Page 17

SEVENTEEN

Blaze

Revelations and Vulnerabilities

The crash from the master cuts through the silence like a gunshot. My body moves before my mind can catch up, instinct driving me as I sprint down the hallway.

Privacy be damned. If she’s hurt…

I burst into the bedroom. “Ember? Are you—” The words choke off as the scene hits me.

She stands in front of the mirror, completely bare, the towel crumpled at her feet along with the shattered remains of a ceramic soap dish, but it’s not her nakedness that stops me cold. It’s the way she stares into the mirror, her reflection barely registering as tears spill silently down her cheeks.

The pain etched on her face is raw and gut-wrenching.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Gone is the dirt-streaked girl with tangled black hair. In her place stands a woman—a vision that leaves me shaken.

Her hair, dark as midnight, clings in wet waves down her back, impossibly long, reaching past her waist. Her skin is pale, almost glowing in the soft light. And her eyes… Those eyes… Sea-foam green, wide with pain, framed by wet lashes, like twin beacons cutting through the darkness.

But it’s not her beauty that grips me. It’s the vulnerability, the agony radiating from her.

I’m a protector, always have been, but standing here now? It’s not just an instinct to shield her that rushes through me. It’s something deeper, something I can’t quite grasp.

It’s something I’m afraid to hold on to.

“Ember…” My voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

She’s the most hauntingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

For a moment, I’m frozen, unable to reconcile this ethereal creature with the street-smart survivor I’ve come to know. Then reality crashes back in.

She’s hurt.

She’s scared.

And she’s completely exposed.

I yank my shirt off, moving toward her in two long strides. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” The words come out rougher than I intend, my voice husky with an emotion I can’t quite name.

Ember flinches as I drape my shirt over her, covering her nakedness. She trembles, whether from cold or fear or both, I’m not sure. Without thinking, I scoop her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing, fitting against me like she was made to be there.

The thought sends a jolt through me, equal parts exhilaration and unease. This isn’t me. I don’t get rattled by beautiful women. I don’t feel this—this overwhelming need to protect, shelter, and…

Claim.

I cut the thought off, focusing on getting her somewhere safe. The bed looks inviting, but something stops me from setting her down. Instead, I sink into an overstuffed armchair with Ember cradled against my chest.

She curls into me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. Her breath is warm and uneven against my skin. It awakens parts of me that have no business being wakened—a ravenous hunger.

“Shh, you’re safe.” I stroke her hair, my fingers combing through the wet lengths. It’s like silk between my fingers, a sharp counterpoint to the hardened calluses on my palm. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Ember’s trembling slowly subsides, her breathing evening out, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she burrows deeper as if trying to disappear into me entirely.

“What happened?” I keep my voice low and gentle. “Talk to me.”

She’s quiet for so long that I think she might not answer. Then, so softly I almost miss it: “I remembered.”

“Remembered, what?”

Ember takes a shuddering breath. “Bruiser. I-I know him. From before.”

Ice forms in the pit of my stomach. “Before the warehouse?”

She nods against my chest. “I was fourteen. He… Never mind what he…”

The implications of those words hit me hard. Rage, hot and vicious, surges through me. My arms tighten around Ember instinctively, as if I can somehow shield her from a past already written.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice a low growl.

And she does. The words spill out of her in a torrent, like a dam breaking. She tells me about the condemned building, the little girl she tried to save, and her choice. My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood, but I force myself to stay silent, to let her speak.

When she finishes, the silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of her revelation. I want to hunt Bruiser down, to make him pay for every moment of pain he’s caused. But Ember needs me here, now.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her head before I can stop myself. “What he did… It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

Ember shifts in my arms, tilting her face to look at me. Those sea-foam eyes are red-rimmed but dry, filled with a strength that takes my breath away.

“I know,” she says softly. “But knowing doesn’t make it easier.”

I open my mouth to respond, but a knock at the door startles us both.

Aria stands in the doorway, a shopping bag clutched in her hands. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene before her—me shirtless, Ember wrapped in nothing but my T-shirt, the two of us tangled together in the armchair.

Reality crashes back in. I’m her protector, her rescuer, not—whatever this is becoming. I stand abruptly, gently setting Ember on the bed.

