Cursed by Fire (Blood & Magic Book 1) (4 page)

T
he light began to fade from his eyes as I crawled across the floor in an effort to reach my father. My nails were raw and bloody as I struggled to carry myself closer to him, digging into the rough wooden floors with each drag of my body.

“I’m coming,” I panted in between breaths. “Just hang on, Papa, I’m coming.”

I woke gasping for breath, drenched in a cold sweat, clutching the hilt of my dagger as if my life depended on it. I frantically looked around the room in search of our attacker while also taking stock of any injuries. I was perfectly whole.

“It was just a nightmare,” I told myself, though that did little to ease the ache in my chest over the remembered pain.
I miss you so much.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I pushed back the wet, loose tendrils of hair that had escaped my braid during my fitful rest and returned my dagger to its resting place beneath my pillow. Taking another deep breath I registered a hint of smoke.

Shit!

My eyes roamed over the room, frantically looking for the source of fire.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

I untangled my body from the sheets, tripping and falling into a heap on the floor before I was able to crawl out of my covers and retrieve an old shirt. I frenziedly swatted at the bedroom curtains with the old t-shirt but the flames continued to rise. Deciding there was no other choice, I ripped the curtains from the window and rushed to the kitchen.

Throwing the curtains into the sink and turning the faucet on all the way, I watched as the flames were snuffed and steam began to rise. The curtains ruined.

Turning the water off, I allowed my body to slide down the smooth wooden cabinets until my bottom met the cool tile floor. I folded my arms across my knees and rested my forehead against them. Closing my eyes I took several deep breaths, my heart still racing from the effects of the recurring nightmare. This was getting out of hand. I had thought the nightmares were fading, but something was bringing the memories back with a screaming vengeance and this was the third time this week they’d plagued me. I missed my parents but it’d been over six years now. They weren’t coming back and I needed to let it go. My subconscious needed to let it go and I needed to let Daniel’s death go. Not the case, no, I wouldn’t let that go. But his death was affecting me in ways I couldn’t allow to continue.

I breathed deeply in an effort to calm my nerves. Small tremors racked my body, the nightmare had shaken me more that I’d like to admit. My skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. A physical reminder that I needed to relax before I accidentally caught something else on fire.

I peeked at the wall mounted clock through half-closed lids. It was 4 a.m. I’d slept a solid twelve hours and while I was sure my body had needed it, it didn’t seem to have done much good.

I sat on the floor for a few moments before finally moving, feeling more tired than I had when I’d initially lain down. Using the countertop edge, I pulled myself up off the floor and shook the remaining strain from my body. Removing the ruined mess of curtains from the sink, they made a wet plop as they were dumped into the trash bin underneath the counter. Squeezing out the moisture before tossing them in the trash was more effort than I was willing to put into it.

Quietly closing the cabinet door I made my way back to my room and stripped off the cotton pants and tank top I’d been wearing, retrieving new clothing before padding into the attached bathroom. Setting the clothes on the vanity counter, my reflection haunted me in the mirror. Purplish smudges below my eyes and puffy cheeks greeted me along with a scowl, the result of a headache. Cupping my hands, I splashed cool water across my face, not bothering to close my eyes. The cold water was refreshing against my skin. Looking back up, I let the water drip off my lashes and debated whether showering was a good idea or not.

I really wasn’t in the mood to shower. Though, knowing once I stepped under the warm spray that I’d likely feel better. The effort showering took just sounded, well, exhausting. Sighing, I removed my bra and underwear and stepped into the tile enclosure, not bothering to wait for the water to warm. I instead turned it on full blast, hissing as the frigid water hit my back, all signs of exhaustion effectively extinguished.

After what felt like an eternity, the water finally turned scalding and I quickly adjusted the handles, bringing the water to a more comfortable temperature.

I could have warmed the water myself, using my pyro abilities but my body was fatigued, my mind unable to focus and I’d learned my lesson from the past. Fire mixed with a lack of concentration was never a good combination. Warming the water required precision. If I made it too hot, I risked melting the pipes. Something I’d done before when I’d been careless, assuming it would be a simple task.

I let the warm spray cover my body and inhaled deeply as steam began to rise, enveloping me in a warm blanket. When my muscles relaxed and my headache abated, I shampooed my hair and washed my body before turning off the water and carefully stepping out of the enclosure. Wrapping a thick towel around my body I proceeded to dry off before dressing in a pair of black cotton pants and a form-fitting green tee with a black tank underneath.

Wiping the fog from the mirror my fingers deftly plaited my hair leaving the ends to rest down the center of my back. I stared at my reflection for several moments, toying with the end of my braid. My hair reminded me of my mother. She’d had the same rich brown hair I did though our similarities ended there. My eyes were golden brown where hers had been a striking hazel. My complexion, more olive like my father’s, while hers had been a milky white, and my locks were smooth and straight. Hers had cascaded in curls all around her. I contemplated my hair again, knowing I should cut it. It would be the logical thing, but I could never convince myself to do it.

