Page 3 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)

As the evening progresses, I disappear into myself, working on autopilot as I try to keep the peace.

Luke’s mood is sour, to the point it’s suffocating. I’m having a hard time breathing, thinking, or managing to stay on task. I’ve unpacked as many boxes as possible, stuffing the excess in spare rooms for now.

I’m sweaty, exhausted beyond belief, but it doesn’t matter to Luke. No, he all but pitched a fit when I suggested ordering in.

So, here I am, making dinner.

When I want nothing less than to curl up in bed with a book and get some much-needed rest. Sighing, I recheck the oven, my anxiety making things ten times harder.

I’m a jumpy mess. Every little sound in this house gets to me. It doesn’t help that Luke glued himself to the table, watching my every move. “How much longer? I’m starving,” he grumbles, checking his watch for the thousandth time.

I bite back the exasperated sigh begging to escape my lips. “It should be any minute now. It looks like it's almost finished,” I answer, carefully lifting the foil to check the pan.

Dinner is a simple affair, a quick and easy dish that usually takes about an hour to prepare in the oven. It consists of chicken, sliced potatoes, and green beans with some seasoning and butter. My mouth is watering because I’m starving, too, but god, I’m so exhausted.

As I set the table, the timer goes off on the oven, causing me to drop some silverware. “Jesus fucking Christ! Why are you so damn skittish?” Luke exclaims, grumbling and picking up the knife and fork I dropped.

My mask slides into place, and I give him a serene but sheepish smile.

There’s nothing to say. I mean, really, what’s the point?

What I say to him won’t make a difference.

He’ll just dismiss it and complain even more.

So, I move to the stove instead and grab my oven mittens, removing dinner with practiced ease.

Hints of oregano and citrus flood my nostrils, the decadent aroma enveloping me like a comforting embrace.

A pang of sorrow hits my chest, and tears prick at the corner of my eyes.

This was always Dad’s favorite meal. The thought sends another wave of grief rushing through me, a torrent of pain that I’m struggling to contain.

It still feels like yesterday, but it’s been three long years.

Taking a steadying breath, I get to work on serving Luke. Once everything is ready, I quickly clean up and place everything before him. Luke doesn’t bother to wait for me and digs in while I finish straightening up the kitchen.

When I’m done, I sit across from him and savor my first bite.

It’s heaven incarnate. The chicken is tender, and the sliced potatoes practically melt in my mouth.

“Mhh,” I grumble, grabbing another bite and chewing slowly.

I sneak a glance at Luke, wondering if he’s enjoying the meal, only to come face to face with his disapproving stare.

Tension radiates through my entire body, and I quickly drop my eyes to my plate.

Something about his expression doesn’t sit well with me.

I hesitantly take a small drink of water, swallowing thickly before bringing my gaze to his.

What I see there, in the abyss of his glacial blue eyes, sends dread through every bone in my body.

“You call this shit dinner?” His eyes are bulging, his expression darkening with every breath. He snatches the plate off the kitchen table, throwing it against the wall. It shatters, the sound making me crawl out of my skin.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, jumping from my chair and springing to action.

I grab paper towels, a bottle of cleaner, and move to the kitchen counter.

A hand grabs me by the back of my head, a fistful of fingers tightly holding onto my hair, tugging me back.

I shriek, unable to stop the whimper of pain that leaves my lips when I’m roughly jerked against a hard wall of muscle.

“I can’t believe you made that for dinner, of all fucking things that’s what you chose for our first night in our new home?

How pathetic . Let me guess, you’re missing your precious daddy again?

Hmm? Hate to break it to you, Averie, but Daddy is dead and gone.

It’s time you get over it.” Luke’s words are brutal, gutting me straight to the core.

It’s an old wound that doesn’t seem to heal. I hate him for using it against me.

“I’m so sick of this!” He screams, letting go of me, only to send every bit of dinner flying into the floor in one fell swoop. “Clean this shit up!” He hisses, storming out of the kitchen.

As he stalks away, the first few tears slide down my cheeks. I grip the counter's edge, willing my heart to stop racing. Clamping my teeth shut, I force myself to hold in the sob threatening to claw its way from my chest.

Crying won’t solve anything.

With one final deep breath, I turn to assess the situation. Green beans are stuck to the wall with matching specs of potatoes, while the rest of dinner covers the table and floor. Sighing heavily, I grab my supplies and get to work.

As I clear away the mess, my thoughts twist and turn until I’m sinking into a fucked-up fantasy.

Rage is building within me, rushing through my body rapidly.

It’s like I’m vibrating from head to toe, filled with pent-up energy begging to be released.

I’m imagining all sorts of violent ends to Luke—a pipe dream that will never happen.

My fingers grip the broken shards of plates that litter the floor. I’m fucking pissed, but can’t tell if I’m more mad at myself or Luke. The angrier I get, the harder it is to breathe.

I’m so fucking sick of this.

When the first sob breaks free, I crumple to the floor. The shards fall from my hands, scattering in every direction. My heart beats in time with the thumping in my ears. I can’t fucking think straight.

