Bridges Burned (Entangled Teen) (Going Down in Flames) (25 page)

She didn’t recognize the human features that flashed across their faces. Both were male. That was all she knew for sure. Giving up on pretending they weren’t creeping her out, she focused all her attention on outflying them. She was the fastest flyer on campus. Time to give up pretenses and outrun the creepy bastards.

Push. Push. Push. Her wing muscles ached with exertion. The tendons burned. Just a few more minutes; she could do this. She had to do this. Her life might depend on it. The Black dragons couldn’t keep up. The one on the left dropped out of sight, and then the one on the right.

The forest below her thinned out. Thank God, she was at the edge of her grandparents’ estate. Almost home. Wait. Had she just thought of this place as home?

Bam
. Her wings. She couldn’t move her wings. Lashing out with teeth and claws, she tore at whatever ensnared her. Fire crawled up her throat; she inhaled and spouted flames all around her, roaring in frustration as she plummeted to the ground.

What was binding her? A spell? A net? Her wings bent at an unnatural angle. Pain, so much pain, she couldn’t breathe. Shift. Maybe she could escape in human form. Get out of whatever held her and then shift back and fly away. She shifted to human form. The net, she could see it now. With holes large enough to crawl through. Struggling, she wiggled through an opening.

Shouts came from all around her. The ground came up fast. The net still held her calves. No more time. She shifted back, praying the net would break from the strain. Pain, burning searing pain as the net sliced into her flank like a razor. With the last of her energy, she shifted back to human form, slammed into the ground, and the world went black.

…

Noise filtered through the fuzziness of her head. Was someone talking? Saying her name? Had she been captured? Doing her best to lie still, she played dead and listened.

Wait a minute, shouldn’t she be in pain? All she felt was numb. Warmth surrounded her, but she felt nothing. Opening her eyes to slits, she tried to focus. Green. Green filled her vision.

“I think she’s coming to,” a voice said.

“Bryn?” She felt pressure on her hand. Someone was holding it. “Bryn? What in the hell were you thinking?”

Wait. That voice she recognized. She opened her eyes. More green, and then the green was gone. In its place a watercolor version of her grandmother. “You’re blurry.”

“You’ve had a head injury. Your vision will improve,” a different voice said.

There was the green again. It was scrubs. Medics wore green scrubs. A Green dragon was wearing green scrubs. Laughter bubbled from her throat.

“This isn’t funny.” Her grandmother again. And she sounded furious. “Do you have any idea…? You could have died.”

Warmth flowed into Bryn’s veins; she recognized the Quintessence at work. The fog in her brain cleared a bit.

“That’s better.” She focused on her grandmother. “Who attacked me?”

“No one attacked you, you fool. You flew onto the estate, unannounced, and set off the new security system,” a male voice said.

Oh, hell. She recognized that voice. “Screw you, Ferrin.” Seemed like the least offensive answer she could come up with.

“Leave this room,” her grandmother said.

“What? I don’t think I can walk.”

“Not you, Bryn. You won’t be going anywhere for a long time. You’re grounded. Ferrin Westgate, leave this room before I have you escorted out.”

Bryn giggled. “My grandmother is a badass.”

Several people laughed. Bryn didn’t know if her grandmother was one of them. Warmth flowed through her body again, and she drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, Bryn felt something wet on her forehead. Blinking, she opened her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to make you presentable,” her grandmother said. “You’re a mess.”

“I feel better.” And she did. Her vision had cleared, and the numbness from before had transformed into a mild headache.

“Do you feel good enough to answer some questions?”

“Sure.”

“Why were you flying hell-bent onto the estate like someone was chasing you?”

She told her grandmother about the two Black dragons she’d seen.

“Why did you take a chance flying alone at all? Why didn’t your knight escort you home?”

“Because his grandmother is an evil woman who makes disgusting cookies.” She relayed the events of the day, leaving out the part about the almost-kiss with Valmont.

“Not the day you’d hoped for, was it?” her grandmother said.

