Page 28 of Chasing the Flame
Me:This doesn’t feel very friendly.
Unknown:Let’s just say, I’m invested in your survival.
I drop the phone, my heart thundering, the ringing in my ears so fucking loud that I almost miss the ding from the second notification. Fear coils through me, making it hard to breathe.
When I pick up the phone, I glance at the screen and see two notifications—both from an unknown number.
Text one,Unknown:Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. Everyone needs a friend.
I roll my eyes before swiping the text off my screen and moving to the next.
Text two,Unknown:It’s Jettson.
With my heart hammering in my chest, I return to the island, grabbing hold of the whiskey bottle Jettson left. Popping the cork, I take a long drink straight from the bottle, wiping my mouth with the back of my shaky hand.
Whatever the fuck is going on, I’m suddenly determined to get to the bottom of it. I’ve been dragged into something dark—an unseen current pulling me under. Something that will alter my perception of reality, shattering everything I thought I knew. And I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.
The drive home is long and stressful, and I swear the further I drive away from Averie, the more unease settles in my stomach. I should’ve known, and it kills me that I didn't listen to my intuition.
Luke will never fucking change, and the fact he’s in so deep with the covenant makes me wonder his real motives where she’s concerned. I know what happens to people who get too close to the truth. I’ve lived through it and refuse to let Averie be another statistic.
The winding road with its evergreens and thickets of trees does nothing to stop the storm raging within me. By the time I make it to my dad’s cabin, I’m brimming with rage, and the beast inside me is clawing at the surface, begging for release. I inhale sharply, releasing the breath after I count to three. It doesn’t entirely stop the power building, but calms me to a reasonable level.
Jumping out of my truck, I scan the expansive property, searching for any inkling of where my father may be.
Patience has never been my virtue. In two seconds, I’m striding toward the barn. My steps are thunderous, and I’m covering ground quickly. The old barn with faded red paint stands tall. Its front doors open wide, allowing an ample amount of eveninglight to shine through. I walk through the opening, looking through the stalls, and notice the animals seem skittish.
Someone orsomethingwas just here.
“Dad!” I yell, racing across the yard and rushing up the wooden steps onto the covered porch. The front door is slightly ajar, and a deep dread slithers through my stomach.
Why isn’t he answering me?
Hair stands up on the back of my neck and arms, and in an instant, I’m busting through the door, my gaze sweeping the room for any signs of an intruder. Nothing seems amiss, but I can’t escape this nagging feeling that something’s wrong.
I pass through the living room, taking in the scuffed cherrywood flooring, reminded of simpler times. Portraits hang in the space, some happy memories, and others are painful reminders of what was lost. In the center of the living room, over the mantle, hangs a painting that still sends a chill down my spine.
Two beings, a primordial god and goddess, stand together at the base of a magnificent tree. The pair represents duality, light and shadows blending in perfect harmony. Or so the story always went. The goddess, dressed in golden silk, with a halo atop her head, smiles serenely in the face of darkness. The beast beside her snarls, its razor-sharp teeth and claws poised for the kill signifying the dance we all take with death. Horns sit atop its head, its yellow-eyed gaze fixed on the goddess before it.
I’ve never once found this painting comforting. If anything, I find it a painful reminder of the very real evil lurking in the darkness. The darkness that I’m terrified has already sunk its claws into Averie.
Shaking my head, I head toward the back of the house, passing through the long burgundy hallway. It’s the only pop of color in the whole house. When I reach my father’s bedroom, I pause, listeningfor any sounds or signs of anything unusual. I’m still on high alert, my mind racing with every worst sort of possibility.
Ultimately, I push open the door, my eyes widening at the sight before me. My father is in his bed with a woman, her dark hair tinged with streaks of silver. The two of them are tangled together, his hands gripping her waist as she rides his cock. “FUCK!” I yell, slamming the door and turning on my heel, embarrassment lodged in my chest.
A string of feminine curses and laughter follows my father’s chuckles. My cheeks burn at the thought of that woman laughing at my expense. The image of the two of them is seared in my mind, and I just know I’m never getting it out.
For fucks sake, I didn’t even know he was fucking anyone.
“Hey, son, what brings you here?” Dad calls from behind me, and I grip the back of the brown leather recliner, forcing myself to calm down. After three deep breaths, I turn to meet his gaze. Elliot Noxwood, still very much in his prime, is the mirror image of me, minus two tiny details. He stands about half a foot taller than I, nearly reaching seven feet, with gray peppering his dark brown hair. His eyes are the spitting image of mine, with a ring of green and brown around his iris.
He’s still buttoning up his navy blue flannel, his expression exuding mirth and curiosity. Shaking my head, I say, “I should’ve called, but I need to talk to you.” He nods at me, his gaze flicking back toward the bedroom door, then back to me. I nod at him, subtly letting him know I require complete privacy. He sucks in a sharp breath, but mutters an incantation and instantly a sheer shimmering bubble surrounds us.
“What’s so damn important that you needed a silencing bubble to speak freely?” He doesn’t waste a second, cutting straight to the point.
“It’s aboutLuke,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair in agitation.
“I thought I told you to stay away from him,” he growls, his eyes flashing in fury.
