Chapter 27 Jackson #2
It was. It was my family. Again, I looked down at my sister, and that warm sense of belonging, love, and hope filled me once more.
The smile died on my lips when I remembered that not everyone was safe, that there was someone else I loved who was in danger.
Tearing my eyes from the baby, I looked at Christian.
“Shyanne.”
His smile slipped away as well, and he turned to look back at the raging inferno the house had become.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
My eyes darted from my sister to the house and back several times before I finally said, “I don’t know.”
“Let me take her home,” Christian said at last, holding his arms out. “I’ll get her there safely.”
The last thing I wanted was to hand her off to someone else.
I’d spent all this time and effort trying to save her, and now that she was in my hands, giving her away—even if it was to someone I trusted with my life—felt a bit like a betrayal.
Christian must have seen my indecision. He knelt and put a hand behind my knee, pulling my forehead to his.
“You’re my brother in all but blood,” he said. “That means this little girl is family. Look at my eyes.”
I tilted my gaze up to meet his.
“I will die to protect her,” Christian said, hissing the words through clenched teeth. “Do you believe that?”
There was no mistaking the brutal seriousness in his tone. He would do anything to make sure she made it home in one piece. He’d be the one to put her into my mother’s arms. With that knowledge, I handed her over, my heart aching as he took her from me.
“Damn, you’re a chunky little thing, aren’t you?” Christian said as he nestled her in his arms.
In response, she giggled and smacked him in the eyes.
“Oh, hell,” he hissed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re right, Jackson. Butthead is a good nickname.”
“Take care of her,” I said as I got to my feet. Every instinct I had screamed at me to not let her go, to stay with her, but I had to get Shyanne away from Joseph.
“I will,” Christian said. “I swear.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I said, walking toward the house.
“Be careful, Jackson. That asshole is an alpha too.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’d better,” Christian said. “If I didn’t have to take care of this little butthead, I’d be right there with you.”
“She’s the important thing right now,” I said. “You get her home, and I’ll get Shyanne. Go!”
Without another word, he turned and ran, moving with superhuman speed and grace as he sprinted down the driveway. Once he was out of sight, I ran to the mansion, which was now fully engulfed in flames.
Diving back through the opening, I tucked and rolled into the foyer, landing on a patch of ground that wasn’t on fire.
The sheer power and oppressiveness of the heat was enough to take my breath away.
Add in the smoke, and I felt like I was suffocating.
Moving down to my hands and knees, I got my head under the smoke.
Breathing became a bit easier, and I crawled back toward the bookshelf, hell-bent on breaking through if I could.
After a few feet, my left hand brushed something hard. Eyes watering from the heat and smoke, I spotted the chrome wrench Shyanne always carried around. The gift from her father. She’d told me about it.
I grasped it and almost dropped it, the metal was hot, though not quite hot enough to scald or blister me. I didn’t want this symbol of her father’s love to burn up and turn to char here in this godforsaken mansion. Sparing the time, I tucked it into the back of my belt and continued onward.
The library or study or whatever you wanted to call it, was somewhat guarded from the flames, but the ceiling would probably give in any second.
Before that could happen, I shifted. Rising up to my full height in a few moments, I glared at the false bookshelf that concealed the passage Joseph had dragged Shyanne through.
Cracking and whooshing sounds filled the house, like a thunderstorm from hell, and a second later, half the second floor crumbled into the foyer, fully blocking the exit and sealing off my escape route with a wall of flame and broken walls and flooring.
Even if I’d wanted a choice, fate had given me my only way out.
Opening my mouth, I sucked in a massive breath of hot, ashy air.
The magic deep within me transform the air into flame.
My inner dragon screamed out in rage, adding his own anger to the magic, and when I bellowed out the fire, it was hotter than any I’d ever breathed in my life, coating the bookshelf in a flowering inferno.
The remaining books and wood vaporized as if they were nothing, revealing the steel door beneath.
As I exhaled, the door turned dark gray, then light pink, and finally blazing red. Still, it didn’t melt. After the last air in my lungs was expelled, I breathed in again, this time filling my lungs far beyond what I’d ever done in the past.
