Firefight in Darkness

Firefight in Darkness

SECOND OF THE DRYAD QUARTET

BY

Katie Jennings

Copyright © 2011 Katie Jennings

Cover Design by: Brandon Jennings

All rights reserved.

Copyright: TXU001789271

I hear his footfall’s music,

I feel his presence near,

All my soul responsive answers,

And tells me he is here.

Her name was Blythe, and she was Fire.

She was a protector of those she loved, a quick talker with a sharp tongue, and, most of all, she was a relentless fighter for any cause worth fighting for.

And as far as she was concerned, if anybody had a problem with it they could go straight to hell.

The club was bursting to capacity, the surrounding streets of Los Angeles writhing with life and sound and empty promises. It was hot, spontaneous, and anonymous, and it suited her mood perfectly.

She sauntered through the crowd, her head held high and her eyes glittering with arrogance and anticipation. This was her time; not her father’s, not anyone else’s, and she couldn’t give a damn if no one even missed her. She wasn’t living for them, anyhow, and it was time to let go and live for herself.

Music thundered around her, pumping its beat through to her very veins, shuddering and pounding, until her entire body felt like it was a livewire ready to electrify the whole room. Men eyed her, their attention diverted from nearly every other woman in the club. She knew her appeal, and she knew how to use it.

Within minutes she was downing top shelf tequila in the presence of people vying for her company, eager to be seen with her, as if she was some hot and famous celebrity. She supposed she looked like one, working her confidence like she really was famous. Well, hell, she was more than just famous. She was a damn Fire Dryad.

Not that any of these poor saps had a clue.

Despite her thrill at seeing her current companion’s eyes widen with shock as she lit his cigarette with the tip of her thumb, she knew she didn’t really belong here with these people. She had responsibilities; she had a duty to the world that none of these hopeless and vain humans could ever understand. But she wasn’t here to worry about that, or about her godforsaken bastard of a father. No, she was here for her. And no one was going to hold her back, not anymore.

♦ ♦ ♦

May 21st, 2010

Santa Monica, California

It amazed Blythe to still remember his words, even if the sound of his voice was lost somewhere in the gritty memories time had left to her. The last thing he’d said before he left, his final goodbye.

You’re the best thing that ever has and ever will come from me
.

Maybe the man himself was nothing more than a distant memory to her now, but those words had been all her young mind could hold on to at the time, despite the fact that they were more than she had wanted from him in the first place.

Because to her, he was a murderer. To her, he was nothing.

But as abruptly as he had been convicted and taken away from her, he was now being thrown back in her face like a consolation prize. Hey Blythe, sorry we messed up, here’s good ol’ dad back for you to cherish and love. Just pretend the last fifteen years didn’t happen, and nothing has changed, okay?

Well screw them and their excuses. The fact of the matter was that she and her father both had gotten the raw end of the deal in this scenario, as had poor Capri. And for them to even for one second try and justify their actions simply boiled her blood. Them bringing him home didn’t make right what they did. The only thing that would was ultimate justice. She wanted that bastard half-demon’s head on a platter, and she wasn’t going to rest until it was done.

But until that happy day, they expected her to just welcome back with open arms the man who had been the bane of her existence since she had been four years old. She should just forget that her mother had disowned her because her resemblance to said man was so great that the damn woman couldn’t bear to even look at her. And she should also forget the way the others had shunned her, convinced she would inevitably run the same course as her father and grandmother before her. Fire was bad blood, they said, like a sickness, a disease. The girl will succumb to it in time, and just wait, she’ll be the worst of them all.

Well damn them all to hell, because she wasn’t succumbing to any such thing. She was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Her work ethic was on par, her outlook positive (most of the time) and her penchant for trouble fairly normal for a girl just shy of twenty. What more could she have shown any of them to prove she wasn’t like those before her? And yet they still judged; all of them.

She wondered how much would really change now that he was coming back. How much would she change?

Her life hadn’t been a cake walk since her father had been banished, but it certainly hadn’t been terrible either. No, she had been lucky enough to have a good man take her under his wing. A good man, with a good son, took her in and filled her father’s shoes despite what everyone else thought. And it was to that man that she owed her very life. She was the person she was today because of him.

Clad in her favorite lime green bikini, she lay facing the Pacific, the sand form fitted to her body beneath her oversized bright orange beach towel. Her shoulder length vivid red curls splayed casually around her sharp featured face, sunglasses perched on her freckled nose to hide her eyes. Eyes that at first glance looked light brown, but in the sunlight transformed to gilded amber.

Above her a flock of seagulls called into the wind, hovering mid-flight as they scanned the sand for a shot at a free lunch. Children screamed in shock and exhilaration as they stood at the brunt of chilly waves that crashed ashore, sending creamy white foam coasting up the sand. Salt hung heavy in the air, moist against her sun-kissed skin even as the sun glowed brightly down upon her and dried it. It was warm enough to tingle her skin, to ease her cares away if she let it. Hadn’t heat always soothed her? After all, it was a part of her heritage, her bloodline of Fire.

