One second I was pain, an ache of heat so excruciating, the claws and teeth of it gnawing against the inside of my chest with such rapid aggression that I feared it would eat me alive—and then it was gone. I shoved it outward, marking those three targets, flinging out more small nets of safety, general places, unknown spaces where I knew my friends and allies must be. I had time do that much. To try to shield them.

I tried.

After that, there was only blood and fire.

I brought hell to our world. To our lands. Fire was my crown. Brimstone the throne on which I sat. I had the honeyed words of dead girls in my ear and an army of flame at my back. At my sides. It ate at my flesh, dug talons into my skull, ripped me open from the inside. The world was mine.

It was ours.

And we took it.

The thing that bubbled up in me, that black, roiling heat, was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Cleansing and yet utterly toxic in the way only flame can be. I withered under its pressure, the soul of who I was, the shred of soul that still clung to the shadows of my heart was fragile. So very fragile in the wake of that heat, that oppressive power.

Some tiny part of me, the part of me that was only mine and not ours, knew that if I didn't pull back, didn't stop there would be no stopping. No end to this. And we wanted that. No. No, that wasn't right. They wanted that. The voices, so loud now. Arguing. Fighting. Each louder than the next, volleying for control. Volleying for power. Volleying to win, to burn, to rule, to take me.

It was so loud I couldn't understand what they were saying anymore, couldn't make sense of the words. But I knew. Some intrinsic part of me knew that I was dying, falling to pieces on the floor of the ballroom.

I tasted ash on my tongue. Felt my throat constrict. I think I was screaming.

There was so much noise, chaos in my mind, in my body. Hands made of fire, made of black smoke, of dark roiling power, scratched at my insides, clawed up my throat, constricted my lungs. They blinded me.

And I clung tight to three pieces of straw in my hand.

Fire licked at my clothes, threaded through my hair. Wood was snapping, firing spitting and popping. I felt it licking against stone, marble, glass. Flesh. Hair. Bone. There was no time for them to scream. No time for them to fight back. There was only fire and heat and hell.

All ten levels of it.

Here.

Now.

Devouring everything.

And we didn't care.

We had no comprehension of where we were in the room anymore. There was only fire and the need to burn everything. Every last person in this damn place. Everyone who would stand between us and our throne. Us and our crown. We were a blaze. We existed to hold that force steady. To command it. To rule over it. And this, this mortal made of flesh and bone. This skin we wore, she would do well enough. It would serve its purpose for now.

But she did not yield completely.

The fingers of that mortal body refused to loosened around something—a wall, a shield. Each blood coated finger unfurled slowly, the child still resisting us even after we'd taken control. She fought. Tried. A valiant effort.

A tremor rocked her body, bowing her frame as a raw, broken sound escaped her lips. She fought our urging to let go of that last bit of her power. Her humanity. Her soul. Whatever she was holding back, whatever dregs of her fire, her flame that she kept hidden within herself—it was ours.

Now her fingers were nearly completely unfurled, her mark almost entirely visible. Foolish girl to believe she could ever hide such a thing. Hiding never works. We are destined. We are born to this. We are power and darkness.

Our face was wet with her tears. Pitiful creature.

And then just before the last of her fingers unfurled, as if it were her final act of rebellion, the girl roared. One word. One command.

"No!"

My eyes opened of their own accord and I rocked forward, bracing myself with one hand to keep me from collapsing onto my face. I couldn't remember when I'd fallen to my knees. I was panting, gasping in ragged breaths of smoke and ash. Blood coated the inside of my mouth. Bile stung at my throat and nostrils.

And the pain. The white hot pain.

Fingernails raked down the plains of my mind, yanked at my spine, twisted my heart in cold hands. Fire was still everywhere, still pouring from me in waves that I couldn't control, couldn't understand. Bodies littered the ground. The voices, once soft and lulling, were now a chorus of shouts. Their screeching words an echo to each fist that pounded against my ribcage, every chunk they tore from my heart with their sharp teeth.

Across from me, I could see people trying to crawl towards the closed wooden doors to the ballroom. The balcony above us and the ceiling overhead was already so thick with smoke that I couldn't see the damage, but I knew that it was substantial. My bare knees were soaked in blood and I had just enough of myself left to know that I was barely clothed.

