Page 30 of Chasing the Flame
As the hour draws closer to midnight, we form a circle in the middle of the stone room. My brothers begin the chant, their voices harmonizing in a steady rhythm. Unfamiliar words are soft spoken at first, growing louder and louder with each passing second.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Luke steps forward and claims the ceremonial athame. “Brothers, you’ve been called here tonight to witness an auspicious moment for a new member.” He pauses momentarily, his gaze settling on each person in the room.When his eyes collide with mine, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
That same foreboding fills me, anxiety clawing its way to the surface and rearing its ugly head. My heart’s pounding, my palms are sweating, and I don’t like the look he’s giving me. Something’s wrong.
“I give you, the maiden for the claiming. May the Dark One be pleased with your sacrifice.” Luke’s voice is a sneer, and my blood runs cold.
Two big men dressed in ceremonial garb enter the room, dragging a drugged Jennifer—myJenny—across the room. My heart plummets. Nausea rolls through me in waves with each step they take. The crowd parts, and in the center of the room is a huge stone slab with iron shackles.
In seconds, she’s strapped in, rousing slightly but so groggy that it’s all incoherent when she tries to speak. “Brother, step forward, claim your sacrifice for the Dark One!” Luke’s voice snaps me out of the trance, like a splash of cold water, and I snap.
I glance at Jenny, taking in the white nightgown that Luke must’ve had her put on. Her golden hair is splayed across the slab, and the curls are like a halo. She’s bruising in some spots on her arms and legs, and rage fills me at the sight. I snap my gaze back to Luke, narrowing my eyes at him. “No,” I say in a growl, my fists clenched at my sides. “I won’t fucking do it.”
Luke grins, a devious sort of smile that shoots a ripple of gooseflesh across my skin. “I was hoping you might say that.”
A flash of blinding light hits my senses, and I cry in frustration. Luke’s voice fills the air, “Liga animam eius mihi, non nocebit mihi! Eum ligate ad terram, vincite eum et signate fatum eius! Ut supra, ut infra.”
Shadows and searing light snap around my wrists, chaining me in place. An agonizing pain shoots through my chest, burning like hellfire. I grind my teeth, refusing to let go of the scream that’s building at the back of my throat. “Since you refuse to complete a simple task, I’ve bound you to me, and you will watch, brother.” He spits the words at me, coming so close that we’re inches apart. His pale eyes are furious—molten steel forged by fire. “Pathetic…just like your father.”
The snarl that leaves my throat is visceral, chased by a scorching hatred. “Time to appease the Dark One, and for you to take your rightful place.Surge’.”
A bolt of energy snaps through my chest, my legs groaning in protest. I rise, forced to my feet by the incantation. My chains shift with a snap of Luke’s fingers, and I’m harshly yanked across the room.
My knees buckle, and I stumble several times before falling in front of the stone slab. Shadows and light whip through the air beside me, locking me in place, giving me a front row seat to the show.
I pull and tug at my chains, but it’s useless. The pain in my chest is a reminder of the binding spell. My attempts to escape are futile.
Luke takes his place at the end of the slab, removing his cloak. He stands before the room, naked, with his arms stretched wide. Disgust churns in my belly, and I know what will happen. Please let her still be drugged, don’t let her feel a thing. My prayer is silent, tears slipping down my cheeks. “Intra me, spiritus! Hanc animam vindica, castitatem gusta. Satiámini nostro sacrifício!!!” Luke’s voice hits a crescendo, and the room tilts.
Tendrils of shadows snake out, thrusting Luke and the entire room into darkness. I suck in a breath, fear running rampant through my body. A loud crack sounds, grunts and yells of pain, and a roar strikesterror in my heart.
What’s left before me is no longer my cousin. In his place is something darker, something made of pure evil. The thing that stands at the edge of the stone slab is monstrous, horned antlers sitting atop a furred snout, yellow eyes burning with intensity. Another roar escapes the beast, its claws extending toward Jenny, and a scream leaves my throat.
What happens next, mercifully, occurs quickly. Flashes flit before me of shadows, claws swiping, another growl, and squelching visceral sounds of carnage that sends a wave of nausea rolling through me. Jenny gurgles, choking on blood as it spills from her mouth. Her hazel eyes dimming by the second.
When her heartbeat stills, the pain that tears through my chest is excruciating. My heart shatters, my vision blurring from the tears gathering in my eyes. I’m having trouble processing what’s happened. It doesn’t feel real, but this pain is overwhelming.
Luke catches my attention, his form shifting back into the human features I’ve known all my life. Disgust and hatred burn through my chest, and power thrums at my fingertips.
Fire courses through my veins, the flames licking up my insides, and I can’t stop the torrent. My bindings shatter, a blast exploding my fingertips. Blazing flames sizzle, snaking and blasting through the room.
Screams echo, chaos ensuing as the figures scurry like rats in an alleyway. My vision blurs again, and I feel myself swaying as my energy depletes.
And then—everything goes black.
The first glimmers of sunrise are filtering through the living room, casting a beautiful golden glow over my new couch. Running my hands across the black velvet, I settle in, grabbing hold of my mug of coffee off the glass coffee table. I didn’t sleep well, unable to stop the intrusive thoughts and worry gnawing at my belly.
Guilt has also reared its ugly head, though I have nothing to be ashamed of. Jettson has been kind and protective, but isn’t that what family does?
I sigh, “Who are you kidding, Averie?” I’m lying to myself. As much as I want to pretend that this is all a harmless flirtation, the truth is…it’snot. Somehow over the last four weeks, this has turned into something real.
I can’t keep pretending my feelings aren’t growing toward Jettson anymore. It’s getting harder to suppress with each passing day. He’s been kinder to me in a short few weeks than my husband has in the last three years of our marriage.
After I calmed down last night, I texted him back, thanking him for listening. I still don’t understand what’s happening or why I have such a deep sense of urgency. It’s like an hourglass has been turned, and I’m caught waiting for the last granule of sand to fall.
It’s seven in the morning, and I’m watching my driveway like a hawk, waiting for him to arrive. I nurse my cup of coffee, doom-scrolling and simultaneously taking notes in another tab. It’s how I do my best work when it comes to fixing a plot. Mindlessly scrolling until inspiration strikes, jotting down whatever thought comes to mind, and repeating the process until I’m satisfied.
But as I scroll this morning, the feeling of dread just gets worse, and by the time eight-thirty rolls around, I’m antsy. I debate whether or not to text him again, toying with the idea for several minutes and bite my fingernails. “Get a grip, girl!” I hiss, tossing my phone on the couch and cross my arms like a petulant child.
