"No," he heard himself growl. "Goddamn it. No." With his arms and body wrapped around her to shield her, Reichen turned all of his rage inward. He focused on the heat that lived in the deepest core of his being. He reached for it with his mind, with every measure of his will, feeling the pyro try to slither out of his grasp as he seized on it and yanked it tight in the fist of his determination. He couldn't let it win. He had to finally take control of the beast. He had to master it, here and now. Forever. He strengthened his mental chokehold on the twisting coil of fire inside him. All around him, he heard the hiss of flames, the sputter of struggling heat that was slowly being beaten down, extinguished. In the periphery of his gaze, he saw the writhing columns of flame drawing back from the stone ledge, back into the deep abyss that had borne them. And still he didn't let go. He turned his face toward the rolling, gnashing fires that were still seeking to leap out of the pit, his teeth and fangs bared in a tight sneer as he roared with power and furious intent.
"No!" he bellowed. "I own you. You will bow to me now!" It was his love for Claire that gave him the resolve he needed in this moment. His need to protect her, to keep her safe above all else, was the driving force that made him certain he could defeat the curse of his destructive power. It was the love she'd given him in return--the love he could feel beating inside him, in his veins, in the blood bond that linked him to her now and always--that made him reach for the hope that one day he might not only master his hellish ability but maybe even come to view it as something more than a curse. He knew a sudden certainty that the curse he had dreaded for so long might one day become a talent that would serve him, instead of destroying him. Reichen clung to hope, and to his love for Claire, as he commanded the fires to quell.
He sent them back down into the abyss below, not out of fear or self-contempt but out of strength. Out of a burgeoning sense of unshakable control. A triumphant cry broke out of him as the last bright flame began to gasp its death. The fires went dark in the pit. The choking ash and smoke cleared away. His eyes blinking open, Reichen lifted his head and found himself no longer isolated on the narrow bridge of cold black stone, but in the center of a large bed. He was curled over the small form of Claire's body, still shielding her, even though the dark dream had finally released them. He stroked her cheek.
"Claire, are you all right? Open your eyes for me, sweetheart." No response. Panic twisted in his gut. He said her name again, more choked this time for the alarming look of her as she lay motionless across his lap, her silky black hair falling loosely over her cold, sallow brow. He took her slender shoulders in his hands and gave her listless body a firm shake. "Claire. Wake up now." An icy pain stabbed him as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her parched, cracked lips. She was so weak... starving. The piercing jab he was feeling now belonged to her. He felt the severity of her hunger echoing in his blood, keening in his veins. He thought back to the endless dream, and the swamping, unrelenting weight of it. How long had it been since he was last awake? He remembered storming Dragos's vacated lair with the Order. He remembered killing Wilhelm Roth. He remembered the explosion in the underground headquarters, and the look of fear and horror on Claire's face as he strode out of the rubble engulfed in hellish fire. He remembered her courage as she railed at him in stubborn determination, refusing to let him die. Then he remembered... endless nothing. It might have been days since he'd lost consciousness. Maybe a week or more. How long had Claire been with him in the dream realm, neglecting her own well-being to comfort him through the darkness? "Claire, please. Open your eyes. Tell me you can hear me." He smoothed his hand over her face and hair, feeling his heart cracking open as he held her weakened body against him.
"Let me know that you are still with me, that I haven't lost you." God help him, but she did not respond at all. She was cold and unmoving, her breathing far too thready and shallow. Reichen vaguely registered the sound of approaching footfalls outside the open door of the room, but all of his focus was rooted on bringing Claire around. Someone gasped from within the corridor, followed by more voices as a small crowd of warriors and their mates gathered outside the door. "Holy hell," Tegan muttered, a curse that was echoed by more than one person. Reichen didn't know if their stunned reaction was meant for the fact that he was awake and absent of the pyro or for the disturbing condition of Claire lying limply in his arms. He swung his head toward Lucan, Tegan, and several other members of the Order who stood outside the room with Tess and the rest of the Breedmates who lived in the compound. Tess and Savannah were holding IV tubes and bags of clear liquid. Behind them, Gideon had rolled up a gurney from the infirmary. "Something is wrong with Claire," he murmured, his throat dry. A cold gust seemed to blow through his body, settling behind his sternum. "Let us help her,"
Tess said gently, lifting the medical supplies she'd brought. "No. It's too late for that," he murmured, knowing instinctively that she was beyond the need of any mortal intervention. She needed blood. As much as he had once feared that he would only bring her harm, that his love would not be strong enough to keep her safe from what the pyro had made him become, Reichen felt beyond any shadow of doubt that he was the only one who could save her now. He snarled when a couple of the warriors began to enter the room, as if they meant to pull Claire away from him. She was his--now and always. "Come back to me," he whispered, then lifted his wrist to his mouth and sank his fangs deep into his flesh. Blood surged from his veins as he carried the wound to her slack lips and pressed the punctures against her tongue. "Drink, Claire," he whispered softly, holding her head up and willing her to live. He didn't care if he had to beg her. Didn't care that they had an audience watching in solemn, uncertain silence just a few feet away. "Drink for me now. Please, Claire ..."