I cradled one fist to my chest, my other hand still pressed to the floor as I scanned the room. Pieces of straw. Pieces of straw. Pieces of straw. The words were a strange anthem at the back of my head as I clung to my humanity and shoved those voices deeper into myself. Down, down, down. Pieces of straw. Three of them. I have three piece of straw.

I needed to stop this.

It was all too much.

But the heat continued to clawed at me, a never ending flow of fire. It ate at my insides, wanting out. Wanting more. Like my body was a cage of bones and the power wanted to stand on it's on. Separate from me.

As the heat built inside of me, gnawing jagged teeth into my ribs and digging into my lungs, I pushed more and more of it into the room, into the palace. Into the city. I fed fire after fire. Created an invisible web between all of them, tiny invisible spider webs of power threaded between each pinprick of heat.

Like campfires, I thought. Campfires from long ago. Campfires and a man I once loved. Gold and black river tattoos that snaked across his skin.

Like three pieces of straw that I couldn't let go.

I couldn't let go. Couldn't burn anymore. Wouldn't burn. Even as those voices told me to do it, to kill everyone. End it. Kill them all. Wipe them all away. It's all ours, after all. Something, so small ounce of humanity, of myself, held me in place. Kept me in place. I held tight to it. To that tiny, imperceptible shred of the girl I knew I was supposed to be.

I told myself that I'd rather die than become a monster.

You already are a monster. Those voices screamed. You always were.

The chaos in the room was a dull roar in the back of my mind. Drowned out by the song of so many other voices. The screams of the dying—but not of those in this room. No. Instead, I heard the voices of those who had knelt in the mud of an arena. Those who had hopes and dreams ripped from their chests just as surely and as violently as they'd had their lives taken from them. Those who had left families. Lovers. Those who had stood on shaking legs and begged for a choice. Those who had been denied time and time again.

Those who had died just as I would have had I not made it out in time.

You are not them, I reminded myself, a song to sing against theirs. Softer. Quieter. For only me to hear. You made it out. You lived. You still live.

I heard them, louder still. So loud, I wondered if all of Erydia could hear them screaming. Hear the voices inside of me raging.

Amongst those cries of anguish, mixed with the sparks of fire, the sizzle of flesh frying, of people dying around me, of bones breaking, of heat melting heirloom paintings and cracking wooden beams, of fire curling wallpaper—the voices of others echoed inside me.

End it.

Kill them.

Two more. Two more.

Almost Ours.

The crown is just there.

So close.

The throne awaits.

Her body is ours.

The army of fire I'd created was rallying in me once more, pushed to a frenzy once more by the internal chants of those voices. The needs of those long dead queens. Their wants. Their desires.

I pushed it down. Down, down, down. Please, please, please. Claws of heat scratched at my skin, venomous heat scorching my veins as my ability strained against my hold, unwilling to be chained now that it had enjoyed some modicum of freedom. My skin turned hot.

The room was black was smoke and I couldn't get a full breath. Couldn't keep myself under control. Not as the heat spiraled outward. Pressing against my throat, my chest, my stomach, my ribs. Boiling. I tasted copper. Salt water. I was burning from the inside.

And I clung tight to three pieces of straw clutched in my hand.

I heard someone saying my name. Felt fingers dig into my flesh. Heard a hiss of pain. I struggled, kicking and screaming. I couldn't see through the smoke, couldn't think past holding in that power. Holding on to the straw in my fist. Couldn't remember why I needed to do either of those things. Couldn't remember my own name. Didn't know how to breathe anymore.

There was yelling. People moaning in pain. The cracking and heat of fire. The sense that I'd done something terrible. Something horrible. I fought against my captor, sure that they were going to kill me. Certain that I deserved whatever punishment they would give me, but still desperately afraid of it.

I don't know if words made it past my lips.

Pain exploded through my abdomen as I was pulled into someone's arms, my body leaned against a firm male chest. The intense, blinding stab of agony was enough to have my ability slipping. My fingers loosened. Whoever was holding me jerked sharply and let out a sharp sound—a cry of pain.

I whimpered, the only sound I could get past my teeth. The heat in my blood was rising. The chants of those dead queens so loud now that it was hard to hear anything else. Any other sound. He didn't let me go. Whoever he was, he didn't let go.

