by Ashley West
Table of Contents
Free Paranormal Romance
Title Page
Prequel One: Flare
Prequel Two: Sputter
Chapter One: Spark
Chapter Two: Glow
Chapter Three: Flicker
Chapter Four: Warmth
Chapter Five: Ember
Chapter Six: Flame
Chapter Seven: Conflagration
Chapter Eight: Combustion
Chapter Nine: Pyre
Chapter Ten: Scorch
Epilogue: Hearth
About the Author
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BLAZED
Elemental Warriors
Ashley West
Prequel One: Flare
Samel stood at the top of the dune and looked out over the land in front of him. It was quiet, nighttime, the orange moon high overhead, and he liked to think that he could feel the light bathing his face, along with the heat from the lava pool just a bit away.
He loved his planet. People liked to say that it was a harsh land, full of heat and sand and lava, their whole civilization built on top of an active volcano, but that didn’t matter to him.
This place was his home. It was survival to be able to live here and thrive, and it made him proud to think that he was one of the people who managed it. Not only did he survive, but he thrived. The coming festivities of the evening were proof enough of that.
Samel knew his alone time was going to be coming to an end soon enough. They’d come looking for him, saying that their guest of honor had to actually be present at the fire for any of it to mean anything. He was ready for that, he just...wanted a moment alone. Sometimes he thought about the spirit of this place, about the way it ran through everyone who lived and worked there. How the warriors channeled it into themselves and then out again, completing some kind of cyclical destiny. It was humbling. And moving.
“There he is!”
“I told you he’d be up here. Staring off into the distance like some kinda priest. Who does he think he is?”
Samel’s lips twitched into a smile. He recognized the voices of his two best friends, but he made no move to, well…move. Instead he stayed put and waited for them to come to him.
“What are you, a monk?” asked Crispin as he crested the top of the dune, out of breath.
Samel laughed. “And aren’t you supposed to be a warrior?” he asked in return. “The dune’s hardly difficult to climb.”
Crispin made a rude gesture, and Shenna followed him up seconds later. “What are you doing out here, Samel?” she asked, head tipped to one side. “It’s not a night for introspection.”
“Have you met him?” Crispin asked, eyebrow arched. “All he does is introspection. It’s like his thing. Biggest night of his life to date, and he’s up on a sand dune watching the lava cool like he’s got all the time in the world.”
“I’m just thinking,” Samel countered. “There’s nothing wrong with thinking. Especially before a night like tonight.”
“It’s not like it’s his First anyway,” Shenna pointed out.
“He was even worse, then.”
The two of them laughed, and Samel glared for a moment before he joined in. It was a good feeling, being on the precipice of something new and having the two people who had known him the longest there to experience it with him. For all their teasing, Samel knew they were proud.
Shenna moved closer and linked her arm through his, and Crispin came up to stand next to them as they looked out across the horizon.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, and Samel turned his head to look at his friend.
“Yes,” he answered honestly. This was what he had dedicated his life to. It was what he’d been expecting to be for as long as he could remember. There was no reason to not be excited about it now. Moving up in rank was a big thing for a fire warrior, a commitment that a warrior made to themselves and to their people. The higher you climbed, the more dedication it took to maintain the level of work needed. Samel was ready for that. He couldn’t imagine anything else that he would do other than this.
“In the days before the Heat came, we were farmers. We were builders. We took advantage of the land given to us, and we did with it what needed to be done. We made our lives into what they needed to be, and we thrived.”
It was a familiar story, told by the oldest of them every time the ritual fires were called. For promotions, weddings, funerals. Any time they were all gathered together like this.
"And then, we were given Fire. It came rocketing down from the sky, crashing into the fields and burned for days. No one dared get close. No one breathed the smoke. No one understood. But then the fields died, and the water began to dry up and the Heat spread from the site of impact through the land. Lush mountains turned to volcanoes, rich soil went dry as a bone, water boiled and evaporated, leaving dry river beds in its place. Our people began to panic and then to die. Until one day, when one warrior said enough was enough. If this Fire caused the problems, then the Fire should be removed. He went to the crater and stepped into the flames, expecting to be burned before he could touch the Fire, despite his bold words. And he was burned. He screamed in pain, but he did not die. He pushed forward into the Heat, into the Fire, and he grasped the core of it. He held it in his hands and the Fire leapt. Before he could throw it away, or smash it to pieces, he began to change. He began to see. The Fire was in him."
The familiar hush that came with the story was thick over the assembled crowd. Samel stood there with his head bowed, imagining what it would have been like to watch your way of life burn up in front of you, and then to change so drastically.
