King Beast - Vicious Flames

Chapter 37

What have I done?

Dad and I hurled buckets of recycled water over Derek.

It doesn't work!

The hungry flames consumed the clothes, flesh and everything he had been. I saw my brother literally melting in front of my eyes.

His body jerked, and it kept jerking and twitching as his screams morphed into haunting wails of pain, and more and more throaty.

Terror sank its claws into me, just like Zerberus had done, sinking deeper with each convulsion of my brother's burning form.

Dad continued his futile efforts, dousing Derek, his remaining family, with every drop of precious water we had.

A gust of wind blew into the cottage.

Movement snagged my gaze.

My head jerked to the left...

He is here.

The furniture and windows rattled as my mate kicked the door open.

He stooped low to enter, his immense form forcing him to duck under the top part of the door frame; one of his curling white horns struck the wood there, leaving a deep dent...just like he did in my heart. Repeatedly.

His mouth parted and contorted in a grotesque way, nostrils flaring wildly, fingers curling over his palms.

As if answering his silent command, the flames abandoned Derek, or what was left of him, drawn back to their hellish master.

I watched in disbelief as the blue fire retreated, sucked into his nostrils and mouth.

My brother crumpled to the floor, smoke curling from his body.

Dad hesitated, jerking left and right, unsure if fetching the shamaness, tending his only son, or approaching me —an apparition that brought only death and the shattered remnants of a past that could never be reclaimed.

Part of me wondered if, at this moment, he would have preferred me to stay lost forever. Sometimes, it is best if what's lost doesn't return. The memories of how things used to be, before evil descended, felt like a cruel mockery of the present.

"I...Derek, my boy!" Dad's voice cracked with grief as he clung to what remained of his son, "my poor boy!" The charred remains of Derek's clothes and hair cast an eerie glow in the dim room.

The sight of father, kneeling next to my brother, head bowed, defeated by life, would haunt me forever.

My gaze clashed with a pair of chilling blue eyes.

Silver hair cascaded in opulent curls around his cheeks, competing with the moonlight for splendor. The semi-shadows in the room brought out the sharpness of his bones, the scales over his shoulders and chest, and the dangers in his eyes.

I was horrified by how much he resembled a reptile, a monster lurking behind that human facade.

I was horrified by the impulse to clasp my arms around his merciless body.

A whisp of blue smoke curled from his nostrils.

I kept my expression as icy as I had learned from him. Zerberus smiled, but that smile was colder than anything else I had seen on faces.

I recognized the healer, the shamaness, rumored to be a witch and a conduit to the spirit realm, clutching her wooden cross in her boney hands. A frog's head hang from the middle of her garlic necklace and nestled over her chest. Her nose was as pointed and long as her chin, confirming the look of a witch.