Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Titus
Flames dance over my cheek. I sit closer to the fire than most soldiers would. Unlike them, I can control the temperature. If I need to walk through fire, I can.
Tristen left to get us ale or, if we’re lucky, something stronger.
Flexing my fingers, I glare at my hands. I thrust them into the fire, feeling nothing but joy as my magic grasps the flames. But I don’t feel like myself. The skin that covers my body isn’t mine anymore. It was stolen, taken, and used, then given back to me.
I see Everett’s face in everything. In my dreams, in the clouds, even in the fire.
His words haunt me like needles constantly digging into my flesh. Urging me to take heed and acknowledge them.
“There you are,” a soft, feminine voice pierces through my dark thoughts.
I pull my hand back and stand. I’ve tried so hard to distance myself from my friends, but in a war camp, finding a moment alone is impossible. Tristen and I have taken it upon ourselves to walk further from the camp, deep into the woods where enemies used to lurk.
Some still are.
“Sit down, you oaf. We need to talk,” Ember says as she sits next to the spot I was just in.
She wiggles her hips as if the ground is as comfortable as a mattress. It is for us; our beds are not much thicker than the dirt.
“Thanks for warming the seat up for me.” She smirks, then snatches the flames.
Like me, Ember possesses fire magic, but unlike me, she can’t conjure it out of thin air.
Some vampires call her a lesser. Lessers cannot produce their own magic; they need their element nearby so they can grab it and manipulate it.
It doesn’t make them less, but in the eyes of rankings, it marks them as such.
“I was just leaving. Long day.” I grab the back of my neck and turn to leave, but she throws the flame at my feet, then wraps it around me.
Her eyes soften as the fire dance over her palms, warming her night-kissed skin. I watch, enchanted by her beauty, but I’m also worried I’ll fail her, that one day some monster will lock his eyes on her and steal her away from us.
“Sit down,” she repeats. “I just bathed, I swear. I don’t stink like death anymore.”
“We told you to keep that smell on you.” I smirk as I cross my arms. “It fends the men off.”
“And I told you,” she looks down, sweeping her fingers over the dirt, “I like men. Therefore, I bathe frequently now.”
If dragons were still alive, I imagine my exhale would sound like one.
To me, Ember will always be my little sister who needs protecting.
A child who would never have survived without us, and vice versa.
We’re a tight-knit group, like the ropes tying down the mast of a sail.
Remove one rope, and the sail doesn’t function the same.
I shouldn’t reply, but Ember is hard to resist. “I’m tired.” I wave my hand and kill the flames, cutting off her magic.
Her cheeks turn a burnt red color as she stands. “How long have we known each other, Titus?” She crosses her arms, which pushes her breasts closer together.
A reminder that she isn’t a child anymore.
Neither am I.
When she first got breasts, she used to bind them, but one night, Ryker caught her in the act; he said her ribs were covered in bruises from how tightly she was pulling the wrappings. She told us she was scared we would treat her differently.
We put an end to that—fast. We made an oath and cut ourselves so we had scars in the same place. It was hard to control our natural healing abilities, but we managed to do it, ensuring the scar would not fade. A symbol that formed a unit; each line represented one of us.
The scars were nothing fancy, a simple hexagon over our hearts; we were kids with semi-sharp blades.
“I’ve seen you after a battle,” Ember says.
“I know you. You always seek solitude; you beat yourself up after those you killed. Unlike other soldiers, you don’t boast about battlefield kills.
You, Tristen, Ryker, Cyrus, and Nero, we’re all the same.
People, not weapons. You think Ryker, Cyrus, Nero, and I haven’t noticed a change in you and Tristen since this last battle? ”
This is also why I’ve tried to keep my distance. I don’t want to involve them. I didn’t want to involve Tristen either, but I had no choice after I used Everett’s magic, wrapping him in a time bubble, moments after he found me on the battlefield.
“What’s going on? You never take it this hard,” Ember says softly.
“I killed a prince,” I mutter.
“And he died a man.” She shrugs. “Crowns make no difference in the end.” Ember licks her lips.
We were forced to be child soldiers, but unlike the others, our friendship kept our hearts whole. We still have hope, whereas our fellow soldiers only have a thirst for battles and blood.
We’re all very protective of Ember. Her beauty captivates the soldiers. That’s why we made sure she was skilled with a sword. Fuck, she’s better with a blade than I am.