As the legend went, this warrior learned the secrets of wielding fire and managing to get things to grow and thrive on a planet consumed by flame. He learned all he needed to know and then he passed the knowledge down to his children and the others of the planet. And then they took it and shaped it and so on and so forth until the people were what they were today.
"And so," the story continued. "We light a Fire in the crater whenever we gather. We celebrate the Heat and the flames. And when our warriors take their vows and step onto the path of keeping us and the Fire safe, they thrust themselves into the flames as the Warrior did, and the Fire grows in them."
No one spoke as the Elder paced around the fire in the crater, chanting under his breath. As he spoke, he wove his hands in elaborate patterns, and the flames leapt and danced, flickering fast and then faster, casting dancing light and shadow over their faces.
“Tonight, we are here to honor a warrior of the Flame,” the Elder continued. “Tonight, he steps further along the path and takes more of the Fire into himself. Tonight, he becomes more, and we honor him as he keeps us safe.”
“Alecktolo!” cried the gathered crowd. It was full of people that Samel knew well. His friends and fellow warriors, his family, people he had saved and protected. They called out the cry of their people, the one that meant something like gratitude and grace.
“Tonight he will plunge his hands into the flames and come out stronger.”
“Alecktolo!”
The ceremonies always started like this, but a promotion ceremony was more of a celebration than anything else. There was food and spirit, and both males and females dressed in barely anything at all who came out and danced around the flames as the Elder continued his chanting.
When it all came to a loud, chaotic head, Samel stepped forward and a hush fell over the gathered throng.
He could feel their eyes on him, and he knew what they were waiting for. It was time for h
im to take his place as a Captain, as a leader, and he was ready. It was what he had been waiting for, training for his entire life for the most part. Another step on the path that he had been born to walk down.
Samel stepped up to the flames. He lifted his hands high, and the flickering light caught on the shiny skin of his first burns, where the power of Fire had become one with him years ago. He took a deep breath and then plunged his hands down and into the flames.
It didn't hurt, of course. That was the whole point of the first burns. It was the last time Fire would ever cause you pain as long as you were wielding it for a good cause. Now it just felt like a warm tickle along his skin, and he welcomed it.
"Do you, Samel, promise to uphold the duties of your rank?" the Elder asked.
Samel dipped his head, hands still in the flames. "I do."
"And do you promise to protect those who need your protection?"
"I do."
"And do you promise to stand firm on your path and use the powers granted to you for nothing other than good?"
"I do."
The Elder lifted his hands high and then plunged them into the flames on the other side of the fire from Samel. "The Fire inside you burns bright. The Fire outside flickers hot. The Heat accepts you. Go forth."
A cheer went up, and the music started with stomping and laughing and singing from everyone around. The ceremony, the formal part at least, was done. Now he was a Captain of the fire warriors, and it felt amazing.
He laughed softly and stepped back from the flames. The ceremony was mostly symbolic, but he felt like he had been imbued with a new power, a stronger power, and he looked at his hands, trying to see if there was any difference.
"You're the same," someone said and pressed a cup into his hand. "Drink up, Captain!"
Samel laughed again and downed his drink in one go. It was fiery and strong, a spirit made of fermented fruit and spices, and he could already feel it blazing a hot trail down his throat and into his stomach.
"Dance with us!" called a gaggle of the dancing girls, their hips moving to the low, seductive sound of the drums that were being beaten up on the hill.
Their clothes were skimpy, just strips of thin cloth covering their chests and hanging down around their waists to their knees to cover the important bits. The effect was still an appealing one, and Samel smiled and shook his head. He hadn't drunk enough to be that uninhibited yet.
The rest of the warriors were mingling, eating spiced meat on skewers and warm fruit wrapped in tender leaves. There were pastries studded with nuts and dripping with sweet syrup, and Samel's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten lately.
Crispin appeared at his side with a tray laden down with food and he pressed it at him. "Don't forget to feed yourself, Captain," he teased, grinning.
Shenna showed up on his other side, grinning just as bright. She looked like she had already been in her cups, and it was just the beginning of the night.
Between the food, the drinks, the dancing, and his friends, Samel went to bed that night full and warm inside. And of course, it didn't hurt that one of the pretty dancing girls had come home with him. She was beautiful with her dark skin laid out in his bed, and by the time they fell asleep, the sky was lightening outside the window.
Not more than four hours later, the sound of someone pounding on his door jolted him out of a dead sleep. He grumbled and blinked, trying to get his wits about him as he stumbled from his bed and the warm tangle of limbs there to the door, wrenching it open.
"What?" he bit out, squinting at one of his fellow warriors.
Kalia just snorted and looked him up and down. "Sorry if you're still celebrating, Captain," she said. "But there's intruders down at the side gate. We're being sent out."
