Blaze (10 page)

But there was a nagging question in the back
of Kira’s mind—how? How had this woman faked her mother’s
appearance? How did she know so much about her mother’s life? Was
Kira just being stubborn again? Was she just screaming inside
because she got exactly what she had wished for, but realized too
late that it was a corrupted desire?

You can’t bring the dead back to life, Kira
thought but then corrected herself, you can’t bring the dead back
to life and expect nothing to change. After all, vampires were in
so many ways the living dead, but none of them, not even Tristan,
were the same as their living selves had been.

“Kira?”

Kira blinked. Tristan was standing in the
doorway of their room, looking down at her with concern.

“Are you okay? You’ve been standing outside
of the door for a few minutes, not moving, not really anything…” He
trailed off. Kira blinked again, then remembered the act.

“I’m great,” she smiled, knowing Tristan
would see it was insincere. But he didn’t. He took both of her
hands and led her inside. All the while, his eyes danced with an
electric charge, a surging burst of energy that Kira just couldn’t
copy.

“Don’t you see what this means?” Tristan
asked.

That my mother is dead, Kira thought, that
I’ve been the biggest fool in the world? But she didn’t say the
words out loud. Somehow, Kira didn’t think it was the answer he was
looking for.

Tristan didn’t wait for her answer. Instead,
he led her to the foot of the bed. Kira let him sit her down and he
knelt at her feet, still holding her hands.

“Kira, we can be together. Forever.” He
kissed her fingers and held her hands against his heart, smiling
from ear to ear. It was a full smile, showing all of his teeth.
Something Kira was normally happy to see, but not now. Not when she
wanted to die inside. Not when she wanted to confess that that
woman downstairs was not her mother—that her real mother was
probably dead. Not when she wanted to cry and release all of the
pain piercing her insides.

Tristan shifted his gaze from one of her
eyes to the other, shuffling back and forth, and tried to read her
expression. He thought she was confused.

“Don’t you see it? Your mother turned. You
can turn.”

Kira almost couldn’t bare the excitement
coloring his words. But she almost never saw him this open, so
happy and relaxed… so full of hope. And that was the only thing
that made Kira swallow her resounding no. Because even though Kira
wanted to let it all out, she couldn’t bear to fight with Tristan,
not when she was already so close to breaking and not when he was
the happiest she had ever seen.

But she couldn’t open her mouth to speak.
Instead, she let her body weight pull her down into his arms.
Tristan caught her mid-fall and they were hugging. And he was
lifting her into his arms, holding her like she weighed nothing at
all and spinning her around in circles.

Kira held him close and let silent tears
fall down her cheek. She buried her head in his shoulder to contain
her shuddering breaths.

But Tristan didn’t notice. His vampire
senses were too hyped up on adrenaline for him to process how
opposite their feelings were. Laughter bubbled out of his mouth,
loud and uncontainable, joyful and disbelieving.

Kira drank it in and let it fill her up,
pushing her sadness to the side. Suddenly visions were popping into
Kira’s mind, idle dreams she never really let herself believe
because of how impossible they were. Or how impossible they used to
be.

Traveling, that was what Kira had imagined
the most. Seeing the African grasslands with nothing to fear and
Tristan at her side. Staring down a lion while he watched on with
laughter in his eyes. Or kissing under the Eiffel tower, visiting
every ten years as an anniversary of sorts. Fifty years down the
road they would come back to England, ride the London Eye again and
Tristan could bore her by describing every single way the city’s
skyline had changed.

But maybe they would come sooner and, back
in that rose garden, Tristan might propose. He would slip a ring on
her finger—something simple, a single shimmering diamond. They
would laugh and kiss and he would twirl her around like he was
doing now. They would be perfectly happy, there in that rose garden
forever, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla petals and
eternity.