Moments or seconds or hours or years later, a firm hand took hold of my chin. My head was turned away from where I'd been burying it against that strange man's chest. And when I opened my eyes, there was only a smoke tinged blue sky above my head.

The man adjusted me, slipping me out of his arms and setting me gently onto a stone bench. He crouched in front of me, his gaze careful not to leave my face. His hands careful not to touch me again.

My clothes were nearly gone, I realized. My pale skin bright with the fire dancing beneath the surface of it. It might have been a beautiful thing to behold if it hadn't been so painful. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. Trying to ground myself. Why was I here? What had I been doing?

"Let it out. Let it out, Monroe. Only here. Only in the garden. Everyone else is inside. Jax—They were ambushed. They never made it into the room. Now they're trying to get the fire under control. You can help them, but not like this. You need to—"

My fingers pressed into my stomach and I hissed as my fingertips found an open bullet wound. The man caught my wrist in his, yanking my fingers away from the wound before he let my hand drop. At the touch of my skin, he made a sound through his teeth, a welt was already forming from where my skin had touched his.

He didn't acknowledge that I'd hurt him.

"Love, I need you to focus."

I realized then that there were burn marks all over him, full hand prints I'd left on him as he carried me here. Bile rose in my throat and I pressed the backs of my fingers to my lips. Heat pressed to my spine, to my fingertips. It grazed long, fiery talons against the inside of skin.

My breathing was coming in sharp pants.

Pieces of straw. Pieces of straw. Pieces of straw.

I wasn't supposed to hurt him. I knew that. I didn't know him, but I knew that.

I opened and closed my mouth. Trying and failing to make my mouth form words. Finally, I managed a hoarse, "I hurt you."

His fingers twitched and it seemed like he wanted to reach out and touch me again. Instead he placed a hand on either side of me, his fingers tightened onto the seat of the bench as he said, "It's okay. You did so well. So very well, darling."

Intimate. His words were so soft and intimate. I should know him. I should know those gold, gold eyes. Pain blocked out memory, blocked out sense. It blocked out everything but the urge to scream, the urge to burn and ravage and ruin.

"Burn, Monroe," he said.

My entire body was shaking uncontrollably. The power too much. Everything hurt. I was too full of flame. I felt—I felt like I was breaking from the inside out. Like I was going to shatter to pieces if I didn't do something. But what if I didn't contain it. What if I hurt him? What if I hurt everyone?

My fingers found another bullet hole in my outer thigh and I whimpered.

He caught hold of my hand again. I yanked out of his grip, but not before my skin burned his. He didn't even wince. Those golden eyes only turned sharp, stern. The tenderness leaving them as he said, "Mark me. It's just you and me in this garden. Everything else can be destroyed. Ruin it. But don't go beyond the walls. Don't go further into the palace. Do you understand me?"

My bottom lip trembled. "But—"

"No. You have to let it out. Now. We're running out of time. It's just like in the barn, when you were at home. Remember? Pretend I'm a piece of straw. Focus on me and don't let the fire touch me. I know you can do it again."

The air escaped my lungs all at once. "Pieces of straw?" I whispered.

His brow furrowed his voice losing that sharp edge as he muttered, "You're trembling, my love." His head turned as a commotion came from far off, a distance away in the garden, past where I could see. He swallowed as he looked back to me. "I need you to listen to me. Just this once, please. Please listen to me. Trust me."

"I could hurt you."

"It's an order, Monroe. Burn, now."

Something about that. Something about his expression...Callahan. The name came to me quickly, enough to cut through the swell of pain and confusion. A certainty.

I didn't want to burn. Didn't want to let go of this fire. I was so afraid, so terribly afraid of what would happen if I let go of it. I knew this man had faith that I could contain the destruction, could keep it to the walls of this garden...but I doubted. I knew myself and I knew the darkness that still clung to my ribcage.

"Callahan," I whispered.

His brows rose. "You haven't called me that in a long time."

"I haven't?"

He stared for a long moment and then he said, "Kai. It's Kai." Tears welled in my eyes and he offered me a small smile. I could tell that my confusion worried him, but he didn't give it space. Didn't keep him from saying, "Please, please burn, Monroe. We don't have a lot of time and I need to know you're okay before they come to—" He cut himself off. "I need to know you're okay."

