4.2 Marcus

Heat. Fire. An explosion of light so searing bright that Marcus himself was briefly blinded. Years of drilled in reflexes took over in an instant, and in a split second he grabbed Vivienne and yanked her into his arms, spinning around to shield her from the flames and noise. Screams filled the parking lot, but Marcus could hardly hear them over the ringing in his own head. The army-green cotton shirt he was wearing singed his back, half-melting into the skin and leaving gaps for flying bits of shrapnel and gravel to stick and flay across the burned flesh.

 

“Marcus?!” Finally a voice cut through the droning whine, dragging the shifter’s attention down. Vivienne was staring up at him with panicked concern, blessedly unharmed as far as he could see. One of her hands was raised to his cheek. “Marcus, are you okay?”

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