Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(68)

He kissed my pouted bottom lip.

“The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back home.”

I smiled at the word, home. It was like magic to my ears. I hadn’t had a home since Dad’s death.

“Go then, I’ll be here.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” he said as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his lips to mine again. Walking backward so that he could kiss me for as long as possible, he dragged me from the apartment and out into the hall. Laughter fell from between our joined lips as he refused to let me go. He only released me once we were almost at the turn in the corridor. He stopped, wrapped his arms around me, and held me against him for one last, proper kiss before reluctantly pulling away. I watched him walk away until the corridor turned for a second time and he disappeared from my view.

As I turned around in the now-empty hallway, I noticed a fresh batch of graffiti on the wall in front of our apartment. I rolled my eyes at the lack of respect the residents seemed to have for the building. True it was a rat-infested hovel, but it was home. Yet almost every day, a new piece of artwork appeared. This newest piece was odd because it blended so well with everything that had already existed there—usually they were painted loudly, covering over what came before as taggers competed for fast disappearing space. Disregarding the new graffiti—a crescent moon shape with what looked like a crudely-drawn M in the middle of it—I headed back into my apartment.

Closing and locking the door, I headed for the shower. Standing under the warm stream of water, I allowed myself a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. My initial joy at our reunion had fast been tainted by the consequences of our relationship. In my darkest times I still believed I was responsible for Dad’s death and Clay’s alienation from his family. It was likely that belief would always linger. After such a perfect morning though, it was almost impossible to linger on the darkness. If only for a few precious moments, I was free of even the slightest twinge of remorse. The time alone under the water gave me the opportunity to process how content I was with the new life I shared with Clay. As long as we were careful and stayed hidden, the biggest problem with our little slice of paradise was the neighborhood.

As if my thoughts had signaled the neighbors, my perfect moment was broken by shouts and the slamming of door. Before I could work myself up, I pushed my concerns away again. For Clay, I could put up with a few noisy strangers in the surrounding apartments.

Stepping out of the shower, I reached for a towel, but stilled as I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of platinum hair reflected in the mirror. Twisting around, I tried to confirm what I’d seen, but there was nothing there. My imagination was running rampant now that I was alone for the first time in weeks. Maybe some of Dad’s paranoia had rubbed off on me after all.

I snatched the towel from the rack and worked to dry myself. As I did, I tried to ignore the growing sensation of being watched. It was a ridiculous notion. There was no way the Rain could have found us so soon. We hadn’t been complacent when it came to our safety. If anything, we’d been overly cautious—shopping in the late hours and avoiding cameras.

None of my silent reassurances calmed the ill at ease rumbling in the pit of my stomach though. Trying to push it aside, I hung the towel over the rack before slipping into my underwear and a T-shirt.

Another quick flash of blonde flickered in the mirror.

I twisted in place as fast as I could. A moment later, long before I could comprehend what I was seeing, a blinding blow struck across my temple and everything went black.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


MY HEAD pounded ferociously and my back ached. A noxious smell invaded my nostrils and seemed to surround me completely. My skin was wet. A strange prickly burn coated me, bringing with it an unsettling coolness. Opening my eyes was useless. The darkness at the edges of my vision swallowed the light. It was painful to even try to distinguish anything beyond basic shapes. Wanting to rub away the ache that ran along my side and up into my shoulders, I tugged at my hands only to discover they’d been bound. I yanked harder, crying out as something tightened around my wrists and bit into my skin. My scream was muffled by something hard and sticky pressed against my mouth.

I forced my eyes open, trying to stretch what felt like too much skin around the sockets, and worked at focusing on the room around me.

The blurriness slowly faded. The light that followed burned its way into my mind. I tried to remember what had happened. All I could recall was lying in Clay’s arms in the morning and seeing him off on his job search. My mind refused to offer up anything that would explain the restraints around my arms or the throbbing at my temple.

As my sight sharpened, I discovered where I was. Tied to a chair, dressed in my T-shirt and underwear, but definitely still in our apartment. Scrawled over the wall in red paint was a symbol, the same graffiti I’d seen on the wall in front of our door. A semi-circle with a wide M—like a child’s crudely drawn bird—across it.

The memory of a flash of platinum hair reflected in our mirror rushed through me. Following that recollection almost immediately was the strike to my skull. It must have knocked me out.

Twisting my head as far as I could manage, I tried to locate my attacker.

“I see you’re finally awake.” Her voice dripped with hatred. The voice was unmistakable.

When I turned in the direction of the nasally voice, Louise’s face swam into view.