And they could get married. Kira saw it
clearly, a small ceremony with her family present. Her father would
walk her down the aisle, making sure not to step on her flowing
chiffon gown—something relaxed, perfect for the beach. Maybe she
would skip the shoes and instead let her toes dig into the sand as
she gracefully stepped closer to Tristan. His eyes would be as
clear and bright as the glistening water, and they would sparkle
just the same. She would take his hand and promise him forever.

And forever was what they could have. When
he ran, she would be at his side just as fast. They would be
equals, on the exact same side for once with nothing else to worry
about. Nothing would be forbidden, nothing would be judged. They
would fight, of course. Kira was too stubborn to let him get away
with anything. But then they would make up and that, Kira knew,
would be magical. It would just be the two of them. The rest of the
world would hardly exist except to make them happier for all of
eternity.

So Tristan continued to spin her around and
around, because time stopped mattering. They had too much time to
worry about wasting it. And with his laughter ringing in her ear,
Kira forgot everything about this night except for the sounds of
his joy and the dreams playing like a movie in her head, the
preview of a life suddenly possible.

By the time he collapsed on the bed with
Kira draped over him, she was giggling with him, drunk on the
endless possibilities before them.

Kira looked down at Tristan and cupped his
cheek in her hand. His smooth skin felt like silk against her
fingers and she let them drift into his dark hair, pushing it from
his face so she could see him clearly. With her other hand she
traced the line of his square jaw, ran her thumb over the contour
of his cheekbone. His eyes, framed with thick black lashes, were
turning lighter by the second, fueled by a growing hunger Kira
couldn’t dispute. Finally she glanced at the two thin, pink lines
of his lips and leaned down to cover them with her own.

Infused in that kiss was every ounce of love
Kira had ever felt for Tristan: the flutter of their first meeting,
the heart-stopping zing of their first kiss, the deeper warmth of
shared memories, and the passion of bonded moments.

Kira felt the same from him and they were
both lost in their feelings. The bed disappeared, the room
disappeared, the entire world disappeared, until all Kira could
sense was his skin on hers.

Much later, when Kira rested perfectly
content in Tristan’s arms, she wished only for sleep, not wanting
to think about the day before or the hours to come. She didn’t want
to think about anything except how perfectly happy she felt in that
moment.

But in sleep, her dreams did the thinking
for her.

And as her sleep deepened, the colors
dancing in the darkness of her closed eyelids transformed into an
image. Pink blushes became rosy flowers. Blue swirls flattened into
a rippling lake. Green beams sharpened into blades of grass. And
the blackness receded, condensing into the shadows of the tree she
and Tristan sat under.

The breeze against her skin felt like a
ghostly kiss. The soft lapping of minute waves along the shore
sounded like drums in her ears. She could hear cars driving miles
away. Above her head, a bird stepped along the branches of a tree,
crunching its little claws against the bark.

Tristan’s hand over hers was firm, but not
cold. For the first time, his fingers felt warm in hers and Kira
looked down at their pale hands, intertwined and identical except
for the difference in size.

Her hands looked white. Her gaze traveled up
white limbs, down to white toes. Her skin looked like stone. She
poked it with her finger. It was hard, like overworked unyielding
muscles. Kira wiggled her toes and Tristan laughed next to her.

He stood gracefully, moving his body like
liquid, completely comfortable in his form. He offered his hand,
ready to pull Kira to her feet, but she was already standing. She
stuck her foot out for balance, not used to this lightning
speed.

She smiled at Tristan and he tilted his
head, reading her expression even though Kira wasn’t quite sure
what her mind was thinking. His lips turned up into a smirk, his
eyes challenged her and before Kira had time to think he was
gone.

But not gone, just in front of her, racing.
Her legs pumped, chasing after him instinctively. Trees flew past
her in a blur, leaves slapped against her face but they didn’t
hurt. Sticks crunched under her bare feet, breaking with the
pressure.

Soon enough, she caught Tristan. She jumped
onto his back, latching her arms around his shoulders and wrapping
her legs around his torso, turning him into her pack mule. He
continued racing forward until they reached a clearing. Mid-stride,
he dropped to his knees causing them both to tumble to the ground
and roll over in a pile of hands and feet.

