Of Flame and Light: A Weird Girls Novel Read online

  We’re escorted down a small hall to a set of double doors. One of the guards walks through. I can’t see her, but I hear her well enough. “Sister Genevieve, Aric Connor, Alpha and Leader of the Squaw Valley Den Pack is here, along with his mate, two of his Warriors, and the mate’s sister.”

  The mate’s sister, I repeat in my head. Hey, these bitches have called me much worse.

  “Please show them in,” Vieve’s regal voice calls from a distance.

  I walk in expecting Vieve in her all too perfect glory, and she doesn’t disappoint. Her long dark hair is gathered in an elaborate bun, with ringlets cascading around skin so fair and flawless, no pimple would dare to disrupt that shit. Her dark blue velvet gown matches her large eyes, yet contrasts deeply against the yellow stone in the silver talisman circling her neck. I think it’s intentional so anyone and everyone sees the stone, reminding them of who she is, and what she can do to them.

  Like I said, I’m not surprised to see her look so good, or even to find her in a giant library standing beside a marble fireplace large enough to park a Mini Cooper in. What I am surprised is to find my ex-lover Gemini—aka the wolf who broke my heart—leaning close against her and whispering into her ear . . .

  Chapter Four

  Those slow deep breaths I took in the foyer, you know, the ones that calmed me down? They’re doing jack shit now.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Vieve begins, easing away from the mere inches separating her and Gemini. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you into my home.” Her light and regal voice abruptly cuts off when my arm buzzes from my charging lightning and zaps Bren off me.

  He stumbles away from the jolt, curling inward. “Fuck me,” he says, his stare cutting from me to Gemini.

  My vision sharpens, alerting me that my irises have gone from blue to white and signaling to all in my vicinity that no, I’m not happy, and what the hell is this shit?

  “Taran,” Celia begins. “Take it easy, okay?”

  I’m not so much as breathing, but rather panting. “What’s he doing here?” I ask. My body shudders as mini bolts of lightning release from the fingertips of my right hand, charging the air. Celia looks at me, appearing at a loss. “I asked what is he doing here?”

  My glare cuts to Gemini. I barely catch sight of his hardening features before Aric blocks my view and steps in front of Celia. “Taran,” he says, doing his best to keep the growl from his tone, but doing a pathetic job. “Gemini is my second in command and the Pack’s liaison with the witches.”

  “Oh, I know who he is to the witches,” I fire back.

  My zombie limb shoots out, angry flames of blue and white, erupting along the length and keeping Koda in place when he races forward.

  “Uh, uh, uh, big guy,” I warn. “I wouldn’t come near me right now.”

  I don’t see Genevieve’s guards charge me but my arm feels them. Perceiving them as a threat, it snatches the staff away from Xana, and brings it down on the blonde’s hand, forcing her to drop her staff. I step on it when she dives on the floor and tries to lift it and toss the other aside. But that stone—the one that amplifies her power doesn’t have to be in her hand to use it. Her eyes meet mine as she mumbles a hex, only for Celia to break free from Aric and lift blondie up by the throat.

  Celia’s tiger eyes replace her own as she slams her against the wall. “You will not curse my sister,” she growls.

  “Celia, put her down,” Aric rumbles, placing her hands on her shoulders and attempting to ease her back.

  My head whips away from them as Xana retrieves her staff and calls forth her magic. Streams of olive and silver slam against the blue and white flames my arm darts out, the collision of magic sending us soaring in opposite directions. I crash-land on my back, my arm shaking hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  Gemini is suddenly there, hooking his arm beneath mine and lifting me to my feet. I wrench loose from his hold as my magic withdraws. “Don’t touch me,” I tell him, ramming my finger into his chest.

  It’s bad enough my own power charred my insides less than an hour ago—and forget how I’m here—essentially begging a woman I can’t stand for help—only to find the man I still love with his body practically curled around hers. But to watch the way his stare falls to my sickly pale arm and for him to cringe away from its reach becomes my undoing. I swallow back the lump making my throat its bitch and storm away.

