Coming Home
Ember’s POV
I can’t believe I’m back here again!
I really hate this town. There’s something about it that just makes my skin crawl. It’s probably the same feeling that most orphans get when they find themselves back in the hell hole they were abandoned in. I wouldn’t be back here in this god-awful town at all if it wasn’t for the magical skating rink that just opened.
If I’m going to be the world champion figure skater at long last—and win the one competition I absolutely must—I’m going to have to up my game and get some serious practice in.
Pulling on my skates, the ones that are almost as old as I am, I set out onto the ice. Someone once told me that dancing is a lot like sex. Some people are good at it and others have zero control over their own limbs. I can safely say I’ve had some shitty sex in the past, but I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m on the ice.
It’s hard to control your own body when it burns up a storm at just the smallest of touches but on the ice, at least a magical rink like this one, that doesn’t matter. I can’t possibly melt this rink and for that I’m unbelievably grateful. This might be the first year that I actually stand a real chance of winning the championship.
I glide between the crowds with a grace that I’ve never had off the ice. I’m more in control here. Elegant even. People stop skating to watch as I perform several pirouettes before leaping into the air. I’m used to the attention. People always stop and stare when I’m on the ice. Off the ice, not so much. Out there, I’m a clumsy red head with no control over her body.
My eyes catch sight of a little girl and a man that I can only presume is her father. He’s slowly guiding her across the ice, the way my dad used to before he left me at the Silver Springs Orphanage. I choke up at the sight, but I’m unable to look away.
I run laps around them and a hot tear drops down my face.
Brushing it away with my hand, I increase my speed across the ice.
“Look, Daddy! I’m doing it!”
She’s skating on her own as her father claps his hands, a wide, proud smile on his face.
“Good job, Avery!”
Ignore them. I’m not here to watch other people skate. I’m here to hone my skill so that I can be the world champion figure skater.
Twirling around on the ice, I focus my attention on the way my arms move through the air but I can’t help but smile when I hear that little girl ask her daddy if she’ll be able to skate like me one day. That small moment of distraction costs me a fall on the ice.
On any other rink, that fall would result in a puddle at my feet as my hot skin melted the ice. But not this one. Here, I can just get back up and carry on skating.
Or at least I would be able to if my bloody skate wasn’t broken. I curse under my breath before looking around for a stall where I can rent a pair of skates, something I’ve never done before. Hobbling to my feet, I’m surprised when a hand is held out to help me up.
I look up at the person who has offered to help me, to be met with the eyes of the man I was watching only moments ago with his daughter.
“Daddy, is the lady hurt?” the small girl asks from only a meter away.
“N-Yes,” he answers.
“I’m fine,” I reassure them. I take his hand, enjoying the way his skin feels cool against mine. Then again, everything feels cold to me. A thing that’s pretty much guaranteed when you’re a fire kitsune.
“Is she okay?” The child asks again, confused by our conflicting answers.
“N-n-y-no.” His answer is completely baffling. I’m completely fine. “Bloody hell.”
“I told you I’m fine. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me.”
The little girl looks up at her daddy, shaking her head. “Daddy is having a little problem with the word no.”
I don’t know quite what to make of that. How can a grown man have a problem with the word no? It’s one syllable for god’s sake. I’m tempted to ask him about it, but it’s really not any of my business, so instead, shivering slightly, I thank him before making my way awkwardly off the ice.
I regret walking away from him almost immediately, something inside me feels drawn back to him, but I ignore it. I’m here to skate and nothing else.
Without so much as another glance in the man or his daughter’s direction, I sit down and remove my skates as soon as I’m off the ice. My ankle is beginning to swell up slightly. That’s the last thing I need. Wrapping my hand around my ankle, I allow the heat from my palm to warm my ankle, all the while psyching myself up to walk on it.
I need to get myself one of those spelled jerseys the hockey team have, if I’m going to make a repeat performance of falling flat on my face.
“How is your ankle?” My coach pushes past several people to reach me. Kneeling in front of me, he takes my foot into his lap to inspect it. If I didn’t know him better, I’d definitely have a thing for him. He’s got the best hair I’ve ever seen on a guy and the brightest blue eyes, but he’s also got the arrogance to match.
He knows he’s hot. He knows he’s the best coach around. And he knows he can skate better than pretty much anyone in the room.
That self assurance would be attractive if he didn’t have such a massive tendency to brag and complain. I shouldn’t grumble. His bragging pushes me on to improve because I won’t be beaten by my coach and his complaints usually guarantee that I get the best of everything.
He puts my needs first when it comes to skating, at least.
“You shouldn’t even be on the ice,” he grumbles as I feel a tendril of his magic seep into my skin, relieving the burn. “There’s far too many people out there.”
That’s the other thing about my coach. Garrick is a witch. A moody shit of a witch.
When he releases my foot, I give it a stretch, testing to see if it is still painful. I smile down at him when I find the pain has completely vanished.
“Thank you. I should get back on the ice.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he growls at me, getting back to his feet and looking around. “Your skate is broken and I’m not having you hurt more than just your ankle.”
“I can rent some skates,” I argue.
“I said no.” That’s the end of the discussion. That’s another thing about Garrick. There’s no talking him around to my way of thinking. “I’ll get your skates fixed. You head back to Tilbury Manor and elevate your foot.”
I open my mouth to argue—what’s the point in elevating my foot when he’s already fixed me up? —but the look on his face stops the words that are ready to trip off the tip of my tongue.
“Alright,” I accept, pulling on my winter boots, all the while making a mental list of things that I can do instead of elevating my foot.
“I don’t want to see you here tomorrow.” He’s glaring at me like he thinks I’m incapable of obeying his order.
“That’s okay,” I say smoothly. “I need to find somewhere to live anyway.”
“Aren’t you happy at the manor?” He asks, surprised.
“It’s a hotel,” I grumble. “It’s not home.”