Page 37 of Spitfire

He walks out the bathroom door like he didn't just rip out my heart, and mend it all back together with his words. I move into the shower, a grin painted across my face as I allow the hot water to pelt me.

I'm jolted out of the memory as my stomach cramps again, and a burning sensation on my thigh catches my attention. What the fuck is that? I question, as I rub down my aching flesh and feel roughness and pain. I lift my aching leg so that I can see what's on my flesh that's causing the sensation, and that's when I get a glimpse of angry red cuts along its surface, but I can't get a great look at it in my position, despite my sleep shorts riding up.

I force myself to my feet, swaying a bit, and having to hold onto the wall as I make my way to the counter, and the large mirror. My hands tremble as I knock items off the counter, and they go crashing to the floor with a loud bang. "Fucking hell!" Bruises, fingerprints, lash marks, and tooth imprints litter my skin, as if I've been through a war. My eyes trail down my abdomen, to the bite mark right above my mound that's angry and swollen, and I flinch as I allow my fingertips to grace it. Xavier Poine is a goddamn savage animal. If I ever see him again, he's going to regret it. A part of me hopes Jasper knocks out his teeth, while the other part, that refuses to lie to myself, knows I enjoyed every mark that graces my skin when he was giving them to me. It's only now in the aftermath that I'm having regrets.

My head spins again with grogginess, and I'm totally regretting crushing those three sleeping pills and taking them now. I was just so frightened that I would do something in a daze, or leave and not know where I had been. The sleeping pills seemed like the best alternative to stop myself and keep me home, especially after Jasper got called in to the office and had to leave me, after holding me tightly in his arms in my bed and making me feel safe. I almost asked him to stay, but at the last second I refused to give in to my neediness.

"Fuck, what time is it?" I groan and turn sideways, reaching for my watch on the counter, but the angry red marks on the side of my thigh catch my eye, and halt my movements. What I thought might have just been scratches, from mine and Xavier's rough play, are more than that. "What the ever-loving fuck?!" I screech, as I turn to get a better look at what's been carved into my flesh in harsh strokes in the mirror.

'ASHMAKER' is written in jagged, red lines on my skin that's hot to the touch. I meet my glance in the mirror, my frightened, brown eyes staring back at me with panic. "Nonononono, fuck!" I race out of the bathroom on shaky legs, and search for my phone in my bedroom, almost dropping it when I find it, with how badly my hands are shaking. When I manage to unlock the screen, after a few nerve-wracking attempts, a message is waiting for me in my notes app, and it's the first thing I see.

You need to remember what you've done, and who you are.

You're stronger and braver than anyone I've ever met.

You are my everything, my very reason to breathe.

Together we will cleanse this city.

I'm waiting for you, Ashmaker. You and I belong to each other.

"Who did this?" I question in a whisper, but something inside of me tells me I already know the answer. A sharp memory of a dark figure in all black, with a skull mask, standing in front of me, sears through my mind, forcing me down to my knees as I clutch my head in pain.

I watch mesmerized as he pushes back his dark hoodie, revealing strands of almost white hair, and pale flesh that seems almost translucent and otherworldly. My breath halts as he removes the mask, exposing all of his distinct facial features. In front of me stands Xavier Poine, with the wickedest smile I've ever seen, his blue-gray eyes twinkling in the dim light.

As I turn away from him, fear clawing at my throat, a reflection in a dirty window catches my attention, and staring back at me is an image of me, dressed in all black, with blood splattered across my face, neck, and clothes, my dark hair plaited, and my eyes too wide and distant, as if they belong to someone else. On the ground to our side, something is burning, the flames rising higher and higher. They're so realistic that I swear I can hear their crackling, and feel the heat wafting off of them.

"No! This can't be... No, this is a nightmare... I'm not... awake!" I scream into my empty home, but as I frantically look around, I see all of my things neatly placed. My hand reaches up towards my hair, only to realize that it's plaited tightly like it was in the image. The ache from my thigh forces my glance back at my ruined flesh, as my hands shake and panic engulfs me. I'm still grasping the phone tightly, as tears slide down my face like a river, soaking into the cami I'm wearing.

