Page 30 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

B eckett and Eliot are consoling a seriously freaked-out Tom in the small foyer of the brownstone. I followed them out of the parlor when Ben left for the bathroom, and I hang back while Tom paces left and right. His elbow knocks into a tower of books.

He whirls around, trying to catch a few of them. “Shitfuck.” The hoarseness of his voice widens his gaze. Panicking, he laces his hands on the top of his head.

“Don’t talk,” Beckett advises.

“I’ll call your laryngologist,” Eliot says, taking Tom’s phone and searching through his contacts.

“It’s past midnight,” Tom squeaks out, tears cresting his eyes. “He’s probably asleep. OhmyGod.” His scratchy voice is a whisper now.

“ Don’t talk ,” Beckett emphasizes.

Tom runs his fingers through his hair multiple times and begins pacing again.

I know he’s my nemesis and I should be inwardly jumping for joy seeing him rattled, but I kind of feel…

bad. If someone broke both my thumbs and left me incapable of becoming a surgeon, I’d be devastated.

No part of me wants to celebrate a dream being potentially ripped away. Even if it is Tom’s dream.

“I hope it’s nothing permanent.” I regret uttering the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

The three of them look at me like I hexed Tom.

Did I not sound genuine enough? Am I scowling?

Oh, God, did I sound sarcastic? “I mean it,” I say quickly, adjusting my messenger bag strap on my shoulder.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch. I mean, I can be a bitch, but it’s not one of those times.

” My face is burning up. I might just self-combust.

Tom just nods rapidly like he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t permanent too.

He’s pinching his eyes. And Beckett—he’s doing this thing where he’s boring his gaze into me.

It’s so intense that I take a step backward.

The one fanfic I stumbled upon (when I was in my paranormal fanfic era) about the Cobalts being mind-readers pops into my brain.

But that’s just silly. Powers don’t exist. Still…

“I’m…find Ben,” I say inarticulately before darting off. What the fuck, Harriet? I take deep breaths to slow my spiked pulse. I glare and mutter, “Get it together. You are a savage. You are a bomb-ass bitch. No one and nothing can intimidate you.” Except Beckett?

Does he not like me? Is he just being overprotective of his brothers? Does he think I’m going to hurt them?

I’d never intentionally hurt Ben. After seeing how Charlie chisels deep into him and doesn’t let up, the urge to join Ben Cobalt’s defense squad has escalated to extreme heights.

But first impressions aren’t my strong suit, so I don’t know why I thought this would be any different with his brothers.

I’m not ditching Ben, though. They’ll all just have to deal with me.

I weave along the makeshift pathway, trying to find the bathroom. Only to immediately get lost.

Retracing my steps, I slow to a stop at the vintage parlor where we were all trapped. Charlie is still in there. He’s lying on the velvet red couch, smoking a cigarette while gazing up at the oil mural on the ceiling.

The room is trashed.

Shards of glass speckle the dark floorboards and crimson rug.

Bent picture frames hang sadly on the walls while the paintings are torn out.

Books are scattered everywhere, and then there’s Charlie—just lying among the wreckage, just watching the streaks of white paint as if the clouds are real.

I’d wonder if he’s high if I couldn’t see his eyes.

They aren’t bloodshot. Pupils aren’t dilated.

I can’t tell if he’s remorseful or indifferent to what just occurred between him and his youngest brother. Maybe it’s not on his mind at all. Maybe he’s just admiring the art.

It twists my stomach, and the need to protect Ben keeps compounding. So I check over my shoulder—no one behind me—and I slip inside the parlor, shutting the door.

I press my back to the wood.

“‘Apothéose d’Hercule’,” Charlie says, not looking at me.

“Painted by Francois Lemoyne around 1736. Hercules is ascending to Mount Olympus while everyone celebrates him. Gods. Goddesses. Zeus, Hera, Athena.” He takes a drag, letting his arm hang off the couch cushion.

“This is a replica. The real painting is on the ceiling in the Salon d’Hercule. ”

I grind my teeth, afraid I’ll snap at him if I speak.

Charlie sits up. “Which is in the Palace of Versailles,” he says, like he sees I don’t know. “France.” He taps ash on the floor.

“I know where Versailles is,” I say with heat.

His gaze narrows at me, and his yellow-green eyes fill with their own judgments. “Considering you can’t find the exit, I had my doubts.” He wags a finger toward the door. “Back that way.”

I don’t move.

