Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
QUINN
Most people avoid driving out into the desert, period. Much less when their activities might turn their car into a roiling fireball of unusable destruction.
I make sure only to travel as far as I know I can walk back to civilization if the worst should happen.
If I do demolish my transportation and my means of communication during this practice session, then at least I know I won’t die.
A normal, non-Elemental human might because of sun exposure and heat exhaustion.
Me? I’ll just have a cranky, hungry hike to the nearest gas station.
Hopefully not in the nude.
I haven’t seen another car in an hour, and the last building I passed was a good ten miles back. Which means I’m—cross my fingers—safe to go about my fiery business.
Dust rises in a burnt-orange cloud as I pull off to the shoulder, driving a short way into the desert. Not far, but enough that I’m hoping no one spots my Jeep and tries to tow it.
Then I hike.
Again, not far. I’m not worried about the skin-blistering temperature or anything.
But I do have a habit of getting lost. I’m good wandering around the sandy landscape as long as the only danger is the heat.
Despite my goddess ancestry, I can still easily die from lack of food and water if I’m stuck out here for multiple days.
I might not be human, but I am mortal.
Dodging the occasional cactus, I try not to consider how painful the walk back will be if my boots get scorched to pieces.
“I can control it. I know I can.” I mutter the words to myself and the small lizards that scurry away at the crunch of my boots.
When I’ve almost lost sight of my car, I come upon what I’ve been searching for. The rock is big enough and flat enough for me to sit on if I cross my legs. The pose is preferable anyway, seeing as how I’m trying to get into a sort of meditative state.
I know one of the things that helped Cat gain control of her rage-induced powers was immersing herself in the world of yoga. She tried to teach me the structured breathing and meditation practices, but I found the sitting and doing nothing to be a major snoozefest.
Numbers have always been the calming aspect of my life. When sexy thoughts creep into my mind, I drown them out with calculus. But I can’t focus on equations when August is kissing me.
So, here I am, in the middle of nowhere, nothing to distract me, an entire day to practice.
I make sure no bugs or other creepy crawlies are in my general vicinity before settling myself, eyes closed.
First things first. I set a base of calm. I count to eight as I breathe in and eight as I breathe out. Over and over again. Just like Cat taught me.
Boring. But I do it.
I try to clear my mind of the emotional turmoil of these last few weeks.
With my mental hands, I push aside the devastation from discovering I ruined a decent portion of August’s ice cream supply.
I tamp down on the insecurity of his original rejection at the pool party.
I avoid the doubt that I’ll ever have full control of my powers, therefore leaving me to live a lonely, romance-free life.
Instead, I force my brain to do nothing more than follow the count of my breathing.
The practice seems to be working, and when I’m sure my mind has been relaxed for a few minutes, I let in a few specific thoughts.
Thoughts about August. The way his hands felt, trailing over my body. The way his mouth fit perfectly against mine. The taste of him, mixed with the cinnamon of the ice cream. The refreshing coolness of his bare skin rubbing against mine.
How it felt to have him inside me.
Heat unfurls in my chest, the fire hungrily eating up the fuel of my lust-soaked memories.
And as the fire rises, I envision wrapping my arms around it, pulling the flames in close to my chest so they only exist within my body. Denying them the freedom to spill out into the world.
At first, I experience a spike of triumph that my hold on the power is working.
But I quickly realize I don’t need to use my arms to contain the force. I need nothing more than a slightly cupped hand around a candle flame. The heat of my desire is entirely manageable rather than an uncontrollable onslaught.
And that’s a problem.
I need the full inferno to rise up in me. Because it will if I ever allow myself to be intimate with August again. If I can’t bring forth that mass of heat, then I don’t have the chance to learn how to fight it.
When I finally open my eyes, the sun has shifted positions. A glance at my watch shows I’ve been practicing for two hours.
Two hours of getting nowhere.
“Goddess-damn it.” The sweltering air evaporates my words.
At least Cat will be happy to hear I’ve figured out how to meditate.
Across the way, on a rock, sits a tiny lizard.
“Stop staring at me,” I grumble, shooting the reptile a scathing glare.
The thing’s tongue sneaks out and licks its own eye.
“Ugh! Gross. Get out of here!” I wave my arms in what I hope is an intimidating display. The creature scuttles away. “Weird-ass lizard,” I mutter at its retreating form.
This isn’t going to work.
I gaze around at the barren landscape. The terrain holds a certain kind of beauty, with its rusty colors and forbidding plant life. Unfortunately, this desert is not sexy in the slightest.
Thoughts of August will only get me so far.
It’s him, the actual man standing in front of me, that revs my engine until it combusts.
I wonder how weird it would be for me to ask Sammy to try and get me a shirtless photo of August. One I could bring out here and stare at and maybe use to call up the fire storm.
That wouldn’t be odd. Right?
Maybe if I stuck my hand down my pants and started to get things going …
The lizard is back.
“Fine!” I stand up and kick a small rock toward the Peeping Tom. “I’m going, you creep!”
Today was a giant bundle of complete uselessness.