Something has taken over my emotions and amplified them to the highest point. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire. My vision starts to get hazy, and my lungs scream for relief.

Finally, I breathe, gasping for air like my life depends on it. The ringing recedes, but something else stirs. I feel it at the back of my mind, a presence that wasn’t there before. A cold dread grips me, my skin crawling in response.

I pause, the broken plates long forgotten. Something about the room feels wrong—tilted, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s memory. The shadows seem to pulse at the edges of my vision, like they’re watching my every move.

I rub my arms, trying to smooth the goosebumps away. “New house jitters,” I whisper, forcing a breathy laugh that doesn’t quite sound like mine.

The silence hums too loudly, wrapping around me like static. I force myself to move, crouching down to gather the shattered pieces of the plate, careful not to cut myself. Each shard clicks against the trash bin like a warning. My hands tremble, but I blame it on the cold.

Once the last fragment is gone, I wipe down the counter in tight, mechanical strokes, trying to scrub away the feeling that something unseen is standing just behind me, too close, too quiet. I don’t look back.

“Get a grip, Averie,” I mutter, though the words catch in my throat.

Once I’m done, I flick off the kitchen light and leave the damp rag on the counter, retreating down the narrow hall. Every floorboard creak sounds like a whisper. My heart doesn’t slow until I climb into bed, pulling the covers up like a shield.

It’s a long time before I’m able to fall asleep, thoughts swirling in my mind like vengeful spirits. When sleep finally pulls me into it’s comforting embrace, I drift off, letting the darkness pull me deeper. It’s when the shadows pull me fully under that I hear it…

Thump .

I bolt upright, the remnants of sleep clinging to me like cobwebs. My heart pounds, lungs straining to keep up. For a moment, I don’t know what pulled me from sleep until I hear it again.

Thump .

Then a slow, deliberate drag. Like something heavy scraping across the floorboards above. Not over the bedroom—but from the far end of the house.

I sit still, listening. The sound doesn’t repeat, but the silence it leaves behind is worse—thick, humming, expectant.

Images flicker through my mind: the plate exploding against the kitchen wall, the tightness in Luke’s jaw, the way he stormed out afterward, leaving me alone with the mess, and how my body shook with rage as I swept porcelain into a dustpan, telling myself to breathe.

I creep now, slipping out of bed. The hardwood floor is cold beneath my feet as I slip into the hall, trembling as I make my way up the stairs.

The wood groans beneath my weight, the floorboards creaking with every step.

When I reach the top, I catch a flash of something out of my peripheral vision.

My eyes widen as a shadowy figure comes into view. It’s... Luke . Shirtless, perfectly disheveled, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

“There you are,” he says with a smile that feels rehearsed. His voice is warm and syrupy, touched with just enough pity to make me feel small. “Roaming around again, huh?”

I nod, swallowing down the knot rising in my throat.

He tilts his head, studying me like a hunter surveying his prey. “Did you have a bad dream? Or are we hearing things again?”

I keep my mouth shut, unwilling to load his arsenal with anything else he can twist.

Luke’s smile stretches a little wider, and my heart plummets. “Poor thing. This new house is playing tricks on you, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—just touches the small of my back and steers me gently toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you something warm. You’re too sensitive for sleep when your mind starts spinning. Besides, this level isn’t safe. The floors are weak in certain spots, and I don’t want you coming up here without me.”

I give him a questioning look, which, in true Luke fashion, he ignores.

As we descend the stairs, uneasiness spirals through my stomach, twisting my insides in an uncomfortable knot. Luke turns on the kitchen light, and I blink several times to adjust the brightness. The kitchen is still and spotless, you’d never know what happened here. I’d made sure of it.

Luke hums as he puts on the kettle. Calm and composed—like he hadn’t shattered a plate against the wall hours earlier. As if that version of him lives entirely in another world.

Hell, maybe it does.

He pulls two mugs from the cabinet and adds honey. Then, so casually it makes my stomach twist, he uncaps a small dark bottle and tips a few drops into mine.

I watch the liquid vanish into the tea, my mind whirring in fear. My throat constricts, and I can’t seem to swallow the lump down.

He places the mug before me, his expression soft—indulgent.

Though we both know there’s a monster lurking under the surface of his skin.

“Here we go,” he says, his voice sweet and condescending.

“One calming cup of tea for my wife’s overactive imagination.

” He gives me a wink, like he’s making a playful joke.

I wrap my hands around the mug to stop them from shaking. I don’t want to drink it. Every instinct tells me not to. But I remember the sharp edge in his voice earlier. The way the air changed when the plate hit the wall. If I refuse…

So I lift it and take a small sip. Just enough to appease him.

The warmth spreads fast. Too fast. My limbs go heavy, my thoughts muddy at the edges .

Luke crouches beside me, resting his chin on my knee like I’m delicate yet ridiculous. “There,” he whispers. “All better now. Let’s not scare ourselves next time, hmm?”

The cup slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Luke stares at me, an evil grin spreading across his face. And before the darkness takes me, I hear it again. A single reverberation of sound that sends a spike of fear through my heart.

Thump…..