Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(67)

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I wake up slowly, hot and thirsty and completely out of sorts, though I don’t know why. I’m curled up against Declan, whose body is radiating so much heat that it feels like the middle of August instead of January.

Once the heat registers, fear assails me. Rolling over, I press a hand to Declan’s forehead and nearly shudder in relief when I realize it’s definitely cool. He’s not running a fever.

I’ve been around Hekan healing my whole life. I know how it works and I trust it for myself, no problem. But, it turns out, trusting it for Declan is a lot harder. Especially when we’re talking about a bullet wound.

Sliding my hand down, I push the covers off his shoulders and press my fingers gently against the rapidly healing bullet wound. There’s no sign of infection and though the skin around it is tender and a little pink, it isn’t red or irritated-looking.

Content with the knowledge that Declan is doing better, I shove off the covers and climb out of bed. Part of me wants to go back to sleep—I’m still exhausted after everything that happened last night—but something is still niggling at me. Stopping me from relaxing.

Plus I’m hot. Really, really hot.

I walk into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face. It doesn’t help, so I hold my wrists under the freezing water and wait for the chill to work its way through me. That doesn’t happen, either.

Not sure what else to do, I wander into the kitchen and get a glass of ice water. Drink the whole thing down in a couple of long swallows. Then contemplate sticking my head in the freezer. Surely that will stop the strange, uncomfortable burning that’s overwhelming me from deep inside.

I’m just getting another glass of water—after reluctantly deciding against climbing into my deep freeze—when it hits me. The heat shoots up exponentially, becoming a spinning, boiling cauldron of fire centered right in the middle of my midriff. Completely freaked out by it, I bend over. Brace my hands on my knees and take a few deep breaths in an effort to fight off whatever this reaction is.

It doesn’t work.

Instead, pain swamps me—the burn turning from uncomfortable to excruciating between one second and the next. I claw at my stomach where the heat is centered, so desperate to get free of it that I don’t care what damage I do. I’m literally gouging at the skin now, and as my fingers curl into talons, flames break out along my skin.

They race from my hands to my elbows, over my biceps to my shoulders and torso before climbing up my neck to my face and hair. Damn it. Not again.

I rush to the sink in an attempt to extinguish the fire, but it’s gone before I even get there. I start to slump in relief, but then the second wave hits me and I’m seizing. It’s last night all over again—only better because I can prepare for it and worse because I know what’s coming.

Sure enough, my legs go out from under me and I slam into the ground, convulsions shaking me until my teeth rattle and my eyes roll back in my head. It’s hard to think in the middle of shakes, to try to figure out what to do, but I force myself to stay calm. Maybe if I just let the energy take control instead of fighting it, I won’t end up feeling like I was hit by an eighteen-wheeler when it’s all over.

It’s a good theory, not so great in practice. But at least I don’t do the whole Exorcist thing and levitate this time around. Instead, I just flop around on the ground for a while. I end up thrashing around so much that it’s a miracle I don’t give myself a concussion—especially considering the knot I gave myself yesterday. Without Lily around to clear things away from me, I end up banging into the kitchen table, a couple of chairs and even the center island.

When it’s finally done—when the energy has left as quickly, but nowhere near as easily, as it came—I curl up into the fetal position on the cold wood and shiver endlessly. I want to move, but I can’t. My muscles, already stressed from yesterday’s episode, are in full revolt. They wouldn’t hold me up right now even if I wanted them to. Which I don’t. I’m so tired that I’m happy to lie right here for the rest of the night. At least I’m no longer in danger of being burned alive.

I’m not sure how long I’m sprawled out here waiting for my body to recover. Not thinking, not moving, doing my best not to feel. But eventually the second half of the night’s entertainment kicks in—just like I was afraid it would—and a powerful compulsion rips through me.

Here we go again.

Despite the pain, despite the fatigue and my deep-seated need to curl up in bed with Declan, I’m on my feet in seconds and heading for the front door. A part of me wants to head back to the bedroom, to grab my purse and a warm sweater. To wake Lily up and tell her where I’m going.