Flame (Fireborn) (2 page)

The sound sends cold
shivers down his spine.
Something is very wrong here,
he
realizes with growing unease. Every instinct tells him to flee, but
he can't move. His feet are cemented to the ground, immobile and
heavy. Suddenly, a strong hand shoots out, grabbing his neck with
force.

"Your sister kept
you in the dark about a lot of things, it seems." He's rasping
for breath, but the hand is ruthless.

"Where is the
package?" the figure asks so softly he almost doesn't hear it.

"B-b-b-ack
th-e-re," he pants, his hands clawing at the force holding his
life. "In the car." His attacker squeezes for a second
more, taking a perverted delight in his suffering. When he's
released, he falls to his knees, gasping for air. The hooded figure
watches him with detached interest.

"Bring it to me,"
the stranger commands. Then he adds, "If you try to run, I will
find you. And you will be very, very, sorry."

He knows it isn't an
empty threat.

He stumbles away,
terrified. What kind of crap had his sister gotten herself into? But
that thought is brushed aside with the nauseating smell of fear. This
is the only thing his sister had ever asked him to do, so he's doing
it. But after this, he's going to drive far, far away and never look
back.

He pulls the car door
open, and stares at the small box containing his sister's most
precious possession.

Her daughter.

His niece.

The "package"
that needed to be delivered. He uses both hands to carry her. She's
awake, and staring at him with wide eyes. He met her for the first
time a week ago, and in that time he'd grown close to her. Well, as
close as a person like him could, anyway. A wave of sadness washes
over him as she coos to him. He shakes it off and continues forward
to the scariest man he's ever seen. If he hadn't promised his sister,
he would've ran with the baby right then, but he doesn't. She'd
looked desperate when she made him promise. And he loved her, so he
agreed.

He hears crickets and
owls in the darkness, but the baby is oddly silent. Maybe she's
starting to sense fear. He sure as hell recognizes it. When he's in
front of the man, he can't bring himself to let go of the box. Even
through the drug-induced adrenaline pumping through his veins, he's
having doubts about what's happening.

"Give her to me,"
the cloaked figure says, staring at the box he holds.

"What are you
going to do with her?" he asks.

"What your sister
asked me to do, of course." The man moves to take the baby, but
his own fingers tighten around the box.

"Where's my
sister?" he suddenly asks, afraid. Doubt plagues his mind like
darts. Maybe if his sister saw this man she wouldn't allow him to
take her baby. He looks dangerous. Before he can say more, the dark
figure reaches over to pry his fingers loose. The baby is out of his
arms before he can even blink. The large man reaches in with one
hand, and lifts the girl into his arms. The empty box is thrown
carelessly to the ground. In the darkness there is silence as the
cloaked figure stares at her. She is completely still.

Warning alarms ring in
his head.

"Where's my
sister?" he asks again. A growl of anger erupts, and the man's
arm shoots out once more, clasping his neck. This time the pressure
is so intense he sees flashes of light in front of his eyes. The man
had been holding back before, but he isn't holding back now.

"Dead. And you'll
be meeting her in hell." His attacker is literally squeezing the
life out of him. His feet dangle in the air, as breathing becomes
impossible.

The last thing he sees
before his eyes close forever is a bright light, filled with orange
flames. When it goes black, he hears the sounds of fire and smells
burning flesh.

He was no more.

Eighteen years later

I watch as they fly
above us. People from all over lined up for days to catch a glimpse.
I don't blame them. The TV screen can't quite capture the
intoxicating allure oozing out of them like a ripe fruit. Their feet
hardly touch the ground before reporters surround them like famished
vultures.

The drive thru theater
screen looks tiny in comparison to the circular aircraft Ambassador
Damien and the other Saguinox arrive in. The ship is round and
deceptively flat. It gleams metallic and silver, drawing my eyes to
its flashy exterior. No matter how hard I try I can't see any lines
where doors or windows might be. Light bounces off the metallic
gloss, and it hurts to look closer.

