Page 6 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

My victory lasted all of three seconds.

Then the doors of the castle burst open, and Rafael stormed onto the landing, his pristine white uniform practically glowing in the morning light. His amber eyes locked onto me, dark with rage, burning with the kind of fury that promised suffering. His lips twisted, and I knew he was already thinking of all the ways he would make me pay.

A sharp pang twisted in my chest, my gaze flicking back to the guard I’d burned alive.

Remorse? No. That was useless. Weak.

Still, the ghost of it lingered, a whisper of something I should have felt but couldn’t allow.

Mother had spent years ripping the softness from me, peeling away every layer of mercy and guilt until there was nothing left but the sharp edge of survival. There was no room for hesitation, no place for regret. I’d killed quickly. Without hesitation. Without mercy. Exactly as she had trained me to.

And yet.

My fists clenched. I could practically feel her emerald eyes piercing through me, disappointment tightening her jaw, her lips pressed into a cold, taut line. Weak, she would say. You hesitate. You question. That is why you fail.

But I hadn’t failed. Not in the way that mattered.

I was still Bruja. The goddess had not forsaken me after all.

I could still earn back her favor.

And yet, the weight in my chest wouldn’t let go. It curled there, stubborn, pressing against my ribs like a secret I couldn’t shake.

Maybe it was guilt.

Or maybe it was something worse. Something I refused to name.

Malakai was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairwell, holding a motorbike steady at his side, three more idling nearby.

Next to him stood a young man with wild curls the color of embers, and intricate tattoos that wound up his neck like creeping vines.

His russet-brown eyes gleamed with mischief, golden freckles dusting his sun-kissed skin as if Tochlin herself had pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He was dressed in an emerald bolero jacket embroidered with silver, the kind of outfit that looked too refined for a man currently engaged in a high-speed prison break.

“Couldn’t find enough motorbikes,”

he said, voice lazy, unconcerned.

Malakai scowled, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Elías, you’re going to lead me to drinking.”

Elías grinned.

"That’s progress. Last time, you said I’d be the death of you. See? Improvement.”

He swung onto the red motorbike, revving the engine with an easy flick of his wrist.

Before I could blink, Dom yanked me off his shoulder and dumped me onto the nearest motorbike like I was a sack of grain. My legs barely had time to adjust before Malakai was there, swinging onto the seat behind me.

I tensed. His arms circled my waist, his chest pressed against my back, all casual-like.

“You mind?”

he asked, his voice too damn smug.

I opened my mouth—to tell him, ‘Yes, actually, I did mind having a lethal killer wrapped around me like a clingy lover,’ but before I could get the words out, he revved the throttle.

The bike screeched, tires biting into the cobblestone, and suddenly we were flying.

The city blurred past in streaks of magenta, gold, and blue. Pink pentas flowers spilled from balconies, ribbons of emerald flags strung between alleyways snapping in the rush of air as we tore down the winding streets.

The roar of mufflers thundered behind us as the rest of Malakai’s crew mounted their bikes in pairs, racing to catch up.

The air was thick with the scent of asphalt, metal, and concrete, pressing against my skin like a second weight. My blood pounded, every nerve lit up in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

I hated this.

I hated all of it.

The chaos. The uncertainty. The fact that I was on the back of a bike with a man who could probably snap my neck before I had time to flinch.

But there was something else, too.

The rush. The speed. The way the city blurred past in streaks of color and sound, the wind tearing through my hair, the weight of freedom just within reach.

My lips parted, a breath catching in my throat.

Damn it.

I was exhilarated.

Pathetic.

Months rotting in that adamas cell had stripped me down to the kind of fool who got excited over a damn joyride.

A low horn bellowed through the city, a sound that rippled through the streets like a death knell.

Malakai shifted gears and gunned the throttle, the bike lurching forward with a growl.

"No use in being discreet—haul ass!”

he yelled over the roar of engines.

Subtlety was officially dead.

The others pushed their bikes to the limit, bodies hugging the frames like they were trying to fuse with the metal. I did the same, pressing close like I used to on the backs of aerial alebrijes, feeling the world blur beneath me.

Goddess, I’d missed this.

The raw speed, the wind slicing against my skin, the way my heart hammered with something that wasn’t just survival—it was freedom, or at least something adjacent to it.

Windows swung open as we tore through the streets, faces peering cautiously from the shadows. Soot-streaked children clapped and laughed, oblivious to the war we were dragging behind us. Their joy was a sharp contrast to the dark plumes of smoke curling up into the sky, to the chaos of boots thundering on cobblestone behind us.

