36
The flames screamed.
That was Tean’s first, fragmented thought as the fire sprang to life.
It was the sound of the fire spreading so rapidly, a part of him understood.
This fire had plenty of fuel thanks to the paint thinner that the wolves had spread throughout the house, but fire also required oxygen, and as the flames spread, air rushed in to replace what had been devoured.
And then his brain separated out the sounds: the whistling of air, and the screams of the children.
The children.
Kai had the children.
The fire that Kai had set ran across the landing, a wall of flames that blocked the doorway to the turret.
The heat pounded on Tean. He turned his face away; the skin was already tight and stinging, and he wondered if maybe he’d already gotten a minor burn.
Even through his clothes, the heat was almost unbearable, and he took another step back.
More flames raced down the stairway. For another minute or two, he could still make his way down.
Still escape. But once the fires caught and began to burn in earnest, the stairway would be an inferno.
Run.
Stay.
The house was lost. An old building like this, with as much accelerant as the wolves had used—the firefighters might be able to put it out eventually, but how long would it take?
People died from smoke inhalation in a matter of minutes.
Already, the haze was thickening above Tean, and he coughed on his indrawn breath.
Run.
The smart thing to do was run. Get out. Get away from here.
Get help. If he didn’t tell the firefighters where Daniel and the others were being held, they wouldn’t know to rescue them.
The smart, responsible thing to do would be to go now, while he could still navigate the staircase, and let the professionals deal with this.
Fire snapped. Flames licked their way up old wallpaper. The glass on a light fixture cracked in the sudden heat, and shards tumbled to disappear among the flames.
Tean was so sick of being scared. He was sick of being hurt. But he was even more sick of being scared of being hurt.
Run.
He took a step back. An old joist creaked underfoot. He had a sudden vision of the house like a box of kindling, all the aged wood going up cleanly, like it had been meant to burn.
Run.
He took another step back.
His parents.
His siblings.
The wedding.
Run.
Tean took a deep breath—or tried to. The air was too hot now, and the smoke made him dizzy.
Run.
His heel found empty air above the first step.
He was sick of it. He was sick of himself. But one thing you learned, if you spent enough time around Jem Berger, is that you didn’t have to be who you were. You could be anybody you wanted. You could be better.
He ran.
Forward.
Hurtling into the flames.