The ambassador is being
greeted as if he's a rock star. His mesmerizing looks have been
plastered in TV and magazines for months before this day. He's waving
to the crowd and flashing a spellbinding smile. Something pink is
flying in the air, and hits his chest before falling to the ground. I
gape when I realize what it is: a pink,
very
frilly bra. I'm
not surprised, but I do feel a little embarrassed. They're
aliens
.
Do they even like that sort of thing?

Shaking my head at the
woman's boldness, I note the rows and rows of vehicles stretched from
the screen all the way back to the gate signaling the end of the
Valley Drive Thru property. There's less than a foot between each
car. Other people are on bleachers set up from the night before.
There are multiple cameras. Men hold some, and others are on stands.
One camera is higher than the rest. It's also closer. The crane
operator knows what people are here to see: a glimpse of the Saguinox
Angel eyes.

The sounds of a second
ship flying above us ushers another roar of excitement. I wince,
covering my ears from a particularly high- pitched scream. The girl
next to me- if "next" means a three-foot space separating
us- claps her hands enthusiastically. Her whistles are left
unanswered as the ship continues forward, ignoring the frenzy. The
mass excitement is building, rising higher with each second, like an
orchestra crescendo. We have no conductor to pace our energy, and
emotions surge, spilling, and swelling until my insides- and my ear
drums- might burst at any moment.

"Oh my gosh, I
can't breathe!" The girl "next" to me shouts above the
cheering to her friend. "I'm so excited! I can't believe they're
going to be here, in our town, in our
school
. Eeek!" she
squeals with girlish pleasure. Her friend replies back with similar
shrill sounds.
Candace
. We have Calculus together, but no one
would know it looking at the wide space between us. It's crowded.
Unusually so, but not a single person thinks to move closer to me.

The second aircraft
lands in a cornfield next to us. The screen's split. One half shows
images of the ambassador and a few of his cabinet members. The other
zooms in on a spot that is probably a door, but it's hard to tell
because there are no lines defining it. Someone's trying to talk over
the loud speakers, but it's buzzing in the background. The real
action is in front of us.

We have an advantage
where we are. They call it Lover's Cove. It's corny, and almost no
one says it without rolling their eyes or giggling, but it gets the
point across. It's a place for lovers. We're on a hill overlooking
the drive thru. Vendors are selling their ware like this is a
sporting event. I can't fault them though. Even I, Kenna Parker, am
toting bloody, almost rare beef patties slathered with cheese, and a
deliciously fattening blend of mayonnaise, spicy sriracha sauce, and
a touch of sour cream.

The yellow visor over
my head is doing a poor job of blocking the heat. It doesn't help
that a small cart is strapped onto the front of me like a rectangular
backpack carrying sides of cinnamon sticks, fries, and nachos. The
mass of people below surges forward, bellowing for more as the
ambassador moves closer. Their combined cries overpower Alex's shouts
from behind.

"Lemonade!"
he yells. "Chucky burgers!" The black Goth clothes and low
hanging metal chains are in stark contrast to my yellow, overly
bright uniform. His blonde hair is dyed purple at the tips. Being the
nephew of the owner lets you get away with things like not wearing
the work uniform. I let him promote the product since I've been
unable to move for the last twenty minutes. The crowd behind has
grown too large to navigate through.

"I bet the
students are in the second one!" Candace yells to her friend.
The squeals and dreamy sighs following her prediction are enough
confirmation. The split screen is now unified. The main cameras face
the second aircraft, and two figures appear. The first is a girl. She
observes the crowd with confidence. Her blonde brown hair and heart
shaped face is as perfect as any can be. She's dressed in a stylish
suit. Glowing eyes crinkle as she smiles, waving like a pageant
queen. The second figure behind her garners an even louder response.

At first his face is
hidden in the shadows, but his eyes glow before his features become
visible. He's tall, towering over the girl like a giant. His black
hair is darker than the coals we use in the restaurant to smoke meat.
When he ducks through the door, his entire face is seen, and a wave
of sighs and giggles greet him.

