Happiness and love? They’re nothing but traps, illusions that leave you vulnerable and exposed. I’ve never wanted them. Never will. Emotions are for the weak and I will never be weak.
I learned the lesson early, watching my sister fall apart day by day, wrecked by her desperate need to be loved. The universe dealt her a shitty hand, and she paid the price for it. I won’t. Iswore then and there I’d never give anyone the power to destroy me. Blood or chosen, it’s all the same and I want nothing to do with it.
I’m the only one who holds that power. And that makes me indestructible.
I reach the end of yet another hallway, still no sign of my friends or the girl I’m determined to claim. Above me, a green light marks a connecting room—a shortcut to the other floor. Unless they’re inside this room already, which would be a stroke of luck considering how long I’ve been wandering like a damned ghost.
I scan my card. The door beeps, and I push it open.
Silence crashes over me, dense and unnatural, as darkness engulfs the space. It’s disorienting, a stark contrast to the sensory overload of this place so far.
I take a cautious step inside, the plush carpet muffling my movements. My breath hitches as something sharp prickles at my senses. The air is heavy, carrying a scent that makes the back of my throat burn.
Kerosene.
Blinking several times, I try to get my eyes to adjust. Eventually I make out a faint outline of a figure standing in the centre of the room. Are they moving around?
Then I hear it—a soft, deliberate pour of liquid meeting a surface, slow and calculated. The hairs on my body rise at the sharp scratch of a match being struck. My eyes lock on the tiny flame as it falls, spinning in midair like a deadly promise before it lands.
Fire explodes to life—a violent, golden burst that floods the room with heat and chaos. The shadows scatter, and the scene comes into focus like a living painting.
She lays on her stomach, utterly bare. Her hair is pulled up in a bun as flames clings to her like second skin, hungry andravenous for more. They crawl over her, wrapping her in a fiery embrace and she seems completely unaware of it.
The woman doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t scream.
Doesn’t burn.
Untouched.
Am I actually seeing this or is this my imagination? Maybe the remnants of the drugs Tristan put in our drinks.
Then I see it—a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like a thin veil over her body. A barrier. Something translucent protecting her from the fire's greedy touch. It must be a balm, some sort of chemical shielding her skin.
The whole thing is sort of mesmerizing. Enough that I can’t turn away, watching her head bob up and down as she sucks some guy off. Moaning in pleasure while the fire dances on her back—a total display of control amidst the chaos.
Fire kink. I’ve heard of it but never seen it performed like this.
The other guy keeps pouring kerosene over her body, the liquid running in shimmering trails down her curves, feeding the flames that cling to her like a hungry beast. His hand strokes the top of her head with an unsettling tenderness, only to force it downward in deliberate, rhythmic motions, as if commanding her submission.
Goddamn. This is intense.
I move slowly, pressing my back against the cool stone wall as I edge toward the connecting door on the far side of the room. Anything to avoid drawing attention to myself right now.
When I reach the door, I shove at it, but it doesn’t budge. My heart kicks into overdrive as I push harder, bracing my shoulder against the heavy wood. Finally, it gives with a groan, the weight of something on the other side shifting as it opens.
A sandbag tumbles to the ground at my feet.
What the hell?
I nudge it aside with my foot, glancing side to side down the hallway. The spaces between doors widen, their configurations irregular, almost intentional. These aren’t the tightly packed rooms I’ve come to expect.
Executive suites? Maybe. Or something else.
The farther down this hallway I get, the wider the spaces get. And half of these rooms don’t have lights. Does that mean they’re not in use? Or off-limits?
The deeper I venture, the more the emptiness swallows me. The walls feel closer, the silence deafening, broken only by the soft echo of my footsteps.
