulance, his shoulders gripped hard in Kailan's hands.
"What the fuck was that?" he pleaded for an explanation. When Vincent didn't reply, he gave him a gentle shake. "Vinny, what the hell just happened?"
He couldn't respond. He didn't know the answer. He only lifted his gaze to the thick clouds of smoke that enveloped the top floor of the apartment complex; his home, set ablaze like it was a mere bundle of dry grass and tinder; his possessions a fuel that fed the malevolent flames as they danced like thick red snakes, toward the sky above.
It was happening all over again.
His life was being devoured by fire.