My eyebrows shoot up as
I take a step back. He is without a doubt the most handsome man I
have ever seen. I'm not surprised because the Saguinox are known for
their beauty, but something foreign flutters through my body. It
makes my skin tingle. This is such a strange feeling that I tense.
Unable to take my eyes away, I keep looking. A square chin and sharp
cheekbones make his appearance hard and intimidating. Even through
the screen an air of arrogance emanates from his presence. The first
word that comes to my head is
intense
. Hypnotizing. If I
weren't carrying twenty pounds of food, I would've put a hand over my
head and swooned the way that Candace dramatically did. Fortunately
the smell of grease has a way of sinking through your skin and into
your brain. Right now my brain is telling me that
I'd
be the
fried one if I dare drop anything.

"Oomph."
Someone bumps into me. Bright blue eyes look down into my hazel ones.
"Sorry." He seems surprised. "I didn't see you there."
I mumble something incoherent back. Ugh. I'd only been standing here
in an extremely yellow uniform for the last half hour. I might've
felt hurt if I wasn't so used to it.

He does a double take
as he notices the uniform. "Are those
wings
coming out of
your arms?" he asks. Instantly, he bites his lips as if he's
said something embarrassing. Most people don't come out and say it
the way he does as part of the whole Minnesota nice thing, but
curiously stare at the odd choice of work uniform. A yellow shirt and
flared golden skirt paired with knee high orange and black striped
socks and black flats; all of which are mandatory during work hours.
The owner Chuck thought it'd be "eye catching" to add small
arm accessories in the shape of fluffy, yellow wings that, when
paired with the rest of the getup, made you look suspiciously like a
giant chick.

He's waiting politely
for an answer, and I nod. "Well that's… interesting," he
replies courteously. He turns, and disappears into the group. Within
seconds, I'm by myself in my invisible bubble, in a crowd of
hundreds. I glance back at the screen. Ambassador Damien is waiting
to address the crowd. Even though the mayor is speaking, the cameras
focus on the Ambassador's side profile. They capture his prominent
nose and the golden luminosity sparkling beneath his thick lashes.
Angel eyes,
the crowd chants. It's a rhythm that reverberates
in my head.
Angel eyes, Angel eyes, Angel eyes…

Energy and adoration
pour out of every person here with ferocity. Yet, the only thing I
feel as I watch his Saguinox smile light up the screen is a sense of
resignation.

A lone surfer, barely
floating above an empty ocean.

That's what it feels
like inside my soul.

Eighteen years later

I watch as they fly
above us. People from all over lined up for days to catch a glimpse.
I don't blame them. The TV screen can't quite capture the
intoxicating allure oozing out of them like a ripe fruit. Their feet
hardly touch the ground before reporters surround them like famished
vultures.

The drive thru theater
screen looks tiny in comparison to the circular aircraft Ambassador
Damien and the other Saguinox arrive in. The ship is round and
deceptively flat. It gleams metallic and silver, drawing my eyes to
its flashy exterior. No matter how hard I try I can't see any lines
where doors or windows might be. Light bounces off the metallic
gloss, and it hurts to look closer.

The ambassador is being
greeted as if he's a rock star. His mesmerizing looks have been
plastered in TV and magazines for months before this day. He's waving
to the crowd and flashing a spellbinding smile. Something pink is
flying in the air, and hits his chest before falling to the ground. I
gape when I realize what it is: a pink,
very
frilly bra. I'm
not surprised, but I do feel a little embarrassed. They're
aliens
.
Do they even like that sort of thing?

Shaking my head at the
woman's boldness, I note the rows and rows of vehicles stretched from
the screen all the way back to the gate signaling the end of the
Valley Drive Thru property. There's less than a foot between each
car. Other people are on bleachers set up from the night before.
There are multiple cameras. Men hold some, and others are on stands.
One camera is higher than the rest. It's also closer. The crane
operator knows what people are here to see: a glimpse of the Saguinox
Angel eyes.

The sounds of a second
ship flying above us ushers another roar of excitement. I wince,
covering my ears from a particularly high- pitched scream. The girl
next to me- if "next" means a three-foot space separating
us- claps her hands enthusiastically. Her whistles are left
unanswered as the ship continues forward, ignoring the frenzy. The
mass excitement is building, rising higher with each second, like an
orchestra crescendo. We have no conductor to pace our energy, and
emotions surge, spilling, and swelling until my insides- and my ear
drums- might burst at any moment.