Blazing Inferno (Mated by Fire #3)

Chapter 1

One

IZZY

When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares.

Horribly graphic nightmares that caused me to jerk upright in bed, my pulse hammering and my palms slick with sweat.

Of course, it didn’t help matters that I always found myself waking up in a different bed.

In a different house.

With a different family.

I don’t remember what I used to dream about. Evil clowns, maybe? Aliens taking over the world? Masked murderers slashing my neck? All I knew was this pronounced, all-encompassing terror that siphoned the breath from my lungs and made it difficult to think coherently.

All of this comes rushing back to me as I sit upright in bed. Pulse hammering. Palms slick with sweat.

What did I dream about this time? Something about…witches. And Grayson.

I blink, attempting to orient myself, desperate to clear the fog from my brain.

Where am I?

What foster home is this?

The room is small and impersonal, reminding me of a furnished college dorm. There’s a twin-sized bed, an armoire, and a desk, all of them carved from a light-brown wood. A fluffy white rug dominates the center of the room.

Aside from all of that, there’s nothing else I can see. No clothing spilling out of the armoire. No books balancing precariously on the desk. No stuffed animals on the bed.

Huh?

I glance down at myself in dismay, surprised to see I’m wearing jeans and a sweater instead of a pair of pajamas.

What the fuck?

I bring a hand to my forehead and rub at the skin there, hoping to alleviate the pulsating pain.

Then, all at once, memories come rushing back to me like a dam exploding.

Everything that happened wasn’t a horrific nightmare.

It was real.

Oh god.

It was real.

I throw myself out of bed and race towards the door, unsurprised to find it locked. Fuckers.

“Let. Me. Out!” I pound my fist against the wood, but only silence greets me on the other side.

This is not how I thought my first meeting with my Aunt Delaney would go.

I lower my forehead to the door and will breath back into my lungs.

Think, Izzy, think.

I was at a barbecue with Christian and the rest of my mates when gunmen appeared. The shifters eventually fought back and won, killing the attackers in the process. One of the men followed and tried to hurt me, but I managed to get the upper hand.

But, before then, I discovered that all of the gunmen weren’t human like we initially suspected but vampires who had starved themselves. They wanted the shifters to believe they were human Hunters.

But why?

To start a war?

I finally reconnected with Grayson, my vampire lover, only to be found by a coven of witches. The apparent leader—otherwise known as the Mother—is my aunt. She kidnapped and took me…here. Wherever here is.

Where’s Grayson? Is he hurt? Do the witches have him as well? What will they do to a vampire?

I won’t let them hurt him.

Desperation is a funny motivator. It makes you erratic while simultaneously steeling your resolve and hardening your heart. After all, everyone needs someone to fight for. That person can be yourself or someone you love.

Or both.

I lower myself to my knees in front of the door and peer at the keyhole. I used to pick locks constantly when I was a child—it’s amazing the things you learn when you’re forced to rely on only yourself to survive a discordant world.

I grab a bobby pin out of my hair, straighten it out, and then stick it into the diminutive hole. As I work, I allow my mind to wander, traveling down a path I’m not sure has a visible exit.

I think of…everything. Everyone.

Hale and Gerry, my foster fathers who have shown me nothing but love and respect since I first arrived on their doorstep with a bag of clothes and a chip on my shoulder.

Jake, who recently discovered he was a supernatural himself and not truly alive.

Lissa, who still doesn’t know who she is or how she fits into this strange, frightening world.

Kyle and Silas, my birth fathers, though I’m not certain they’re aware that I know who they are to me.

Desiree, my closest female friend who is fated to go feral because she doesn’t have a mate or a pack.

Ansel, a warlock who has weaseled his way into my heart despite his prickly demeanor.

And I think of my mates.

Christian. Ethan. Emery. Reid. Ashton. Grayson.

When I last saw Christian, he was… God, it was like he didn’t even recognize me. All I saw peering back at me was the savage lethality of his wolf. Is the man still somewhere inside? Or have I lost him for good?

What about the others? I didn’t see Ethan, Emery, or Reid when the gunshots began. Are they safe? Would I even know if they weren’t?

The only saving grace is that Ashton is okay. I may not like the asshole, but I don’t want to see him dead.

All thoughts of my mates momentarily cease when the lock clicks. I pull the bobby pin back with a triumphant smile and then shove it into my back pocket. I have no idea if I’ll need it again.

