Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (37 page)

“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.

ntangling 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.