Firebreak. Anna Leonard
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his arms. “Who sent you?” he demanded again. “Who set you?” A pointless question. Sparks merely were, with but one instinct—to claim, to possess and to burn. It would be lingering, somewhere, to watch the destruction, but it would not listen to reason or plea to stop.
No mortal means could extinguish Sparkfire; the man he had been knew that all too well. Even if firefighters had arrived, they could have done nothing but watch while the structure burned down, and prayed that it would not spread to the surrounding trees.
This was why he had been called. Only another Spark could stop a Spark-driven blaze.
In theory.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?”
The mortal—a woman, her short brown hair in sleep-tousled curls around her head, lifted her face to look up, as though seeking reassurance. He risked taking his attention away from the flames for just an instant, an ancient and impossible response, and he was trapped by two large, almond-shaped eyes, tear-and smoke-reddened but still impossibly blue, like the depths of a tranquil lake. Those eyes widened at what she saw, looking at him, and her pale pink lips trembled, but she didn’t look away. “What are you? What’s happening?”
She was speaking to him.
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