My father’s voice chimed in my ears, chiding me as a teenager over the length. He’d scold me and remind me that the length of my hair allowed an attacker to use it as a handhold against me, but my mother had loved my hair. She’d brush its length every night for me while growing up. I could still feel the phantom touch of her delicate fingers when I thought of her.

Shaking the memories away, I left the bathroom. Retrieving my discarded daggers and sheath I carefully placed them along my hips before shrugging into my leather jacket and pulling on my boots. Heading for the front door, I made sure to lock it on my way out and quietly jogged down the four flights of stairs leading to the apartment entrance. I was exhausted but awake and knew sleep would elude me. I might as well do something productive.

I took a quick jog down to the Hills Fitness Center, a short four miles west from my complex. The jog allowed me to clear my head of any remnants of my past, focusing instead on the cool crisp breeze hitting my cheeks and the lingering moisture in the air. I loved the smell of Spokane air, especially after it rained, and judging from the damp streets, the rain had only recently subsided.

My boot-clad feet thudded against the wet pavement as I turned the final corner leading to the gym. At the door I entered in the six-digit lock code and waited for the light to turn green before opening it.

Two months back James gave me his entry code, telling me I was welcome to use the facilities anytime, and I took him up on the offer on a regular basis. I enjoyed training when no one else was around to watch, it allowed me to really hit it hard, without worrying about what others would read into it.

Once inside I made my way through the receptionist area, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Using my memory as a guide to avoid stumbling into any equipment, I walked on silent feet towards the back of the gym and headed down an unassuming stairwell shedding my coat along the way.

At the base of the stairs I flicked on the lights, illuminating the large space. Before me stood the gym’s open training room. Each wall lined with a variety of weapons. Everything from swords and axes to maces and scimitars. Everything imaginable lined the walls, some more for decoration than actual use but the room reminded me of home nonetheless.

I ran my fingers along the hilt of several swords to my left before finally selecting a talwar; a Persian sabre with a wickedly curved edge that ran thirty-three inches in length with a six-inch hilt. I tested its weight in my right hand, judging it in around forty-seven or forty-eight ounces. It was crafted to be a thrusting sword, a blade meant to kill in a single strike with deadly precision. With my weapon of choice in hand, I headed to the center of the mat and faced off with my imaginary opponent, taking a moment to center myself. Closing my eyes, I pictured an enemy on an open battlefield. The breeze whistled in my ears and the scent of freshly cut grass tickled my nose. Taking the time to visualize the scene made it that much more real.

Far away from the gym and after inhaling another lungful of air, I opened my eyes and thrust the sabre in a fluid motion, following through with a strike while moving my feet to the left and twisting my shoulders to bring the sabre back for a second strike to my opponents back, coming from my right. I repeated the movement several times until my body remembered the steps without conscious thought.

With beads of sweat dripping down my brow, I changed up my movements and reversed my strikes.

After thirty minutes passed, confidence in my abilities to strike at a would-be assailant from either angle rose. I began to parry and thrust, alternating directions. Left then right, right then left, and then mixed my directions even further. Right, right, left. Left, right, left, and then right, left, right. Changing directions until no pattern remained.

Time blurred, no longer relevant in the haze of my imaginary battle. I was covered in sweat, my clothes sticking to the curves of my body. Deciding to give it one more round I made a swift thrust to my right when all of a sudden my gaze caught on a dark shadow in the corner of the room.

I abruptly stopped my forward momentum and caught the familiar steel colored gaze of a man wrapped in shadows. Dressed in a faded black tee and black denim jeans paired with matching boots, he looked predatory, lurking in the darkened corner of the room.

I winced, my arm lifting to wipe the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt, the dull ache in my neck and shoulders from the vigorous workout telling me I’d been down here for a while.

“I thought we were meeting up later?” I placed the talwar back in its resting place along the wall.

James made a look at his non-existent watch, looking up at me with a quirk of his brow. “It is later,” he said, his voice thick like honey along my senses.

“Right.” I took a seat on the bench holding my jacket. James tossed me a bottle of water he seemed to acquire out of thin air. Not bothering to question where he’d pulled it from, I twisted off the cap and drank half its contents in one long pull.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem.” He shrugged.

“So just how much later is it now? I seem to have lost track of time down here.”

James stepped farther from the shadowed corner to stand about six feet in front of me. Looking down at me from his high vantage point he said, “A little after eight a.m., I stopped by your apartment before heading here. When I knocked and you didn’t answer, this was your most likely destination.”

I nodded. The gym was practically my second home. I came by on an almost daily basis, sometimes multiple times in the same day. The smell of sweat and leather was comforting, reminding me of the home I’d lost.

“Puppy want to play?” I quirked a brow in question.

The frown on James’ face told me he didn’t find me at all funny. That was okay because I found myself hilarious.

“Shouldn’t we head over to meet with the Blackmores?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “We don’t have an appointment so it makes no difference. Besides, they’re grieving, I doubt they’ll be going anywhere.”

He seemed to ponder it for a few minutes. I was sore and if it was already eight a.m. that meant I’d been down here for close to three hours, but a sparring session with James was something I’d never turn down.