Straightening, I reach for the doorknob and push it open—but at the same time, someone enters the room. I dodge to the side, barely managing to keep myself from getting a face full of wood.

I blink up at the intruder, all thoughts of escape dissipating, pushed back by my mounting shock.

“Amanda?” Incredulity hitches my voice in pitch.

Amanda Highland offers me a tentative smile as she steps farther into the room, shutting the door behind her.

My social worker looks exactly as I remember her—dark hair pushed back in a severe bun and bright-red lips pursed like she ate something sour, even with her attempt at a smile. She wears a fitted blazer over a white blouse and a dark pencil skirt.

I remember Hale and Gerry mentioning that she’s a witch, but seeing her here…in person…

“Hello, Isabella.” Though her words are curt, her smile is warm. Genuine. A little frayed at the edges, though, but I’m not surprised.

I wouldn’t consider her a “smiler.”

“W-what?” I blink and then shake my head, wondering if this is some strange hallucination. Did that barbecue have pot brownies? “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help you prepare,” Amanda answers, moving to lean against the edge of the desk.

She folds her arms over her chest.

“Prepare?” A fierce wave of anger washes over me, capsizing coherent thought. “You’re a part of this kidnapping scheme, aren’t you? What the fuck do you guys want from me?”

Her eyes widen in shock, and she straightens, her arms falling back to her sides. “Izzy, no. You got it all wrong. You’re not a prisoner here. You’re a guest.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “So I can leave at any time?”

I flick my gaze towards the closed door. Is it locked again? Do I dare try and find out? Will she stop me?

Amanda nibbles on her lower lip as she seems to consider her words. “All new witches and warlocks are required to meet with the coven and—”

“I’m not a witch,” I interrupt, balling my hands into fists. “Didn’t you say that yourself? I don’t have any magic or whatever. I can’t wiggle my fingers, say ‘bippity boppity boo,’ and turn a pumpkin into a carriage.”

“Your mother was a very powerful witch,” Amanda says evenly, her eyes turning glazed.

I wonder if she’s thinking about my mother. Did she know her well? The thought causes a lump to manifest in my throat and a strange, prickly heat to invade my body.

“It stands to reason that you have magic as well…even if you don’t know how to use it.”

“I don’t—” But my protest is interrupted by Amanda stalking towards me, fury etched across her face. A cold wind tiptoes up my neck as I suck in a contradictory scorching breath.

She lowers her voice to a whisper, each word curt and concise. “Listen to me, Isabella. I am doing what I can to protect you, but you need to help me out here. Meet with the Trinity, listen to what they have to say, and then you’ll be allowed to leave.”

She flicks her gaze over my shoulder, towards the closed door. “If you put up a fight, they won’t hesitate to hurt you. Do you understand that?”

I blink at her in alarm. What I thought before was fury I now realize is…desperation.

Fear, even.

“Are the witches really that bad?” I ask, keeping my voice soft in an attempt to dull the sharp edge of my anger.

Something in Amanda’s expression shifts, and she turns away from me with a pained sigh. “Just…please, Izzy. Please. Let me help you.”

I can’t remember the last time I ever heard Amanda Highland say “please” to me.

Maybe never.

“First, tell me this—is Grayson okay?” I demand.

Amanda nods stiffly. “The vampire is fine. Probably still sleeping soundly in the woods right about now.”

Relief loosens some of the knotted muscles in my shoulders. Grayson’s okay. He’s alive.

I want to ask about my other mates, but I know Amanda won’t have the answers. Besides, the last thing I want to do is show her my hand. If the witches don’t know about my attachment to the shifters, then I intend to keep it that way. And if they do…

Well…

I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask, straightening my spine.

Relief splays across Amanda’s face, and she releases another breath. “The Trinity will ask you questions. Answer the best you can. Do not lie. The Crone will be able to tell if you do.”

“What type of questions?” I ask, frowning.

“Probably about your past. Your foster family. Your magical abilities—or lack thereof. Just tell the truth, and you’ll be fine.”

I fold my arms over my chest as unease skitters across my skin and discordant notes scream like alarm bells in my head. “And what happens if I say an answer they don’t like?”

Amanda meets my gaze with what appears to be great reluctance. Her lips purse, forming a perfect O, and her eyes turn haunted, plagued by demons I can’t see.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Isabella.” She shakes her head slowly. “You don’t want to make enemies out of the Trinity.”