Am I dead?
Someone was coughing and cursing, furious and half choking, but I thought I was smiling. My beautiful, wild girl of flame tried to win. She reached for me with greedy fingers and burning breath, coaxed and threatened in equal measure, all heat and hunger. But I knew her too well. I danced with her, but pulled back a moment before she could sink her claws in.
Not today. Not yet.
EIGHTEEN
Killian
Caleb was driving—tight-jawed,eyes flicking to the rearview as if Jamie might combust again in the back seat. I sat beside him, still tasting ash, my hand braced under his elbow to keep him upright. He was half-slumped against the door, silent, his jacket stuck to his shoulder with blood and blistered skin on one arm. His knuckles were raw, maybe from crawling, but no burns there. Maybe from fighting. Maybe both.
He stared straight ahead. Hollowed out.
My place was closer. Safer. I punched in the code at the private elevator and bundled him inside, holding him up when his legs buckled. Caleb followed, muttering about fucking idiots, but opening doors and helping where needed.
Once inside, I got Jamie to the couch, loweringhim gently as he hissed through his teeth. His breathing was shallow and uneven. He didn’t complain. Didn’t scream. That scared me more than if he had.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I’d never had to use myself but had on speed dial.
Doc answered on the second ring, his tone as pleasant as always. “Someone dying?”
“Burns. Smoke inhalation. Blood.” I glanced at Jamie—eyes closed now, skin gray around the edges. “I need you to come to my place. Tonight.”
A beat of silence, then a sigh. “It’s fucking three a.m.; you’re gonna have to sweeten the deal.”
“I’ll double your usual.”
“Not enough.”
I clenched my jaw. “Ten thousand. Cash.”
“For a paper cut, maybe,” Doc drawled. “But burns? Blood? Risk of infection? Fluid therapy? You want me to lug my gear across town and play ER at the ass crack of the night? You’re in deep-pocket territory, sweetheart.”
“Doc—”
“I’m not a charity. Twenty. Final offer.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. “Fine. Twenty.”
“Smart choice. Send me your door code. I’ll be there in twenty. In the meantime, strip whoever thefuck it is down, keep them warm, and elevate their legs if they get cold. Don’t touch the burns, don’t pop anything, and for fuck’s sake, don’t give them water if they’re coughing—last thing we need is aspiration on top of everything else.”
“Doc—”
He hung up without another word.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and sat beside Jamie on the couch. The air stank of smoke and scorched fabric. His lashes were clumped with soot. His fingers twitched as if his body didn’t know the fire was over.
I reached for his jacket, trying to peel it back gently. Caleb moved in beside me, crouched low without a word. Between us, we eased it off—slow, careful, but Jamie still flinched when the lining dragged across the burned skin on his arm. He didn’t make a sound.
His boots were next, untouched by the fire, but his jeans were singed at the hem, and they stuck to his skin in places. We stripped them off anyway.
Then came the shirt.
Or what was left of it.
Melted in places. Fused to the blistered skin beneath.
“Should we take it off?” I asked, voice low, almost hoping Caleb would tell me no.
