Kings of the Fire Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  Dragging the pixie toward the door, Joy only looked back once. Her expression was easy to read—you win, go get him!

  It was nice that, despite their differences, Joy very rarely wanted to compete with her. She smiled at her sister as the girl dragged Tania outside onto the sidewalk.

  “Your sister’s friend is …,” Damien stopped, shook his head. “Enthusiastic?”

  Felicity rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re kinder than me. I think Tania is the worst.”

  Damien burst out laughing, the sound warm and rich, and it hit Felicity straight in her stomach. Her entire body tingled—and it was just his laugh. How was this real? This seemed too magical to be her life—and she was a witch.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m mourning her loss,” he added, his mouth blooming into a full smile. The expression completely changed his face, made him look younger, more carefree. “I actually came back hoping to see you again. Any other businessmen you need me to threaten on your behalf?”

  “Not today, thankfully.”

  He pretended to frown. “And here I was hoping to show off for you again.”

  Was there a way to tell him he didn’t need to do anything to impress her that didn’t sound hopelessly desperate? Felicity dropped her gaze to the wood counter, tracing a dip in the varnish with her finger. “I don’t know,” she said, her cheeks growing hotter and hotter. “You could just skip all the macho posturing and ask me out.”

  A lump immediately lodged in her throat. Had she actually just said that? Like—really said that, uttered those words aloud? She stomped on her big toe and winced. Okay, so this was real life and not a fever dream. How was that possible? Real life Felicity was never so forward with men.

  When she finally mustered the courage to look up at Damien, he was smiling at her. A full blown one, this time—the kind of smile that transformed his entire face. He had straight, perfect teeth, and his eyes were aglow with something—happiness, maybe, but more than that. Excitement.

  Passion.

  She couldn’t drop his gaze once they’d connected, and as the moment grew longer, she felt the weight of his eyes on her. She watched as his pupils dilated and wondered if hers were doing the same. Her belly tightened as she looked at him, and she felt something primal within her react: This was a man, and she wanted him.

  “Go out with me,” Damien said, never looking away. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat. He was still smiling, but he looked feral now. Wild. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself on her shaking, watery knees.

  She swallowed down her nerves. Something about Damien made her bolder. “I think you can ask nicer than that.”

  His eyebrows shot up, but a touch of playfulness returned to his smirk. Damien mock bowed, and as he straightened, he leaned across the counter into Felicity’s space. He smelled fresh and clean—like apples in autumn, sharp and crisp and gloriously alive.

  “Felicity,” he murmured, his voice making her spine tingle. “Would you please do me the honor of going out with me?”

  She brought their faces ever-so-slightly closer. “Pick me up tomorrow? Seven o’clock?”

  Slowly, so slowly that Felicity thought she might faint with the deliberateness of his movement, Damien leaned in and pressed his lips against her cheek. His mouth was fever hot on her skin, and as he moved away, she could feel the imprint his lips had left behind like a physical burn. Her stomach swooped and she pressed her legs together, hoping to relieve the sudden ache between them.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.

  As he pulled back, the spell seemed to lift—not break, Felicity wasn’t sure it was possible for it to break—and she felt more in control of herself. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head, but only got another whiff of Damien’s cool, clean scent.

  “I can’t wait,” she said, trying and failing to suppress her grin. Part of her wanted to act more like Joy—be cool and coy. But she couldn’t help herself; it was impossible to keep her head around this guy. And with the way Damien was looking her up and down, he was similarly affected.

  He reached out quickly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips hesitating there for just a moment before trailing down her neck. She felt like he’d left fire in his wake.

  “I don’t even know your last name,” he said, sounding just as baffled as she felt.

  Felicity paused. Did she say her real last name, Valdez? The Valdez family had been in power in the magical world for the past twenty-some years. It was different, being a magical citizen—they couldn’t rely on the normal government to create order among people who were fundamentally different than most, so when Britain had colonized North America, a secondary monarch had arisen, considered by the magical colonists to be an equal of the British King. Even after British control toppled during the American Revolution, the magical monarchy, overseen by the Dragomirs, remained strong.

  Twenty years earlier, Jorge Valdez and his gang of radicals had infiltrated the Dragomirs’ inner circle and used his position to overthrow their rule. A monarchy that existed within a democratic republic was difficult to maintain, and her father had aimed to do some real good. In the beginning, at least. He had promised real change: a more democratic system of government, with power in the hands of magical people.

  He hadn’t exactly followed through, though. Instead of abolishing the monarchy, he took up its mantel. There’d been no one strong enough to oppose him. And sure, he was more of a figurehead than ruler, but there were always rumors of corruption, of his influence in the system, and in which candidates were elected. People said he’d gotten a taste for the throne once he’d sat upon it.

