Wildfire: Chapter 13

I blinked. The ceiling looked familiar. I lay in Rogan’s HQ, on one of his second-floor couches. Gloom shrouded the room, the windows dark and full of night. A warm blanket covered me. Someone had taken my shoes off, and I curled my toes under the blanket. Mmm, comfy.

The interrogation went as expected. Vincent answered all my questions. Alexander Sturm owned a ranch outside of Houston. Brian Sherwood was cooling his heels there. They had contacted him intending to offer him the financial bailout of his company in exchange for Olivia’s files. When they found out that he had no idea where Olivia’s files were hidden, they struck a bargain. Brian would be their willing victim, but he didn’t want money. He wanted his wife dead instead. Prior to contacting Brian, Sturm and Vincent had briefly considered kidnapping Kyle or Jessica, but Sturm was afraid that Rynda would snap, and taking a child carried more risk. Brian turned out to be perfect for the task. He knew Rynda, he knew which buttons to push, and he was sure that the threat of his death could pry Olivia’s files out of her.

Rynda was supposed to die during the ransom drop. Failing that, Brian wanted her killed in a tragic car accident. According to Vincent, Brian didn’t care if the kids were in the car with her or not. Apparently, he’d said, “Whatever is more convenient.”

Vincent had no idea what was in Olivia’s files, just that Sturm referred to it as “vital.” Vincent was under the impression that unless the files were recovered, all of them “would go down.” They had to get the files back and they would do anything to get them. Sturm had directed every aspect of this plan, except for the attack on Rynda’s house, where Vincent had decided to take the initiative.

They watched Edward Sherwood, and once he moved to declare himself Head of the House, Sturm realized that we must be aware that Brian was in on the whole mess. They needed new hostages. There was no traitor. They had watched our tornado drills through some high-tech equipment, which was how they figured out where the kids would be. Vincent’s creatures had tunneled for two days to grab the children.

Rynda listened to it all, politely excused herself, and left.

After I pried everything Vincent had out of him, I released him. He slid to the floor, curled into a fetal ball, and cried. I didn’t feel sorry for him. Fatigue had mugged me. I remembered wanting coffee. I made it out of the room and up the stairs, and then everything went blank.

Now I was on the couch.

Voices came from the kitchen area.

“. . . and now I have nobody,” Rynda said. “I’m truly and completely alone. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Yes,” Rogan said.

I should’ve sat up. Instead I quietly turned on my side. They were standing at the kitchen island, illuminated by the soft glow of the kitchen lamp. A cup of coffee sat in front of Rogan. He looked slightly tired and a little rough around the edges. A dragon in his off mode. I liked when he looked like that.

Rynda stood close to him, her slender body almost touching his. And I got a small stab of jealousy right in the heart. It never failed. They looked good together.

“I don’t know how we’re going to survive,” she said quietly.

“You always were more resilient than your mother gave you credit for. You will persevere, Rynda. I’ll help you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you. Thank you for saving my son. Thank you for everything.”

She stepped closer, slid her arms around his neck, stretching herself against him, and kissed him on the mouth.

That was going too far. Half of me felt heartbreaking sadness at her desperation and the other half wanted to run over and punch her in the face.

Rogan didn’t move. He didn’t put his hands around her. He didn’t push her away. He just stood there.

She dropped her arms and stepped away. “This was a mistake,” she said in a broken voice.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why, Connor?”

It was absurd to hate a woman just because she used Rogan’s name.

She searched his face with her gaze. “We know each other. We have a history. We have things in common. Same background, same set of friends growing up. I’m pretty. There would be no learning curve.”

Thanks, Rynda.

“I would be a good wife.”

“I’m in love with someone else.”

“But why, Rogan? What is it about her? Is it because she’s violent like you?”

“I was asleep,” he said. “And she woke me up.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to. I care about you, Rynda, and about your children. But you and I will never be together. We would be miserable.”

She turned away from him and leaned against the island with both hands, as if afraid she would fall. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re like wildfire, Connor. You’d rage and burn me until nothing was left but ashes.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I feel so pathetic right now,” she said. “Don’t pity me. I don’t think I can handle that.”

“I don’t. Check for yourself.”

She shook her head. “All I ever wanted was for someone to love me.”

