Page 10 of Kidnapped Rejected Mate
They don’t answer—instead, they just laugh and swoop down toward me, bringing the oppressive heat even closer.
I duck and roll, the action much harder with my pack behind me, but this is why we train. This is why we spend hours in the firehouse, specifically working with the extinguisher packs we have to carry on our backs for the daemon wildfires.
I manage to roll right between them, popping up and releasing the trigger to spray the daemon on the left with a thick layer of the extinguisher. It wails, sizzling, the mixture of daemon ash and water thick and heavy like concrete, first forcing the daemon to the ground, then snuffing out its flame like a boot over a candle.
The other daemon turns to it, letting out a high-pitched shriek as if it had lost a friend. I don’t know if the daemons are simply expressions of the fire or some sort of trapped souls, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to stop me from getting to Aurela right now.
I dodge another swing from the only standing daemon, ducking and popping up behind it again. It’s methodical, the way I was trained, and less than a minute later, both of the daemons have been put out, and I’m running at full speed into a valley, the trees flying past me as I get closer and closer to the center of the metaphysical rope, the woman tugging me full-speed toward her.
“Aurela!” I scream, the wind and roar of the flames seeming to rip the word right out of my mouth, whipping it up into the sky like a piece of paper snatched from an open backpack, sacrificed to the night.
It feels like I've been running for centuries, but it must only be another minute before I burst through the line of trees into a small clearing. It stinks of daemon fire, the flames licking through the circle of trees and up into the night like a thousand candles.
There are two bodies curled into one another in the center of the space. At first, I almost think it’s two little girls, with the way they’re lying.
One is slim, her leather jacket sooty and marred, the soles of a pair of combat boots staring at me as I approach. And when I get close enough, I see the blue hair at the top of her head, and a pleased, satisfied smile stretching over her face.
She’s holding Aurela’s hand.
It’sTara. The woman who’s been starting the fires. Who tried to kill the girls—and almost succeeded in killing Felix. Silverville’s most wanted, the person setting Xeran all the way on his last nerve. The woman who drove him to shrug away the anti-violence he’s been leading with from the moment he took over the pack.
Even when Valerie Foley—Lachlan’s mate—was caught starting a fire in town, Xeran allowed her a trial. He stopped the cycle of violence plaguing the pack. Vowed that he would reverse the culture created by his uncle.
But now, with Tara, he’s made a different choice. His declaration comes back to my head as I run, breathing hard, my lungs already starting to seize up in the smoke. The mask can only do so much, and the smoke and ash are starting to get to me after so long in the fire.
Make it clear that if anyone is harboring Tara, they will be executed, I hear Xeran say. If they make contact with her and don’t immediately tell us, they will be executed. If I find out a single member of this pack is connected to her or these fires, in any way, I will not show mercy.
My eyes drift to the other body, curled into Tara like a child with her mother. A head of golden curls, tumbling loosely over her shoulders like a shimmering, slightly darkened waterfall. The moonlight shines on her face, showing flushed cheeks and sweat beading along her brow. Her body is different from what I remember, fuller, and my hands itch to touch her.
My hands have always itched to touch her.
Aurela.
The breath leaves my lungs. Logically, I knew it was her drawing me out here, but in the panic of seeing Tara, I’d forgotten why I was running in this direction in the first place. The tug that I’ve only ever felt in regards to my mate.
I felt it that day the first fire started, too, and I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that Aurela had something to do with how it all started.
Here’s my proof.
My body is completely still, almost paralyzed. My brain works slowly, like the smoke is working its way through my ears and slowing down all my processes.
If I’m going to obey my supreme, take the action that I know to be most in alignment with the pack, to protect my people, it would be killing Tara right here, on the spot.
This is the perfect opportunity. She’s either passed out or sleeping, but doesn’t seem to know that she has an audience. I could shift right now and get my teeth in her throat before she even had the chance to blink.
But then, how to explain Aurela’s presence here? What would Xeran say if he saw her? Would Lachlan be able to protect his sister, or would Xeran have to make an example out of her and follow the missive he just had me send out to the entire pack?
What breaks me out of my trance-like state is Aurela shifting slightly, the tiny smile on her face when she says, “Take what you want, Tara.”
Fear floods through me—that’s more than Aurela just being here. It’s more than just being a victim of this thing.
And if Xeran heard that, I have no doubt that he would have to kill her.
And I can’t stomach that.
There’s no more time to think it over, because at that moment, Tara opens her eyes, their inky depths reflecting my own face and the trees burning behind me. Something flashes over her expression—fear, excitement, giddy mirth?—but there’s no time for me to examine what it is, and what it means about this moment.
Acting on instinct, I raise the nozzle of my extinguisher and spray it at her, her scream drowned out by the quick muffle of the substance practically gluing her to the ground. It works well on her—maybe because she’s so closely tied to the daemon fire itself. She writhes under it, and I lean down, careful to avoid the stuff as I slide one arm under Aurela’s back and the other under her legs.
