Wilde's Fire Read online

  “Would you like me to stop hugging you?”

  I glare. “I’m serious. The only thing Brad remembers is kissing me, and I might mention he seems very pleased by that. He doesn’t remember why we kissed, or what happened next. How are we going to explain all of this to him without breaking his heart, or having him assume we’re crazy?”

  “What if we do not have to?”

  “Do you suggest we take him back to the portal, throw him through, and hope he survives?” I throw up my hands, revealing how agitated I am by that thought.

  “Not exactly.” He laughs. “I was thinking we could cast a strong memory spell over him, and then send him back through the portal.”

  “I don’t think what my mom did to Gary was fair. As much as I’m upset with Brad, I cannot allow that to happen to him.”

  Arland pulls away from me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “He will not willingly leave you, Kate.”

  “Sure he will. He wanted to leave when we first got here.” I know Arland is right, but I don’t want to admit it.

  “He wanted to leave with you. Try the truth. Maybe he will surprise us all and be very accepting of it.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, casting a spell and sending him home sounds like the perfect plan. The truth is going to hurt him.” I rest my head on his chest.

  “The truth usually does hurt—and we should wait until he is dressed before talking to him.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. You should not have to go through this alone.”

  ”Thank you.” I stand on my toes and kiss him, then walk away.

  Brad watches me as I come back into the bathroom, and somehow I cannot help but feel guilty. He knows something is bothering me, like I would recognize something bothering him.

  “Are you ready to get out, sir?” Cadman asks.

  Brad looks so pathetic stuck in the enclosure, unable to move on his own.

  “I guess so,” he says, clearly unsure of anything right now.

  Cadman carries Brad down the steps, and we work together to get him dressed. As I suspected, his legs function much better after being submerged in the warm water. He’s still wobbly, but being able to walk on his own is a big positive.

  “Do you need our support still?” I ask.

  “I think I can walk, but I wouldn’t mind leaning on you.” This is more like the Brad in the forest before we arrived here.

  My stomach ties itself in knots.

  “I will help you, sir,” Cadman says, rescuing me … again.

  Brad waves him off, but Cadman won’t allow it; he has his shoulder under Brad in an instant, helping him walk out the door.

  Other than our small group of trusted friends and family, no one is in the dining area when we arrive. I go into the kitchen and scoop some stew into a bowl.

  “Where are all of the soldiers?” I ask Flanna.

  “Arland ordered the soldiers not on watch to their quarters.”

  I take the bowl and place it on the table in front of Brad, then sit beside him. Arland sits next to me, along with Brit and Mom. Flanna and the others huddle around the table next to us.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Brad asks, in between bites of his stew.

  I point to his meal. “Eat first.”

  “Can you at least tell me where we are?”

  I shoot Brad a look that makes him stop asking questions—although his eyes ask a million more—but I’m not divulging anything until he eats.

  My legs bounce up and down.

  Arland places his hand over my left knee, but it only makes the shaking worse—I don’t want Brad to see Arland’s hand. I shoot Arland a look, too, and he recoils.

  “Kate, I’m okay, there’s no need to be so anxious.” Brad’s picking up on my anxiety, but for all the wrong reasons.

  “I know you’re okay.”

  He drops his spoon in his stew. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

  “Finish eating first.”

  He pushes away his bowl. “I’m done.”

  “Brad, it’s been three weeks since you’ve eaten; eat,” I say.

  He returns to unwillingly spooning his stew into his mouth.

  It’s hard not to keep glancing at Arland. Every so often, he gives me a loving look, bringing me back to reality. Every time I look at Brad, I find he’s glowering at Arland. If Brit hadn’t told me about Mark, I wonder if I would’ve realized Brad’s jealousy.

  He finishes eating, then stares at me. “Well?”

  I’m not ready for this yet; I need to stall. I lock eyes with Flanna.

  “Kate, can you help me clean up?”

  I nod, then rush from the room.