“Someone does love you. Quietly and desperately. You just haven’t noticed.”

She glanced at him. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s time to stop hiding,” Rogan said. “You’re a Prime. Olivia is gone. Nobody’s judging you. Use your talent.”

She raised her chin. “Maybe I will.”

They stood quietly for a long moment.

“Are you going to marry her?”

“I’m going to ask.”

“When?”

“After she is confirmed as a House.”

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“And if she says no?”

His voice was controlled and casual. “Then it’s a no.”

“This isn’t like you. You go after what you want, knocking obstacles and people out of the way.”

“That’s not true. Occasionally I dodge.”

“You know what I mean.” She leaned back. “Have you told her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she will be asked at the trials about alliances and associations with current Houses.”

“You don’t want her to be in your shadow.”

He nodded.

“That’s very noble, but she should have time to look over the contract. She doesn’t have the experience, and once she is declared a House, she’ll be bombarded with offers. It’s easy to become overwhelmed.”

“There won’t be a contract.”

Rynda frowned at him. “Are you intending to enter this marriage without a prenup?”

“Yes.”

“Have you lost your mind? You’ve known her less than three months.”

“Four.”

“You’re worth over a billion. That’s your family’s wealth. What if she divorces you after a month? Are you going to give her half of your money?”

He didn’t answer.

“Have you even run a genetic compatibility match?”

Silence.

“Connor, this is crazy. You’re acting like you’re a normal person. You’re not. You have to protect the interests of your House.”

“You followed all the rules and jumped through all the right hoops. How did it work out for you?”

She drew back. “That’s a hit below the belt.”

“She’ll have me or she won’t, Rynda. I’m not going to force her. I won’t shackle her into a contract that will penalize her if she attempts to leave me. I don’t care if our children will be perfect at conception according to a gene chart. This is how it is.”

I felt the faintest whisper of magic from Rynda.

“Oh, Connor,” she said softly. “I hope you’re right. I hope she doesn’t hurt you and you don’t hurt her.”

She reached out, touched his cheek gently, and walked away.

He stood at the island for a while, drinking what had to be cold coffee by now. He rinsed the mug, set it on the counter, came over, and crouched by me.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said.

“You’re awake.”

“Have I ever told you that you have keen powers of observation?”

He smiled. “No.”

“You do. You should be a detective.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Everything that mattered.”

He nodded, his face unreadable. “It is what it is. All cards are on the table.”

“Not quite.” I sat up.

“Oh?”

“The real Rogan hasn’t asked me.”

He frowned.

“I want the dragon to ask me.”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“I know what the Head of House Rogan wants. I heard all of his noble warnings about the future of House Baylor. I saw him hold himself in check. I want to know what you want, Connor. What do you want of me? Ask me.”

Something changed in his eyes. Before I could figure it out, he yanked me off the couch as if I weighed nothing, and carried me off up the stairs. Okay then.

The door flew open in front of him and slammed shut behind us all on its own. He tossed me on the bed. His face was savage, his blue eyes hungry. I shivered.

Magic brushed me, shredding my clothes. He grabbed a handful of fabric that used to be my T-shirt and jeans and tossed them aside. My bra followed. My panties fell apart. Excitement dashed through me, quick and electric, mixed with alarm and anticipation. An insistent low heat began to pool between my legs. My body knew what was coming and every cell in me wanted it.

He stripped naked. Hard muscle corded his frame under golden skin. He was big and erect, and when I met his eyes, he nearly set me on fire. He pinned me to the bed, his huge body caging me. His hand slid under my head. He grabbed a handful of hair. Breath caught in my throat.

His mouth closed on mine. There was nothing gentle or beguiling about that kiss. He kissed me like I belonged to him. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I tasted him, the echoes of coffee and the deep male scent that said to me. It made me shiver. He kissed me like he could do anything to me and I wanted to let him. I would beg him to do it.

He broke the kiss. His eyes were dark and borderline feral. The heat between my legs turned liquid. I was suddenly in a terrible hurry.

“Look at me.” His voice was harsh.

I looked at him.

“You wanted to see me? Here I am.”

