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More Books by Yolanda
Invictus
Inferno
Scavengers
BLAZE
Dani René
Dedication
For Australia—the people, the animals, the country.
Prologue
Blaze
Seventeen years ago
Something wakes me with a start. Confusion settles in my mind, and I have to force myself to wake. Something’s not right. Something very bad is happening. I feel it in the pit of my stomach.
The heat steals my breath. My lungs struggle to pull in air, but I know I have to move. When my eyes snap open, I realize I’m in the dark, yet there’s a bright orange glow coming from the hallway.
I don’t need to go there to know there’s a fire that’s sparked from somewhere in the house, most probably from my mother’s drunken antics. Fear settles in my bones like the icy chill of winter. Pushing off my bed, I grab a blanket and wrap it around me. No way I can wet it, because that’s what they say—wet blanket and hold off the fire. Isn’t it?
I race toward my bedroom door, taking note of the flames slowly edging their way toward me. They seem to be coming from her bedroom. Furrowing my brows, I glance down the steps to peek into the living room, where I see her on the sofa. A loud crash jolts me into action, and I manage to rush down the hallway that’s slowly being engulfed in flames. The heat licks against my skin. It’s more than just a hot-sunny-day type of heat; it’s scorching, scalding everything in the vicinity.
“Mom!” I call to her, sure she probably passed out in a drunken stupor earlier this evening, but I try anyway. “Mom!” When I reach the living room, which is engulfed in flames, I see her unmoving body. Even though the bedroom floor has crashed down into the room, she hasn’t flinched; she hasn’t woken from the loud crash.
My ears prick, and I hear sirens in the distance. I guess the neighbors have called the fire department. Pushing through the smoke, I tug on my mother’s arm, which is limp. The empty bottle of whisky lying on the carpet is evidence that she’s once again gotten drunk and left a cigarette somewhere.
I can’t move fast enough, and the heat makes my body shake. My chest feels heavy, as if something is sitting on it, and my lungs protest at the exertion of trying to move my mother from where she’s lying.
The fire looks like it started upstairs, but that makes no sense since she’s on the couch. I pull her harder. Her body finally tumbles to the floor, and I find myself dragging my unconscious mother through the heat of our home, which is going up in smoke.
The door crashes open, and three men race inside. Two of them move deeper into the house, and I want to tell them to be careful, but they’re trained for this. They should know how to save my home.
“Come on, son.” A tall, foreboding figure steps toward me as he speaks. “We need to get out of here,” he says as he helps me lift my mother. He escorts me out, cradling my mother in his arms. He’s tall, strong, and I can’t help but look up at him in awe.
The large red truck parked on the sidewalk is salvation as the rest of his team get the long black hoses aimed at my childhood home.
“Are there any other people inside?” the man asks.
Shaking my head, I cough out a, “No, just me and mom.”
He nods, settling her on the grass. Ambulances arrive then, and everything becomes manic. A blur of bodies—paramedics resuscitating my mother, neighbors looming to see what the commotion is, firemen racing around attempting to kill the raging inferno—and then there’s me, standing helplessly by, watching it all happen.
At fifteen, I should’ve been able to get her out of there. I’m strong, tall, but I couldn’t even pull my mother from a burning house. Guilt and agony grips me painfully. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t be hard on myself; that’s what dad would’ve said, but he’s not here anymore.
The memories of my father come slamming into me with a force that steals my breath. “Excuse me,” the soft voice of a female paramedic calls to me, dragging my attention to her. When I meet her gentle expression, my heart lurches wildly in my chest.
“What’s wrong?” I glance down at the gurney holding my mother’s body. She’s not moving, the man—a paramedic—is still giving her breaths, using an oxygen mask.
“I’m sorry,” the lady says in a tone so soft it’s surprising I heard her.
“What do you mean?” I question, my voice coming out broken and gravelly. My throat is dry, scratchy, like I swallowed glass and it’s trying to rise up my esophagus.
“She’s… She wasn’t strong enough to fight the smoke that filled her lungs,” the lady tells me, but I’m shaking my head. I don’t go to my mother; I don’t even move an inch because she can’t be dead. This is all a nightmare, and I’m going to wake up soon.
I watch the man pull the mask from her face. After he sets it down, he pulls the black sheet over her head, and I crumple to the ground. There’s a wailing sound that bounces off the dark night, but the moment heavy hands drag me to my feet, I realize it’s me. I’m the one crying.
Even though my mother wasn’t the greatest, she was the only family I had. The fire that stole my home has taken my only living parent. I’m alone in the world, and I don’t have anyone who can take me in.
I watch in horror as they wheel the gurney away. She’s not dead. She can’t be. Everything is blurry as salty pain trickles down my cheeks. Our neighbors watch me. They look on sadly at the little boy who couldn’t save his mother.
I’m nothing more than a failure.
If I had woken up sooner.
If I had only ran downstairs quicker.
All those ifs haunt me as I sit on the cold steel of the fire truck. People talk to me, but I’m numb. I can no longer feel anything, and I shiver, even though the heavy blanket is still wrapped around me.
Turning my gaze to the black frame of the house I once called home, I stare blankly at the shell left behind. Once upon a time, we were happy. There were moments that will forever replay in my head. But once my father died, mom fell down the darkest hole and never returned to me.
I can’t blame her for being heartbroken.
I can’t even blame her for being absent while she emptied bottle after bottle.
As I sit there, alone, cold, and horrified, I promise myself two things—I’ll never fall in love, and I’ll never feel so helpless again.
Evelyn
Present day
The dark sky beckons as the stars twinkle on. London’s sky is alight with the glittering goodness that comes from nature, but down below, the music wafts up toward my bedroom, reminding me of what’s happening tonight.
Sighing, I push off the balcony and head indoors. My life has become a series of parties and galas where I’m meant to be the princess at the event. My mother thinks I need to find a man to marry as soon as possible, while my father wants to sell me off like a business transaction.