"Just for intruders?" Samel asked. Usually they only got called out for big things. The new recruits handled things like general disturbances.
"They're Hillsiders," she said, and that woke him right up.
Hillsiders, or Astraedos as they were properly called, were wicked creatures that liked to poke their noses where they weren't wanted. They were thin and spindly and had deadly sharp scythes of bone that jutted from their wrists. They were a problem in these parts, and while they didn't seem to be that smart, usually just showing up and attacking with little to no plan, they were dangerous enough that leaving them be wasn't an option.
Samel inclined his head. "I'm on my way."
Kalia nodded back and rushed off, presumably to get the others. Samel shut the door and pulled on his clothing, not even bothering to wake the woman in his bed before he was rushing off.
When he got to the side gate, pandemonium was ensuing. He'd never seen so many Hillsiders before in one place. Usually they attacked in twos and threes, just wandering around looking for someone to bother. But he counted at least twenty of them in front of him, and from the sounds of it, there were more being fought elsewhere.
It didn't make sense, but he didn't have time to think about that. For now, he had to fight.
With a deep breath, Samel reached inside himself and found that fire. He called it up and let it blaze to life inside of him from the flicker of heat that it usually was. It flared up, hot and bright, filling him with the power that he needed. His hands burst into riotous flame, fiery orange and deadly. This was the raw power, the flames themselves, and he could turn them on any enemy he wished.
But there was more to being a warrior than just handling the raw flames. They could call and shape it to their will, and Samel narrowed his eyes, focusing until the fire died in one hand and formed a sword with the other. It was broad and tall, made of flickering fire that would sear through anyone who opposed him. Everyone had their signature weapons and techniques, and he could already see Kalia's flame arrows flying through the air, and Davo's spear was doing its fair share of damage.
And now it was his turn.
Samel waded into the fray, eyes blazing just as his sword did. One of the Hillsiders whirled to engage him, claws sharp and already bloody. Samel stood his ground. His sword flashed in his hand, and he moved through the motions he knew so well.
In no time, the Hillsider was headless on the ground.
This was what he had been born to do. The fulfilling heat of battle bore down on him, and he let it move through him as he slashed and charged and burned those who would threaten his people. The Hillsiders came in tens, and the morning was spent fighting them. At the end of it, though, there were none left.
Their bodies would be burned there on the battlefield, a reminder that no one who took on the fire warriors were meant to live.
It was brutal, Samel would admit that, but it was the life he’d been born to live.
Prequel Two: Sputter
The front door slammed, and Naomi flinched, but forced herself not to move from the couch. She wasn't doing anything wrong. She had every right to sit there, in her living room, with the TV on. It was a Thursday, late afternoon, and she was fairly certain there wasn't anything her mom could yell at her for.
She'd done the dishes as soon as she'd come in, the living room and dining room were dusted, and her dad had run the vacuum the day before. Her shoes weren't in the middle of the floor, her backpack was in her room, and her hair was still neatly brushed from school. It would be fine. It was going to be fine.
"Naomi!"
Why wasn't it ever just fine?
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Don't 'yeah', me!" Her mom snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Sorry," Naomi replied. "I meant 'yes'."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I shouldn't have to tell you this every damn day, Naomi. It's like you don't even have a brain in your head."
Naomi flinched again, curling her fingers into fists until her nails bit into her palms. Her dad was sitting right there in the arm chair, but his eyes were trained on the TV. He never lifted a finger or said a word to help her when her mom went on these tangents for no r
eason, and she resented it greatly.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I know you're sorry. What are you doing home?"
Confusion flickered over her face, and Naomi glanced at her dad. He was looking back at her for once, but he just shrugged a shoulder and shook his head before going back to the television.
"What do you mean?" Naomi was forced to ask, which was never a safe position to be in. The power was all in her mother's hands for this conversation, but then again, when wasn't it?
"Just what I said," her mother replied, coming to stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "What are you doing here?"
There were several answers on her tongue, ranging from flippant ('I live here?') to aggravated ('I don't know what you want from me!'), but she settled on just going with confused. It seemed like the easiest thing, and the least likely to get her sent to her room with no dinner. Again.
"Where else would I be, Mom?"
Wrong answer.
Her mother was a beautiful woman, no one could deny that. She was everything that was considered beautiful: tall, blonde, shapely. She had bright green eyes and a charming smile when she wasn't screaming. Thing was, she was always screaming. Her lovely face got contorted into something twisted and ugly when she was angry--which she always seemed to be.
Right now she looked like some kind of creature out of one of Naomi's mythology books. Like a harpy or a gorgon or something, glaring at her only daughter with a hatred that Naomi had never understood.