I remember when she was tossed into our sleeping quarters. The army didn’t care that she was a female forced to sleep with boys. We were all kids. That changed when we hit puberty, and other guys tried to sneak into our rooms to get to her. They lost some fingers in the process.
When Ember first arrived, she had no name.
Her mother worked at a brothel but died during childbirth.
They just called her kid. Once King Galen claimed her city, they recruited all eligible children for the army.
Made no difference whether the child was male or female.
Hands are hands, and they can all hold weapons in King Galen’s eyes.
He knows what he’s doing. He takes kids who are invisible and makes them feel loved.
He gives them a home, food, shelter, friends, and a purpose.
For years, Ember only allowed us to call her Kid. I think it was her way of trying to remember home. But then we came into our magic. She was drawn to the embers within my fire. The pretty glowing sparks on the verge of life or death. She was always playing with them, so the name Ember just stuck.
Ember looks long and hard at me now. Her brown hair is mixed with red strands, creating a pretty chestnut color in the sunlight, but at night, it looks more molten, dark, and brewing. Her hazel eyes are more golden orange than brownish green.
Her hand reaches out to touch me. I jerk back. “Don’t!” I can’t risk her touching me. What if Everett’s magic flares and grabs her?
I have zero control. None. I’m a monster with teeth and claws that will destroy.
Her hand jerks back and hovers in the air. “I know what lies look like, Titus. They resemble a needle and thread. They sew us shut, stitch us up. Let me open you up again. Talk to me,” she pleads.
“I don’t want to talk. I want to be left alone,” I snap as I frantically look through the woods, hoping to spot Tristen.
Ember’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
“Like you said, some kills take time. I’m asking you to give me space.” I step back.
Please, Ember, drop this.
She’s not going to, so I say something I regret.
“I don’t need a mother.”
Her chest sinks in from her deep inhale. “Good,” she bites, “because I’m not one.” She spins on her heel and leaves.
I close my eyes. I want to run after her. Instead, I go and sit next to the dead fire. Soon, Tristen finally returns with a bottle of ale. “I spotted Ember,” he says as he joins me and uncorks the bottle.
“I had to push her away.”
He nods and hands me the bottle. “I sent Nero after her.”
I blow out a breath. “How’s Ryker?” I change the subject.
“The healer said he only needs to stay one more day before he’s released. He’s almost fully regenerated his magic. Fucker can’t die.” Tristen’s smirk tries to erase the worry in his eyes, but I know better.
We came so close to losing Ryker during the last battle.
A poisoned fae arrow struck him. He pulled it out and fought on, but the poisoned tip stayed inside, spreading the venom.
He was less than an hour from the point of no return.
He underwent surgery to remove the arrow and received a blood transfusion.
A vampire’s magic takes weeks to regenerate after such an experience.
“I’m going to lose everything, Tris. I have to push them all away. Ember, Ryker, Cyrus, and Nero. You, too. I can’t grasp the magic Everett forced upon me. I can’t control it.”
“You will,” he attempts to reassure me.
“It’s different from my vampire magic.” My fire magic was like a puppy: eager to come out and play, but if scolded, it obeyed me.
Everett’s magic is like… a behemoth lurking in the shadows. I never fully see it, only flashes as it reaches out and grabs a hold of me. It feels so enormous and infinite, I can’t wrap my hands around it. I feel like I’m the dog being trained, not the other way around.
It has no leash to grab and hold, nothing to tug it back. It runs wild and free, like time itself.
“I would presume.” Tristen takes the bottle from my hand and drinks half of it.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “How do you sound so chill?”
“I have an idea,” he announces as he scratches his scalp. We had to cut it short before the battle. Tristen detests his short hair; he says it makes his scalp itch. “But first, light the fire. My toes are getting chilly.” He wiggles his boots and offers me a goofy grin.
I gently slap the back of his head. “Chilly?” I push my magic out. The hot wood crackles as it catches flame again.
“There are no women to warm my bed, so yeah, I’m cold.” He sticks his hands out near the fire, then he uses his magic to encase us in his shadows. “I agree that you have to find a way to control Everett’s magic,” Tristen starts. “So let’s find a way.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We find a fae to help us.” He flexes his fingers, pushing the warmth between them.
“Find a fae? They’re still our enemy.”
He looks at me. “Were our enemies.”
“What are you saying?”