King of Flames (Fae of Fire and Ash Book 1)

by Ana Calin

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

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  including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

  and retrieval system, without permission in writing

  from the author except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction,

  the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons or events is

  coincidental.

  Copyright 2020 – Ana Calin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER I

  Xerxes

  I squeeze the iron bar in my hands until it snaps. My body radiates darkness, and my skin cracks, revealing streams of fire instead of veins, but still no magic channels through the iron.

  I growl in frustration, the cave walls shuddering.

  “Milord, please,” Marayke cries. “You’ve been trying for a year already, we have to think of another way.”

  I want to snarl so loud that the rock crumbles, and Marayke the Iron Maiden is the only reason I refrain. She’s been my most loyal general for years, and went into hiding with my closest retinue and me when we lost everything.

  And we sure as hell lost a whole fucking lot. I, as the Fire King, had all the realms in my grasp, and I was rapidly expanding towards the heavens. I pick up another bar to unload my frustration on, sweat glistening on my skin as I turn to the molten lake of fire just a few feet away. How long have we been hiding inside the volcanic caves at the heart of the Fire Realm? It must have been at least a year now that I’ve been wandering from magma chamber to magma chamber, seeking to reconstruct the fire core of my energy body.

  “Milord, with all due respect. It makes sense that you listen to my sister and go about this differently,” Kareim Velduros says. “We need to find something that will help you regain your abilities.”

  I don’t look at him, but I can sense his manipulative sneer. I know what something he has in mind, he’s mentioned it before, and it’s out of the question. But he keeps bringing it up with every failure.

  “You need an energy worker to replenish your magic, and you need one fast,” he insists.

  I break the second iron bar as I try in vain to activate my innermost powers and melt it, but this time it’s not just the frustration that fuels me, it’s the low burn of violence in my veins. I know Kareim would have betrayed me long ago if he weren’t still afraid of me.

  The mage’s long robe shimmers in the lava light as he stands as far away from the heat as possible, his hands on top of his staff that he’s far too young to be using. He has long wiry hair the color of rust, the same color as his sister Marayke, but unlike her, he’s vicious for the fun of it, not because of a lifetime of harsh military training that made him into a brute.

  “You need to find her, Milord,” he pushes when I don’t respond. “Cerys Dark is the most gifted energy worker in the Flipside, despite her young age. She is a descendant of Merlin. If anyone can replenish your energy core, it’s her.”

  Marayke remains silent, a clear sign that she agrees with her brother, even though she doesn’t like the idea of me getting close to Cerys Dark any more than I do.

  I curl my lip over my teeth, staring down at the liquid fire boiling down in the volcano’s core.

  I growl, deep, from my chest, trying to speak. I haven’t done it in a year, focused on pulling myself back together after the King of Frost and the Sea Queen blasted my core to smithereens. They basically blew the heart from my chest. My physical body regenerated. My energy body didn’t, and I’m not half the god of flames I used to be.

  “Cerys Dark would only—” My voice comes out like claws grating on stone. I clear my throat, but it sounds like the snarl of a beast. The Undead that just entered the cave flinch and back off. “She would only replenish me for a short while.” Even though I would be functioning on much more power than now, when I can’t use anything beyond the most basic magic and, of course, my physical strength. “What I need is a new core. The Firestone Crystal, the central stone of the Fire Court Crown, only its magic can fully restore me.”

  “But,” Marayke whispers, “the god Apophis’ Wraiths stole it centuries ago.”

  I remember how I chased down the Wraiths. They hadn’t gotten to destroy the Firestone before I captured them, but they hid it, and no matter how I tortured them, they wouldn’t disclose its location. Which is understandable—if I’d let them live, Apophis, the God of Chaos, wouldn’t have.

  I sink into silence, reliving every moment of the day I killed the Wraiths. Every twist of the shadowy, featureless faces that expressed more than any conventional face ever could. They floated like black spirits in the wind, but if captured they turned to flesh, and they could suffer physically. And suffer they did.

  I would have dedicated more of my resources to finding the Firestone, but back then I was the most powerful fae king of all the realms, on par only with Lysander, the King of Frost. I had armies and magic beyond most supernaturals’ wildest dreams. I could spit fire like a dragon, and fly on wings of shadow. I could activate volcanoes that had long been dormant. I didn’t need the Firestone, and I thought I never would. Now look at me, reduced to the raw strength of my muscles.

  “We could find out where it is, the Firestone.” Marayke now stands too close to me. I know she wants to place a hand on my shoulder, I can smell it in her body chemistry, the desire, the longing. It makes my stomach twist.

  “I don’t even know where to start looking,” I tell her as softly as I can, not wanting to hurt her feelings or be too brusque with her, but my vocal chords still sound like instruments that haven’t been oiled in forever.

  “But she surely does,” Kareim puts in. “Cerys Dark, or the company she keeps.”

  “Why would she know?” I angle my body towards him with a frown, folding my arms across my chest. “She’s got nothing to do with Apophis or his Wraiths.”

  “No, but she’s got everything to do with your other enemies—Lysander the King of Frost, and his wife, the Sea Queen. Not to mention her whole guild of witches and warlocks in the Flipside. Someone is bound to know something.”

