Page 60 of Through the Flames
You.
My jaw was clenched so tight from holding back a single word, I was afraid I’d crack a fucking tooth.
“Another favor. No questions asked.” I held my breath. Would she get suspicious or go for it?
“Only for you, my emotionally unavailable dark-web wizard.”
I could hear her smile through the fucking phone, and I wanted to taste that sound, wanted toownit.
My Blaze had called me hers … in a sense, at least. For the moment, I’d take it.
“Alright. The room is ready for you whenever. Just text me when you need the key.”
My pulse was pounding in my ears, like I’d just sprinted down the whole fucking length of the field, my body sensing the monumental shift this moment carried.
“Thanks for doing this, Hunter. Really. You’re kind of saving my ass.”
My reply was slow, deceptively casual. “Don’t read into it.”
After she hung up, I braced my hands against the wall, staring ahead, unseeing.
Holy fucking shit. It was finally happening. I blew out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Ella had no idea what she just walked into, had no idea the trap had been set months ago.
Colt’s former room had been ready for weeks.
There was a new mirror hung at the perfect height, fresh sheets with a high thread count and in her favorite color, and scented candles I’d tucked into the drawer — the same scent she lit when she studied.
Every “coincidence” in her house-hunting journey had been planned. Controlled. Executed. By yours fucking truly.
I’d created burner profiles, spoofed the number of anyone who could’ve fucked this up for me, and bribed a leasing agent.
There was nothing I’d stop at when it came to her. No line I’d leave uncrossed, if necessary.
She thought it was just a string of bad luck. But I knew better.
Welcome home, Ella.
Sixteen
Ella
Weeks had blurred together in a haze of desperate apartment hunting, unanswered messages, and places smelling like mold.
In the end, it hadn’t been about choice. It’d been about survival, and survival had led me here, suitcase in hand, breath fogging in the winter air.
I dropped the strand of hair I’d been twisting around my fingers before taking a deep breath.
My boots slapped against the concrete, slick with salt and ice melt, as I hopped out of my brother’s humongous truck.
It was colder than a witch’s tit out here. The wind sliced through my hoodie like it wasn’t even there, and my fingers burned from cold plastic handles biting into my skin.
Moving sucked in general, but moving while it was below freezing? Fucking shoot me.
My breath puffed up in little clouds, quick and visible, as I surveyed the big suburban house before me. I’d been here before, but it looked so different, surrounded by the gloom of winter.
I was balancing a suitcase and juggling two overstuffed laundry bags, shuffling up to the house, making sure I wasn’t accidentally stepping on a rogue patch of ice.