He seemed barely human, all raw male power, intense sexual need, and dark magic. It boiled all around him. The muscles on his arms were rock-hard. If he squeezed me, he could crush me. He never would, but knowing he could, watching all that power arrested in a moment, waiting to be devoted to making love to me, was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

I tried to arch my back to press against him and couldn’t. He held me in place.

“Are you scared?” the dragon asked.

“No.”

“You should be.”

I smiled and let my own magic out.

His eyes shone.

He drew his thumb across my lips. The first intoxicating drop of his magic fell in the hollow between my breasts, hot, molten, velvet. Every nerve in me hummed in response. I was an addict who had smelled her favorite drug. I needed him inside me.

He slid his hand under my ass, squeezing it, feeling it, and dragged me closer, shifting my hips where he wanted me. The blunt head of his shaft pressed against me.

The magic split into two currents, winding around my breasts, and slid up each peak, warming my skin. My nipples were suddenly cold and erect, and then the magical heat crested over them. The jolt of pleasure rocked me, just as he tilted his head and sealed his lips on mine. I gasped into his mouth. He kissed me as the magic twisted around my nipples, sending tiny sparks of bliss through me, and then the stream moved lower. He kissed me while it flowed over my stomach, over my lap, into the crease between my legs. It licked my clit with its tongue, no longer merely hot and velvet, but slightly rough. My whole body contracted in response. It was too much. Waiting was too hard. I fought against him, bucking with everything I had and not moving an inch.

He let me take a breath. The harsh need in his eyes had turned to an all-consuming hunger.

“Why should I be scared?” I asked.

The magic squeezed and licked my clit, slipping in and out of me. It was an exquisite torture. He dipped his head and sucked on my left nipple. I almost came.

“If someone threatens you, I’ll kill them. If you’re not there to stop me, I’ll torture them first.”

“I can handle that,” I managed. That part of him would never change and I’d made my peace with it.

The magic grew hotter. He moved on to the right nipple. If he didn’t thrust into me now, I would either yell at him or start begging.

“When you look at other men, I want to kill them. If you cheat on me, I may. No more dates with other men, Nevada. I don’t care what the reason is.”

“Deal. No more kisses from other women.”

His tongue worked my nipple. His right hand slipped between my legs. His fingers dipped inside me. My head was spinning. My body grew hot and heavy. I needed a release. I wanted all of him.

He made a harsh male noise. His fingers brushed the sensitive bud of my clit. I jerked.

“You’ll live with me. You’ll sleep with me in our bed,” he growled. “Every night.”

“Let me go.”

He released my arms and I wound my left around him, worked my right low and let my fingers glide up and down the silken hardness of his shaft.

“Mmmm . . .” He kissed me again, thrusting himself into my hand.

“No other woman is going to call you Connor,” I breathed. “Only me.”

Connor grinned, a scary baring of teeth.

“You’re my Connor. I’m not sharing.”

“Deal. I love you. You are all I want out of this life. Marry me, Nevada.”

I kissed his lips, then his jaw, and whispered in his ear. “Yes.”

He thrust into me, his girth gliding in and stretching me. He filled me, deep and hard. It was more than I could take. The pressure stoked by his magic crested like a wave and drowned me. Climax gripped me in its delicious bliss, blocking out the world. I floated through it, that first moment of pure ecstasy stretching into eternity, and I spent it with my arms wrapped around Rogan, watching his eyes as the echoes of my orgasm rolled through him. Pleasure rocked me in waves. I couldn’t even talk.

Finally, the aftershocks faded. He kissed me and thrust again, deep and hard, building to a fast, savage rhythm. I matched him. It wasn’t gentle or soft. It was fierce, because that’s what we were. We gripped each other as another climax rocked me and then again, wrapped in magic, united by pleasure, and when he finally emptied himself inside me, I felt whole.

We lay in bed, wrapped in each other. By all rights, we should’ve passed out, but for some reason both of us were awake. I lay on his chest and looked at the stars above us. His hand brushed my arm. He did it unconsciously when he was thinking about something.

“Why did you let Shaffer in?” I asked.

“Because I’m a selfish bastard.”

I glanced at him, raising my eyebrows. He smiled.

“You want to assign all these altruistic intentions to me, but I want to be with you more than anything else. I’m ruthless when it comes to your safety, your happiness, and being with you.” He grinned again. “It’s too late to change your mind. You said yes.”