  All roads lead to her, don’t they? I can’t keep avoiding the unavoidable.

  “Besides,” Kareim presses his advantage with a foxy look in his crimson eyes, now that he can see by the look on my face that I’m finally considering it. “There’s this other thing that she, and only she, can do. And you can get it from her easily, since she still has no idea.”

  Cerys

  I SHOULDN’T BE OUT here, but I couldn’t resist. The masquerades in Flipside Edinburgh are unique. The masks, the magic filling the air, the scents from the inebriating potions and the magic sweets can give one the best high of their lives. Everybody is happy, joy fills the air. Ever since the King of Flames was banished a year ago, his danger no longer hovering over the supernatural realms, they all have been vibrating with new-found life.

  Shifters dance with vampires, sorcerers with fae, witches and their cats with arcane priests and their dogs and snakes. As for me, I couldn’t resist the pull of cotton candy and magic punch. I’ve never missed one of these events in my life, except for the better part of this year. While Xerxes’ banishment meant freedom for everybody else,
it means indefinite isolation for me.

  After the world-shaking confrontation between Lysander the King of Ice and Xerxes the King of Flames a year ago I had to leave my shop on a little side street close to the Royal Mile, and hide in the underground, always heavily guarded. Thank Providence for Nazarean, my familiar, who never leaves my side, giving me some measure of normalcy—except for tonight, when he had to stay behind to make sure the guards don’t discover I’m gone.

  I’m determined to make the best out of these few hours.

  “Cerys Dark,” a witch in a pointy hat stops me with a hand on my arm. It feels a bit aggressive, but I try to smile—surely it’s just my imagination, I’ve been isolated for a year, my people skills atrophied.

  “Paulette, come over here,” she beckons her friend, rising on the tips of her toes to wave. “Paulette! Over here! This is her, the girl who replenished my magic after that lich almost drained me to death. She can surely help with your stuff, too.” She turns to me with wide old eyes, sagging bags under them. “You do love blockages, too, don’t you? She’s been trying to attract a mate for years now, and it ended in disaster every time, it’s been a nightmare.”

  “We’ve been looking for you for months now,” Paulette chimes in. She’s much younger than the first witch, but she gives off aggressive vibes, too. A couple more witches follow her, a few dark warlocks trailing after them. Their eyes seem to pierce through my aura, and a chill runs down my spine. I’ve never really liked their lot, even though my half-brother is a dark warlock, too.

  “Yeah, what happened to your shop, there’s been duct tape all over it for a year?” the young witch inquires.

  I don’t know what to tell them. Ever since I moved to the underground, only the guardians were allowed to bring me clientele, and they’ve been super selective about it.

  “I’m not taking on new clients at the moment,” I say with a smile as I try to move past the circle they formed around me. I murmur a spell under my breath, and activate some of my milder magic that makes people feel meek and mellow and relaxed, causing them to forget what they were up to. They let me pass, but the warlocks’ dark gazes linger.

  I wish I’d felt more comfortable, as I’m surely feeling threatened for no reason. But being away from people for so long has made me agoraphobic, and I need to take it slow.

  The streets don’t intimidate me as much, even though they’re teeming with people in colorful costumes, moving their wands through the air and painting runes of joy. Sparkling magic dust puffs into the air. The familiar scent of punch and cotton candy leads me further up the Royal Mile, stands filled with goodies shielding the big dark houses and Victorian shops. My mouth waters as I pick a cane candy from a stand, paying the lady.

  Memories of my childhood flood my mind as I lick it, my heart swelling with happiness. I haven’t had one of these in years.

  “Why did you run away, Miss Dark,” a voice booms in my ear. I spin around, bumping into a dark warlock, one of those who trailed after Paulette. “Are you afraid of us?”

  “I...” But before I get to answer, the others join him. My skin crawls. I instantly know this is bad news.

  They draw closer to me like predators going to the kill. I murmur a spell to confuse those closest to me, but I won’t be able to hold them off for long. I’m a magic energy worker, I work with the forces of nature to replenish people’s magic tanks when a fight or some sort of disease depletes them, but I’m no match for a whole pack of dark warlocks and witches.

  I wish I had my brother Zillard with me badly right now. He would blast them away from me with a flick of his hand, but he’s been busy keeping the human world safe from Xerxes ever since the King of Flames disappeared.

  I retreat, moving through the crowd away from those trying to circle me in. I turn the corner onto the first dark side street that I find. I pick up speed, deciding to move only along the darkest alleyways until I get back to the one that will lead me back to my underground hideout, but let’s face it. I’m a super easy target with my white glowing skin, the long braided ponytail of shiny blue-black hair, and my white robe.

  My heart hammers against my chest, my lungs burning. The sound of my own breathing pounds in my ears. I’m not athletic by nature, and physical exercise is far from my favorite activity, but I’m light on my feet because of all the positive energy I’ve gathered through my work. Still, my muscles scream from the effort, and a cold breeze keeps following me. It’s like a vicious spirit is breathing down my neck.