But her giggles filled the silence and she
pushed his body off of hers as if it weighed nothing at all.

And then a gust of wind came, one strong
enough to push the branches above Kira’s head completely to the
side, exposing her to the sun. Instantly her arms tingled with the
sting, like sharp pin pricks stabbing her all over her body. It
didn’t hurt per say, but it wasn’t pleasant. It was new though.

Curious, Kira stood up. She stepped forward,
past the line of shadows and into the open grass. The sting
strengthened. It felt almost like rain falling against her skin.
But these raindrops were made of boiling water and they burst
against her hands.

“Kira,” Tristan called from the wood, “come
back.”

But Kira didn’t look back. She continued to
stare at her hand. She turned it over, moved her fingers around.
She could almost feel the heat sinking into her skin, burning it in
miniscule patches you would need a microscope to see. But she could
see it. She focused her eyes, zooming her vision closer and closer
to the surface of her hand, until cells came into view and she
could see them shriveled up in the heat. One cell turned to ash,
only to be instantly replaced by another and another. The black
flecks were lost to the wind, but Kira saw them.

“Kira,” Tristan said again. “Come back and
eat.”

At the word eat, Kira’s nose picked up the
scent of sugar and honey. But she wasn’t in the mood for sweets,
and responding to her demands, the scent changed to that of a fresh
turkey club with a crisp pickle. Kira licked her lips. Lunch was
exactly what she needed.

And when she turned, there was a girl next
to Tristan. He cupped her wrist to his mouth and his eyes were
closed. Following the smell, Kira walked closer and picked up the
girls other wrist. She used her nail to cut a line in the girl’s
skin and fresh blood oozed from the wound. The smell dazzled her
senses. It was any food she wanted it to be and no food at the same
time.

In a daze, Kira leaned down to lick the
savory meal, but a voice stopped her.

“Wait!”

And Kira jerked her head to the sound. A
blonde boy stood across the clearing. Freckles danced along his
cheeks and his slightly off-kilter nose seemed oddly familiar to
Kira.

She could smell the salt on his cheeks. She
saw the wet lines that glistened in the sunlight.

Luke, the name came unbidden to her mind.
She rolled the L around her tongue, toying with the sound before
agreeing that it seemed right.

“Luke?” She asked.

“Kira,” he said sadly and started walking
across the clearing.

Kira stood up, food forgotten, and walked
toward him.

They stopped two feet apart and Kira
couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy in front of her. He seemed
so depressed. His eyes were curved downwards, as were the corners
of his lips.

“So you made your choice,” he spoke softly
but Kira heard every word.

“Choice?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in
confusion. What choice had she made?

“You know, I was worried about you turning
into a smurf on me, blue eyes and everything,” he laughed quietly,
almost like a sigh. “I didn’t think I had to worry about this.”

“About what?” Kira said. This boy, Luke, was
very strange. He spoke in riddles.

“I wish I could help you,” he said next, but
Kira had given up on understanding him. “I wish I could,” he
reached his hand over her heart, “but she’s not in there. My best
friend is gone and this is the only thing I can do to save
her.”

And Kira was on fire. His hand scorched her
skin, burning her to the core, melting her heart. She stumbled back
on unsteady feet. What was happening?

Flames burst from his palm, following her as
she fumbled backwards, trying to escape. A shout reached her senses
and Kira turned around blindly, just in time to see Tristan
drenched in flames, circled by four men with red hair. He was
trapped. Kira could see his skin melt. There was nothing she could
do to save him. But she tried, she ran to him, and another set of
flames slammed into her from the side, sending her flying in the
wrong direction.

When she looked up from the grassy patch
that she had landed in, everyone was gone and she was alone in the
clearing.

“Tristan!” Kira shrieked, but there was no
answer. “Tristan!” She yelled again.

“He’s dead,” came the reply from behind
her.

Kira stood and faced that sound. But it was
a girl. A girl with curly red hair. No curly blonde hair. No,
both.