Kings of the Fire Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  Blayze was hot on his heels. “Did you tell someone?”

  “Of course I didn’t!” Damien burst out. He slammed the fridge closed so hard that he could feel the reverberation of the hit on the floor beneath his feet. “I wouldn’t risk our safety like that. I’m not stupid. I know how important it is that the four of us to stay below the radar.”

  “Good. Because we’re the last, you know? If the Others find out about us, they’ll kill us. They won’t think twice. And don’t get me started on the mortals, they’ve always hated us—”

  “You don’t need to lecture me,” Damien cut in. He was not used to being the one on the receiving end of lectures. He could see why Blayze disliked it so intensely. “I swore to our mother the night she died that I would keep the four of us safe. I am not in danger of giving us up. I would never break that promise.”

  Blayze nodded and then blew out a breath. He leaned up against the counter. Behind him stood the coffee maker and the toaster, the only other real appliances in the room. Everything in the kitchen was tidy, neatly in its own space, but sort of—impersonal. Damien had never done much decorating. It was better not to get attached. If someone even came close to discovering the family secret, then they would need to pack up and leave as quickly as possible. Attachments were trouble, in Damien’s experience.

  But Felicity—even now, thinking about their brief encounter made Damien feel alive in a way that he had never before experienced. It was like after a lifetime of only seeing in black and white, his world was full of color.

  “I think I …,”Damien started, then stopped. He looked away from Blayze’s curious glance, suddenly feeling self-conscious. But he’d started, now, and he knew his brother well enough that he couldn’t change the topic now.

  “You remember those stories Father used to tell us? The ones about—destiny and all that?”

  Blayze snorted. “The prophecy? Blah blah, sins forgiven, only then will peace be returned….” He quoted, shaking his head. “That prophecy is wrong, and it always has been.”

  “You don’t actually believe that.”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “It predicted Mother’s and Father’s deaths,” Damien argued.

  Blayze’s stare was impatient. “And ours, you’ll recall. Yet here we are, twenty years later and still kicking.”

  “We’ve gone over this. There aren’t expiration dates on these things, and it clearly says the sons will follow, and … it doesn’t matter. You didn’t complain about the prophecy when you thought that girl in Odessa was starting to figure you out. As I recall, you were the first one to demand we move.”

  Blayze flipped off Damien.

  “I’m off track.” Damien ignored the gesture. One of them had to be an adult. “I wasn’t talking about the prophecy.”

  With a shrug, Blayze went deeper into his leather jacket. He was immaculately dressed, just as he always was. “Then—what? The old legends? The stories? The ascension of the first Dragon King after he beat the evil warlock Matharai? The Dragons’ role in the Crusades? How Timonius found his fated love, Grizelda?”

  The silence hung heavy between them, and as it grew longer and longer, Blayze stared incredulously.

  “You can’t be serious.” He blinked. “I don’t even know which one you’re talking about, but they’re all so equally ridiculous that I have to believe you’re not serious.”

  Damien shook his head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t believe me, either. But Blayze, this is—she is ….”

  “A girl? This whole thing is about a girl?” Blayze shook his head. He gave a mirthless laugh. “You’ve lost your damn mind. That legend is a myth, man.”

  “Father said—“

  “Father’s dead. Mother’s dead. And why? Because they were like us. Because they were dethroned and murdered so that family of usurpers could take our rightful places. We barely made it out—I honestly thought the prophecy was right, and we would follow our parents into death. If you pursue this girl, you risk exposing us to everyone. You risk all of our lives.”

  Blayze stalked out of the kitchen, and Damien followed on his heels. He tried to control his anger, the part of him that demanded that his brother be made to understand: Felicity was not some girl. Felicity was so much more. She was his fate. Every moment he thought of her, he felt more sure.

  He could still remember the delicious dips and curves of her body, the fierce intelligence in her eyes—he had to see her again. It felt like half his soul was missing without her there.

