Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Irwin writing as Fleur Smith

  Second Edition December 2017

  Published in Australia

  Cover Artist: Desiree De’Orto

  Cover content used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The following story is set in the USA and therefore has been written in US English. The spelling and usage reflect that.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and for all other inquiries, contact:

  Michelle Irwin P O Box 671 MORAYFIELD QLD 4506 AUSTRALIA

  www.michelle-irwin.com

  [email protected]

  CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  I WAS HALFWAY up my drive when I saw them.

  The three delicate star-shaped flowers rested against my doorstep. Magnolias; wrapped in soft cream paper. A sure sign the one person from my past who knew my secrets had found me.

  The one who wanted me dead.

  I froze as a prickle crept along my nape. My fingers curled into a fist and the air around me warmed by a few degrees; my body’s natural reaction to stress.

  On any other doorstep, the bouquet might’ve been nothing more than a well-intended gift. On mine, it was the sign of something far more sinister.

  My gaze traveled the length of the road, scrutinizing each of the cars parked nearby. Was someone watching me? A spark of heat leaped into my fingertips. I flexed my fingers so the heat didn’t bite into my palm.

  Clay can’t be here . . . Can he?

  If it was Clay though, how did he find me? How could that even be possible?

  Neither Dad nor I had the slightest suspicion that danger lurked nearby. If we had, we would’ve been miles away long before the flowers could have turned up. We were usually adept at avoiding exposure.

  We had to be. It could prove deadly otherwise.

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as it hit me. It was absolutely possible it was Clay. It was what he did after all.

  Hunt.

  Kill.

  Destroy.

  My skin flushed with heat; warming until the air around me hissed. I clenched my jaw as my heart thumped harder and my skin sizzled.

  Despite that, my stomach fluttered with the recollection of what those flowers represented. The things Clay had once meant to me before the afternoon we had walked together beneath a canopy of white magnolias.

  That was when everything changed.

  When I’d learned he wanted to kill me, not date me.

  A shudder raced down my spine.

  Pushing the memories aside, I scanned the houses around me. My gaze trailed over the windows. I watched each one for a second, trying to see the telltale fluttering of curtains or shutters snapping closed when my eyes fell onto them. Once I had reassured myself there was no one watching, I bent to examine the floral package in more depth.

  They weren’t a gift. I was certain of that much. Clay wouldn’t give someone like me flowers. Only, nothing else made sense. From what I understood about his family, the flowers couldn’t have been a threat.

  After all, people . . . monsters like me didn’t get warnings.

  Only death.

  I reached out and pushed the paper aside to see if there was a card or note anywhere on the offering. The flowers started to wilt, so I drew my hand away and gave my fingers a gentle shake before clenching them into a fist.

  Calm down, Evie.

  In an attempt to follow my own advice, I took a deep breath and released it slowly. With each new breath, I concentrated on slowing the pace of the blood racing through my body.

  It was possible it was nothing to worry about. Simply a gift from an overly friendly neighbor. It made more sense than the possibility that Clay had found me and left a gift. Maybe it was just a coincidence that someone selected that particular type of flower. It wasn’t as if magnolias belonged solely to Clay.

  I wasn’t sure I believed in coincidences that significant though.

  Especially considering that Dad and I had already been in the house for a little over two weeks and were careful about timing our comings and goings to avoid too much attention. Who would have become interested enough in those fleeting glimpses to leave flowers?

  Still, I was determined not to panic . . . yet.

  When I was confident I’d calmed myself enough to investigate without destroying the flowers, I leaned forward and pulled the paper away to examine both sides.

  Blank.

  I folded up the paper and pushed it into the pocket of my jeans before reaching for the flowers and standing with them in my hands.

  Turning back toward the street once more, I scanned the whole street to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. I swallowed down my fear when I saw it was still empty.

  There was such a thing as being too cautious after all. It was just as dangerous to overreact and uproot our existence so soon after settling again. Until I could understand the reason behind the flowers, there was no point taking any drastic action. Dad would probably disagree with me, especially considering his reaction to Clay the last time. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him though. If it turned out to be something that we needed to worry about, he’d be the first person I told.

  Once I was satisfied that it still appeared that nothing was amiss on the street, I took the flowers inside the house.

  “Evie, is that you?” Dad’s voice came from somewhere deep in the darkness of the house.

