Page 14 of Sun's Roar

Flame. The word popped into her mind unbidden, sending another wave of warmth through her body.

“The range hoods need to be cleaned more regularly,” Victor said, changing tactics when he noticed her discomfort. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you could show me your office later? We could discuss... improvements.”

The heat inside Helena intensified, pooling in her fingertips until they tingled. She gripped the edge of the stainless-steel table, alarmed by the sensation. It reminded her of yesterday’s candle incident, that odd kinship with fire, and that feeling of power.

Her pulse raced as Victor’s hand soon traveled down her arm. The heat building beneath her skin intensified with each passing second, her fingers tingling in a way that both frightened and exhilarated her.

“Perhaps I could demonstrate one of our signature dishes,” she suggested, desperate for any distraction from the uncomfortable proximity. “It might give you a better sense of our culinary style.”

Victor’s eyes lit up with an interest that seemed strangely disproportionate to her offer. “I’d love to see you... work with your hands.” His emphasis made her stomach clench.

“Excellent.” Helena moved toward her station, deliberately putting the prep table between them. She gathered ingredients with practiced efficiency—wild mushrooms, shallots, fresh thyme, and a bottle of aged sherry.

Victor circled the table, tracking her movements like a predator. “They say you have quite the... special touch in the kitchen.”

Helena frowned at his odd phrasing. “Cooking is about intuition and balance.” She focused on slicing the mushrooms,the rhythmic chopping grounding her as the strange heat continued pulsing through her veins.

“And passion,” Victor added, leaning against the counter uncomfortably close. “Fire.”

Her knife faltered. “Fire is just a tool.”

“Is it?” His eyes held hers in a knowing way that made her skin crawl.

Helena turned away, gathering butter and olive oil. “For this dish, we use a combination of fats to get the perfect sear on the mushrooms.”

As she reached for a pan, Victor shifted closer. “You know, Helena, I have plans for this restaurant... and potentially for you.”

The heat in her fingertips further intensified, and Helena stared at her hands in alarm. They looked normal yet felt like they might burst into flame at any moment. She flexed them nervously, then busied herself arranging ingredients.

“I need to focus on the dish,” she said, moving toward the gas stove.

Victor followed, his breath hot on her neck as he leaned in. “I’d like you to focus on our... partnership.”

Helena reached for the knob to light the gas stove, her hands shaking slightly. Victor pressed closer, his chest brushing against her back. His lips nearly touched her ear as he whispered, “I know what you are, Helena.”

The words sent a chill down her spine that contrasted sharply with the heat building in her core. What did he mean?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed, turning the gas knob.

Victor’s hand slid around her waist, his touch unwelcome and intrusive. “The fire inside you. I can help you understand it.” His lips grazed her neck.

Helena jerked backward instinctively, repulsed by his touch. “Don’t?—“

As she pulled away, something inside her surged—a hot, electric current that raced from her chest to her fingertips. The gas ignited, but instead of a controlled blue flame, an explosion of fire erupted from the stovetop. The blaze shot upward in a column of orange and red, touching the ceiling tiles.

Helena stumbled back, watching in horror and fascination as the flames seemed to dance and reach toward her, almost sentient in their movements. Instead of scorching heat, she felt a curious kinship with the fire—like recognizing a part of herself that had been dormant until now.

Victor stepped back, his eyes gleaming with triumphant hunger rather than fear. “Magnificent,” he breathed, staring not at the fire but at Helena. “Even more powerful than I thought.”

The kitchen staff froze in their tracks, Marco’s knife suspended in his hand, and Tyanna’s mouth opened in shock from the doorway. They all stared, transfixed by the impossible column of flame that showed no signs of diminishing despite nothing fueling it but the small gas jet.

Helena raised her arms, and to her astonishment, the flames seemed to respond, swaying toward her hands like plants bending toward sunlight.

Helena grabbed the bucket of water sitting by the prep station, her hands trembling. The flames reached for her with greater force, the bright tendrils stretching across the air like eager fingers. Her heart hammered in her chest, a strange thrumming beat that matched the pulsing of the fire.

“What’s happening inside of me?” she whispered, watching in horror as the flames grew higher when she approached closer. Instead of dying down when she threw the water on it, the flames roared louder, feeding off her panic like it was oxygen.

“Get out! Everybody out now!” Marco shouted, abandoning his station and herding the kitchen staff toward the emergency exit. “Helena, come on!”

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