  I don’t know where I’m going, or even if I’ll make it to the foyer. All I know is that I can’t stay with this crew.

  “You can’t leave, Taran,” Genevieve calls to me.

  Her voice is soft, calm, but I don’t miss the force behind it or the way it seems to tangle around me like thick, sticky web.

  “Watch me,” I snap.

  I lurch forward only to be hauled back by an invisible force. Oh, neither me nor my arm like that one bit. It rumbles, shaking me hard and spiraling blue and white flames across its length. The heat is brutal, smoking like a damn torch and forcing my head away so I don’t set my hair and face on fire.

  But I refuse to admit defeat, despite that I’m sure as hell defeated.

  I throw myself forward, keeping my arm out and away from me. The two steps I manage are like trudging through waist-deep glue. Again, I’m lugged back by my arm, skidding across the floor as I kick out and attempt to dig in my heels.

  The muscles along my arm stretch against the bone, twisting and tugging painfully the harder I fight. But pain is something I’m used to. It makes me stubborn, surges my adrenaline, and propels me forward, something I damn well use to my advantage.

  My feet stomp as my magic flares, each step echoing in harsh furious beats. I’m almost to the door. I see it, and am reaching for the knob.

  Yet whatever has me isn’t letting go.

  My teeth clamp down, every swear word I know shooting out. The intensity of my flame builds, the heat brutal enough to bite at my skin. Sweat pours down my body, my clothes clinging against my drenched skin.

  Celia calls to me, begging me to stop fighting and to give in. But my will is all I have left and I refuse to succumb.

  My head jerks in Genevieve’s direction. Unlike me, she’s barely moving, and she sure as hell isn’t sweating, swearing, or struggling. Her hands are clasped in front of her as if merely observing. Only her penetrating stare gives away her focus, her blue irises shimmering from the amount of magic it’s taking to hold me.

  “Legare,” she says, inflicting every syllable with her potency.

  Streams of yellow light snake from her talisman, wrapping around my arm and wrenching me viciously back. My feet leave the floor as if kicked out from under me, the motion so fast I barely register the floor rushing beneath me as I soar across the room.

  I land hard on my ass, the wind knocked out of me. Before I can catch my breath I’m dragged in the direction of the fireplace. My arm spasms out of control, jolting my body as it fights to break free and regain control.

  Vieve’s magic winds around me, the streams of bright yellow light crisscrossing like twine, forcing my arm to obey. My arm repeatedly collides against the floor, her power bashing it until my flame is put out and all that remains is residual smoke.

  As I watch, the streams of magic that crisscrossed around my arm solidify into thin straps of brown leather cord. In a perfect world, I’d lurch to my feet and demand, “Is that all you’ve got?” But my pseudo-perfect world vanished long ago, leaving me lying in Vieve’s crib like a fried tadpole in the sun.

  I don’t like to admit defeat, ever. It’s the one thing I hate, and why I come out swinging as hard as I do. Yet I think it’s safe to say I got my ass kicked by Vieve and my fucking arm. If the char marks on the floor aren’t proof enough, the soreness claiming every speck of my sweat-soaked body erase any lingering doubt.

  My hands push against the floor in time to see the edges of an elegant blue gown sweep past me. “Let’s take a seat, shall we?” Vieve calmly offers. “There is much we need to discuss.”

/>   Celia lowers herself beside me as a super-sized red wolf stalks to her side. Werebeasts may resemble their animal counterparts, but only in appearance, not size. Koda alone hovers around five-hundred pounds, and from my position on the floor, he looks even bigger than that.

  “Are you okay?” Celia whispers.

  I do all I can to beat back the hurt and humiliation, yet it still finds its way into my voice. “Oh, I’m just peachy,” I answer.

  My blatant lie earns me a growl from the giant red wolf. Celia frowns. “Stop it, Koda,” she tells him. “She feels bad enough.”

  He ceases his growls, but maintains his glare. “Here, let me help you up,” she offers.

  “Celia,” Aric warns when she extends her hands. “Don’t touch her.”