Of every place in the world she had ever been, she had never felt more at peace than she did here. Maybe it was because Southern California was almost always guaranteed to have nice weather. Or maybe it was because the people who walked around her were so tanned and beautiful; the men athletic and fit, the women slender and infectiously happy. But no, she didn’t think it was either of those two things. What brought her to this place time and time again was the sea. The sea drew her. Water, in its most real and brutal form, drew her. And it was all because of Lucian.

Thinking of him ached somewhere deep in her heart, causing her to rub her chest in an attempt to soothe the pain. How often had he chased away the last lingering dregs of one of her nightmares, rocking her back to sleep, his voice as comforting as his arms as they held her close. And how often had he thrilled her with fairytales and stories of pirates and barbarians, always knowing how to enrich her mind and make her laugh. He’d always smelled like fresh soap and peppermint, a combination that seemed silly but even as an adult when she hugged him and caught that scent she felt comfort.

He would be worried about her; he always was. But he wouldn’t say it out of fear of making her feel closed in. He never wanted her to feel like he was restricting her or holding her back in any way. She was free to come and go as she pleased with him, and he always made it clear that the moment she wanted nothing more to do with him, he would understand.

But, oh, even if she left it was never for long. He was the only person who had ever given a damn about her. She could never abandon him, or his son.

Liam. All of the stars she had wished upon so arrogantly as a child must have miraculously decided to join together and give her Liam for a friend. For a brother. God knew she hardly deserved him.

He was her rock; the sturdy lighthouse she could always find in the stormy sea of her reckless heart.

Where she was wild and carefree, he was steady and kind. Where she was impatient and temperamental, he was grounded and reasonable. And though sometimes she saw the moodiness he kept brutally in check bubble over and consume him, he was always back on his feet in no time, smiling and laughing. No wonder she adored him; he was everything she wished she could be.

He understood her in a way that went deeper than most, as if he could see her so much clearer than anyone else ever had. To him she wasn’t sick; to him she wasn’t a goner. He believed in her, and he stuck by her. Something had to be said for a guy like that.

But even he couldn’t save her from dealing with the issue at hand. What was she going to do about her real father coming back to Euphora? She was desperately running out of time to figure it out.

He was coming home tonight.

Would she know him the instant their eyes met? Would she recognize herself in his eyes, his nose, his chin? What would he say to her? Would he apologize for not being there all these years, for letting himself be banished over something he hadn’t even done?

She couldn’t help but be irritated at the fact that he had let this happen to him. She figured that if it had been her, she would have fought tooth and nail to prove her innocence, and to name the one who was truly guilty. Why hadn’t Brock done that? Why had he given up and gone away if he didn’t need to?

And to know that her own life had been so drastically effected by this one simple act, his banishment; to know now that she wasn’t necessarily destined to screw up; that while her grandmother had certainly had issues, her father was an innocent man.

Had they been so quick to assume he had been responsible for the raid that had led to Capri’s kidnapping and her mother’s death because of his mother’s actions? She could certainly relate to that feeling; but she knew first hand that the crimes of the parent did not always translate into the child. Her grandmother’s decision to have a child with demon blood had been her own, and had nothing to do with Brock. And all of that only made it more despicable for those who held judgment to assume the son and the granddaughter were bound to make similar mistakes. It was a load of crap in her opinion.

But was any of that going to change now? She had a pretty good feeling that Rohan wasn’t about to let go of his prejudices any time soon, but Blythe knew that there was more to his bitterness than the crime Brock had been banished over. Her father’s history with Rohan’s wife, Serendipity, was a story she was well familiar with. But if anyone should be upset about the outcome of that love triangle, it should be Brock, not Rohan. Brock had lost the girl, hadn’t he? And instead he had married Nyxa, and thus created her.

Giving birth had been the only good thing Nyxa had ever done for her. After that it was nothing but a lifetime of anger and bitterness.

That was another angle she had yet to consider. Would her father and mother get back together now that he was home? Would Nyxa try and mend the tattered relationship she had with her daughter? Hah, as if. The woman was a walking grudge, she didn’t forgive anybody. Not like Blythe wanted anything to do with her anyways. That ship had sailed long ago. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t have a mother.

Feeling anxious now, she checked the time on her watch. She had three hours till Thea and Sebastian would be arriving on Euphora, Brock at their side. Until then, all she could do was wait.

With a sigh, she shifted until she was sitting up on her elbows, her lightly tanned legs crossed in front of her. She watched the ocean for a moment, calmed by the sight of it, deep blue velvet with scattered diamonds glittering on its surface. She glanced around at the humans around her, wishing she had a life as simple as theirs. Sure, they may think of their lives as complicated, but dealing with kids, a mortgage, planning dinner parties, going to college…none of that even remotely compared to what she had to deal with on a day to day basis.

One mistake from her and lava could seep from the ground, destroying everything in its path. One mistake and the Earth’s core temperature could skyrocket, causing worldwide damage that was irreparable. One mistake and a brushfire could consume countless miles of land, until there was nothing left but dust.

So while they worried over petty problems, they couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to have real problems. But she couldn’t fault them, they were human after all, and she enjoyed their way of life too much to give up on them for good. But the simple fact remained that she could never stay with them, could never live amongst them for long.