I can’t take my eyes off Grace. She’s all that matters.
Movement flickers at the far side of the altar.
Oh, my God.
Parker. She’s barefoot, wearing a pink dress so long it skims the ground. Her cheeks are stained with dirt and tears, hair plastered to her face, eyes glassy and unfocused. Her fingertips are bloody, but in her hands, she holds a three-foot piece of metal. Her entire body shakes violently. How the hell is she still standing?
She flicks her gaze in my direction. A hint of that fire I know so well still remains. Even if it is buried down deep. With a nod, she crouches out of Prophet’s view, rips a long strip of fabric from her dress, and winds it around the metal bar. Then she thrusts it into the flames.
Smoke curls upward in thin, gray wisps as the cloth catches.
Fucking hell. She’s gonna set the asshole on fire.
I want to tell her to stop. That he could jerk and kill Grace. But Parker knows what she’s doing. Always has. Always will. Even now when she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.
She almost drops the bar as she stands, but after two shaky steps, she thrusts it at the man, catching the bottom of his robes.
It takes a moment. One long, agonizing moment. He’s still whispering to Grace, and tears stream down her cheeks. I can hear her tiny whimpers, even over the crackle of the flames.
But then, he screams, jerking Grace against him and twisting toward Parker. He doesn’t get a chance to see her face. Only the burning end of the bar as it connects with his temple.
“Hope you like Hell,” she spits out. “Because it’s comin’ for you.”
The stench of smoke and burning flesh hits me. Acrid. Rotten.
Parker took out his eye.
The asshole lets go of Grace, and she crumples to the ground.
My heartbeat roars in my ears. I narrow my eyes and raise my gun. Everything else—the chaos, the smoke, the screaming—drops away.
I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. And pull the trigger.
A neat hole in his forehead is quickly swallowed up by the flames. He staggers back, his body unable to catch up with his brain. He’s already dead. Flames lick at his robes, bright orange against the black cloth.
Hardison is on Parker before she can even think about falling. One arm under her knees, the other at her back, hauling her off her trembling feet. She coughs, smoke rolling from her nostrils, eyes squinting against the haze.
“Seriously,” Hardison says, half-awed, half-sarcastic. “This ugly pink dress, no shoes, and you still lit a bastard on fire?”
Parker smirks, coughs, and shakes her head. “He…couldn’t take…the heat.”
I jump over the flames to get to Grace and gather her in my arms. Her body trembles against mine, tiny and fragile, but alive. Warm. Real. I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in, feeling the tremor of fear still clinging to her. “I love you. I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Tears streak her face, hot and sudden. “Got. You,” she gasps, clutching me like she’ll never let go.
All around us, the chaos is only getting worse.
“AJ! Over here!” Jasper calls. He points to a stone plank over the flames. Fuck. How did I miss that before? I carry Grace to the other side, and the six of us skirt the edge of the fray and race down a gentle hill. As soon as we’re out of sight of the worst of the fighting, I drop to my knees and cradle Grace against me.
“Cap?” Hardison half carries Parker over to us. Up close, I can see the pain in her eyes. She’s wrecked, in some of the same ways Grace is. Smoke still curls around her like she’s some small, fire-breathing avenger. “Can we make like trees now and get gone? If we stay any longer…”
“We die.” I stare through the smoke and the bodies toward the road that leads to the front gate. “It’s gonna be a long walk. A long, dangerous walk.”
“A…J…” Grace curls her fingers in my black t-shirt, tugging slightly until I meet her gaze. “Gr…zuh. Gr…ah..zuh.”
“Garage?” I ask. “With vehicles?”
“Yes.” Even that simple declaration is still muddy. Still broken and jagged from her lips. But it’s so much clearer than anything she could say twenty-four hours ago, I think…maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe we got lucky.