  We make a quick decision to leave the dishes for later and stick to only clearing the tables.

  Brad can’t be a bad guy. I’ve known him too long to believe that. But why would he do that to Mark? Passing from the kitchen into the dining room, I avoid Brad’s eyes while I gather more plates.

  I stack the dishes on the counter. “Flanna, I want to flee, or stall, or hide in a corner somewhere. I can’t even formulate a coherent thought right now, not to mention how badly I need to calm my nerves.”

  “It will all work out, Kate. Try to calm down.”

  Turning around, I find myself face to face with Arland.

  “Follow me?” I ask.

  He nods.

  I go back into the dining area then collect more dishes. “I’ll be right back,” I tell everyone.

  I drop off the bowls, then run through the corridor, past the communications room to the stairs. Sitting on the bottom step, I rest my head between my knees.

  Why am I so afraid?

  The sound of approaching footsteps gets my attention; Arland walks toward me. I try to smile, but fear I’m going to throw up. I have to put my head between my knees again.

  He kneels in front of me, puts one hand on my thigh, then lifts my chin with the other.

  His eyes are full of uncertainty.

  “I am not positive the truth is the best option for Brad.”

  “I think you’re right. Did you see the looks he was giving you?”

  Arland cups his hand over my cheek. “Everyone noticed. Are you still opposed to wiping his memory?”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to wipe out all of his memories. His whole life would be a blur. We spent almost every moment together.”

  The summer after ninth grade, Brad and I literally spent every day together. We often referred to it as the summer of “Brate”—a conglomerate of our names, like Hollywood gives its couples. How will he remember that summer—or every one after—if his memory is tainted? He won’t.

  “Would it not be fair to Brad or to you?”

  I stare at Arland, full of incredulity. Opening my mouth to protest, I realize he’s right; I am not being fair to my former best friend. I have stumbled into a world where I’ve found I belong, and have fallen in love with someone, and I’m not willing to free Brad. I should give him the opportunity to go to his home and find someone who will love him the way he love me.

  “Okay, what do we have to do?” I sigh.

  “We have to answer his questions as vaguely as possible and convince him to travel to the clearing with us. Your mother and I will take care of everything else, once we get there.”

  Arland pulls me to my feet.

  I lean into him and close my eyes as more memories of me and Brad on a tire swing flash, memories I’ll never be able to talk about again.

  Arland rubs my back, soothing away my worries with his touch. “You are making the correct choice.”

  “I hope so.”

  He tucks hair behind my ear. “Are you ready?”

  I look up at his emerald eyes, and desire burns in me—desire to have more of him, more closeness, less stress, desire to be finished with my Brad situation. My heart races.

  Arland smiles as he leans into me and pushes me up against the wall. Our lips meet. His warmth, his passion, his
soft, soft lips, ignite yellow flames all over our bodies. Arland wraps his arms around me. I drape mine around his neck and get lost in him.

  “What the hell is going on?” Brad screams, standing in the doorway and staring at Arland, face red and contorted.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Untangling our yellow, burning bodies from each other, Arland and I face Brad.

  Heat fills my cheeks. I cannot meet his eyes. I want to run and hide … no, I want to avoid this confrontation completely.

  Mom and Brit appear behind him, mouthing apologies. Cadman and Kegan arrive two seconds later, followed by Flanna, but they are all too late.

  Brad storms down the hall, fists balled at his sides.

  Arland pushes me behind him and takes a firm stance, bracing for a fight. The two stand face-to-face, staring each other down, both with clenched jaws. No one speaks, moves, or even appears to breathe.

  I’m not even sure I’m breathing.

  The two carry on some sort of unspoken battle with their eyes.

  I glance toward the doorway. Everyone stands still, wide-eyed, mouths hanging open, and they appear to be waiting … waiting to see what’s going to take place.

  “How could you?” Brad asks, keeping his gaze focused on Arland.

