Seduce Me in Flames

The Tarian shoved through the doorway, his bulky frame too big for it, forcing him to duck under to keep from hitting his head. Then he reached out one of those massive paws he called a hand, the palm raised upward as if he were the most refined gentleman asking to escort the heiress of Allay onto a dance floor. The idea of it on such a rough man was, of course, ludicrous. As was the idea of her willingly putting her hand in his, and effectively signing her own death warrant.

The Tarian saw her hesitate, saw her entire body draw back in fear, although by only a minute movement.

“One day you are going to have to cross the line, Princess,” he said quietly, his eyes such a deeply intense amber, an overall tinge of rose coloring making them seem so rich and so surprisingly beautiful. It was almost like looking into a warm, moving golden flame instead of the fiery orange one might expect. They were steady on hers as his accent lightened again by half. “You’re going to have to take action to get what you want. To claim what’s rightfully yours. Why not take that action today?”

By Jacquelyn Frank

T
HREE
W
ORLDS
Seduce Me in Dreams
Seduce Me in Flames

N
IGHTWALKERS
Jacob
Gideon
Elijah
Damien
Noah

S
HADOWDWELLERS
Ecstasy
Rapture
Pleasure

Fire burned everywhere. Cinders clung to long grasses that had been obliterated by it but, by some miracle, still held together. The smell of accelerant was still in the air because it had been poured on the field in such a massive quantity. Along with it was the unmistakable stench of char and smoke. Nothing could possibly have survived.

But in the center of all that destruction, something stirred. There was a cough just before the young man sat up and spit. He was charred as black as everything around him, making him blend in perfectly with his surroundings. He took a breath, his first in what seemed like ages. Well, he thought, it shouldn’t surprise him that they had tried to kill him. After all, he had accidentally exposed his power in the center of the town square during a damn festival.

Shit
. He’d kept it secret from everyone for all of his twenty-one cycles. And it hadn’t been easy. Adolescence alone had been a trial for him, and he’d had something of a temper back then. Still, he’d managed to keep it all under wraps.

He ought to have known this was coming. There was no way a mutation such as he was could go an entire lifetime undetected.

But if it hadn’t been for that girl …

Yet, how could he have turned his back? She would
surely have died at the hands of those self-serving sicko bastards.

He shook his head, shook away the memory for the uselessness that it was. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and it had nothing to do with the Axiom fuel they’d dumped on him in hopes of burning him like all the rest of the char and ash around him. He had let them think they were successful. What choice did he have? If they didn’t “kill” him to their satisfaction, they would keep on trying until they actually figured out a way to succeed.

Had he truly thought at one time that his lifelong friends and family in his own village would be the ones most likely to understand and accept him? How many times had he come close to revealing himself before, thinking they would love him anyway? He had been so naïve. Such a fool. And yet, why did this shock him so much if he’d felt so driven to keep it hidden?

He looked around carefully before getting to his feet. It was dark now, the only light coming from the flames that burned so powerfully on the horizon. The damn fools had burned him, yes, but in the process had started a fire on the plains that had quickly raced into the village. The screaming had long since died down. He figured they were all dead, if not mostly so.

His secret was once again a secret.

He brushed layers of ash from his bare skin, the remainders of his clothing no doubt. Now he was naked, disenfranchised, and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Still, he began to put one foot in front of the other, began to move. He had learned new things about himself, he could say that much. But he wasn’t sure if that made things worse or better. He was too angry, too hurt to care.

It would take him a very long time to get over both of those feelings.

Her heart beat harshly, her breath rasping in the back of her throat.
What could it mean? What could he want?
The same questions swirled around in her head again and again as she strode through the palace hallways with an air of confidence she did not feel. There had never been a sense of confidence, a sense of security in her life. Even when her father had supposedly loved her, she had never felt that sense of cocooning comfort that a child was supposed to feel when in the presence of her protector.

She supposed his treatment of her these last years had proven her very intuitive, even at toddling age.

He had once professed a magnificent love for her mother. There were those in her household who swore, to this day, that her mother had been the great love of his life. But then his eminence the emperor had tired of his favorite concubine. Some said it was because a newer, younger woman had caught his fancy. Others said her mother had overstepped herself with him one too many times, that she’d grown proud and arrogant, making the mistake of thinking that being the mother of his heir apparent made her as good as being empress.

Whatever the reason, Emperor Benit Tsu Allay had put down his common-law wife like a dog. Unafraid of the possible repercussions he might face at the hands of
the Interplanetary Militia, he’d had her tried for treason, proclaiming her an enemy to his crown and a conspirator in a plot to have him killed. Her mother’s trial had been a whirlwind of, some said, overwhelmingly damning evidence, spurious accusations, and her execution one of the cruelest and most horrific in the history of their realm. Then, before she could understand that her mother would never touch her again, hold her or hug her, Ambrea had been declared fruit of a poisonous tree and packed off into the back of nowhere, and there she had been languishing ever since.

More or less.

She’d been called into her father’s presence twice since her exile at the age of four—once at the age of eleven and once when she was thirteen. Both times he had hurled accusations of treason at her, accused her of knowingly plotting with his enemies to overthrow him and take his throne. However, lack of evidence, or, perhaps more likely, his unwillingness to slaughter a child, had spared her life—but not before she had spent over a year each time in his prisons.