Chapter Twenty-Two
Josh
Bright orange colors the black horizon. Trees tower over the blaze like specters, crackling with the heat. I stare, a chill coursing through my veins.
Ares, no! I’m coming for you.
I start toward the fire. A pair of strong hands grips my shoulders, fingers digging painfully into the muscle. “You aren’t going anywhere, Josh.” The poisonous voice ripples over me, sending cold apprehension slithering along my spine.
No! I struggle. I have to reach the cabin and save Ares before it’s too late. “Let me go! I’m going to save him!” I have to, or I’m going to die. At least part of my soul will shrivel forever.
“Him?” Mom sounds oddly detached. “You mean Ares?” She laughs, and her genuine humor stokes my fury.
“You think it’s funny?”
“No. It’s just that… He’s not there. I wouldn’t let my own child burn in a fire. I’m not that cruel.”
“I don’t believe you.” I spit it out. Every word from her mouth is a lie.
“Check for yourself.” She presses her cool cheek against mine.
I shiver, then turn to glare at her. A cold smirk twists her lips.
Her blue eyes glow with glee in a face carved with delicate, elegant lines.
But her beauty isn’t the type that’s warm and inviting.
It’s the kind that leaves you frozen in fear.
She tilts her head toward the fire and pushes me toward it.
As we get closer, the fiery heat sears my skin.
The person visible through the narrow door is—
“Klein!” I scream her name, but she doesn’t move. My heart stops; panic clenches at my neck. She’s tied to the wooden chair, head lolling and curls sticking to her skin. The fire turns her face an eerie shade of orange-red. She’s in the same T-shirt and boxers I saw her in this morning.
“Klein!” I call out again. The wind from the flames stirs her hair, but she remains motionless.
I start to rush toward her, but Mom’s grip grows stronger, tighter…until my shoulders creak. My struggles only seem to add to her strength. “Damn you, let go!”
“I didn’t bring you here just to have you run to your girl.”
Jesus. I blink, trying to concentrate. Mom lies—and manipulates. She has to know if Klein’s truly harmed, she doesn’t have any leverage over me. But at the same time, Klein’s too still, like a corpse—
My hands begin shaking. “Is she—?” I swallow the next word. I can’t continue.
“Dead?” Mom lets out a derisive huff. “Do you want to save her?”
“Of course!”
Mom tsks. “I told you, you’re the most like me, but you always resist. You want to be like your father and pretend to be nothing like me. You look at me like I’m the enemy, but I’m not. Do you think your father is a capable man, Josh?” Her fingers dig deeper.
I hide the wince. No way am I letting her witness the pain she’s causing me.
“He couldn’t save you. Or your brothers. But you…you could be different. Embrace your true self. Make me proud, demonstrate to the world what you’re capable of.”
The flames swell around the cabin. She snaps her fingers, and Kenna emerges from the woods to my left and throws several cans full of gasoline into the cabin.
They spill, leaving long, wet lines between me and Klein.
Greedy flames immediately consume them, creating walls that are already to Klein’s waist. The edge of the fire singes her hair, the pungent smell filling my senses.
No, no, no! I kick Mom in the gut, hard. She grunts, letting go, then laughs. “Good. Now you’re acting like a real Dunkel! I always knew it was in you!”
I run toward Klein. Kenna lunges for me; I shove her away. She lands in one of burning pools of gasoline and her clothes catch fire instantly. She starts rolling around, screaming.
The blaze at the door is too strong, and I can’t reach Klein at all. For some reason, there seems to be an invisible barrier between us.
“Embrace your true self, Josh. If you want to save her, you have to be like me.” Mom’s laugh brims with triumph.
I shudder with distaste and nausea, but clench my teeth. “I’ll never be like you, you fucking sociopathic bitch!”
That only makes her laugh harder. I take three steps back, then sprint into the wall of fire, ready to incinerate myself if that’s what it takes to save Klein.
Hot air burns my lungs. My skin bubbles from the unbearable heat, every square inch throbbing with agony. I grit my teeth.
“Klein, Klein!” I try to call out, but struggle to make any sound. It feels like somebody rubbed sandpaper along the inside of my throat.
Desperate, I stretch my arms, my fingertips just brushing her hair. My foot catches on a short log on the floor. I fall, hitting the ground hard with my elbow and chest. The impact is jarring—
I gasp. Icy air fills my lungs, making me twitch.
