Chapter 25
KALEIGH
The night is heavy, brittle, pregnant with tension.
I hear it first—a shifting. A snap of wood too close, like something rolled just beyond the walls.
I’m in the back corridor, sorting bundles of tattered cloth and ancient seals with Mari, trying to catalog what we saved from the archives.
My hands tremble with purpose, nerves frayed.
A distant cough echoes. The air tastes like ash already.
Then fire blooms.
Glass shatters in the next room, the wall cracking in a hot, jagged grin.
A thunderous boom roars through the villa, and the floor shudders beneath my feet.
I throw everything aside and race toward the courtyard, heart pounding so loud I hear it in my ears.
Flames burst outward beyond the outer wall, tongues of orange licking the sky.
Something heavy smashes—wood, stone—into the courtyard. Sparks fly. Shattered glass showers us.
“Firebombs,” I hiss, nose stinging from smoke. “Roman’s back.”
Rafe is beside me in a heartbeat, eyes dark, muscles coiled. He grabs my arm, pulls me back for a split second, into the edge of the hall. “Stay here.” His voice is sharp but not weak. He means to fight. I shake off his grip. I refuse to be kept safe in some corner. I’m in this.
I step into the courtyard where chaos surges. Fire roars. A guard — I recognize him as Salvador — scrambles beneath a fallen beam, flames creeping up his boots. Another man, Luca, is caught in the volley; his clothes smokeblaze, face twisted in panic.
I lunge forward, arms out in front, trying to push back the heat manually. The glow under my skin flares. But the bombs are multiple, relentless. Fire snakes across stones, walls crack, embers drift like vultures. The roar is deafening.
I reach Salvador first, chest heaving. He’s pinned under charred wood, and the heat at his leg is blistering.
I press my hand over the burn, light threading from my fingertips, remembering the falcon’s healing.
The skin puckers, flesh knitting, smoke scissoring away.
The fire near us recoils, hissing. Salvador groans, lifts his head.
I drag him free, summoning strength I didn’t know I had, carrying him toward a side door to shelter.
Rafe bursts across the courtyard, pulling Luca from the flames. He smashes a stone into embers so Luca can stumble away. He tries to help me open the doors to bring them inside. The courtyard tilts between safe and abyss.
A second wave lands. Explosions echo. Rain of fire.
The villa’s facade flares. Windows burst outward as heat cracks glass.
The air is thick with smoke, thick with fear.
I step into the flicker of flame, lights swirling around me, push with all I am.
My glow intensifies, luminous arcs of gold pushing against the blaze.
The fire stutters. But another bomb crashes down near the fountain, shards of stone and water spray outward.
The shockwave knocks me off balance. I fall onto one knee, coughing, taste ash in my mouth.
The glow dims briefly. I choke, claws of fear at my throat—but I force myself up.
Rafe is there, steadying me. “You okay?” His voice is strained, urgent.
I nod, though I feel weak. “Help them. Keep pulling them in.” I point to the wounded in the courtyard. The flames are pulling back slightly, like they've met a barrier, but we both know they’ll press forward again the second I pause.
I cradle Salvador’s head, shielding him, pressing healing to broken ribs. His breathing slows. He blinks at me. I taste smoke and adrenaline. The glow in my hands dims, retracting like a tide. I feel my strength drain. Sweat and ash coat my skin, weight heavy in my limbs.
More bombs detonate beyond the outer wall.
A roar in the distance, like the sea itself has turned to flame.
Beams creak, walls tremble. I glance upward: embers rain.
The villa groans. I press my palm over Lara’s leg—she’s down, screaming—heat stitches the dark flesh, closing a jagged tear. She gasps. The glow pulses.
Suddenly the courtyard gate slams inward. Roman’s men—shadows in masks—emerge. Spearheads in hand, fireproof suits or armor. They step through the smoke. The roar of flame fades momentarily against their approach. My heart collapses in my chest. We’ve been baited.
They converge. A masked figure leads them, hooded, steps clear, torch flame in hand. Rafe steps between me and them.
“Back off,” he growls. His posture wide, dangerous. The firemen hesitate. The figure raises a hand. They part.
I drop Lara’s leg gently. Her skin is smooth again. She’s blinking. I stand, knees trembling, walk beside Rafe. The masked figure steps forward, face in shadow, voice low, mechanical:
“You manage to heal fire wounds. That is dangerous. Roman praises your light but fears it more.” He lifts the torch. The flames around him pulse.
I feel rage coil in my veins, but I steady. “We won’t let you burn this place. Not tonight.” My voice trembles but holds.
He laughs, cold. “Tonight is only beginning.” He steps back. The masked soldiers advance with blades glinting. Fire surges again behind them, tents of flame, walls of flame.
Rafe moves first—thunder in his body. He charges, fists smashing into silhouettes, taking two down with one swing.
Smoke wraps around us. I raise both hands.
Glow bursts outward. Light meets shadow in the courtyard.
My power stretches. Gold washes over Rafe, over me, over the ground between.
It gives him clarity. He fights with renewed ferocity—blow after blow, shielded by my light.
One soldier lunges for me. I step forward, channeling energy through my palms. It swells.
The soldier hisses as light slams him, crackling against his mask, scorching the leather, sending him flying back.
Others reel. The masked figure curses. He drops the torch and retreats toward the gate. His men falter.
Rafe catches me before I sway. “You held them off,” he breathes. “You saved us all.”
I lean into him, trying to slow my heartbeat. The air pulses with aftershocks. The fire around us shudders. The masked figure flees through the gate, the others collapse or flee in the smoke.
Rafe drags me inside. We slam the doors, barricade debris.
Inside, the villa smells of burned timbers and mercy.
Wounded lie sprawled across floors. I kneel, pressing healing into them, light stitching flesh, easing pain, mending fractures one by one.
Rafe helps, carrying bodies, shielding from debris.
He watches me as I give everything I have.
Every glowing wave is exhaustion but salvation.
Later, after the last body surrenders to sleep or relief, I collapse into Rafe’s arms. Smoke drifts through broken windows. The villa trembles. He cradles me, whispering wordless things into my hair. His heartbeat thunders in my ear.
“You were brilliant,” he murmurs. His hands still glow faint from my light touching him. “Brighter than I ever knew possible.” He kisses the top of my head, then my lips.
The rain begins—soft, tentative, washing ash and burning scent from stones. Outside, the night sighs, wounded but alive.
I exhale. My body trembles. I press my hand to my chest. The glow recedes, leaving me spent but whole. In his arms, I feel something shift. Confidence. Connection. A dangerous hope blooming in the darkness.
He pulls me closer. I meet his lips, fierce and needy, and the villa echoes with our breathing and promise. He whispers, “I will scorch the world to keep you safe.”
I press my forehead to his. “Then let’s burn it together.”
And in that moment, fire outside or walls collapsing, I know that so long as I glow, so long as he stands beside me, we may survive this night—and whatever comes next.