How could this be? The phone crashes to the floor with a bang, and my legs give out next as I crumple, hitting the hardwood with a loud thump. My chest is so tight that I can't get a single gulp of air down my throat, and I grasp at my throat with desperation. My heart feels like it's trying to rip itself out of my chest, as my vision begins to spot and darken.

Hello, Scarlett. It's time we finally meet and become one. I've waited so patiently for you to discover who you are.

A soft voice calls, and I realize with horror it's coming from inside my head. I gasp, ripping at my chest and neck, my nails shattering in my terror, and tearing my flesh open with a sharp pain before darkness takes me.

My last outlandish thought is that I am Ashmaker. Even though that's not possible, and makes no sense. I can't be... can I? What the fuck have I done?

TWENTY-EIGHT

JASPER

"This one's extra crispy. The flames have almost destroyed everything, and the water won't help preserve anything either," Dr. Stephens groans, as his techs secure the charred remains in the morgue's body bag, and the fire department packs up their hoses.

I nod in agreement, my mind haunted by an image of Scarlett's small, delicate form all snuggled under the covers in her bed. A surge of protectiveness and guilt gnaws at me as I recall quietly leaving her side, when she was still feeling vulnerable and unwell. The truth is, if it weren't for Director Shaw blowing up my phone to chew my ass out, and threaten my job security, I would have just ignored the world outside of her room, and continued holding her as she peacefully slept. Unfortunately, justice waits for no man, and I still have a job to do.

I was busy researching a certain asshole, whose jaw I’m going to break, when the call came in that Ashmaker had dropped another body. I knew I should have gone back to get Scarlett, it was the right thing to do. This case is as much hers as it is mine, but she was so exhausted, and everything in me wanted to protect her from Shaw and his ruthless threats.

I know when she discovers I left her out of the scene, she's going to be furious, and I'll be lucky if she doesn't punch me in my junk. "Yeah, um, too bad. Did we manage to recover anything of use?" I rub at my tired eyes as I meet Stephens' equally fatigued gaze. This case is going to take us all down if we don't catch this lunatic soon. How the fuck is he getting away with dropping so many bodies, and who the hell is his accomplice?

"Hey! You can't do this! I'm a journalist. I have a right to be here!" A loud shout breaks through the crowd, instantly commanding mine and Stephens' attention.

"Damn reporters, they're like bloodthirsty ticks," Stephens grimaces as he turns away to direct the removal of the body back to his lab.

A mixture of rage and satisfaction fills me, as I watch the two uniformed officers escorting a furious Xavier Poine away from the yellow police tape. He meets my stoic glance, and gives me the finger like an immature prick, as one of the officers grabs his arm and forcefully pulls him away, none too gently. That smug cocky fucker thought he could just show up at one of our crime scenes, and there'd be no reprisal for what he did to Scarlett. Think again. I have a lot of friends in the bureau, and on the local force, so he's going to find that all crime scenes are now closed to him indefinitely. He'll be lucky if any legitimate paper worth its salt allows him even to write a horoscope.

Yet, I know that's not enough. He needs to pay for so thoroughly soiling what's mine. If I had it my way, he'd be paying with his life, but I refuse to be like the criminals that I hunt, and take murder into my hands. Although I now have a new appreciation for their obsessions, thanks to my spiralling one with my little vixen.

Did I ever imagine that I would fall so quickly and completely for her, even after working all these months at her side to catch this sicko? Absolutely not. Will I do anything now to protect her, even if it's from herself? Nothing else matters. She's become not only an addiction, but so deeply rooted inside of me that I can't take a breath, or have a thought, without her being somehow entwined in it. Somewhere deep in my consciousness, and despite my tough exterior, a part of me fears how deeply and quickly I'm falling, and that it's too soon to have these types of feelings for her, but I can't deny that they exist, and they're tying me up in visceral knots.