I blink in the darkness, my cheek on the cool hardwood floor. Sweat has created a clammy film over my body. The A/C hums softly. My knee aches. Probably hit the floor with it, too, when I fell.
I fumble for the phone on the nightstand and check the time—four thirty-two a.m.
My heart is still racing. I rest my head in my hands, take a few breaths, then scrub my tongue over the edges of my teeth, trying to expel the acrid taste of burned wood in my mouth. It doesn’t work—almost as though I really was in a fire trying to save Klein.
I push myself off the floor. Count to ten slowly, willing my heart to settle. But it continues to pound at the same rapid pace. The image of Klein, tied to the chair—
I have to check to make sure she’s safe.
Exhaling roughly, I throw on a robe, open the double doors to my bedroom and step into the hall with its faint scent of beeswax. There’s no extra heat here. The night-lights glow softly just above the floor as they always do.
Everything’s the way it should be. No sign of fire.
The door to Klein’s room is closed, a barrier from her like the fire in my dream. There’s a sudden urge to smash it down, but I rein myself in. Don’t want to scare her at four thirty-two in the morning. And I certainly don’t want her thinking I’m crazy.
I inhale and exhale, then roll my shoulders. The muscles behind my neck are tight; I stretch them a little, but it doesn’t help. I move across the space between our rooms, my bare feet making no sound on the comfortingly cool floor. Very carefully I turn the knob and push.
The door opens silently, the dim light from the hall providing some meager illumination. I wait for my eyes to adjust.
Klein is curled up in bed, the blanket wrapped around her, still as a kitten in sleep. I stare at her, looking for signs of life. Finally, she shifts a bit.
Relief washes over me in a sweet tide. Of course she’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be fine? My knees loosen a bit and I let out a soft breath. She’s under my roof—and under my protection. Mom wouldn’t dare. I won’t let her toxic presence touch Klein.
I turn away and start back to my room, then notice something on the floor. I pick it up, then blink. A pair of small panties. The soft cotton drapes over my fingers and palm perfectly. The fabric smells faintly of Klein.
My pulse picks up. Heat rushes through me. I look toward her, and just then she flips over, kicking the tangled sheets. She’s still in my shirt. Her fingers stroke her collarbone. “Josh,” she murmurs dreamily.
I freeze. Did she notice me? But then she shifts again, and I realize she’s still asleep.
What kind of dream is she having to whisper my name like a lover? Is she reliving the flowers? Or what we did in the kitchen after I gave her the flowers? Am I kissing her? Doing more?
I want to know what makes her sigh like that. I want to make her sigh, make her beg and scream and quiver with pleasure.
I glance at the panties still in my hand. Did she, thinking of me, take them off because they got too wet for comfort?
My dick grows painfully hard as I imagine her warm, naked body under the sheets—and in my shirt.
She sighs softly, and all my blood drains to my cock.
She sounded just like that when she said my name for the first time in the kitchen.
I so desperately wanted to say, “The hell with dinner,” but she wasn’t really sober enough to consent.
She barely processed anything while we ate, either.
Bet none of my compliments registered. Her yakisoba was better than Akiko’s—mainly because she put plenty on my plate and used a generous amount of pork.
Klein shifts. The woman is torturing me, seducing me even in her sleep, as naturally as breathing. I want to kiss her, see if she’s receptive, but I should probably do the honorable thing and let her sleep in peace.
You’re no prince on a white horse trying to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss.
I spin around, pad out silently and close the door behind me.
I lean against the wood, the back of my head dropping against it.
The air in the hall is too hot, and my groin too tight.
My dick is so swollen it’s touching my stomach.
I make a fist, and realize her panties are in it.
The top of my skull prickles with heat. I should give them back, but I simply can’t go back in her room.
I’m a man, not a superhero.
Okay, what to do? I start toward the gym, so I can pummel Mom’s face on the punching bag. But my dick won’t die down. It throbs like if I don’t do something about its condition, it might just break.
Biting back a curse, I turn around, enter my room and close the door.
The clammy fear from the nightmare is gone, replaced by searing heat.
It’s not even five in the morning. I should try to squeeze in some extra sleep before heading to work, but it won’t work.
A different kind of restlessness throbs in my veins.