  Without a doubt, I know Brad is talking to me, but I cannot find the words to respond, cannot find the courage to speak to the guy who’s always there when I need him. His question, I expected, but this fight, I did not.

  “When you calm down, she will answer you.” Arland’s words ooze with confidence, revealing again why he is a Leader.

  A dark look, full of contempt, passes over Brad’s face; he reaches back, preparing to swing.

  For a moment, everything and everyone disappear. The only things I see are Brad’s fist, his anger, and his broken heart. I cannot allow this to happen. I have to stop him before this situation gets any uglier. I push myself in front of Arland, hoping to jolt Brad out of his fury.

  My former best friend’s fist slams into my left eye.

  Cupping my face with my hand, I fall to the floor, too nauseated to stand. My ears ring. The room spins. A searing pain rips through my head.

  Arland’s fire changes from yellow to blue.

  “Bhrú!” He yells, sending a flame from his body, which knocks Brad to the ground.

  Cadman and Kegan run down the hall and grab Brad by the shirt collar.

  “Let me go,” he says, flailing and scratching at their arms.

  “Bring him to the dining room.” Cadman grabs Brad’s forearm, making indentions on his skin.

  Brad kicks his legs and screams at the top of his lungs while they drag him from my, and Arland’s, presence.

  The blood pumping through my head drowns out whatever Brad’s saying.

  Arland scoops me up.

  “Can you see?” he asks, walking toward the kitchen while I rub my sore face.

  I cannot answer, cannot think; my vision is blurry.

  “Why the fuck won’t you let me go?” Brad’s curses reverberate down the hall. “Where am I? Why won’t you let me see Kate?”

  He’s so blind with rage, I wonder if he even realizes he hit me and not Arland.

  “Oh daor.” Flanna sighs when we enter the kitchen. “That is going to leave a huge bruise.”

  “I am going to kill him,” Arland says, setting me down on the counter.

  Before he can go anywhere, I wrap my arms and legs around him. There’s no sense in fighting. Yes, Brad is acting like a complete idiot, but we don’t need to beat each other senseless over it.

  “Why did you try to protect me? You do understand that Brad would not have hurt me, do you not?”

  Arland’s expression is hard, eyes angry; his reaction makes me cower like a small child.

  “I wasn’t trying to protect you as much I was trying to defuse the situation, but in hindsight, I guess it was pretty stupid.” I’m ridiculous for thinking I could come between them. What I did equated to sticking my hand into a dogfight; I was bitten. I don’t want Brad to be like this. If Arland had hit Brad, or vice versa, I would have been furious. It’s probably better I received the blow, and no one else.

  Arland rubs his fingers gently across my sore eye. “I am sorry. I am not upset with you; you have done nothing wrong. I am the one who keeps failing to protect you.”

  “Arland, do not touch it!” Flanna yells, moving between us, then she slaps a raw piece of chicken over my eye.

  What I wouldn’t give for a twenty-first century ice pack, right now.

  Arland leans against the sink. Crossing his arms, he stares into the dining room. “We should tell Brad the truth after all.”

  Now he wants to hurt Brad, physically and emotionally.

  I slide off the counter. “Okay.”

  After being punched, I don’t care: we can wipe Brad’s memory, or tell him the truth.

  Arland wraps his supporting arm around me, and we leave the kitchen together.

  Brad narrows his eyes, staring hard at Arland.

  I look at him; his expression is stone cold, revealing no emotion at all. Arland is good at that.

  Brad glances at the piece of chicken over my eye, and, instead of appearing ashamed, he returns his scowl to Arland.

  We sit down at the table across from where Cadman and Kegan restrain Brad. I’m not sure how to act or what to do, so I clasp my hands together on the table and wait for someone else to start.

  “Ma’am, will you allow me to sedate him?” Kegan asks.

  “No.” Mom and I abolish the idea together.

  “Kate,” Brad says, his tone curt.

  I jump.

  “Guilt does make you jumpy, doesn’t it?” His words are snake-like.