Charlie sizes me up while snuffing out his cigarette on an ashtray. He has no visible tattoos, and the only piercing I see is a small gold hoop in the rook of his ear. “I’m not giving you a crash-course in Classical Mythology so you can get an A with my brother.”

“You know we’re taking Classical Mythology?”

“My brothers and I share a calendar now.” His bitter voice is abrasive to my tender ears. “Ben has also mentioned you’re taking the course together. You might think I’m only an asshole, but I’m not fucking obtuse. I do listen.”

“I’m not here to ask you to tutor us.” I’m not sure how he jumped to that conclusion.

“What do you want from me, Harriet?” Charlie asks point-blank. If there is a bush to beat around, he seems to prefer taking a chainsaw to its branches.

I drop my messenger bag on the ground. My heart thumps and descends like a sinking weight in my body. “I need you to back off Ben.”

“Afraid I’ll hurt his little feelings?” Charlie leans back on the sofa. “Poor Ben. Can’t handle the heat when he steps into the fire.”

I glower. “That’s easy to say when you are the fire.”

“She has teeth.” Charlie stares straight into me as I approach. “Bite harder, Harriet. I barely felt that one.”

I don’t take that stupid bait. I have my own goal, and it’s not to enter a verbal showdown with Charlie Keating Cobalt.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I tell him, my voice as gruff and scathing as I feel in this moment.

Power surges through me, and it’s not foreign.

I’ve felt this before. I am in control. I have control. Even over someone like Charlie.

He rises to his feet, stalking toward me while I head for him, but before I can reach Charlie, he turns for the unlit fireplace. Confusion pummels me, almost giving me pause. I can’t stop now.

So I follow him.

He stares at the logs for a second, then spins around while I meet him there. He has many inches on my height, and it forces me to crane my neck upward.

Charlie tilts his chin down to meet my eyes. “I’m not someone you want to make a deal with, Girl Genius.”

Ben. He’s all I can think about. How he’s been there for me before he ever really knew me.

How he deserves the same effort in return.

He deserves to be cared for with the same ferocity, and I know I’ve never had a friend to love and one that loved me back.

I know I’ve never had anyone except my Aunt Helena give a shit about me, but Ben does.

And I give a shit about him.

I care.

“I know what it’s like to live with people who put you on edge, and Ben doesn’t deserve that from his own brother . Leave him alone, dude. No more snide comments. No more incitement. Just walk the fuck away if you feel the need to be a dick, Boy Genius .”

Charlie isn’t blinking. “You can think whatever you want about me.”

My unamused laugh sounds breathy. I can’t believe half the twelfth grade at my high school was obsessed with Charlie Cobalt. He’s the enigma. The one no one really has an accurate perception of, but the one they could place all their wild fantasies upon.

Would they even like him knowing he treats his little brother like absolute dirt? The answer is probably yes , and that breaks my heart for Ben.

“What’s even your problem with him?” I ask.

Charlie leans an elbow on the mantel, his fingers to his jaw before he lets them fall.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, Ben and I have very differing opinions on the world.

I’m apathetic about humanity. He’s idealistic to the point of annoyance .

It fucking grates on me in ways you will never understand.

Because nine times out of ten, the ruthless and self-serving always win, and he thinks he has a shot when he will be used and abused by them.

You think I’m the fire? I’m more certain he will drown before he ever burns. ”

“Then help him,” I shoot back.

“I can’t change the core of who he is, even if I wanted to.”

I wouldn’t want Ben to change, I realize. He’s the furthest thing from selfish. He so often thinks of others before saving himself. Hell, he just risked permanent hearing loss so I wouldn’t.

Where’s the self-preservation, Friend? I once asked him.

I’m not cowering away from Charlie. “Then the least you can do is back off Ben. Make his life easier. Take the deal.” I shrug off my oversized leather jacket, then toss it on the red velvet couch behind me.

Charlie looks me over. “And what do I get out of being a perfect angel to my little brother?”

I slip a black scrunchie off my wrist, and I feel him attentively watching as I tie my hair back into a pony. “I’ll blow you.” These three words flow off my tongue like wine. Nauseatingly sweet. A bottle I’ve chugged too many times to be sick from now.

Strangely, though, my stomach begins to churn.

Charlie tips his head at me, his gaze more intrusive as he studies my features. “And what makes you think I want you to suck my cock, Harriet?”

My pulse suddenly races, but I take a shallow breath to stay in control. “It’ll be worth it.” I regain some confidence. “I’ve never had a complaint before. You’ll probably want another one by the end of it.” Guys usually do.