Turn after turn, we spiraled downward. I stole a glance at the city unfolding around me—a masterpiece of bridges and towers radiating from Castillo Rive, its spires stretching toward the sun like gilded talons. Flying vehicles zipped overhead, buzzing like angry insects, darting dangerously close to the buildings. I wondered how often one of them clipped a rooftop and sent itself spiraling into ruin.

Ahead, the city’s outer gates loomed. Guards swarmed the tops of the gatehouse towers, scrambling into formation, their rifles trained on us. The air filled with the mechanical whine of leviathan gears, the portcullis groaning as it started to lower. The soldiers were shouting orders, bullets screaming through the air, zipping past my ears so close I could hear them slicing through the wind.

“Grab the throttle,”

Malakai barked.

I didn’t have time to think. I barely had time to react. My fingers wrapped around the handle just as Malakai pushed himself up on the seat, his body arched forward like a predator about to strike.

Then all hell broke loose.

A hurricane of magic exploded from him, an invisible storm ripping through the ground. The cobblestone split apart with a deafening crack, sending dirt and debris hurtling into the air.

The gate stood no chance.

Invisible talons shredded the metal like it was parchment, twisting and peeling it apart with a metallic screech. The shattered remnants crashed to the ground in a tangled mess, and just like that, the bullets stopped. Guards were hurled backward like rag dolls, their weapons flying from their hands, clattering uselessly against the stone.

The sheer power on display churned my stomach.

I’d seen destruction like this before—Mother’s Malditas wielded this kind of raw devastation, their magic shaped into weapons of war. Malakai’s power felt just as effortless, just as terrifying.

A cold reminder that I was riding with someone far more dangerous than I was currently equipped to handle, should the need arise.

I tightened my grip on the throttle, my body still humming with the high of the escape, but my mind had already started recalculating.

Never let my guard drop.

Not around him. Not for a second.

I didn’t expect what happened next. With a grunt, Malakai slumped back into the seat, his arms wrapping around my waist in a weak attempt to stay upright. His dead weight pressed against my back, his body jolting with every bump in the road.

I went rigid at the contact, my grip on the handlebars tightening. I could feel the heat radiating off him, or maybe it was just the last flickering embers of his magic burning themselves out. His skin had turned ashen, his once-vivid violet eyes now a dull, stormy gray.

Idiot.

He knew what would happen, and he’d done it anyway.

Wanton magic use like that without regard for reserves? It was reckless, undisciplined. It went against everything I had been taught about being Bruja. Power wasn’t a thing to be thrown around like cheap coin—it was a resource, finite and dangerous. But Malakai wielded it like it cost him nothing. And now here he was, half-conscious and slipping fast.

I cursed him under my breath.

"That was stupid,”

I called back.

His grip on me started to loosen.

Shit.

I yanked one of his hands, forcing his fingers to tighten around my waist while keeping the other on the bike’s throttle.

"Hold on, you fool!”

I snarled.

He didn’t respond. Just leaned forward, his full weight crashing into me. His head thudded against my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck, heavy and ragged.

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached, trying to keep both the bike and him from slipping into oblivion. We shot through the remains of the gate, twisted metal arching above us like jagged teeth. Unconscious guards littered the ground, their weapons scattered and useless.

The city shrank behind us, a smudge of towering buildings dissolving into the distance. Blood-red grain fields stretched ahead, the stalks whipping against my legs as we tore through them. Tall, thin trees lined the path, their shadows cutting like dark scars against the golden dawn.

Dom pulled up alongside me, his bike kicking up dust as he shouted over the roar of engines.

"He can’t go on like that! We need to stop!”

“No shit!”

I barked back.

“Follow me! We have a backup plan.”

He twisted his handlebars, veering toward a barely visible line of trees cresting the horizon.

The air behind us vibrated.

I risked a glance over my shoulder.

Hell.

Helicopters had lifted off, their blades slicing through the sky with a droning roar. Airships loomed above, their machine guns opening fire, tearing through the fields in a merciless hail of bullets. Cornstalks exploded around us, spraying leaves and silk into the air.

Panic coiled in my chest, but I swallowed it down. Focus. Keep going.

We pushed the bikes harder, dirt and grain flying beneath our tires. The trees ahead loomed closer—our only real cover. If we didn’t reach them, we were dead.

I chanced another look back.

Not only were the helicopters closing in, but a pack of motorbikes had joined the chase, their riders cutting through the fields like hungry wolves.

We weren’t going to outrun them.

And Malakai sure as hell wasn’t going to last much longer.

We hit the tree line hard, Dom yanking his bike to a screeching stop just as the first bullets tore into the ground behind us.

