Chapter 166 Burn It All
Chapter 166 Burn It All
Ashlyn
I wake up slowly and hungover—light leaks in around the edges of the window, threatening to burn my eyeballs. The cabin smells like smoke and clean wood and Paul, which is distracting in a way I refuse to unpack before breakfast. I’m tangled in blankets that aren’t mine, wearing a shirt that definitely isn’t mine, and my feet are still complaining about the heels I put them in yesterday. I lie there for a minute, taking inventory. Head groggy, fire calm, no screaming crowds, no one demanding anything from me. Just the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of someone moving quietly on the other side of the room. Paul is at the small table with his back to me, pouring water into a cup like he’s trying not to make noise. I study his broad shoulders, bare feet, and his hair still damp from washing up. He looks like a man who slept deeply and woke up ready to do whatever the day asks without complaint. It’s unsettling. I sit up, letting the blanket slide down my legs.
“You know,” I say, voice rough, “if you were trying to lull me into a false sense of security, the domestic competence is working.”
He glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Good morning to you, too.”
I stretch, arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to remind him I’m here. His eyes flick and then very deliberately flick away again, like he’s practising restraint as a hobby.
“How’s the damage?” he asks.
“My feet hate me. My bones are tired. My head is throbbing, but my fire is… weirdly behaved.” I frown, considering that. “Suspiciously so.”
He turns fully now, leaning back against the table. “Big days do that. They take it out of you.”
“Rude,” I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “I prefer my exhaustion dramatic.”
He hands me the cup of warm water, and I accept it without comment because that’s the kind of attention that sneaks past my defences.
“Bella?” I ask after a few sips. “I should probably go check on her.”
Paul’s brow lifts just slightly.
“The King and his mate,” he says carefully, “would be very much occupied.”
I blink and then grin.
“Oh. Oh gods. Of course they are.”
He clears his throat. “Red was very clear that they are not to be disturbed unless the mountain is actively on fire.”
“Fair,” I say. “Honestly, good for them.”
I stand and pace the small room, toeing at a loose plank in the floor. The quiet presses in now that my brain is awake enough to notice it. The wedding is done. The people are gone. The story everyone else came for has wrapped itself up with a neat ribbon and wandered off into happily-ever-after territory... And I’m still here.
“What is it?” Paul asks.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
He waits, and I sigh. “What am I even supposed to do now?”
He pushes off the table and reaches for his boots. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this the part where you gently redirect me away from committing crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. You’re really ruining my brand.”
He smiles, calm and unbothered. “Come on.”
I dress quickly before we step outside into the morning with no destination and no hurry. Just two people wandering around, waiting for life to throw them a bone. The cottage comes into view between the trees, eventually. There's smoke coming from the chimney and someone laughing inside. The sound hits me low in the chest. I'm not one to be jealous, but I am still female. I'm not immune to emotions. My fire stirs from the stupid hormones, and I slow my walk without thinking. Paul slows with me. We stand there for a second, the world narrowing to that little structure and everything it represents.
“ We can go the other way,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to be okay with it either.”
“I know.”
“I thought...” I say finally, “that eventually I’d feel… lighter.”
“And?”
“And I do,” I admit. “But there’s still this… rage. They hurt me.”
Paul considers that. Then, without looking at the cottage again, he turns away from it.
“There’s a place by the river,” he says. “Not far. I want to show you.”
My head tilts. “Is this still the crime-prevention walk?”
“Maybe.”
“Does it involve burning things?”
His mouth curves. “Only the things that are already dead.”
I snort, the tension easing a little. “Lead the way, dragon man.”
We leave the cottage behind to rot in their stupid happiness.
The river is exactly what I need and precisely what I don’t want to admit I need. It's wide, fast-moving, loud enough to drown out thoughts if you let it. Charred logs sit along the bank, and old burn scars healed into the wood like history that’s been honoured instead of erased. Paul stops near the water and looks at me.
“When I get angry,” he says, “I come here.”
I raise a brow. “You don’t seem like the raging type.”
“I am,” he says. “I just don’t aim it at people.”
Well, of course, he doesn't. He's too sweet for that.
He gestures to the bank. “If you need to… let go. This place can take it.”
My fire answers before my mouth does. Heat rolls through my limbs. I step forward, plant my feet, and let it go. Flames spill out of me in a rush. They catch on deadwood and dry brush, racing and crackling, the air snapping with heat. I don’t hold back, I just let it all burn, every thought, every feeling, every heartbreak. When it’s done, when my fire pulls back into itself like it’s finally satisfied, I’m breathing hard and grinning like an idiot. I turn to Paul, braced for flinching, caution, or fear, or all of the above, honestly, but instead, he’s smiling. His dragon flashes through his eyes, his chest puffs out slightly like a peacock. He's... happy that I went fire mad? He should be afraid. Anyone sensible would be. Instead, Paul looks like he’s just watched the best part of the show, and I get the unsettling feeling that burning things might not be the most dangerous thing about me anymore.