Branded (22 page)

He was seven years old, sitting at his grandparents’ dining table. He’d never liked this part of Christmas, and this year was worse than normal. His mom had been fretting all day. Asher looked up when his grandpa cleared his throat. “I’m glad you got rid of that idiot, Katey,” he said, addressing Asher’s mom. Asher stared down at his plate and rolled the peas with his fork.

“She didn’t get rid of Dad, Dad got rid of her.”

“Asher!”

“What! It’s true! And that’s why Mom’s always angry, ‘cause Dad said she’s a—” A slapping sound rang in his ear and something burned his cheek. Wide eyed, he stared at his mom, at her hand which hovered in the air beside his face. He pushed his chair back, got up and ran into the hallway.

“Can’t you get your son under control for one evening of the year?” he heard his grandfather say as he slipped into a random room.

“I’m sure it’s the genes.” Grandma’s voice. Asher backed farther away from the door and looked around for a place to hide. Seemed like he had run into his grandparents’ bedroom. When footsteps approached the door, he dove under the bed.

“Asher!” His mom entered the room and closed the door behind herself, “I know you’re in here.”

“Go away!”

She walked up to the bed, grabbed his legs and dragged him out.

“Lemme go!” He kicked at her, tried to get free until she grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him up against the bed frame.

“Stop that nonsense!”

He glared at her.

“And stop acting like I’m some sort of monster. Like it or not, I’m all you’ve got now.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Yeah? I don’t want you either, but guess what, nobody cares!” She was staring him right in the eyes as she said it. “That’s life, Asher, you don’t get what you want.” She let go of him and got up again. “What? You gonna cry now? Oh boo-hoo!”

Asher drew his knees toward himself and hid his eyes behind them. He took a deep breath. “I want Dad.”

“Tough luck. If your daddy wanted you, he’d be here right now.” She opened the door. “And if I don’t see you back at the table in five minutes, you’re grounded for the rest of the year.” With that, she left.

Asher rested his head on his knees, trying to get a grip. Crying wouldn’t make things better. It never did. So why couldn’t he stop?

The feeling stuck with him even as the memory faded. He had trouble remembering where he was, and what was happening. His head was a mess; he couldn’t think clearly. It was as if his thoughts had been run through a translator and converted into a language he didn’t speak. His head hurt, and so did his chest. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t unscramble the words.

A sharp pain shot through him and suddenly brought the world back into focus. Fox-Face stared down at him. The bastard had yanked Asher’s left arm up over his head, using Asher’s injuries against him.

“I got your attention now? Good,” Fox-Face said. “Answer me this, why should you care about other people when they don't care about you?”

“That’s just not true,” someone else said. Asher let his eyes trail to the left. Blind Guy. Was it true? Wasn’t it? Asher wanted them both to just leave him alone.

“Oh, you have no idea, elf,” Fox-Face said. “You hardly know your pet, do you?” He looked back at Asher. “You love burning things, don’t you? Isn’t that what you want to do?”

What he wanted to do? Sleep. For ten years or so. And then burn something. Something really big.

“You’ve got to admit,” Foxy said, “it’s what you were born to do.” Asher closed his eyes, and a thumb ran over his cheek, wiped away something wet he hadn’t noticed there. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

An image of a burning house, his parents’ house flashed before his eyes.

Oh God, not again.

But that was not the memory he was being dragged into. As his consciousness slipped, he found himself in their apartment, in his bedroom. Almost ten years old—and pissed off.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to throw. The pillow on the bed looked good. He picked it up and hurled it against the wall. Not finding anything else, he forced himself to take a deep breath. This was all wrong.

He had decided to stop caring about stupid things like Mom and Dad. There was nothing he could do about the way his mom ignored him, insulted him or blamed him for things that were out of his control.

It wasn't his fault her date hadn't gone well, not his fault that the stupid guy didn't want to date someone who had a kid.

He'd been born. And no matter what Mom said, he wasn’t going to feel sorry for that.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled. Once, twice. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

“Asher?” his mom called. “I told you not to leave you stuff lying around! Why can't you follow the simplest rules? You know I can't even blame Daniel for not wanting to trouble himself with you.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Asher tried to block her words out. What she was saying wasn't important, didn't matter.

A door fell shut in the hallway. The door to the living room, probably. So she was going to watch TV, was she?

Asher opened his eyes. It was all going to be alright. He glanced around his room. He didn't own a lot of stuff. When they'd moved here three years ago, they hadn't taken much from the old house. Most of his toys had burned in the fire. But that was alright; he was too old for toys, anyway. And he had something better.

He walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. There, inside, lay the shiny blue lighter he'd stolen from his mom last week when she had been out. She'd always forbidden him from touching any lighters or matches, but he was done playing by her rules.

He took the lighter and clicked it on, as he'd done all week, every time he was upset. And like all those other times, a weird feeling of calm settled over him at the sight of the flame. He clicked it on, off, hypnotized by the beauty of the little thing.

But calm wasn't all he felt. There was always something else too, a sort of urgency underlying the peace. This wasn't all he wanted to do. He had a lighter, and he had to use it. Not just play with it. This fire wanted to burn, and Asher would let it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing in his mother's room, in front of her bed.

The velvety blue dress she'd worn last night lay draped over the covers. Asher had seen her parade around in it in front of the mirror. She'd felt so pretty in it before going out. He was sure it was her favorite. And he was going to make it a little prettier.

Without thinking, he held the flame to the cloth, wanting to feed it.