I kissed him. “How did you know that showing me off to Shaffer would make him run away?”

“Something he said during the dinner. He was very careful to specify that it wasn’t clear that you were stronger than him. A few other things he mentioned confirmed that underneath all that pretty hair and expensive clothes, he had some insecurities about his own place in the world. The way he spoke about Augustine, for example. He desperately wants everyone to see him as a powerful head of the family, in charge of his little empire and his family. He left himself vulnerable and I exploited it. I gambled that if he found out how powerful you really are, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was right.”

“I was never interested in Shaffer.”

“And now you never will be.” He gave me a self-satisfied smile.

“You’re terrible.”

“You already said yes,” he reminded me again.

“I remember.”

“The Keeper called while you slept,” Rogan said. “Your trials are set for tomorrow night.”

“Does it scare you that I’m Victoria’s granddaughter?”

“No.”

“You know you can’t ever lie to me.”

“I know.” He squeezed me to him.

“What happens when I’m old and wrinkled and I ask if you still think I’m hot?”

“You will always be hot. Besides, I’ll be old and wrinkled by then too.”

“I still don’t understand what the big deal is about declaring the intent to marry.”

He squeezed me to him. “Because once you declare it, our Houses will be tied together. You will inherit all my friends and my enemies. An engagement announced at the trials is almost never broken. You can never undo this, Nevada. Even if you refuse to marry me, nobody will ever be able to think of House Baylor without thinking of House Rogan. I want you to come out with as few obligations as possible. You don’t have to declare it at trials. In fact, I advise you to not say anything.”

He was still trying to give me an out.

“I love you,” I told him.

“I love you too.”

Rogan’s phone rang in the pile of his clothes. I sat up.

He jumped off the bed, pulled the phone out, and answered it. “Yes? . . . I’ll be right down.”

“What is it?”

“Adeyemi Ade-Afefe is downstairs. She says we’re in danger.”

Adeyemi Ade-Afefe was a short, black woman about my age. I had looked the family up after Rogan first mentioned them. They were of Yoruban descent, came from Nigeria, and the name of their House translated to “Crowned by Wind.” Adeyemi wore a white blouse with blue jeans. A gele, a head tie of shimmering grey and blue silk the color of clear sky, hid her hair, crowning her head in an elaborate knot. She looked at the world through big brown eyes and thin-framed glasses, and you instinctively knew that if she smiled, her whole face would light up. She wasn’t smiling now.

“You have to get out.” She made a short cutting motion with her hand. “Get out and evacuate the city.”

Sergeant Heart, Rivera, Bug, Rogan, and I crowded around her downstairs.

“What happened?” Rogan asked.

“Sturm moving the winds in place. You have to get out.”

“I thought Adepero said you didn’t want to get involved,” Rogan said.

“No, Father said we would think about it. We thought about it. We’re not going to help you fight a private war, but this is bigger than that.”

“How bad is it?” Rogan asked.

Adeyemi pushed her glasses back up her nose. “It will be the worst tornado we’ve ever seen. He will level this part of the city. He may level the whole city. I don’t know if there will be anyone left.”

“Is it an F4?” Rivera asked. “F5?”

“An F5 tornado has speeds greater than two hundred miles per hour,” Adeyemi snapped. “This will be over three hundred. This storm will rip buildings off their foundations, throw cars like baseballs, and tear down trees. It will bend metal, sever power lines, and dig trenches. Do I need to draw you a picture so you will understand?”

I walked ten feet through the doors into the street. A dense blanket of dark clouds churned in the sky, hiding the stars. Wind gusts pulled at my hair. I ducked back inside.

“Can you fight him?” Rogan asked.

Adeyemi hunched her shoulders. “Weather spells take time and preparation. The atmosphere is wrapped around our planet like a big blanket. It’s continuous. Everything is connected. If you make it rain somewhere, that means there will be drought in another place, which would’ve naturally gotten the rain or the moisture. That nightmare outside is the result of weeks of work. Sturm’s been manipulating weather patterns for a month at least. The spells used are so complex, it would take days just to draw the circles properly. I can stall him, but I cannot stop him. Nobody can stop him now.”

