Page 48 of New Nebraska Heat
The limo’s engine roared like never before as we sped toward the location.
Hunter beat me there. Gerald dropped me near the disaster and parked down a quiet side street to avoid obstructing access to any much-needed fire trucks.
The firefighters wouldn’t have any doubt about where to go, though, when they finally arrived.
A large, dilapidated old house blazed with flames so fierce they lit up the ghostly neighborhood. A toxic plume of churning charcoal smoke billowed thick and high into the starry night.
A circus of sirens wailed as Hunter grabbed me with such force that I stumbled backward, bracing myself with my legs in a boxer’s stance to stay steady as he shook at my shoulders. Thank God he’d touched me somewhere I was covered. He seemed in such a frantic state, I wasn’t sure he’d even thought of my condition as he’d approached.
The acrid stench of smoke swirled around us and random pops of molten wood flew overhead as he shouted over the fire’s bellow. “I can’t get to him. I can’t take the heat!”
Agonized screams drew me to Dagger. The vast roof had beeneaten away and collapsed, pinning him under a pile of burning beams the weight of which even his outstanding strength couldn’t budge. His upper body was clear of the flames but red-hot timber pinned his legs as he scratched at the unkempt grass, trying to drag himself free.
About ten cops had just arrived and stood in a rough ring around him, arms thrown up to block their redden faces from the unforgiving inferno’s shimmering heat waves. A news crew was standing behind them too. Where were the damn firetrucks? No one here could get close enough to grab him.
But I could.
I clasped Hunter’s cotton-clad shoulders. “All right, brother, stand back. I’ll get him, I promise.”
Stepping out of my loafers, I threw my jacket and pants on the floor, ripping off my shirt in one, the buttons spitting across the grass as I slipped my socks and underwear off and ran toward the fire. My body was immune to heat, but my clothing would have erupted like cigarette paper, welding itself to my skin.
I knew damn well my naked pictures would be all over the internet tomorrow.
But I didn’t give a fuck. Clown or not, I’d loved Dagger once, and I’d be damned if I’d let him burn alive.
I rushed to him, grasping the nearest burning beam and pulling it upward, hopeful I could get enough of the collapsed roof free that he would be able to drag himself out using his massive arms. The plank’s weight was colossal, and I pulled with every muscle I could muster. No dice.
“This wooden floor’s gonna collapse any second,” he rasped at me through a contorted grimace. “When it does, it’ll drag me down with it. This is the end for me. Go, now. Save yourself!”
“Fuck that. Play martyr with someone else, you dumb, macho fuck.” I picked up another, much smaller loose plank and shoved it between the beam and the charred grass. “Get ready to crawl on my mark.”
“Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast!”
Then—even by New Nebraska standards—something unbelievable happened. As I shoved down on my makeshift lever with all my might, straining tendons in my shoulders, the wood began to splinter. I let out a cry of pain and frustration… and exhaled blue fire.
The sapphire tongues glittered like frost, dowsing the burning wood around Dagger as effectively as a fireman’s hose. Unlike my usual fire powers, which ignited with the speed and intensity of napalm, these blue flames drowned out the beams’ heat. They hissed a sigh of relief, steam sizzling from their fibers.
I stepped back and outstretched both my arms toward the destroyed house. The same electric-blue fire cannoned out of my fingertips. I breathed in deeply and exhaled again, my hands and mouth swamped the inferno with a ceaseless torrent of energy until all that remained was charred wood and rank fumes filling the air.
Drained, falling back on the scorched lawn with a bare ass, I watched as a crowd firefighters and paramedics, who must have just arrived, surged forward to drag Dagger from the ruins. At their head, heaving and cursing as the beams were steadily lifted to free Dagger, was Hunter.
Hunter wrapped his twin’s arm round his shoulder and led him away from the dilapidated house—now nothing more than a blackened shell—saying, “I gotcha brother, I gotcha.” A powerful-looking tiger shifter paramedic took the strain on the other side.
I staggered to my feet, still stark naked but too overwhelmed to worry about it. I tumbled across to them. Dagger’s eyes were woozy as he gripped Hunter’s polo shirt and garbled, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Serenity. I fucked up.”
Hunter jerked their three-man operation to a halt and forced Dagger to face him. “What happened?” he rumbled. “Where is she?”
“Two vamps. Conrad. He took her.”
“Conrad took her?” Hunter’s face was a mask of panic and distress. My own heart started jumping jacks.
Dagger managed a nod, seeming to summon every last ounce of speech left as he mangled Hunter’s shirt collar in his trembling fist. “Armand too. Serenity shot his ass…”
The paramedic pointed to a nearby ambulance. “We need to get him in there, right away.”
Sure enough, Dagger’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp in their grasp.
I turned to be met by the whizz and dazzle of camera flashes. More news crews had arrived. Including mine.