  As Blayze reached the front door, he whipped around. His face was a mask of anger and disappointment, and Damien was hit with a wave of guilt, despite everything. Blayze wasn’t wrong—trusting was dangerous. Growing up, he had been the one to preach that doctrine to his brothers. Trusting could kill them, if they put their faith in the wrong person. But Damien didn’t know how to explain his absolute certainty that Felicity was the right person. It was something instinctual, that he knew in his bones.

  It was impossible to describe without experiencing it.

  “I won’t tell you how to live your life,” Blayze muttered between clenched teeth. “But please remember that if you tell someone, it affects all four of us, not just you.”

  Damien nodded. Blayze was right. This wasn’t just his secret. He wasn’t the only one in danger. There was a reason he and his brothers had been hiding for twenty years. If the knowledge of their secondary forms became clear to other people, there was no telling what would happen.

  Secrecy had saved them, and Damien couldn’t betray his brothers’ trust. But he also couldn’t walk away from Felicity, this beautiful girl who had managed to capture his attention in just a few moments. He had to figure out a way to make this work.

  Chapter Three

  Felicity

  FELICITY SQUINTED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror.

  It was ridiculous, she knew, to hope that Damien would come back in when she had only just met him the day before. She’d told herself that all morning, even as she’d applied mascara to her long, thick lashes and French braided her hair. There was no reason to break out the tinted lip gloss because there would be no one stepping into The Witch’s Brew that she cared to impress.

  She put on the tinted lip gloss anyway.

  It was nearly noon. True to her word, and despite the fact that she had put in a few hours work the afternoon before, Joy had risen early in order to open the shop. Felicity’s body had woken her at the usual time, five o’clock, despite the fact that she could have slept in. She’d tried in vain to fall back asleep, but her mind refused to shut down.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Damien. It was silly—she didn’t even know his last name, so she had no reason to feel so strongly. He was a stranger to her.

  But he didn’t feel like a stranger. Even in that brief encounter, he felt like someone her soul had always known.

  She’d given herself a few hours to laze about, read a book, check her messages on Facebook. There was nothing much happening on there, just a few posts on her wall from friends back in the city. Her cousin Rosa had posted several crying emojis around a selfie of her and her brother, Miguel. They were both pouting at the camera in the middle of a dimly lit club, holding drinks. She had written in all caps, “COME SAVE ME FROM THESE VALDEZ CRAZIES!”

  There was no saving anyone from that family. Felicity was sure of it.

  The city was great—it was full of life and fun and people and parties—but as much as she’d enjoyed the rush of that lifestyle, she’d missed the simple things. Lying in bed for a morning without the sound of traffic in the background, the wonderful advantage of being able to take a walk in the woods and feel like she was the only person in the world.

  And when Joy had had her accident—accident, Felicity scoffed. She was high on pixie dust and nearly killed herself trying to drive home, and our entire family was more concerned with covering it up than getting her help.

  The Witch’s Brew was all Felicity had ever wanted
—the chance to share her love of cooking and magic with the world, where mortals and Others could come together. And Joy had been instrumental in the design scheme for it (and, if Felicity was being honest, her sister made a far better cup of coffee). But old habits died hard, and Joy was still out more nights than she wasn’t, still partying with pixies, still going home with any vamp, wolf, or mortal that seemed cute enough to be worthy of her time.

  It was noon when she pulled herself away from her reflection and slipped into her ugly work shirt. She hadn’t thought she’d mind the cheaper shirt option when she’d picked it, but now that she wore the thing six days a week, she kind of regretted it. Especially if Damien came in again today ….

  Not that she was counting on that. Or even hoping for it, really. That would be ludicrous.

  She stepped into her non-slip shoes and headed downstairs, out the back door, and then back in through the kitchen. The radio was playing softly, but her sister was nowhere to be seen. The timer was on, ticking above the oven. Felicity flicked on the oven light to check what was baking inside—cupcakes. They looked a little lopsided, and she grimaced. Baking was not Joy’s forte, but her sister still insisted on trying.