  I don’t turn around to check if it’s just paranoia or if I’m actually being followed, not until I veer onto the narrow street that leads to the closed old pub where I can slide to the underground, and from there to my shelter. I shouldn’t have left it.

  With the blood rushing in my ears I look over my shoulder, scanning the night. Nothing but the breath of the Autumn air. But as I unbolt the door and push it open, a big strong hand covers my mouth, and something as hard as a warrior’s breastplate pushes against my back.

  I stumble inside, only my captor’s grip keeping me from falling. The door falls shut behind us, and darkness swallows us. I swear this is the longest second of my life. All I can hear is my own breath, and the fear that pumps blood into my temples.

  My captor doesn’t have to say a word, or even breathe for me to realize it’s him. Xerxes. His body is as hard as iron against mine, and he smells of ember and wood. There’s no doubt, the witches and warlocks that surrounded me before were his people. We always knew he had acolytes in Flipside Edinburgh, but we could never track them down. Such a man inspires loyalty until death, so they never gave themselves away.

  “Just relax, and cooperate,” he says, low, his breath coating the shell of my ear. It’s that masculine, god-like voice that sent chills down my spine when I first heard it a year ago. “Do exactly what I tell you, and no one will get hurt.”

  He waits until I relax in his grip. I don’t do it because I feel any safer, but because I realize there’s no way I can escape him. If I ever get away from him, it will be because he let me go, not because anyone or anything freed me. He loosens his iron grip, and I turn around slowly, facing him.

  My eyes widen.

  Xerxes stands before me, in the flesh—if that’s what he’s made of. His bronze skin gives off a golden glow that pierces the darkness, making him visible, but not radiating enough to light up the room.

  I’m facing the King of Flames, but ice travels through my veins. This is the first good look I’ve ever had of him, and he’s intimidating as hell. He’s got thick muscles, and what looks like rivulets of liquid fire instead of veins. Darkness shimmers around him, and I know it’s the shadowy aura he emits, like smoke rising from him. His eyes are red, his lips dark, and his hair the smoothest black I’ve ever seen, brushing his muscular shoulders like silk. He’s wearing leather pants and a leather vest that doesn’t hide much of his body, but suits the whole package perfectly.

  As for the features of his face, they leave me breathless. His cheekbones are sharp like steel, his whole face expressing a calm ferocity, like a quiet fire that could surge at any time.

  “Wh—what do you want from me?” I stutter.

  But deep down I know. It’s why they’ve been keeping me away from him all this time.

  Xerxes

  “I DIDN’T WANT US TO meet again any more than you did, but you’re Edinburgh’s best magic energy worker, and I need your help,” I tell the girl as my eyes move up and down her frame.

  I remember the first time I saw her honey-colored eyes. The same eyes as her great-grandfather’s, the famous Merlin. It was when I barged into her shop close to the Royal Mile a year ago, looking for Lysander and Arielle. Instead, I came face to face with the woman I’d been determined never to meet—the one with the highest chance of becoming my fated mate.

  I breathe in her scent—scent always reveals a lot about a person. It’s how you know what they eat, what they drink, what their entire chemistry is made of, an
d more. Cerys Dark smells of wild lilies, Merlin’s favorite ingredient for magic-replenishing concoctions.

  She has healthy, youthful cheeks, a perky chest and a small waist, her hips and legs surprisingly well shaped for someone who obviously exercises so little. She looked extremely awkward when she ran, her white robe rippling in the wind as she heaved and forced herself to go faster, which was much slower than she thought. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest moving up and down as she breathes hard, the swell of her breasts sweaty and inviting.

  The way she looks now, she’s begging to be fucked. I have a flash of her spread-eagled on the floor, right here, beckoning me to fill her. My lip curls over my teeth.

  “I need you to undo what your friends Arielle and Lysander did. I need you to rebuild the core of my energy body.”

  She steps slowly away from me until her back hits the wall. I stay put, not wanting to scare her anymore than she already is. Just a year ago, when I heard there was a female out there who would become my fated mate simply by my laying eyes on her, I decided to have her killed. Make sure I remained invincible for all time. No vulnerability, no liability.

  I wouldn’t have done it myself, of course, not only because seeing her would have been enough to create a dangerous connection between us, but because I never hurt females. It’s a life principle, a code of conduct. I pick on bastards my own size. No, I would have had Marayke twist her head from behind, and let her fall limp in the street. Marayke would have simply walked away, pulling the hood down over her face, while people gathered around the best energy worker in Edinburgh, her white robe molding the pretty shape of her body like the shroud of a dead saint.

  Now I realize what a terrible waste that would have been. I’m almost grateful things turned out differently.

  Last year, when I barged into her shop looking for Lysander and Arielle to finish them, our eyes locked, and all plans of killing her went out the window. A moment was enough for the connection to spark to life. It was hardly enough to ignite any feelings, but I could feel the wires of my fate interlacing with hers. Harming her would mean harming myself. If Marayke were to kill her, she would kill a part of me along with her, so change of plans. When this is over I’ll imprison her, and keep her forever under my control, but I’ll never interact with her again. Make sure the connection doesn’t deepen.