  Felicity had never liked it, but she’d always thought when her day came to take the helm, she would change things. She would step back, focus on diplomacy more than power. Even if the Valdez family technically wasn’t ruling anything anymore, they were still in the public eye, still a primary mark of the paparazzi, still the easy target for the growing unrest in the magical community—the growing drug problem among the youth, the lack of jobs and opportunity, the corruption and bribes and seediness. It didn’t pay to be a Valdez right now.

  But she was more than Felicity Valdez, heir to her family’s legacy. The Valdez name had done nothing but nearly kill her little sister. Her father’s ascension to power had aimed to create so much good, but it hadn’t accomplished all that he’d promised, and people were angry. Even if he was now a sick old man, lying in bed day-in and day-out. Felicity was his eldest child, his heir, and by rights, she was supposed to be acting head of the family, but she and Joy had walked away from that. The people who were supposed to be influential in shaping the magical world had put their public image ahead of their daughter’s wellbeing, and Felicity could not abide it. It had been a hard decision, but the right one. They were not part of the Valdez dynasty anymore.

  “Morningstar,” Felicity finally said, smiling wider to cover her hesitation. “Felicity Morningstar.”

  Damien took her hand as if to shake it, but instead he placed a kiss on the back of her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Felicity Morningstar. I’m Damien…Fullerton.”

  Fullerton? She couldn’t think of a magical family with that last name, and she was familiar with most of the shifters and fae in town. She tended to avoid the vampires, but it was daytime, so he was likely mortal. Good. She could use a nice, normal boy in her life.

  She tried to control the butterflies in her stomach as she felt the heat his lips left behind on her skin. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Chapter Four

  Damien

  THE SUN WAS SETTING WHEN Damien arrived outside The Witch’s Brew. Summer was just starting to fade and give way to autumn, and there was a bite in the wind that swirled around his shoulders. He should have worn a coat, he thought, as he fidgeted with the cuff of his neatly pressed button-down shirt. Vincent had come by earlier in the day and had laughed at the outf
it, but he hadn’t been able to recommend anything more flattering, so Damien had worn it anyway.

  He regretted it, now. He should have picked out something else, or gone shopping, if he had to. He grimaced at the thought. Shopping was not his forte.

  It was still five minutes until seven o’ clock, but already Damien couldn’t stop fidgeting. He kept thinking of Felicity’s smile, the curve of her tempting mouth. Inwardly, his dragon stirred at the thought. The beast inside of him was just as attracted to Felicity as he himself was. She was magnetic. No matter where he was or what he was doing, his thoughts were always drawn to her.

  He checked his watch again. Still four minutes. There was no reason to be so nervous, he told himself. He’d been out with women before. Not very often. There had always been plenty of offers, wherever he and his brothers went, but it was difficult to maintain a relationship that had to be built on lies, as all of his did. There was no way to avoid it; no one he cared for could know the real him.

  But this, with Felicity—this wasn’t casual. This wasn’t dinner with the hope of an orgasm. This was real, so real it felt tangible. He had barely spoken to Felicity, but it was as if he knew her already, all the way down to her soul.

  He kind of wished it were all simpler, that she was someone he could lie to. Maybe they could have a fling for a few weeks, flirt, have fun—and then go their separate ways. It was all he’d ever given someone before, and he had never promised anyone anything more. But the stakes felt higher here, and he couldn’t deny it to himself, not really: He liked this girl. He really liked her.

  Three minutes.

  There was the scrape of a turning door knob, and he smiled. She was early. Maybe she was just as eager as he was? Damien turned toward the front door as it swung open and Felicity stepped outside.

  His jaw nearly hit the ground.

  Felicity was wearing a form-fitting, royal blue dress that showed off every dip and curve of her body. The skirt clung to her thighs just above the knee. The fabric seemed almost braided in the middle, and was cut to accentuate her waist, which Damien appreciated immensely.

  It was more than the packaging, however. Felicity herself looked radiant, her tan skin aglow in the sunset’s rays, and her dark hair sleekly pulled back. She had the kind of face that could launch a thousand ships. He could barely tear his eyes away from the cupid’s bow of her mouth; he wanted to taste it.

  Heat rushed throughout his body, and he willed himself not to go hard just at the sight of her. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted this woman.

  Felicity beamed at him as she locked the front door to The Witch’s Brew. He held out his arm to her, and she took it.

  “And they say chivalry is dead,” she quipped, grinning as she squeezed his arm. He could feel the warmth of her delicate hands bleeding through the material of his shirt. How were they going to make it through dinner without him ravaging her?

  He was so lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn’t hear her speak again. “So, where are we going tonight?”

  “I thought we could get something to eat,” he said, as they wound their way down the street. Main Street in Augustus was cluttered with locally owned shops and restaurants, and people were strolling up and down the street in pairs and trios, chatting among themselves. In front of a few restaurants, people lingered outside, waiting for their table to be called.

  La Mignonette was the most expensive restaurant in Augustus. Fae-owned and operated since its inception two hundred years before, people flocked to it for its authentic French cuisine and its romantic atmosphere. The Michonne faeries had constructed it using their magic after fleeing persecution in France. Even now, hundreds of years after its construction, the walls contained bits of their particular brand of magic; they caught the last of the sunlight and seemed to glow and sparkle.