“No.” And then she remembered what day it was. “Sorry about ruining Christmas dinner.”

“We can have Christmas dinner tomorrow night.”

Bryn’s stomach growled as if to protest that statement.

Her grandmother laughed. “Or we could have dinner now, if you like.”

Food sounded good, but showering and dressing in real clothes did not. “Can we have Abigail bring food here? I don’t know if I’m up for the hike to the dining room.”

“Of course.” Her grandmother reached for the phone on Bryn’s nightstand and called someone in the kitchen. Once that was taken care of, she eyed Bryn and shook her head. “If you ever go out flying alone again, I will wring your neck. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her face heated. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just wanted to come home.”

Her grandmother’s expression softened. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you call this your home.”

“Thanks, for everything.” Bryn didn’t know what else to say.

“We’re family. Remember, family always comes first.” She gave an evil grin. “If you want, I could have a health inspector shut Fonzoli’s down for a week or two.”

That was a terrible idea, but Bryn played along. “Tempting, but it would stress Valmont out as much as his grandmother, so we better not.”

Ten minutes later, Abigail showed up with a cart bearing turkey, ham, hot rolls, and all the food Bryn associated with Christmas. Half an hour later, she’d stuffed herself full and could barely keep her eyes open.

“Go to sleep.” Her grandmother leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Bryn drifted off with the sound of plates and cutlery being loaded onto the cart. That must be Abigail packing up the food. Her grandmother left the room. It occurred to her that the warm family she’d been searching for, the day she’d hoped for, had sort of come true right here.

…

Bryn opened her eyes and felt like she was swimming through fog. Why did she feel like hell? What day was it? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she felt gritty and her teeth felt furry and she wanted a shower right now.

Off with the covers, and holy crap. Bright pink lines ran up and down both her legs. Bright pink lines meant recently healed wounds. Her brain sputtered and choked and then it hit her. The new security system. The net. She traced her pointer finger down the line that cut across her thigh and then down another one that ran the length of her calf. They would fade, with time. If she focused her Quintessence she could probably make them disappear, or at least make them a lighter color. Maybe later. She pushed to the side of the bed and sat up. Bracing herself, she rose to her feet and tested her legs. They held her weight. She was stiff, but that was about it. Thank God for medics, or she probably wouldn’t be here.

She padded barefoot across the warm wooden floor to the bathroom, where she stripped off her clothes and tossed them in the trash. Avoiding catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she climbed in the shower and blissed out under the hot water. When her fingers were pruney, she exited the shower and dried off with a thick fluffy white towel, the kind she imagined they had at luxury hotels. Not that she’d ever been to a luxury hotel, but she’d seen hotel bathrooms in movies.

Dressed in her blue bra and underwear decorated with goldfish, she checked herself out in the mirror. Her animal-themed underwear normally made her smile, but the bright pink lines wrapping all the way around her body drained any humor from her brain. Water flooded her mouth and prickly heat broke out on her skin. She leaned against the cool marble of the sink and took a few slow breaths. She’d almost died. And she had no one to blame but herself. The nets. The feeling of terror…the panic she felt when the nets tightened…no one deserved that.

She splashed her face with cold water. Best not to think about that right now. Time to dress and head down to breakfast.

Her closet held a surprise. Next to the standard skirts and blouses she had to wear to school and the jeans and T-shirts she wore in her room and on the weekends, new clothes hung. To say the new clothes made her old clothes look like dirt was an understatement.

She pulled a black turtleneck dress made of the softest material she’d ever felt off the hanger and over her head. It settled against her skin like a cloud, making her smile. It felt like she was wearing a hug. Underneath where the dress had hung was a large shoebox. Inside, she found black leather boots that came up to the hem of the dress. She checked the mirror. For someone who’d almost been sliced and diced less than twenty-four hours ago, she looked awesome. Who knew clothes could make you feel this good?