  Who else would it be? I thought before I caught another glimpse of the flowers in my hand. Maybe that’s a bad question.

  On the day we’d moved in, we’d drawn every curtain in the house. None of them had been pulled back si
nce. It was the only way to shield us from prying eyes. The fact that the lights were off—having no electricity alleviated our choice in the matter—only added to the darkness inside so it was hard to make out anything in the abyss that made up the living area of the house. At least until my eyes adjusted.

  “Yeah,” I answered, reaching my free hand up to rake off the dark-brown wig that hid the true color of my hair, an array of gold, reds, and copper tones all resting side by side. Even though the wig bothered me more often than not, I had to keep my hair hidden. When I wore it loose, it framed my face in flame-like curls that made it easy to identify what I was for anyone who knew what they were looking for. I pulled out the hairtie before shaking loose the braid I’d set before leaving the house that morning.

  My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness when Dad came out from the kitchen with a dishtowel in his hands. His chestnut hair was pulled up into spiked peaks. He’d obviously been rubbing his wet fingers through it—a clear sign his nerves were still frayed over my leaving the house each day for my job. A pang of guilt rushed through me, but I suppressed it. I had a tiny slice of normality in my life again, and I wasn’t willing to give that up. Not when Dad would just find something new to stress over anyway.

  He smiled at me. “Good day at work?”

  “Dad, I’m a cashier in a tiny variety store that has almost no customers. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that no days are good days at work.”

  “I don’t know why you do it,” he said, reigniting the same argument we’d had since I’d insisted on getting a job. “I’ve shown you the basics of how I’ve survived for the last seventeen years on the run. You don’t need to take the risk of going to a job you hate every day.”

  I bit back a sigh of frustration as I followed him into the kitchen. It was the same old story. I might have been nineteen, but I would always be his little girl. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing for the rest of my life.”

  “At least you’ll have a life if you do,” he whispered with just enough volume for me to hear.

  “I’m taking all of the precautions I need to,” I said as I got closer to him, pointing to my eyes to remind him that I was wearing my brown contacts.

  Over the last few years since learning the truth about my heritage, I’d taken to covering my most distinctive features whenever possible. My lilac irises and unusual hair signaled what I was to anyone who knew what to look for. Back in high school, before I’d known the truth, I’d secured my hair away from my face and covered with a hat or hoodie at Dad’s insistence. Except for when I was at school, I’d rarely left the house without dark sunglasses. I never allowed people to get close enough to look at my eyes.

  Almost never.

  After the situation with Clay in my senior year, I’d switched to wigs and contacts when more personal contact was required. Covering up was the only way I could conceal my true identity—the one that signed my death warrant before I was even born.

  For the last two years, ever since discovering the truth, I’d tried to find the best way to hide in plain sight. I’d even gone as far as dying my hair once. Only the advertised “permanent hair color” had completely washed away as I’d rinsed. “As far as anyone that comes into the shop is aware, I’m just a regular brunette.”

  He frowned for a moment, but seemingly understood that it would be yet another argument if he pushed it any further. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the small pan resting over an open fire in the kitchen.

  If the owner of the house saw it, they’d probably have a conniption. That was why it was easier to squat in empty houses than have an actual landlord. Knowing the truth about the reason we were on the run made things like this easier for Dad. There was a time when he’d had to organize genuine rentals and set up all of the utilities to maintain the façade that we were simply a normal family who moved a lot. Nowadays, the facade was meaningless.

  Thinking of the flowers in my hands, there was something else I needed to know— whether he’d seen anything suspicious. “Did anyone come by today?”

  Dad turned back toward me with a confused expression. “No. Why?”

  I glanced down at the flowers, having a fresh debate over whether or not I should warn Dad. “No reason,” I said.

  When I reached my room, I dropped my wig onto the dresser and set the flowers beside it. Then I reached for the box of matches I kept in front of the mirror in order to illuminate the room. In truth, I could’ve used my own abilities to ignite the candle wick, but it took too much concentration to be that precise. My head was too full of Clay. Without that precision, I would end up with a melted ball of wax rather than helpful light.

  After lighting two candles, I collected the flowers again and sat on the end of the bed. It was ridiculous that the tiny bouquet could set my nerves on edge so thoroughly. Everything about them reminded me of a different life. One that was simpler in many ways, mostly because Dad had sheltered me from the truth back then. It was a time before I’d known about the darker elements of the world. Before I’d learned the truth about the secrets that Dad had hidden from me; a time when I hadn’t known why I needed to look over my shoulder.