  Maybe with the right icing, no one would notice. And it was better than the few times Joy insisted that she be allowed to try to brew a potion or two. No matter how many times Felicity tried to tell her it was more than just simple chemistry—that her magic was just as key as every ingredient to making sure the whole thing worked—Joy persisted. She seemed to have finally given up on that particular goal when she’d singed her eyebrows after blowing up a simple calming potion.

  Felicity flicked off the oven light and moved to the front of house, where Joy was leaning up against the counter, her head in one hand. The other was impatiently drumming against the wood.

  The dining room was mostly empty—weekday lunches tended to be slower, and there were only a few people munching on sandwiches and enjoying sips of whatever was in their mugs.

  “Busy morning?” Felicity asked.

  Joy nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned around. She pressed her hand to her heart. “Geez, way to give me a heart attack!”

  Felicity grinned her apology. “Sorry, sis. How we looking this morning?”

  With a shrug, Joy motioned at their few patrons. “Not great. A few people came in for potions and stuff—I sold the one that helps with colds. Two people wanted good luck potions.”

  The potions case was at the far end of the counter. Its glass front showed stoppered glass bottles in an assortment of sizes and colors. Good luck potions were always the most popular—they didn’t so much influence the world as make the person who took them feel more confident, which in turn made them go after what they wanted. They usually produced a good result, and she’d had more than one thank you card in the mail after a person had managed to ask out the love of his or her life, or when they finally got that promotion they’d wanted.

  “I’ll have to whip up another batch of that tonight.” Felicity frowned. “But I think I’m out of a few things—mugwort, hellebore ….”

  “Make me a list. Tania is stopping by in a few minutes, and she and I have to go to her parents’ store, anyway. I’ll pick everything up and drop it off for you.”

  Felicity narrowed her eyes. Tania Maxwell was not her favorite among Joy’s new friends. The pixie didn’t strike her as trustworthy. She was always telling Joy that Felicity worried too much, hovered too much, checked up on her too much—and since Tania’s brother, Zeke, purportedly sold pixie dust out of the back of the Maxwell General Store, she suspected that Tania was also feeding Joy’s pixie dust habit.

  But the few times she’d tried to caution her sister away from such company had been met with angry rebuffs, and Felicity just didn’t have it in her to fight anymore. Augustus made it harder for Joy to get in trouble, and Joy was her own person. She was going to make whatever decisions she wanted to make, regardless of how Felicity felt on the matter.

  It didn’t mean Felicity had to like Tania, though.

  “Don’t start,” Joy said, her tone impatient. She jutted out a hip and tapped her toe. “I’m not in the mood to hear about how my best friend in this place is awful, or whatever. I’ve had a crappy day.”

  Felicity held up her hands, placating. “I didn’t say a thing. Why was your day so crappy?”

  “It was slow, and I got all made up for nothing.”

  Now that Felicity looked closely, she could see that Joy had indeed gone to some lengths to look especially pretty—not that her sister needed much help in that department. Joy’s bright eyes were turned smoky with the help of dark eyeliner, and her cheeks were a pretty, natural pink. It was nothing extravagant, nothing like Joy looked like when she was going out on the town—more a flattering enhancement of the things that already made her sister so beautiful.

  It made Felicity feel ridiculous in her tinted lip gloss and mascara. She’d been so sure, the day before, that Damien had been flirting with her, that he too had felt the connection. Facing Joy, who looked so fresh and lovely, Felicity wondered if the whole conversation hadn’t just been wishful thinking on her part.

  The bell above the front door tinkled, and both she and Joy turned to look at who it was. Felicity tried to fight back her disappointment when she realized it was Tania, not Damien.

