Page 26 of Chasing the Flame
Instantly, I bristle, suddenly not finding a reason to want to stay on the phone. Our relationship is brittle at best, especially since my fatherpassed away several years ago. Best not to tempt fate. “Well, I suppose I’d better get busy. Was that all you needed, Mom?”
She sighs again, the faint rapping of her nails against the counter a subtle hint of irritation. “Yes, darling, I only wanted to hear your voice. I’ll let you get back to work. Let me know what dates you’re thinking, and I’ll ensure I’m available.”
I laugh, “Mom, you’re retired. Surely, you can pack up on a whim and visit your daughter?”
A real laugh filters through the other end, “Just because I’m retired, doesn’t mean I don’t have a life. I’ll talk to you later, bug, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper, but the line has already gone dead. Something about my mother’s behavior is rubbing me the wrong way. Sure, she doesn’t like my husband, but she’s never usually this feisty. Shaking my head, I place my phone on my desk and try to rid myself of the gnawing feeling at the back of my mind.
Sighing, I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the sweet hazelnut flavoring and enjoying the scene before me. Dark clouds are rolling in, and I can feel a slight chill in the air, letting me know a storm is coming.
Rising from my spot, I move to the windows across the room, loosening the latch on the top half and propping the window open to hear the sound of the rain. It isn’t long before it starts, a drizzle that quickly turns into a downpour. I sigh happily, grabbing one of my newest novels off the shelf, a stunning piece of work by one of my favorite authors. I settle against the window, tucking my legs up onto the plush reading nook that allows me one of the best views in the house.
Moving a few extra pillows around behind me, I throw a blanket over my legs and begin to devour the first several chapters. The rain is a soothing backdrop, lulling me into a peacefuland comforting atmosphere. My eyes droop, and the book falls out of my hand, my mind wandering as I drift into a fitful sleep.
Dark robes surround me, herding me toward a stone slab in the center of the catacombs. A string of chanting catches my attention. The words are hard to discern, and getting louder the closer the masked figures get to me.
I scream, panicking as I push and shove through the crowd. It doesn’t matter, it isn’t enough. Rough hands grip my wrists and legs, flinging me down hard onto the stone slab. I cry out, gasping for breath after having the wind knocked out of me. Iron shackles bind my wrists and ankles, sending a fresh wave of terror through me.
“Dark One, we offer this sacrifice to you. May her blood sustain you, bringing you one step closer to reclaiming your rightful place in our world. Ita factum est!”
The man in the center of the circle steps forward, his hood falling back to reveal the man I saw in my vision, my husband…Luke. I scream, thrashing against my chains, watching in terror as his lips contort into a devious grin. A glint of steel catches my attention, a ruby-studded athame hurtling in my direction.
As the knife swipes down, a rough hand shakes me, a concerned voice filling my senses. “Averie! Averie, baby, wake up.”
I jolt up, my book falling to the floor, my arms flailing in every direction. “Woah,” a deep voice says, and my gaze snaps in its direction. Jettson is standing over me, concern etched on his face. Heat floods my cheeks, my ears ringing from the lingering anxiety that’s still clawing its way through my body.
For a second, I say nothing, convinced that if I utter a single syllable, I’ll sound like a crazy person. My chest heaves as I suck in breath after breath, the dizzying feeling lessening with each one. His hand still lingers on my shoulder, and I know I should say something to break this unbearable tension that seems to be building by the second.
As I stare into his deep blue-green eyes, my heart rate slows, my breaths become easier, and the terror I’d felt only moments before seems to dissipate. “Are you alright?” He asks, squeezing my shoulder slightly.
The action grounds me, and mortification floods through me all over again. “I’m so sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep during the storm,” I say, shrugging out of his embrace and moving into a sitting position.
“Seemed like you were having a nightmare,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction to being prodded.
I bite my lower lip, nervously wringing my hands in my lap. It’s not that I feel the need to lie. Only...
I’m unsure how much I can trust Jettson, and I’m terrified of all this getting back to Luke. “I have vivid dreams…”
Jettson’s expression turns thoughtful, his brow furrowing in concern. “What kind of dreams?”
“Nightmarish, bat-shit sounding, crazy shit.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, like he’s trying to be careful with his wording. “Want to explain to me what’s going on?”
A grin is tugging at the corner of his lips, and I can’t tell whether he’s placating or mocking me. My cheeks burn again, and I swallow hard before saying, “I think…I need a drink after that. Too bad I don’t have any wine.”
“I have some whiskey in my truck. Come on, I’ll pour us a glass. Where’s that cousin of mine, anyway?” He’s already turning toward the door, tossing a questioning gaze in my direction.
“Business trip,” I mutter, sliding off the bench and following Jettson to the kitchen. His long strides made it impossible to keep up with him. He’d already run out of the front door by the time I reached the kitchen. Moments later, Jettson returns with a bottle of fancy barrel-aged whiskey, a mischievous glint in his eye as he sets it on the counter.
He moves confidently in my kitchen, snatching a couple of glasses from my cabinet and placing them on the island. “Does he do that often? Take business trips?” He asks, before leaning against the counter.
“Sometimes…” I trail off, confused about where the conversation is heading.
A wicked grin crosses his face, and he pops the cork out, pouring us a healthy dose of whiskey each. He picks up both glasses, stands beside me, and hands me the second glass. “Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass against mine before downing the whiskey in one gulp.
I drink deeply, relishing in the warmth that spreads through my body. Jettson takes the glass from my hand, shifting his body so he’s directly in front of me. I’m caged in, both of his hands planted on either side of me.