No time to think. No time to breathe.

Dom swung off his bike and hauled Malakai off mine like a sack of grain.

"I know a place,”

he grunted, already moving before I could ask what place he was talking about.

I shoved my own bike aside and took a step forward—only for my leg to betray me completely.

The world tilted, and I hit the ground hard, an undignified heap of aching limbs and sheer frustration.

Lian didn’t hesitate. One second, I was cursing into the dirt, and the next, he had me up, my arm slung over his shoulder before I could protest.

“Elías, give me a hand,”

Lian jerked his chin at the redhead in the emerald bolero. Without a word, Elías looped his other arm under mine, and the three of us took off after Dom.

The jungle swallowed us whole.

The air was thick, damp, heavy with the scent of rotting leaves and something metallic beneath it—something that didn’t belong. Thin shafts of light pierced the canopy, casting eerie golden slashes across the jungle floor. The trees were massive—as tall and wide as the skyscrapers in Aguatitlan’s capital, their roots twisting into monstrous, gnarled fists that seemed to claw their way from the ground. Thick vines slithered up the trunks, coiling across branches like predatory snakes.

Every step was a fight. Razor-sharp leaves sliced at my arms, vines snagged at my legs. The air buzzed with the unsettling chitter of unseen creatures, their voices overlapping in an eerie, discordant melody.

“This place feels wrong,”

I muttered, my eyes darting to the shifting shadows between the trees. The feeling gnawed at the back of my mind, sharp teeth against fragile certainty.

"Where the hell are we?”

“Endrina Jungle,”

Lian answered. Like it was nothing.

I stopped dead.

"You’re joking.”

He wasn’t.

Endrina Jungle. The Endrina Jungle. The cursed, untamed mass of land that stretched for over a thousand miles, a festering wound in the heart of Aguatitlan that no king had ever dared to claim. Even the tyrants of this country left it alone, unwilling to challenge whatever else called it home. Monsters. Magic. Things even the Bruja didn’t dare whisper about.

Elías gave me a sidelong glance, unimpressed with my hesitation.

"You scared, Marix?”

“I prefer not stupid,”

I shot back, but my feet still didn’t move.

Lian exhaled, like he was explaining something painfully obvious.

"We’re safe as long as we have Malakai.”

A cold shiver traced its way down my spine.

Not because Malakai was strong.

Because he was that deadly.

Even the monsters of Endrina knew better than to come for us.

And that? That was the most unsettling part of all.

“When we stop, I can take care of that leg for you,”

Elías offered, his voice smooth as polished steel.

I shot him a look, skeptical.

He winked.

"I’m a Curador. Can take care of anything else you need while I’m at it.”

He waggled his eyebrows, all exaggerated mischief.

I lifted my brows. Was he flirting with me?

Before I could decide whether to be amused or annoyed, Lian stumbled over a fallen log, and suddenly, we were both lurching toward the hard forest floor.

“Hang on,”

Elías said, catching me effortlessly while offering Lian a hand.

I didn’t miss the way Lian hesitated before taking it—or the way Elías bit his bottom lip, just barely suppressing a smirk.

Oh.

So that’s what this was.

“Watch out for the trees with black sap,”

Elías said, pointing at the thick-barked trunks oozing with inky streaks.

"Chechen trees. The sap causes blisters and burns. Real nasty. I wouldn’t want to have to strip you down to get the stuff off.”

I huffed, rolling my eyes.

"You’re shameless.”

I knew full well he wasn’t actually trying to get a rise out of me—he was performing for Lian.

"Go bother someone else.”

Lian flicked me a small, appreciative smile.

I wasn’t in the mood for whatever game Elías was playing. My focus was on putting one foot in front of the other, ducking under low-hanging branches, and shaking off the sticky jungle leaves clinging to my clothes.

We hadn’t been moving for more than ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Every muscle in my body ached, exhaustion creeping up my spine like vines, strangling what little energy I had left.

“Whatever you do, don’t fall in love with me,”

Elías said as he grabbed my waist and hoisted me over a fallen tree.

I snorted.

"Not a chance.”

But in my effort to shoot him an unimpressed look, I miscalculated my next step, rolling my ankle on a thick branch.

I stumbled right into him, my balance shot. His chest vibrated with laughter.

“See?”

He grinned as he steadied me.

"It’s already happening. The guy rescues the girl; the girl falls for the guy. It’s in all the stories. I’m just warning you now—I’m a free spirit. Don’t go getting too attached.”

I glanced at Lian, catching how he wrung his hands in front of him.

Smirking, I turned back to Elías.