A thin wisp of smoke rose up as the material smoldered under his fingers. Asher stared at the burn, transfixed. It spread from the corner, darkening the blue color, making its way across the rest of the hem. The smell burned in his nose, but Asher wasn't going to stop. Not before the flame had been fed. Not before it had eaten up all that burning inside of him.

“Asher!”

Someone called his name. Asher didn't look up or recognize his mom's voice before she yanked his arm and ripped the lighter out of his hand. He blinked at her through the fog in his mind.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouted.

Asher only smiled at her.

This time, as the memory faded, Foxy’s voice in his head was the only thing focusing him, keeping him awake. He was so damn tired his eyes were too heavy to open and thoughts were too hard to think.

“Looks like this is your limit,” Foxy said. “If I push any further, your mind might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.” Something like a small, precise needle sank into Asher’s forehead, threatening to go further.

“Whatever you do,” Asher found himself saying, “just do it quick.” He only wanted this to be over, whichever way. Foxy huffed.

“You’re no fun anymore.” A bit of the pressure lifted and Asher exhaled. Foxy let go, and Asher blacked out before he could even feel relief.

Chapter 23 - Sleepless Dreams

José exhaled as the link went dead. Asher was out. The damned flames were still burning though, and the fox was still around. So he kept grinding his teeth and waited for the fucking fox to fuck off.

Ketsu walked through the fire, coming over to him. José made himself sit still, even as his blood pounded in his ears. He wanted to punch Ketsu, but it wouldn’t help.

“Let this be a warning to you,” Ketsu said. “Next time I come in here and you still refuse to cooperate, we can have a repeat of this.”

“You’re going to hurt Asher to get to me?”

“I found your weak spot, didn’t I?”

José took a deep breath to keep himself from attacking the fox. “You’ll end up breaking his mind. You can’t risk that.”

“I don’t need his mind intact when I’ve got you to command him.”

“I’m never going to order him to kill.”

“You will.” That god-awful certainty in Ketsu’s voice made it harder for José to keep his fists to himself. But then the cell door opened and Ketsu stepped through before locking it from the outside. He stopped and gave a short laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“That you actually let this happen. You see, he was really starting to like you.”

Smart of Ketsu to step outside before saying that. José had never wanted to bash anyone’s face in as much as he wanted to bash Ketsu’s face in just then, and rational thinking would not have stopped him. Bars, however, did.

“You are so sick.”

“Me? Oh, I promise you, that dragon was broken before I ever laid a hand on him. I simply dug my fingers into the cracks. I do have to thank you for your contribution.”

“I am going to get out of here, and then I am going to make you regret this.”

Ketsu chuckled, and it was the most nerve-grating sound José had ever heard. “All this fuss about an idiot,” he said.

“He may not be the smartest person, but that gives you no right to torture him. I promise you, once I get my hands on you—”

“Promises, promises. You’ve lost this battle, elf. You only need to admit it now.” With that, Ketsu finally left.

The flames vanished, and José rushed over to where Asher lay motionless on the floor. He cradled Asher’s head in his lap, careful not to move him too much—and fuck the no-touching rule. Asher didn’t stir.

“I’m so sorry I got us into this mess. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.” Maybe Asher was an idiot, but he was
his
idiot, and José was going to take care of him. “I’m not going to let him do that again.”

He had no idea how he was going to achieve that, but he’d figure something. He had to. He’d rather cut his own hand off than bear witness to another session like that. When Ketsu had been inside Asher’s head, Asher’s emotions had taken over their link like a whirlwind that José couldn’t block. Shame, disappointment, anger, and underlying it all, an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The latter was always there, every time José tapped into the link, something second nature to Asher, but until it had become amplified enough to make José’s own blood run cold, he hadn’t recognized it for what it was.

“I’m sorry.” He stroked his fingers through Asher’s hair as if that wasn’t normally forbidden under threats of death. Asher’s issues probably went a long way back, and José couldn’t be the cause
or
the solution. But he hadn’t helped matters either. He’d thought of cutting contact with Asher when this was all over, hadn’t he? In the end he really wasn’t any better than all the other guys who’d fucked Asher. Worse maybe, because whatever they had, it went beyond an anonymous one night stand.

“He said you liked me… Made it sound like such a bad thing, too.” And maybe for Asher it was. If José was going to toss him. If Asher anticipated José was going to do just that. José couldn’t wait for Asher to wake up so he could set things straight between them. He wasn’t going to abandon Asher. Not in this world or the next.

But Asher was lying so still he may as well have been dead if not for his breathing. His magic level dropped low, too. Dragon regenerating.

“Take a bite from me if it helps,” José mumbled, trying to feed his own energy through the link. Fat lot of good his magic did him in here anyway.

He needed a way out.

Think. Think. Think.

But he was still thinking what felt like hours later, with all his muscles gone stiff and without a result—and without a change to their situation. Except that Asher moved every now and then about an inch or so. He’d come out of his dead-like slumber to something that seemed more like natural sleep.

José threaded a hand through Asher’s hair as Asher’s breathing fastened.

What are you dreaming of now?

Asher moaned, and it wasn’t a happy noise.

“It’s fine.” José laid his right hand on Asher’s arm. “Calm down.” It had worked last time, hadn’t it? “Imagine something nice, okay?”

Asher’s breathing evened out.

“There, that’s better.” Neither of them had wanted this bond-thing, but if José could use it to help, he would.

When Asher was back to normal, José let himself sink to the floor with his back, allowing his muscles to relax for a moment. He needed to think a little harder. He needed to figure this out.