“So you knew he was doing this?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it’s one thing to create weather conditions for a storm and another to initiate one.” Adeyemi squeezed her hands into fists. “I didn’t think he would do it. None of us thought he would. This is . . . The loss of life will be catastrophic. This will be a national emergency.”

“Why now?” Rivera wondered.

That, at least, was obvious. “He knows we have the files,” I said. “He knows that sooner or later we will decrypt them and that Brian is now worthless as a bargaining chip. He wants to bury us. If everyone’s dead and the city is in ruins, nobody will care about the conspiracy. Can we prove that he’s the one responsible for the storm?”

Adeyemi shook her head. “Not unless we see him. Weather spells are untraceable, just like other magic. One could make a guess, but a guess wouldn’t be good enough to stand up in court or before the Assembly. You have to decide fast. We’re running out of time.”

The three men stared at Rogan. The question was obvious on their faces.

He looked at Adeyemi. “How long do we have?”

“An hour,” she said. “I can buy you maybe another thirty minutes.”

“We hit him first,” Rogan said, his face savage.

Rivera grinned.

Rogan pivoted to me. “What is House Baylor’s position in this matter?”

They were looking at me. It dawned on me that I was the Head of the House. I had to make the decision now. “House Baylor will render all necessary aid to House Rogan on and off the field.”

Rogan grinned. “Thank you. Heart, I want the plans for the Sturm family compound up.”

Heart turned and walked away.

“Rivera, I want everybody out of their racks and in full battle rattle in ten minutes in the motor pool with team leaders in the briefing room.”

Rivera took off at a run.

“Bug, take Ms. Ade-Afefe and get her whatever she needs to start working, then notify Diana and Cornelius and Rynda Charles.”

Rogan pulled his cell out of his pocket.

I took off for the warehouse. Behind me, Rogan said into the phone, “Lenora, we have a problem.”

I ran into the warehouse. It was just past eleven, and the light in the kitchen was on. I pressed the button on the intercom and said, “I need everyone in the kitchen now, please.”

In twenty seconds, Mom, Grandma Frida, Bern, Leon, and Catalina stared at me in the kitchen.

“Sturm is making a storm that will hit Houston in an hour,” I said. “Everything will be destroyed. I don’t know if the warehouse will survive. Our only chance is to hit him fast now. Rogan asked me what we will do. I told him we will fight.”

Silence claimed the table.

“If anyone would prefer to evacuate instead, now is the time,” I said.

Nobody said anything. I looked at Catalina. My sister bared her teeth at me. It was the kind of expression I would’ve expected from Arabella. “I’m coming.”

“Third rule,” Leon said. The Baylor agency had only three rules, and the last was the most important. At the end of the day we had to be able to look our reflections in the eye.

I studied their faces. They gazed back at me with grim determination. Baylors made strategic retreats when occasion demanded, but when push came to shove, we didn’t run.

“Bern, is everything backed up?”

He nodded. “All of our business records are stored on a server in San Francisco. Our personal records too, the photos, copies of documents, and all that.”

“Then we’ll have to operate as if our home will be destroyed. Everyone grab anything you can’t live without. We’ll meet back here in five minutes and go over to attend Rogan’s briefing.”

Shock slapped Catalina’s face. It finally sank in.

“But all of our things are here. Our whole lives are here,” my sister said. Her voice almost made my heart break.

Mom smiled at her. “They are just things, darling. We’ll get new things. Go. There is no time.”

The family scurried off.

I dashed up the stairs to my loft. My entire life was in this room. The last echoes of my childhood. If we failed, and even if we didn’t, it could still disappear. I spun around. All my little treasures: my pictures, my books, the stuffed toy dog named Trinity I had kept since I was a kid, who now rested on the shelf . . . What do I do? What do I take?

There was too much. I grabbed the picture of us. It was about ten years old, Dad, Mom, Grandma Frida, my sisters, and my cousins, all crowding into the same shot. I pulled it out of the frame, folded it, stuffed it into my pocket, and headed for the door.

Shoot.

I spun around, dropped to my knees, and pulled the ammo box out from under the bed. The Tear of the Aegean sparkled inside. I slipped the chain around my neck—it was the safest place I could think of—dropped the beautiful stone inside my T-shirt, and ran downstairs.