The house was falling apart around me. I breathed out again, keeping my eyes glued to the door, watching as it went from cherry red to a bright, glowing orange.
Finally, it began to sag inward. The visual of the metal weakening and becoming like superheated clay sent a surge of excitement through me. This was going to work.
After a third volley of fire breathing, the steel turned into nothing more than slag, melting and dripping away.
I spared a glance behind me, only to find that every semblance of a house was gone, replaced by the flickering tongues of flame, the bright orange of burning timber, and the thick haze of black smoke.
Rather than being in a mansion, it looked more like I’d found myself within a forge.
There was no time to waste, another five seconds, and I wouldn’t be able to shift and fit through the door.
I transformed, and the moment the protection of my dragon scales vanished, the overpowering heat nearly bowled me over.
I couldn’t breathe, could barely keep my eyes open, and flames slithered toward me from every direction.
I rushed through the door, hissing in pain as a finger of half-melted steel drew a line of fiery agony across the back of my neck.
Once in the stairwell, I hurried down, hearing the apocalyptic sound of the house fully collapsing behind me, sending a gust of hot air and ashes down the stairwell after me.
I coughed and wheezed, but made my way to the bottom of the stone steps where the air was blessedly cool and clear.
I bent over, holding my knees and coughing until my ribs hurt.
I glanced back up the stairs. Burning wood blocked the doorway. I’d have to find another way out now. Even when the fire was done, there’d be at least a thousand pounds of burnt wood and ashes preventing anyone from climbing out of there any time soon.
I looked left and right, finding long stone hallways that lead in both directions.
Down each corridor, I spotted multiple offshoots that spiderwebbed off the main branch.
I sniffed at the air, trying to catch Shyanne’s scent, but the acrid stench of smoke still clung to the insides of my nostrils, making it hard to smell anything, much less the subtle scent of a human woman.
Growling in frustration, I tore my phone from my pocket and prayed Shyanne still had hers.
We’d both picked up a couple of burner phones with tracking software as an extra bit of safety.
I’d wanted to be able to find Shyanne and the car in case we were separated during the assault on Joseph and his men.
I’d never in a million years thought something like this would happen.
This was far worse than anything I’d have imagined.
When the app opened and showed Shyanne’s position as a small red dot two hundred yards away, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good girl,” I whispered. She’d kept the phone in her pocket. “I’m coming.”
I tucked the phone away, then moved down the hall. Now that I was away from the heat, chaos, and danger of the burning mansion, I could take in my new surroundings. It was bizarre to say the least.
I touched the stone walls and felt the bristly texture of moss and lichen on the rock and mortar.
Below me, the stone floors were worn smooth with what must have been a few hundred years of passage.
Whatever this was, it had been here a long time.
It made sense, though. Drakes were known to have enjoyed dark recesses and underground respites in the days of old.
Perhaps drake shifters still felt that call to stay underground?
Had Joseph’s ancestors built this place centuries ago when they first came to the New World? Probably. Maybe if—
A massive, shadowy figure came streaking out of a dark corridor and slammed into me, knocking the wind from my lungs. I crashed into the wall, my head bouncing painfully off the stone.
Before I could even get my bearings, three quick fist strikes exploded across my cheek, stomach, and chin in succession. In the madness of the moment, I had enough time to see that it wasn’t Joseph, but another of his paid henchmen.
Another punch landed, but I twisted, and instead of hitting me in the nose, his knuckles skidded off my shoulder.
Grabbing his shirt, I lifted my knee and rammed it into his stomach.
The man let out a great whoosh of air. Clutching his stomach with one hand, he tried to swing at me with the other, but his strength had been drained by my blow, and I caught his wrist. He screamed in agony, and I twisted his arm behind him, and pivoted, snapping the arm in one quick movement.
While he howled, I hauled back and kicked him in the back, sending him forward and smashing his head against the stone wall. He slumped down, leaving a smear of blood on the stone. Leaving him, I continued down the corridors, this time more cautiously.