“I should go.” I’m suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Let you get dressed.”

I brush past Aria, my skin burning where Ember’s body pressed against mine. In the hallway, I lean against the wall, trying to get my racing heart under control.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’ve been in countless high-stress situations before. I’ve faced down terrorists and drug lords without breaking a sweat. But this woman—this impossible, beautiful, broken woman—has the power to destroy me completely.

When the door opens, I straighten, schooling my features into what I hope is a neutral expression, but as Ember steps out, all attempts at professionalism crumble.

She’s a vision in simple jeans, her damp hair pulled back in a loose braid, but it’s my shirt, draped over her slender frame, that undoes me. Something primal and possessive roars to life in my chest at the sight.

She didn’t take it off.

“How are you feeling?” My voice is rougher.

Ember’s eyes meet mine, and a flicker of—something passes between us.

“Better,” she says softly. “Thank you. For everything.”

Aria looks between us, a knowing look that makes me squirm. I clear my throat, forcing myself back into professional mode.

“We should talk about what you remembered.” I gesture toward the living room.

Ember’s shoulders tense, but she nods. As we move to the living room, she curls into the corner of the sofa, making herself as small as possible. The fierce protectiveness I felt earlier roars back to life.

I pull out my phone and dial Jenny. “I need you and Jon in the living room.”

Moments later, Jenny and Jon enter, their faces etched with concern. Jenny’s eyes narrow as she takes in the scene—Ember huddled in the corner, wearing my shirt, and me, shirtless, trying desperately to look normal.

“What’s going on?” Jenny’s voice is sharp, all business.

I turn to Ember, giving her an encouraging nod. “Ember has some information that could be crucial. Go ahead, Ember. Take your time.”

Ember takes a deep breath, her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “It was years ago. I was living on the streets, trying to survive however I could. There was this abandoned building where a lot of us would crash…”

As she speaks, painting a picture of a horrifying existence, I lean in, hanging on her every word. Jenny and Jon listen intently, their expressions growing grimmer with each passing moment.

When Ember finishes recounting her history with Bruiser, I can see the wheels turning in Jenny’s mind, but something is missing, a crucial link we’re overlooking.

“Ember,” I prod gently, “is there anything else you remember? Anything about the people Bruiser was involved with?”

Ember’s brow furrows, her eyes distant as she searches her memories. “There was… There was a man. He would come around, recruiting boys like Bruiser. Boys who—who didn’t care about hurting little girls.” Her voice catches, and I resist the urge to pull her into my arms.

“Can you tell us more about this man?” Jenny presses, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

Ember nods slowly. “He was—different. Not like the other street thugs. He moved like—like a predator. Lean, wiry, but you could tell he was dangerous.” She pauses, her eyes squeezing shut as if the memory causes her physical pain. “His eyes were the worst part. Cold, calculating. Like he was always three steps ahead of everyone else.”

My blood runs cold. The description matches what we know about the Night Pack’s leader. “Do you remember his name?”

She shakes her head. “No, but… He had a nickname. The others called him ‘The Wolf.’?”

Jenny and Jon exchange a loaded glance. We all know who she’s describing—Damien Wolfe, the elusive leader of the Night Pack.

“What else do you remember about him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Ember’s fingers tighten on the hem of my shirt. “He was—charming when he wanted to be. A smooth talker. But his voice… There was always an edge to it, like a knife hidden in silk.” She swallows hard. “He recruited boys like Bruiser. Offering them power, money, drugs… Anything they wanted, but the price was always the same—loyalty and a willingness to do anything he asked, even if it meant dying for him.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Jon asks, his pen poised over a notepad.

Ember’s eyes meet mine, and the pain I see there makes my chest ache.

“About seven years ago, not long after… After what happened with Bruiser. But he was around consistently for a while, always looking for recruits.”

The pieces start to fall into place—Bruiser’s connection to the Night Pack, the tattoo, and the years of built-up criminal enterprise. It’s all connected—a web of exploitation and violence with Damien Wolfe at the center.

Not to mention his connection to Aria’s father.

“Ember,” Jenny asks, “do you realize what this means? If we can get you to testify…”

“No. No way. I can’t… I won’t testify. I can’t face him again.” Fear flashes across Ember’s face. “He’ll hunt me down and kill me.”