Bridges Burned (Going Down in Flames #2)(82)

Bryn moved to the edge of her seat, clutching a throw pillow while she watched her grandmother. The set of her jaw and her relaxed stance gave nothing away. After hanging up, she turned to face everyone.

“The attack is over. The Directorate has everything under control. Even though they feel it’s safe to return to your homes, you are all invited to stay the night. We have more than enough bedrooms for everyone’s comfort.”

Women picked up their children and headed toward the steps. No one ran or panicked. They walked at a leisurely pace. All she wanted to do was race upstairs and demand answers. Was she the only female who’d wanted to fight? How was that possible? Ivy would’ve joined the battle if she were here. Was it a Clan thing or a class thing?

Who knew? Either way, it was damn irritating.

A hand touched her arm. “Don’t march upstairs demanding answers,” Lillith said. “Even though the men will appear calm and act as if they have everything under control, they’ll still be on high alert. I’m sure your grandfather is ready to rip someone’s head off over this incident. His Christmas Ball was disturbed by an act of war.”

“Act of war?” Chill bumps broke out on Bryn’s arms.

“What else would you call attacking the estate where every single Directorate member is known to be?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. “Will you stay the night?”

“Ferrin will make that decision, and I’ll let him because it will give him the sense that he is in complete control of something. A Blue male with wounded pride is one of the most dangerous creatures on the planet. Remember that in your dealings with Jaxon.”

“Are you afraid of your husband?” Uh-oh. Boredom must’ve turned off her filter.

Lillith stared off in thought. Which was scarier than an outright answer. “I never fear for my safety or Jaxon’s. However, I do fear for the safety of others.”

And suddenly Ferrin seemed scarier than he’d ever been. Great.

Bryn stood. “The crowd has cleared. We better go find Jaxon before he accuses me of losing you.”





Chapter Thirty-Two


As they climbed the steps back up to the main area of the house, a cold feeling skittered down Bryn’s spine. Was the house damaged, or the grounds ripped up like at school? Whoever was behind these attacks seemed to have dragons from every Clan. How was that possible? The first attack on campus came in the form of sonic waves, then they’d used wind, directing tornado-like gusts to attack the theater building. In Dragon’s Bluff, the attack had come in the form of giant hail. Tonight had been the Black dragons’ weapon, lightning. That only left the Reds’ weapon, fire. Whenever the next attack came, would it come in the form of flames?

On the way back to the ballroom, everything appeared normal. Had they panicked over nothing? The smell of burned wires drifted through the air. Lillith’s grip on her arm prevented Bryn from running ahead.

Inside the ballroom, Bryn found the source of the smell. Christmas trees lay on their sides, with their branches burned and broken. Ice, or maybe glass, glittered on the ballroom floor. Most of the floor-to-ceiling cathedral windows were missing their panes or were left with jagged remnants of glass.

Had the attack been centered on the ballroom? If it had, that meant the attackers knew when and where everyone would be at a certain time. Men stood in groups with their heads together, talking heatedly. Blood spotted their dress shirts, and in a few places it puddled on the floor.

She approached a man she didn’t know who was seated on the floor, clutching his arm against his body. Blood soaked through his shirtsleeve.

“If you’re hurt, I can help you. I’ve had some training as a medic.”

Indecision showed in his eyes.

“Jaxon Westgate trusted me to heal his classmates.” Maybe that would sway him.

He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing a jagged tear, like a talon had ripped through his skin. Bryn sat on the floor next to him and focused her life force, visualizing it as a small sun glowing in her chest. Then she directed the flow of Quintessence through her right arm and out of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers back and forth over the torn skin, she visualized the raw edges pulling together, the muscles knitting themselves back together.

Concentrating on healing the young man, she didn’t pay attention to anything else. When the cut was healed, she smiled up at him.

“Thank you.” His words were sincere.

She nodded and pushed to her feet. That’s when she noticed everyone staring at her. And she did mean everyone, even her grandparents. Nothing like a captive audience.

“Does anyone else need help? I can’t heal broken bones yet, but I’m good with flesh wounds.”

You could have heard a leaf hit the grass.

“Over here.” A woman pointed to her son.

“I’m fine, Mother,” the young man protested.

“You’re not. I won’t have you bleeding all the way home.” She pointed to her son’s face. Blood soaked through a handkerchief he held to his forehead. “If you would be so kind as to take care of him.”

“Humor your mother,” Bryn said. “And remove the handkerchief so I can see what I’m dealing with.”

Resigned, the boy did as he was told. Healing him was easy.

“Thank you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Everson. Do have your grandmother call me for lunch one day. My treat.”