Page 52 of Blazing Embers

My chest tightens but my heart leaps, irritating the fuck out of me, when Ruslan steps out behind him. He turns and lifts a woman from the helicopter's cabin, placing her gently into a wheelchair someone handed General Morozov.

The woman appears to be in her late fifties, with an air of dignified fragility that clings to her like a second skin. Her posture is straight despite the wheelchair, and her arms move with delicate control, every gesture echoing the effort of someone conserving energy, not out of frailty, but because she carries decades of unspoken pain and ancestral weight.

I get the strange feeling she’s survived storms I can't begin to name, and it makes my breath catch in my throat. There’s something hauntingly familiar about the curve of her cheekbone, the pain in her eyes, and I feel an uninvited ache twist inside my chest. Have I seen her before, or just dreamed of someone like her in flashes of memory I can’t trust? I swear I’ve seen her face before, but my mind won’t connect the dots.

“What the fuck are they doing here?”

Pavel exhales, and I can see he doesn't want to tell me, but he knows I'll badger him until he does. “Probably to discuss the witnessing of your union tomorrow. Your grandfather’s signature finalizes the ceremonial bond.”

“That’s fucking archaic,” I mutter, jaw tightening. “What, do I get branded with a RC on my ass too?”

Pavel shifts his weight, shoulders tense, his gaze flicking from the helicopter to me. He knows. He can see it happening—the moment before the rage monster inside me takes over.

“Tara...” he says softly, his voice lined with caution, like he's trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of a child.

“I’m not a fucking broodmare to be passed down.” The word broodmare hits a nerve. “Not that I'm one of those anymore.” I scoff nastily. “And, who even knows if I’m really Lidiya Zorin?” I toss my arms in the air. “There’s no real proof. Maybe I’mjust the lovechild of Carla and Sol Craft. A secret product of their affair before he divorced my real mother to marry my aunt.” I stop and give my head a shake. “Fuck, if that is my family, it's messed up.” I glance at him and continue from my previous point. “Maybe the real Lidiya died in that house fire. I mean, come on... this is the twenty-first century, draw my blood already and test it against...” I point to where the general went inside with Ruslan and the other woman. “Granddaddy dearest, over there. Then if it comes back a match... I'll concede. I'm some Russian genetically created Frankenstein Monster freak. A GM tomato.”

“Tara... you need to do your calming exercises,” Pavel warns. “You’re spiraling.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m spiraling.”

My heart races. I feel the rage climbing—hot, uncontrollable. I'm just waiting for that pop. I call it the point of pain. Not for me but everyone in my way as I become like a fucking berserker and go... well, berserk. Although I do feel the pain once the rage subsides, and it does with a vengeance. It’s like getting a set of wings that enables me to soar to new heights. Weightless with no pain whatsoever. Just this heated raw power that pours through me and makes me feel invincible. I'm stronger, faster, and more agile, and for all the cloudy rage, my brain is razor sharp.

Pavel shifts, reaching into his sweater. I know what he's reaching for. All the staff carry it since the last freak out when I hurt three of Ruslan's men and two of my nurses. It's a syringe filled with a sedative that Pavel likened to being able to knock out a large animal. All the smaller doses did nothing, just pissed me off more.

“Don’t,” I growl warningly at him. “I don't like being threatened.”

“I'm sorry, Tara, you know I don't like doing this. But you're in hyper chatty mode and you're pacing and scratching at your arms like your skin is itching with the building rage.” Pavel pulls out the syringe.

“And I thought we were friends!” I sneer, and before he can blink, I strike.

A twist. A grunt. I wrench Pavel’s wrist, flip the needle, and slam it into his thigh.

He collapses, eyes wide as he groans, “Fuck this shit burns.”

“Yeah. Doesn't feel too good, does it, buddy?” I lean forward as he tries to fight off the effect of the sedative, and I search in his pocket for the phone I saw when he reached to get the drug. “But it’s a good trip. Awful nightmares, though. Sweet dreams.”

As he sinks to the forest floor, losing his fight against the sedative, I step over his limp body. “Fucking sneaky bastard must've had this phone hidden there all along,” I mutter switching it off and jam the device into my shoe then bolt into the trees.

Branches lash my face as I tear through the forest, adrenaline surging. I know these woods now. I’ve mapped every exit route over the past few weeks under the guise of changing up my running route.

My heart lurches as I think of my baby girl, my family. I haven't seen them in nearly eight weeks. Freedom is near. I can almost taste it.

Then it hits.

A jolt. Sharp. Electric and god damn agonizing.

My knees give out. I slam to the ground, twitching.

“FUCK!” Did I just get tasered?

My muscles seize. My limbs refuse to move. The world spins. I try to gain control of my limbs as my nerves pulse and misfire from the shock. I manage, with great effort, to push myself onto my knees as his voice slices through the cold air.

“TARA.”

Fuck.

I claw at the ground, dragging myself toward the nearest tree. My fingers shake as I use the tree trunk to drag myself to my feet as he steps into view.

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