  My skin crawls.

  “She has nothing to feel guilty about, boy. You are lucky you are still capable of speaking to her. Now, if you would calm down, she will explain everything to you.” Cadman comes to my defense … again.

  “Like hell she doesn’t. I’ve been in a coma for three weeks, and she’s been out screwing around with him!” Brad snaps, pointing at Arland, and then calms as quickly as a deranged mental patient. “Kate, can we talk alone?”

  “Not in this lifetime. In case you do not remember, You. Just. Hit. Her.” Flanna shouts at him.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking to him alone.” I take in everyone’s shocked faces. My willingness to go anywhere with Brad surprises even me.

  The muscles in Arland’s face are so tight, I imagine his teeth cracking under the pressure.

  “He won’t hurt me,” I whisper.

  “She’s right. I won’t hurt her.” Brad sounds nothing like the boy I grew up with.

  Brit slams her hand on the table. “Shut up, Brad.”

  Arland appraises my wounded eye and rubs his thumb on my cheek. “You do not have to do this. You owe him nothing, now.”

  “You’re wrong. I do owe him an explanation.”

  His face hardens. “We will all be waiting outside the door, in case you need us.” Arland’s soft-spoken words do not match the disapproval in his eyes.

  Telling him it won’t be necessary to stand outside the door would be worthless. I’m sure he would do it anyway. He may not be happy about this, but I have to talk to Brad. I have to at least try to make amends with him, like Flanna said, although she probably thinks I’m crazy for talking to him, too.

  I hand her the meat. “Okay. Let’s go back to your room, Brad.”

  Flanna growls and squeezes the chicken. She’s definitely as appalled as everyone else is, but I ignore her and stand to leave with Brad. They don’t know him the way I do, or did, or hope I do. He hurt me, but he’s in pain, too.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, I walk in silence, with Brad next to me, to what’s been his room for the last few weeks.

  Everyone else trails right behind us.

  We enter the room, and Brad closes the door. The click makes my heart skip a few beats.

  “In th
e bathroom, you asked if I remember why we kissed. Why did we kiss?”

  I barely make it to one of the chairs by the bed, but thankfully, he’s not yelling.

  I pat the seat next to me. “Come sit by me?”

  Brad walks over, lightly touches my throbbing flesh—I’m sure it’s already bruised—and sits down.

  He’s been my best friend for years. Looking at him, I see that friend, and the memories we share. I want to hug him, want things to be the way they were—or almost the way they were. I want our friendship to be simple, the way it always was. But I guess it was always a lie, and I don’t want that. I’m so confused.

  “I’m so sorry. I never intended to hurt you. Seeing that … that guy with his hands all over you … .”

  Avoiding what will surely cause an argument between us, I let go of his comment about that guy. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you remember?”

  “I’m positive. The only thing I remember is kissing you.” Brad pushes a hair from my face, looking at me like there’s somehow still hope for an us.

  I scoot my chair away from him. “Do you remember anything before you kissed me?”

  He doesn’t seem to get the point and moves closer. “There are some obscure memories, but none of them makes any sense. Why is this so important?”

  “I’m hoping to re-build your memory. We found a cave. You, Brit, and me. The plan was to explore it, then head back to camp. Does this ring a bell?” I try maintaining a monotone voice, to keep him calm.

  He stares at the candle flickering on the dresser; the light dances in his blue eyes. “We were camping. You and Brit wanted to show me your favorite swimming hole.”

  “Good. Then what happened?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Think harder.”

  Brad presses his fingers to his temples and closes his eyes. He has to search his memories and remember everything on his own. I fear if I tell him what happened, he won’t believe me.

  “That’s when you found the cave under the water. We went to explore it. Only it wasn’t a cave.”

  “Right. We fell on the ground when we swam through. Then what?”

  “You were screaming.” He opens his eyes. “I remember now; the creatures, the people rescuing us, the fever, it’s all there.”