  “She’s not going to hurt me, Aric,” she says, keeping her voice gentle, for me and his beastly side.

  I’d never harm Celia, but I can’t assume my arm feels the same. I force myself to my feet, wishing it didn’t hurt so much and swearing because it does. I stagger when I attempt to straighten and almost fall again.

  Celia hurries to steady me, but I hold out a hand, keeping her back. “I’m all right,” I respond, ignoring the way my body insists this floor isn’t so bad and perhaps I should lay back down before I hurl.

  I push my messy and somewhat crispy hair out of my eyes, forcing the bile working its way up from my stomach back where it belongs. Of course, I don’t like what I see. Vieve sits primly behind her desk in a chair that resembles more an ancient throne than anything Ikea could have put together. Her guards flank her sides, their hair electrified on their ends and their skin and clothing smeared with ash.

  Bren, also in his wolf form shakes off, offering me a weak tail wag to assure me he’s okay in spite of his soot-covered hide. I’m not sure what the hell happened, but it was enough that his inner beast and Koda’s compelled them to change.

  Celia speaks quietly to Aric, but he keeps his focus on me. Like the others, his hair seems electrified and black smears cover his gray T-shirt. I don’t understand what happened or why Vieve and Celia appear untouched. Yet as a familiar sense of unease and loss overtakes me, the need to ask is gone.

  I don’t see Gemini so much as feel him behind me. I turn around slowly, meaning to only steal a glance. But that’s not what happens. I startle and lose my balance again when I see him and his twin wolf.

  “Holy shit,” I say, gasping.

  The red T-shirt he was wearing hangs in pieces, and if I’d dumped the remains of a charcoal grill over the top of him, he wouldn’t be any less coated with soot. His beast, a midnight black timber wolf with a white right paw doesn’t look much better, appearing gray instead of black from the amount of ash coating his fur.

  I don’t know what to say, much less do. His inner wolves are naturally fierce and dominant, but of the two twins, this one is the most aggressive and reminds me as much. He hones in on my arm, baring his teeth before he leaps into Gemini’s back, disappearing beneath his flesh as he unites with his human half.

  I hate the response of his wolf. Domineering or not, he’s never demonstrated aggression toward me. My first instinct is to rush to Gemini, to make sure he isn’t hurt and that the reaction of his wolf wasn’t a result of pain I’d inflicted. But then I stop, reminding myself that he no longer belongs to me nor craves my touch.

  “Taran,” Vieve’s voice says, her tone maintaining that infuriating calmness. “Kindly take a seat.”

  The last thing I want to do is sit. Like before, I want to get the hell out of here. But as my attention breaks away from Gemini’s and latches on to the leather ties fastened to my arm, it’s clear I’m not going anywhere until Vieve allows it.

  Son of a bitch and the seven dwarves. How does this happen to me?

  Celia approaches me, easing away from Aric’s hold when his arms fasten around her waist. She sighs, sweeping my hair over my shoulder, her expression heartbroken. “We need to figure this out, Taran,” she says. “The only way to do that is to hear Genevieve out.”

  She takes my hand, my good one, and leads me forward. My muscles throb with every step and the right side of my jaw tingles when I tighten it. But after two rounds with hardwood floors, and the floor winning each time, I suppose I should be pretty sore. It’s a miracle I didn’t break a bone or shatter a rib.

  Celia releases me to take a seat in the plush chair beside mine. There’s not much room between my chair and hers, yet that doesn’t stop Aric from forcing his way through and positioning himself between us.

  I lower my lids as Gemini releases a harsh breath, his frustration and anger as evident as all the ash coating his tall and muscular frame. Just a year ago, his breath released in that deep profound way only in bed, when his body moved with mine and we’d spend the day and night making love. But back then I didn’t have the problems I do now. Back then I was whole and he promised to always love me.

  Vieve’s stare flickers behind me. I’m not aware of the exchange between her and Gemini, I can’t see his expression with my back to him. But I know one took place. Again my arm zings, attempting to build an electrical charge, sending everyone on high alert. Yet as quick as the power energizing it surges, it just as quickly peters out.

