Page 67

A soft sound escapes Ember’s throat, something between a whimper and a moan. It ignites a fire in my veins, consuming all rational thought. My hands slide down her sides, mapping the curves of her body. Ember arches into the touch, pressing herself against me. The heat of her skin burns through the thin fabric of her shirt.
We break apart, gasping for air. Ember’s pupils are blown wide, her lips swollen and red. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath her shirt—my shirt. I love that she wears something of mine.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Blaze,” she breathes, her voice husky with desire. “I?—”
A crash from downstairs cuts her off. We freeze, bodies still entangled. Footsteps, heavy and uneven, echo through thebuilding. The scrape of a bottle against concrete. A drunken voice, slurring out a fragmented song.
Ember tenses in my arms, fear flashing across her face. The spell of the moment is broken, and reality crashes back in with brutal force.
I press a finger to her lips, then ease off the mattress. My weapon is in my hand before I realize I’ve drawn it, the weight familiar and comforting.
The footsteps grow closer, accompanied by unintelligible muttering. I position myself between Ember and the door, every muscle coiled tight. The floorboards creak outside.
The doorknob rattles. Once. Twice. A frustrated grunt from the other side. My finger taps the trigger guard, sweat beading on my brow.
“Oi! This my spot!” The voice is thick with alcohol and rage, slurring the words into a barely comprehensible growl. “Get out!”
We’ve come too far and survived too much to let some random drunk undo it all. Her hand closes around a broken piece of pipe, knuckles white with tension.
The door shudders as a body slams against it. The chair wedged beneath the knob groans but holds. Another impact. Wood splinters, a crack spreading like a spiderweb across the aged surface.
I raise my weapon, thumbing off the safety. The click seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence. Beside me, Ember shifts her grip on the pipe, her stance ready for action.
One more hit and the door will give. I take a deep breath. Time seems to slow, each heartbeat stretching into eternity.
The door bursts open in a shower of splinters. A man stumbles through, more rags than human. The stench of cheap liquor rolls off him in waves, making my eyes water. Hisbloodshot eyes sweep the room, widening as they take in the scene—me with my weapon, Ember with her pipe.
“What the f—” His bleary eyes narrow, confusion giving way to anger.
Time slows, stretching like taffy. The man’s hand twitches toward his waistband. A glint of metal catches the dim light.
“Wait.” Ember steps forward, pipe still raised, but her posture becomes less threatening. Her voice holds steady. “Listen, buddy. We don’t want any trouble. Just looking for a place to crash for the night. Why don’t we all calm down, yeah?”
The drunk blinks, his alcohol-soaked brain struggling to process the situation. Confusion wars with anger on his face.
“This… This my spot,” he slurs, swaying on his feet. His eyes dart between us, assessing the threat.
“We know,” Ember soothes, her voice taking on a gentle cadence I’ve never heard before. It’s hypnotic, almost mesmerizing. “And we’re sorry for intruding. How about we make a deal? We’ve got some cash. Enough for a nice bottle of something. What do you say? You let us stay here tonight, and tomorrow, you buy yourself a real good time.”
The man’s aggression slowly deflates. Ember’s words work their magic. He squints at her, then at me, then back to Ember. Greed replaces the anger in his bloodshot eyes.
“How much we talkin’?”
Ember’s gaze flicks to me, a silent question. I nod, reaching for my wallet with my free hand. The leather is worn, and the edges are frayed.
“Twenty,” I offer, pulling out a bill. The money seems insignificant compared to our lives, a small price for temporary safety.
The drunk’s eyes light up, greed overtaking all other emotions.
“Deal. He snatches the money from my hand. His fingers are grimy, nails rimmed with dirt. He turns to leave, then pauses in the doorway. “Don’t touch my stuff.” He gestures vaguely at a pile of rags in the corner. The threat in his voice is clear despite the slur.
And then he’s gone, stumbling back down the stairs and into the night. His heavy footsteps echo through the building, growing fainter with each step. We stand frozen, listening until the sound fades entirely.
“That was—impressive.” I lower my weapon.
Ember’s shoulders sag, the adrenaline visibly draining from her body. The pipe clatters to the floor, the sound jarring in the sudden quiet.