  The scent issuing from the magnolias was enough to take me back to a warm spring afternoon in Ohio. Alone and away from Dad’s inquisitive gaze, I allowed myself a moment to revisit the time when I’d walked hand and hand with my high school crush as we’d joked and laughed with each other.

  When it was just me and Clay.

  For those stolen moments, the rest of the world—his twin sister especially—didn’t exist to spoil things for us. An absent-minded smile stole across my lips as I took a deep breath of the scent and relived that happy memory.

  Then, just like it had years before, the consequences of that promising afternoon followed and chased my happiness away.

  Who could have guessed puppy love could be so disastrous?

  I probably should have thanked him for his hurtful comments that afternoon, because they helped me to discover the truth. It was a tough lesson, but I wouldn’t go back to not knowing again because Dad and I were closer now than ever before.

  As the memories turned sour, I sat with the offending flowers in my hand. In the candlelight. The pure white petals were stark against my olive skin. The now-familiar instinct to flee built within me. Within half an hour Dad and I could be back on the road heading away from Charlotte, North Carolina. Destination: anywhere else.

  All it would take was one word.

  We were still recovering from our most recent move though. Besides, I didn’t want to leave again yet—not until I was certain about the danger we might face. If Clay truly had found us here, when we’d been so careful, he would be able to find us wherever we went.

  It could be a coincidence, I reminded myself again as I threw the flowers down next to the one personal item I had in the room—a gilt photo frame containing a picture of Mom and Dad, taken during their time at a university in England. It was the one keepsake I ensured I took with me from each house.

  Sparing a glance at the photo, I was struck again by how much I looked like my mother. We shared the same almond-shaped eyes, olive skin, and fiery hair. Even the shades of lilac that flickered in our eyes were all but identical. It was impossible not to wonder whether her fate would be mine too.

  Some days, it seemed inevitable.

  I clenched my fingers before stretching them out again, trying to shake the pin pricks that raced over my skin. Then I crossed to the window and pulled back the blind. My stomach twisted at the thought as I scanned the street again.

  If it’s wasn’t him though, who could it be?

  Trying to force thoughts of the past out of my mind for a few hours, I headed out to be social with Dad until bedtime. My night would be overtaken with memories of the object of my schoolgirl crush.

  Then again, I rarely had dreams that weren’t filled with Clay Jacobs.

  CHAPTER TWO

>   I FLICKED THROUGH the newspaper while I sat behind the counter at work, trying to stay awake. I’d endured an almost sleepless night, lost in the memory of Clay.

  The bell over the door trilled, indicating the arrival of a customer. I stood to greet the shopper, but the words froze in my throat as I took in the sight of the person before me.

  My first thoughts were of escape. With him right in front of me, a rush of heat ran over my skin. It was foolish to ignore my instincts when I’d spotted the flowers on my doorstep. Flames prickled just beneath my skin as I prepared to fight my way past him to safety.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Resisting the urge to cry out or take my chances and run, I stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. What was he doing there? Had he come to finish the job he failed to do back in high school?

  The thought of that Clay—the innocent one who’d worked so hard to steal my heart—flooded into me and, despite the danger, I couldn’t help but assess the differences between the boy and the man who now stood in front of me.

  He’d grown another inch or two, his arms and chest were slightly fuller, and a dusting of stubble darkened his jaw, but it was unmistakably him. It was almost as if the Clay I’d met on my first day at Grandview Heights High School in Ohio had manifested in front of me. His hair and eyes were as dark as ever, both so brown that they almost appeared to be black, lending him a mysterious, almost dangerous, air. The only thing missing between the man in front of me and the boy he’d been was the mischief in his eyes and the smile that broke the pout of his lips that had made him approachable back then.

  For his part, no surprise registered on his features when his gaze fell on me. In fact, his face revealed very little in the way of emotion at all.

  He raised an arm, and I took an instinctive step away from him. Instead of lifting a weapon, his empty hand continued upward until his palm was against the back of his neck. My mouth dried out, and I had to remind myself to breathe as I watched the familiar gesture—all through high school he’d made that same move. Even over the short time we’d spent together, I’d learned it was a move he made when he was nervous. Why would he be nervous?