BEASTLY INFERNO:9

You see Neroli, if you have three sides... demons rather inside of you, all battling for dominance...who will you let win?"

~Tristan

CHAPTER X

The silence between Tristan and me was charged with an intensity I couldn't quite understand. My heart raced as we stared at each other, and when he leaned in, my breath caught. The moment his lips touched mine, it felt like the world shifted. Fireworks exploded behind my closed eyes, and every nerve in my body came alive.

I didn't know what I was doing or why I was responding so hungrily, but something about Tristan just felt... right. My hands moved of their own accord, cupping his face as he dragged me closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushed against my lips, seeking entrance, and I surrendered, opening up to him.

Our tongues battled for dominance, and his easily won. The kiss was intoxicating, overwhelming, and I was drowning in it—drowning in him. When he pulled away after what felt like an eternity, his chest was heaving, and his eyes glowed faintly.

"I'll get consumed," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough and filled with an edge I didn't fully understand.

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what he meant, but a sudden knock on the door broke the spell. Tristan stiffened and moved to answer it. I watched him open the door, his posture tense. He exchanged a few hushed words with whoever was on the other side, then nodded solemnly before closing the door.

When he turned back to me, his face was hollow, a mask of grief that sent a chill down my spine.

"We're going to the pack house," he said quietly. "A dear friend of mine has passed away. We're going to honor him."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. There was a heaviness in the air now, pressing down on both of us as we made our way to his car. The drive to the pack house was silent, the weight of Tristan's emotions filling the space between us.

When we arrived, the scene was somber. A large crowd had gathered in a circle, and the air was thick with grief. It reminded me of the massacre I had witnessed a few days earlier, but this time, the atmosphere was different. This was mourning, not chaos.

Tristan parked the car, and we stepped out, walking toward the circle. People parted to make way for us, their eyes filled with sorrow as they bowed their heads in respect. We joined Heather and Dimitri at the front of the gathering, and my gaze fell on the center of the circle.

There, on a small boat decorated with flowers and golden coins, lay a man in a black suit. His face was pale and ashen, his features eerily calm in death. Beside him was a tiny bundle—a baby. My heart broke at the sight.

A woman stood nearby, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Now, she only stared blankly at the boat, her grief carved into every line of her face.

Dimitri stepped forward, his voice trembling as he began to speak. "Today is a dark day for our pack," he said, pausing as Heather placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing. "It is with a heavy heart that we say goodbye to my beloved cousin Theodore, his mate Johanna, and their little boy, Noah. They were attacked by rogues on their way to a function. Theodore fought bravely, but he was outnumbered. The rogues took his life and Noah's, leaving Johanna behind to bear this cruel punishment."

I frowned at his words. Cruel punishment? How could being alive be considered a punishment?

At Dimitri's command, four men stepped forward to lift the boat, carrying it toward a nearby pathway. Tristan took my hand, and we followed the procession until we reached a lake. The boat was gently placed on the water, its flowers and coins glinting in the sunlight.

"Tristan," Dimitri said solemnly. "If you would, please send them home."

Tristan released my hand and stepped forward, his expression unreadable. I watched in confusion as he began to remove his shirt, then his shoes.

Suddenly, his clothes caught fire. My breath hitched, and I froze in shock as his skin began to crack, molten lava glowing beneath the surface. Ears sprouted from his head, and a bushy tail of embers erupted behind him. His eyes glowed like molten gold as they locked onto mine, and I felt as though I were seeing something I was never meant to witness.

He turned back to the boat and reached out to touch Theodore and the baby. A radiant light engulfed their bodies, the smaller light merging with the larger one as though in an embrace. Both lights shot upward into the sky, disappearing into the heavens.

Tristan then laid a hand on one of the flowers, setting it ablaze. He pushed the boat forward, and it began to drift away, flames consuming it as it sailed into the distance.

"Thank you, Spirit Mother, for accepting their souls," Dimitri said quietly. "May they find peace in your embrace."

As the crowd began to disperse, I turned to the man beside me who had been explaining the scene.

"What is he?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man looked at me seriously. "The English name is Hellhound," he said. "But he's no ordinary Hellhound. Tristan is unique—he can transform even during the day, which is unheard of."

I nodded slowly, trying to process everything he had told me. When Tristan returned to my side, a robe wrapped around his shoulders, he leaned in close.

"Now you know," he said softly. "But the question remains: the wolf, the Hellhound, the kitsune—who will win this battle?"

I stared at him, fear and uncertainty swirling within me. I didn't have an answer, and not knowing terrified me.

Pyrokinesis: The ability to create and control fire with the mind.