  Tania flounced forward, her outfit an alarming shade of pink, contrasting with the bright blue of her hair. Her top was a sweatshirt, ripped at the collar like it was from the 1980s. Her skirt was a bouncy, iridescent thing, and on anyone else it would have looked ridiculous. On Tania, however, it just seemed to fit. It was just like her. Frilly and silly and fun.

  And garish and tacky and—

  Felicity cut herself off. It didn’t do any good to pick fights with her sister’s friend. Joy would grow out of this phase of her life eventually, and when that happened, Felicity would no longer have to deal with Tania the pixie. She could wait for that day.

  “Hey, girlie!” Tania squealed. She leaned over the counter in order to get her hands around Joy’s shoulders for a quick squeeze. “You ready to get out of here?”

  Joy turned to look at Felicity, eyebrows raised and pleading, and Felicity sighed. “Go ahead,” she said, waving her sister off. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

  “I promise I’ll be home before midnight.” Joy had made that same promise a million times before, but had rarely come through. Felicity didn’t hold much stock in it. “We’re just going to hang out at Tania’s place, watch some movies. Chill night.”

  “Don’t forget to do that supply run. If today’s as slow as you said, then this is a good time for me to catch up on my conjuring.”

  “We need to stop by my parents’ store? That’s perfect!” Tania smiled, falsely sweet.

  The door clanged again and Felicity shooed Joy toward the divider that would let her out from behind the counter. “Okay, you two, get out of here. I have a custom—”

  The words died in Felicity’s throat.

  It was Damien.

  Felicity felt herself blush as soon as he smiled at her—that same, small smile on his mouth that seemed so precious, so rare. She didn’t know him, not really, but she was certain that he very rarely smiled, and now she’d been on the receiving end of his happiness not once, but twice.

  Unfortunately, Felicity was not the only one to notice his arrival.

  As soon as Damien was through the door, Joy was out from behind the counter, leaning on it beguilingly. Tania seemed to strike a similar pose; Damien’s charms and his effect on women were very obvious.

  “Well, hello again,” Joy sad, her voice a bit lower, a bit closer to a purr. Felicity was stuck somewhere between hopelessness and embarrassment—her sister was throwing herself at this man, but really, who could blame her? And who would blame him if he was more swayed by her sister’s smile today than he’d seemed to be intrigued by Felicity’s?

  Next to Joy, Tania cocked her head to the
side. Her blue hair spilled down her back. She was striking and interesting, even if she wasn’t quite as beautiful as Joy. Plus, there was something exotic about pixies—the way their eyes looked more like a cat’s than a mortal’s, the way they seemed to glow just a little bit brighter than everyone else.

  Damien smiled politely at Joy and nodded at Tania. “Hello. I trust you’re feeling better today?”

  The faintest blush stained Joy’s cheeks. “I am, thanks. And you’re back again so soon? There must be something about this place that you like.”

  His eyes moved quickly to Felicity and then away. “There is.”

  Felicity’s heart sped up in her chest. Had that really just happened? She’d never had a man as attractive as Damien hit on her—especially not if her sister was already present.

  Joy glanced over at Felicity. She didn’t look angry, just surprised. She was just as unused to not being the center of every man’s attention.

  Tania, however, was not nearly so subtle. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” She stuck out her hand for Damien to shake, which he did, perfunctorily. She went tense when he dropped her hand so quickly. “I’m Tania Maxwell. Are you new in town?”

  Damien shook his head. Again, he looked in Felicity’s direction. She could feel her heart slamming against her ribs, the way her breaths went shallow every time their eyes met, even if only momentarily. This was something new. This was something special.

  For the first time in her life, Felicity wished Joy would go away and hang out with her pixie friend.

  “I’ve lived here for a few years. I’m just ….” He paused, apparently looking for the right word. “A bit of a homebody, I suppose.”

  “Oh God,” Tania flirted, giggling. “That’s criminal, hiding yourself away like that. We have to get you out more.”

  Joy rolled her eyes. “Come on. We’ll go grab those supplies for Felicity, and then we’ll get to the fun portion of our evening.”