  I keep my attention blankly ahead, past Genevieve and toward the large leaded window overlooking the enchanted garden. It’s not that I’m any less freaked out than anyone here, or that I’m not shocked by the behavior of this limb. I’m simply done, emotionally and physically, but most of all spiritually. How many ways, and how many times, can a gal’s ego be bitched-slapped in one day?

  Again, that harsh breath releases behind me. I can almost picture Gemini rubbing his neatly trimmed goatee before he crosses his arms and his almond shaped eyes assume their ever vigilant focus. He’s angry, exasperated, and maybe something else, too. Yet he’s not alone.

  “Is that . . . tie enough to control Taran’s arm?” Celia asks.

  The guards pucker their brows yet quickly lower their gazes when Aric stiffens beside me.

  “There is still much the Wird sisters don’t know about the mystical world,” Vieve tells her guards, bowing her head slightly in Aric’s direction. “I expect you to show them the patience and respect they deserve.” She cuts off the one when she tries to speak. “You provoked that attack. Your role is to guard me, not to prevent someone who isn’t a prisoner from leaving.”

  I should give Vieve credit for siding with us and against her “sisters”. Never mind. I still wish her scabies.

  “It’s a bind, Celia,” Vieve explains, smiling softly. “You can equate it to a magical straightjacket or cage to control Taran’s feral arm.”

  Now my limb is the equivalent of a rabid creature. Awesome. Oh, and by the way, feel free to chat about me like I’m not sitting here, sweating off what’s left of my ass on your chair.

  Vieve purses her full lips. I’m not sure if she can read my thoughts, but if she can, it wouldn’t shock me. Either way, the anger righting my posture gives plenty away, and so does the way my right hand twitches in would-be protest.

  The muscles along my limb strain when the enchantment binding my arm tightens enough to limit the movement of my fingers. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I’m pretty sure it’s the equivalent of having my knuckles rapped with a supernatural ruler.

  My glare lifts from my hand back to Vieve. But surprise, surprise, she’s not even remotely threatened by me or even mildly disturbed.

  “It’s not permanent,” she continues. “And based on the power it took to bind it, I can’t be sure how long it will last.” She leans back, scrutinizing me closely. “How much control did you have?” she asks me.

  My jaw tightens further. Here’s the thing, pre-loss of my arm, all the power I felt, be it the charge from my lightning or flare from my fire built within my core. All I needed to stimulate either was to borrow from magic drifting in the air. Unless I was upset, then my emotions seemed to borrow it for me. Either way, it would st
ir or withdraw at my core.

  Since this arm formed, it appears to fight me and my core for control. And good God, if that spark starts in my arm, my arm is going to do what it wants, choosing to disobey more times than submit.

  Vieve interprets my silence as enough of a response. “So is it safe to infer you weren’t the one holding the others back?” she asks.

  My attention shifts to Celia, unsure what Vieve means, and more than a little freaked out to know.

  Celia’s large eyes search my face as she gives herself a moment to find the right words. “The energy from your arm charged the air when the fire engulfed your arm,” she explains. “It forced everyone back and away from you except for me and Genevieve.” She taps her finger against the armrest. “I kept my distance and stayed with Aric when I realized how little control you had.”

  And to keep her baby safe, she doesn’t add.

  “So it didn’t . . . hurt you?” I ask, begging her to tell me no.

  “No. Like I said, it didn’t touch me or Genevieve,” she assures me.

  “It tried to reach me when I stepped forward,” Vieve says. “But my magic was able to block the imposition.” Her focus trails behind me. “Weres don’t have that ability.”

  Her tone and features respond apologetically, as if pleading with everyone here to forgive me on her behalf. And doesn’t that just piss me off.

  I open my mouth only to quickly shut it. Anything I say will make me look more bitchy, volatile, and out of control. Not to mention make Vieve all that much more the hero who came to save the day from the evil I’ve become. It’s a wonder there’s not a cape flying behind her.