She screamed and spun around to stare at the man. Except he wasn’t a man. His fangs were bared—fangs!—and he was straining as he ripped his left wrist out of that cuff-like chain. She heard the crunch of bones and she flinched, but he just gave a growl and wrenched his broken hand free.
Then his gaze met hers.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Ryder.” He lifted his right hand. Pressed it to his bloody chest. Bones snapped and popped. Then he used that right hand—nausea rolled within her—to snap his left hand and its fingers back into place.
She raised her own hands before her. The fire flickered above her fingers—freaking her the hell out—but she shouted, “Stay away from me!”
He wasn’t coming toward her. He was digging something out of his chest. Clawing at his chest and pulling out something small and black. He clawed at his chest again and again. The objects that he pulled from his flesh—at least seven of them—looked like bullets.
Ryder dropped them. “Hope you’re getting a good show, Wyatt.”
Who was Wyatt?
The throbbing in her head was driving her crazy. Burn. The fire above her fingers flared higher. She slammed her hands against the nearby wall and the flames shot up the stone instantly, heading to lick at the ceiling. “What is happening to me?” she whispered. A scream seemed to echo inside her head.
“Sabine.”
His voice cut through that scream. Her head turned toward him. Their eyes met. He was stalking toward her. Closing in. “Stop the fire,” he told her, his voice quiet.
“I-I don’t know how!” Tears leaked down her cheeks. Her hands stayed on the wall. She was afraid that if she lifted them up, she’d shoot the flames right at him.
Part of her wanted to hurt him. Part of her wanted to just hurt and destroy everything.
But another part . . . another part was lost. Help me.
The flames continued to rise up the wall. The man— Ryder—kept coming toward her. He had to feel the heat from the fire, but he didn’t look afraid.
Powerful. Dangerous. But not afraid.
Since flames were shooting from her hands, shouldn’t she be the dangerous one?
Her nails dug into the wall.
“Stop the fire, Sabine,” Ryder told her again, and her breath heaved out.
“Don’t you think I would, if I could?” Her head shook frantically. The scream in her mind was back. Was that her scream? “I can’t! I—”
His fingers curled around her chin and stopped the shaking of her head. She was afraid that the fire would spread to him, so her fingers shoved harder against the wall. His body surrounded her. She kept her hands on the wall. He was touching her, and she was too terrified to touch him. “Get away from me,” she whispered.
She couldn’t even begin to guess at the emotions in his eyes as he gruffly said, “I want to help you.”
“Why?” She understood nothing that was happening. “Why are we here? Where are we?” The flames seemed to burn hotter, while his touch on her skin felt curiously cool. Almost soothing. “You know me, right? We were here together?”
His fingers stroked her skin.
“Tell me!”
“I know you,” he said. His head lowered to her. “Don’t let your control break. Fight this.”
Fight the fire? The scream inside? What?
His lips took hers. The kiss was the last thing she expected, and her gasp of surprise slipped into his mouth. The kiss was soft, gentle, even as the fire raged on the wall near her. The sprinklers kept pouring water on them. Water that dripped over her face and held her frozen against him.
No, it wasn’t the water that kept her immobile.
His mouth pressed lightly to her lips. His tongue stroked inside, caressing her, tasting.
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, but the scream in her mind began to quiet down. Still afraid, her nails dug deeper into the wall.
His fingers slid down her neck.
A memory nagged at her. An image.
His head, bending toward her.
“Please . . . don’t . . .” Her voice. She knew it was. Her memory.
“Let me help you.” His whisper against her lips. “Trust me. I won’t hurt you . . .” Ryder’s words were rough, ragged.
Did she imagine it or had he said . . .
I won’t hurt you . . . again.
But he wasn’t even close to hurting her now. His lips were light on hers. So soft and gentle and she wanted to kiss him back. To taste him. To forget the fire and just feel him.
“I know what you are.” His lips feathered near the edge of her mouth. “I know.”
Slowly, his head lifted. The water had soaked his hair dark. Droplets clung to his thick lashes. Slid down his cheeks. High cheeks. Such a handsome, sexy face. A face made to tempt a woman to sin.
Her gaze followed those drops of water. Fell down to his lips. Sculpted, sensual. But then—then—“You have fangs.”
Did his lips curl in a faint smile? The smile was so brief it was hard to tell for sure. Then he said, “And you’re burning the room around us.”
She blinked up at him.
“Pull it back, love,” he told her. “Pull it back.”
She didn’t know how.
He kissed her again. “Focus on me.”
She wanted to, but it was hard with the giant wall of flames just inches away. “You should move away.”
Ryder shook his head. “I won’t leave you. I won’t watch.”
She didn’t even know what that meant.
“Breathe,” he told her. “Slow. Deep.” His hand moved to rest over her heart. “Too fast,” Ryder told her. “Breathe. You’re safe with me.”
She wanted to believe him. The scream in her mind—it had quieted so much, but her nails still dug into the wall. She focused on getting her breaths to match his. In. Out. In. The fire appeared to be shrinking. The flames were flickering.
“Good.” His voice seemed to rumble inside her. His touch—his hand—it was cool against her overheated flesh. The edge of his thumb slid over her breast, and she gasped at the contact.
The flames flickered again.
She wanted to grab his hand and yank it away from her flesh, but she was afraid to touch him. If he burned like the wall did, he would be dead instantly.
But he was tensing before her. His head tilted even as his gaze flew toward the door. “They’re coming.”
They?
He dropped his hand.
The water kept falling on them.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered. “No matter what happens. Stay behind me.”