She focused on her life force, directing a small amount of quintessence to darken her lips a shade and add some color to her cheeks. The black dress just begged for a black stripe in her hair. She missed her tricolored locks. The dark golden blond her grandmother had suggested with the single inch-thick red stripe was pretty. She focused on a quarter-inch-wide section next to the red stripe and changed it to black. There. That looked good, and it wasn’t too obnoxious. Hopefully her grandmother would approve.

Where would her grandmother be? Rather than hunting through the house, she picked up the phone and asked Rindy. Armed with the information on her grandmother’s whereabouts, she headed for the atrium on the second floor.

Her grandparents sat on opposite sides of one of the square white wrought iron tables in center of the atrium, which was decorated with so many of her grandmother’s plants it looked like an indoor garden.

The heels of her boots clicked on the marble floor as she approached, causing both her grandparents to look up.

Her grandmother gave a nod of approval. “I knew that outfit would be perfect for you.”

A small glow of pride filled Bryn’s chest. Approval from her grandmother meant a lot. “Thank you for the clothes. I love this dress. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever worn.”

“Of course it’s soft, it’s cashmere.” Her grandmother grinned. “One of the reasons I love winter is you can wear cashmere as often as you want.”

Bryn took a seat on an empty side of the square table. “I was never a sweater person, but this may change my mind.” She picked up a white china pot that sat in the center of the table and poured herself what she thought was a cup of coffee. The brown liquid that came out was too light in color.

“What is this?”

“It’s tea,” her grandfather stated in an annoyed tone.

“Why is it tea?” She meant it as a joke, sort of. Tea was good, but it lacked the amount of caffeine she craved first thing in the morning.

Her grandfather folded his paper in half and laid it beside his plate. “You don’t like tea?”

“I do.” And apparently she needed to this morning, because her grandfather wasn’t a happy camper. “I normally have coffee at breakfast and tea later in the day, that’s all. No big deal.” She could just drink twice as much tea to make up for the caffeine.

Abigail appeared by Bryn’s shoulder and set a plate of pancakes on her place mat. “Thank you. These look wonderful.” The maple syrup scent had her stomach rumbling. She grabbed a fork and dug in. The pancakes were maple syrup, butter-coated carbohydrate joy.

Focused on inhaling her pancakes, it took a moment for her to realize that neither of her grandparents was speaking. She stopped midchew and noticed the expectant look on both their faces. She swallowed and wiped her mouth just in case she had maple syrup dribbling down her chin.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked why you felt the need to add another color to your hair?” her grandfather said.

This was about her hair? What was the big deal? “It matches my dress.” No need to go into the story of how Clint and Ivy had first approached her due to her striped hair, which resembled something a Black dragon might do. It had provided her with something in common with their Clan. She didn’t want to give that up completely for fear her friends would think she’d forgotten them or moved on.

“So if your dress were purple, you’d have a purple streak?” her grandfather snapped.

It was almost like he was trying to pick a fight. Bryn caught her grandmother’s gaze and saw the slight shake of her head. Was this a test?

“When I first came to school, I added black stripes to my blond-and-red-striped hair because I liked the way it looked. Now it doesn’t look right without a little bit of black.” Maybe he’d buy that answer and leave her alone.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t experiment with your coloring any more. Unlike your Black dragon friends, it’s not something Blue dragons do. We’re proud of who we are. Changing your appearance signals you might not feel the same way.”

Wow. What was his problem? She could see by the lines around her grandmother’s mouth that she was worried this conversation was about to turn ugly.

Sitting back in her chair, Bryn crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure what you’re fishing for. Are you asking if I’m proud of my heritage? Are you testing me to see if you can start a fight? Are you pissed off because of what happened last night? Give me a clue and we can head in the right direction.”

Her grandmother turned away, looking like she was trying not to say something, or maybe trying not to laugh. At this point it was anyone’s guess.

Narrowing his eyes, her grandfather said, “You want the direct approach, fine. I don’t like the black stripe in your hair. The red stripe is bad enough, but I’m willing to tolerate it. The black stripe must go.”

Taking orders had never been her strong suit. “I don’t suppose you’d consider asking nicely?”