After a second, I slid over on the bench, what remain of my dress shredding further into ash and without a word, he moved to sit next to me. Kai said nothing else to me as I turned and marked the garden as best I could. The edges I could see. The walls. The bench we sat on. Him.

I couldn't tell if there were people alive inside the palace. I had no idea how much destruction I had caused or what I'd done before I'd managed to reel myself back in.

I couldn't hear much of anything from where we sat. The goddess-touched girls and the dead queens were still calling for their own blood, their own revenge. And they'd probably be calling for it for a long while. Forever maybe. I closed my eyes and sighed, doing my best to block out their voices.

My teeth were chattered as I glanced at him.

"You've never looked more like a picture," he whispered. "You're the strongest person I know. I am constantly impressed by the woman you are."

I inhaled a deep breath, lost for words. I let what he'd said wash over me and then I nodded, just once, and let it all go.

***

When I was done, the garden outside the ballroom was little more than a charred collection of stone statues, skeletal trees, and a blackened pathway of cobblestones. I had no concept of time. The blast of heat and wind and flame that burst from me might have lasted seconds or hours. It could have been three days. Kai sat with me the entire time and though he shielded his face from the brightness of the initial blast, I didn't let it burn hot near us for very long.

It was a relief. Like slipping into a cold pool of water after a long day of work in the heat of summer. It was like twisting a faucet, allowing that power to flow from me. Once I released it, pushed it outward from my hands and let it catch on the greenery of the garden around us, it caught and burned with an intensity that was stifling.

I was smoke and ash. Flame and fodder.

I was in my body and yet entirely outside of it.

The fire spread from me, eating at every bit of vegetation, every piece of bark, every bush and tree. Kai and I sat in that burning garden for what felt like forever, but couldn't have been longer than a few minutes. I didn't watch it happen, I found that it hurt too much to see the destruction. In the ballroom, I hadn't been able to see. With it loose like this, free flowing from me, I let my head tilt back, let myself relax.

The blue sky was soon overtaken with thick, billowing black clouds. The already smoke tinged sky of the Erydian capital now muddied further. Hot tears streamed from my eyes, washing away grime and dust and soot. Kai was covered it dirt, bruises, and burns from my hands. His shirt was scorched in places and there was a large splotch of blood on his shoulder, just near his heart, from Nadia's ability.

I wanted to touch it. To tend to him. I could tell he wanted to do the same for me, but we didn't. We didn't even speak. We just sat side by side in silence, not touching. Each of us lost in our own thoughts as the heat drained from me.

The first signs that it was finishing didn't come in the form of my flames, they showed in my body. Kai's voice was soft, but worried as he said, "Your lips have gone blue."

I only hummed in response, my gaze still locked on the sky above us. The queens and the goddess-touched girls had long since quieted. I'd burned them away. Turned that fire inward and burned them out of me. And that was its own relief. Not that I would ever tell anyone what had truly happened. I didn't think anyone would understand.

From where we sat, I could hear Jaxon calling out orders. I might have even heard Darragh's voice at one point. A few people had mentioned my name. Many had mentioned Kai's. They were looking for him. Wanted to know if he was dead. Those who knew he'd taken me into the garden hadn't told anyone of importance.

"Monroe?" Kai reached out, his hand hot against my face.

I flinched at the contact, then relaxed into the back of his fingers, content with any bit of warmth. His brow furrowed and he stood. His shirt was in tatters, but he shrugged it off anyway, pulling it around me, trying to cover the majority of my nakedness.

Then we were moving again.

I tired and failed to follow where he was going, to pay attention, but my head lulled and my eyes were so heavy. I was so tired and cold. Behind closed lids, I recognized the shift from outside to inside. I heard him yelling for Nadia.

I had enough energy to be relieved.

Enough energy to know that hearing her name meant she wasn't dead. Then, I had just enough left to remember why he might need her and what that fear in his voice might mean for me, and then I worried that I might soon be.

🔥🔥🔥

Long chapter to make up for the fact that I missed Tuesday's upload! Thank you for your patience and for loving me even when I'm a loser. 🥰

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