"I think you’re less of a free spirit than you like to think.”

Elías laughed, full-bodied and unrepentant.

"Now we’re arguing. That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’ll need me to take my shirt off and rip it into bandages or something. I’ve seen how these things play out.”

Next to me, Lian choked.

I turned back to Elías, deadpan.

"Didn’t realize I was getting injured anytime soon.”

Elías shrugged, utterly unfazed.

"Trust me. You’ll be head over heels for me before daybreak.”

“Doubtful,”

I drawled, monotone. I didn’t like how this conversation was affecting Lian.

I especially didn’t like how little self-awareness Elías had.

Up ahead, Dom groaned.

"Give it up already, Elías. If not for her sake, then mine. I’m getting real tired of hearing your voice.”

Elías, ever mature, flipped the larger mercenary off. Dom reciprocated without missing a beat.

“She knows I’m just messing with her,”

Elías said, tossing a quick glance Lian’s way. A glance that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his real audience.

I rolled my eyes and focused on something more productive—like ignoring the burning ache in my legs, the erratic hammering of my heart, and the sweat pooling at the back of my neck. The bullet graze on my leg had stopped bleeding, which was about the only good news I had going for me.

“How much farther?”

I asked Dom, hoping we were close.

“Less than a mile,”

he grunted, shifting Malakai’s dead weight on his back.

“A mile?”

I groaned. Every step already felt like I was dragging bricks through quicksand.

“Thank heavens we’re almost there,”

Elías chimed in, dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead.

"You smell like you rolled in pig shit.”

I gaped at him, and Dom smacked him upside the head without hesitation.

“Ow!”

Elías yelped, rubbing the spot like a wounded child.

"What was that for?”

Dom scowled.

"Don’t mind him,”

he said to me.

"He has no concept of manners. He was raised by wolves.”

“Hey!”

Elías objected.

Lian, without missing a beat, added, “I, too, take offense to that. It’s an insult to the wolves.”

Dom let out a rumbling laugh, deep and unbothered, the sound rising through the thick jungle air, curling between the green and silver leaves.

They kept going, their banter easy, familiar. The kind of exchange built over years of knowing each other, of trust that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

I didn’t catch Dom’s next comment, but it earned another round of laughter, a sound that was light in a way I wasn’t used to.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and just listened.

Not because I wanted to be part of it.

Just because it had been a long time since I’d heard laughter that didn’t come with bloodshed.

“Can’t she go any faster?”

The kid—Kerun—whined as Lian and Elías hauled me through the jungle.

"She’s slowing us down.”

I turned my head just in time to catch the glare he tossed my way.

Dom had picked up the pace, already half-swallowed by the trees ahead, leaving my companions to drag me along like a corpse refusing to die.

I gritted my teeth.

"She can hear you.”

Kerun bared his teeth like some feral street cat, all piss and attitude. My lips twitched with the urge to return the favor.

Elías shoved him without missing a step.

"Stop acting like a wild beast,”

he said, his tone light but edged with warning.

"If you can’t play nice, then fall back.”

Kerun shot a look at Lian, maybe hoping for backup. But Lian just gave him a flat, unimpressed stare—the kind that said ‘don’t test me.’

The kid gaped at them like it was a betrayal of the highest order before dropping back, muttering under his breath.

“Just ignore him,”

Lian said, plucking a sticky jungle leaf from his auburn curls.

"He doesn’t like anyone at first.”

“He seems young,”

I muttered, glancing back at Kerun, who was now aggressively gnawing on a stick like it had personally wronged him.

“Thirteen,”

Lian confirmed.

"Though he was only eight when we found him.”

“Found him?”

I shot him a look.

“We were traveling through the Outer Rim. He was a street rat—picking pockets, stealing what he could. He picked Malakai for his mark, and well . . .”

Lian shrugged.

"He’s been with us ever since.”

I frowned. Eight was too damn young to be running around with mercenaries. Then again, I’d been training with Mother’s Malditas around that age. I wondered if Kerun had killed someone yet.

Yet.

I shook the thought from my head.

“How much longer?”

I rasped, my lungs burning, my legs barely functioning at that point.

“Not much,”

Lian said gently, like I was some wounded thing he didn’t want to spook.

Elías, ever the opportunist, grinned.

"I could carry you.”

He said it way too eagerly, like he was just dying for an excuse.

“Pass.”

I didn’t even dignify it with a glance, too busy picturing the only thing keeping me from face-planting into the dirt—a hot bath.

That was it. That was the dream.

Not freedom. Not revenge.

Just steam, scalding water, and enough soap to scrub the last six months off my skin.