She believed every word I said.
I spilled everything. I told her I saw my dad, her son, and she cried when I told her he was doing just fine. I told her about Logan. I told her that all those days he’d been weak and sick was because a demon took over his body and destroyed it. I told her he’d basically been dying until he, in an effort to protect me, was stabbed by Beelzebub. We couldn’t call the police. What would we say? Trying to come up with a lie to cover up a boy’s death—a boy who ran away to be with us—wasn’t something we were prepared for.
So we gave him a funeral. Here at the farm, surrounded by everyone who loved him. We buried his body here in the orchard, and we visited him every day. Three weeks had passed since we said good-bye to Logan, but it felt like only hours.
The days were turning shorter, the air getting cooler, and the leaves on the trees were taking on a burnished gold that reminded me of Sam’s eyes. It was into his eyes that I stared now.
But he wasn’t staring back.
He looked beyond me, into the orchard, and his eyes were panicked. “Fire!” he yelled and burst into action, running away from me and away from the flames.
I whipped around to see, and yes, there was a fire.
Again.
The smoldering flames mesmerized me. They were ever changing, ever growing, and always moving. The fire devoured whatever it touched, like it was starving, insistent for more. I liked its tenacity. Part of me even liked the destruction… destruction that I now wielded control over.
“Heven!” Sam yelled insistently from somewhere close by. It was enough to snap me out of my trance. The reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. The fire I’d been praising only moments before, the fire I claimed control over, was now completely taking over.
A four-letter word slipped between my lips and hung in the air around me until I dashed forward. I skidded to a stop before the apple tree, watching as angry red and yellow flames consumed the twisting branches.
Having an affinity for fire wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Especially when a spark of sorrow, anger, or stress could quickly consume all things around me.
I shook my head a bit, forbidding the climbing of the flames to entrance me again, and raised my hands, palms out toward the tree. I had to get this under control before the whole orchard went up in flames.
That wasn’t exactly keeping the promise I just made to the land about treating it sacredly.
I concentrated on the crackling of the wood, the intense heat, and I took a deep breath. The air around me smelled like a bonfire. I focused on the heat, the urgency of the flames, and I tried to dial it back. I tried to calm the burn.
Another tree caught fire, and an entire branch was engulfed in flames. The fire was unrelenting, consuming the tree greedily, working toward its center. I watched a perfectly ripe, red apple taken over by flames practically melt off the tree.
Sam stepped around me and held up what he ran to grab. He pressed the button and white foamy spray shot out and covered the trees. The air instantly began to cool as white spray floated around, sticking to the now blackened tree branches and reminding me of snow.
When all the burning ceased, he dropped the red can and turned to me.
“What does it say about me that my boyfriend hauls a fire extinguisher everywhere we go?” I asked.
“That you’re really hot?” he said. I swear there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Ha-ha.” I sighed and looked back at the mess. “I tried to stop it.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t light everything on fire when you’re upset.”
“No, I just morph into a hellhound and run off into the woods.”
A giggle escaped my lips, but then I frowned. It really wasn’t funny. Sam had really great control, but he’d been “disappearing” sometimes lately, and now I knew why.
“But at least I don’t have a potty mouth,” he continued.
“I do not!” I protested.
“I heard what you said a few minutes ago,” he teased.
I sighed. He laughed.
It was a real laugh and it made me do a double take. I hadn’t heard him laugh like that in weeks. Something inside me lightened a little bit.
I reached up and cupped his face. “There’s a sound I haven’t heard for a while.”
“I guess your naughty behavior brings it out of me.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, then perhaps I should be naughty more often.” I pressed my lips lightly against his, and he hooked his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. The front of my body was completely against his without an inch to spare between us. His lips were warm and pliant and they molded themselves to mine in a way they hadn’t in weeks.
God, could that boy kiss. He had a way of stamping out every thought, every whisper, every single thing around us until there was only his lips upon mine. I threaded my fingers through his hair, knotting them in, taking up residence and meaning to stay, when he pulled me away from him and looked at me. He was breathing too hard to speak and his eyes were glittering like the sun. I delved my hands deeper into the tangles of his hair, trying to snatch him back, but he shook me.
“Hev,” he rasped and his voice scratched over me, leaving goose bumps in its wake. How was I supposed to think when he sounded like that?
“Heven,” he said again when I didn’t respond. “We’re on fire.”
Yes. Yes, we were. “I like fire,” I murmured and tried once more to pull him close to me.
This time he untangled my hands and grabbed my wrists. “No, literally. We’re on fire.”
I followed his gaze down.
“Crap!” I yelled and began stomping my feet.
My shoes were practically gone and the ankles of Sam’s jeans were glowing as the fire burned up toward his knees. I dropped down and began slapping at the flames on his legs, making gasping sounds when parts of the fabric came off in my hands.
Finally, I got the flames out and stood, looking down at the damage. My shoes were half melted and Sam looked like a pirate with his jeans completely burned away to his shins, leaving the ends blackened and frayed.
I looked up. “I caught you on fire.”
His lips twitched.
“I caught my boyfriend on fire.”
“I guess it’s a good thing your boyfriend is flame retardant.”
I groaned, but then it turned into a laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” My laugh fell away. “It’s just, well…” I felt my cheeks heat and knew I was blushing. Really? Blushing? You’d think after everything we’ve been through together, some hot—okay, extremely hot—kissing wouldn’t be embarrassing.