  It was also nearly impossible to get a table. For most people, at least. Damien may not have been part of any recognized ruling family any longer, but he’d spent the first sixteen years of his life as heir to a throne. If there was one thing he was good at, it was negotiation. He’d been able to use Arryn’s friendly connection with Monsieur Michonne, the head of the Michonne faeries and La Mignonette, and secure a table for two at the last minute, despite the fact that a wait for a reservation was usually weeks.

  Damien didn’t answer Felicity. He wanted to surprise her. Instead, he smiled and guided her down Main Street, where it intersected with First Avenue.

  They stopped walking, and Felicity turned to him, brow furrowed. “What are we …?” She looked around, but her eyes kept coming back to La Mignonette. “We—we can’t possibly be going here?”

  Something warm unfurled in his chest as he took in the lovely picture she made: her tight dress that contrasted so beautifully with her mocha-colored skin, the expression of surprise that curved her generous mouth into an “o.”

  “We can possibly be, actually,” he corrected. Her dark eyes flicked toward him and then back to the restaurant. “I know the owner and pulled a few strings. We should have a table in the back waiting for us.”

  Felicity shook her head. “You pulled some strings for me?”

  He wanted to tell her that he would do anything for her, always—but he was aware of how ludicrous the words sounded. They barely knew each other. The reason people went on first dates was to discover if they could make those sorts of promises to one another sometime in the future. But his dragon stirred in his chest every time he looked at her, assuring him that she was the right choice, the only choice.

  There was no way to know if she, too, was feeling this intense connection, so Damien bit his tongue.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging her past the crowd waiting outside and through the front door. La Mignonette was just as charming inside as out, the walls still sparkling with fae magic. The tables and chairs were rough-hewn and hand carved, and they gave the impression of being centuries old. The lighting was dim and romantic. Damien’s night vision was excellent, and he noticed no real difference, but he watched as Felicity scrunched her nose as she waited for her eyes to adjust. She was adorable.

  She was also beautiful and sexy and completely intoxicating—he almost wanted to suggest that they skip the fancy dinner he had pulled so many strings to make happen and take her back to his apartment, where he could make all the promises he wanted with his body that he couldn’t say with his mouth.

  A small faerie appeared out of nowhere, smiling genially. Her teeth were sharp points, and her eyes were a startling, electric blue. She was slight, so slight that Damien towered over her. The fae blood was strong in her. Dilution of the blood lines meant that most magical creatures were nearly as mortal as they were magic, these days. Faeries and pixies were both taller than they had ever been in the past, but not this one.

  “Mr. Fullerton,” said the faerie, retrieving two menus from the host stand. Damien could feel the envious stares of everyone around him as the woman began to lead him and Felicity to the chef’s table, near the back of the restaurant.

  The table was bedecked in a dark crimson tablecloth, black napkins folded into elaborate flowers on their table settings. A bottle of champagne was chilling in the middle of the table, and as they settled, the faerie uncorked it with a pop. She poured the sweet, overflowing liquid into their respective glasses, and then disappeared, either by magic or the years of stealth earned from working in a very fancy restaurant, Damien wasn’t sure.

  Felicity’s eyes traveled over her place setting, taking in everything. She reached out to the glass of champagne and took a small sip, her face going slack as she swallowed. He watched the motion of her throat, of her lips—was this how she would look in his bed?

  “Is the champagne to your satisfaction?” he asked, cursing himself when she looked at him over the rim of her glass, eyebrows raised.

  “So formal, Mr.Fullerton,” she said, smiling. She set down her glass and took a deep breath. “The champagne is lovely, but you didn’t have to do all this.” Sh
e waved a hand around at the empty space around them. It seemed Monsieur Michonne had insisted on making sure their table was secluded from the other customers. Damien made a mental note to get Arryn something as a thank you.

  “I know, but I wanted to.” He could feel the beast inside him, murmuring with satisfaction at seeing her so close to him, so open to him, so obviously impressed and attracted. It was like his dragon insisted he see this as some sort of extravagant mating ritual; it wanted to show off for Felicity, display for her so that she could see how strong he was, how easily he could provide for her.

  She tipped her head down toward her plate. “Well, I won’t pretend it isn’t nice. It is. But I just don’t want you to go out of your way for me. I would have been happy getting fast food.” She laughed. “So long as we could talk, and I could get to know you better.”

  Damien felt his insides tighten. Was there anything more perfect than this lovely girl? He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his, gratified when she squeezed back.

  “This might sound crazy …,” she bit her lip, her eyes on their adjoining hands.

  “I doubt it.”

  Felicity rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “Nothing you say could sound crazy to me.”

  She blushed prettily, even as she shook her head. “You say that now, but just wait for when I start speaking exclusively in pig Latin.”

  That startled a laugh out of him. He tangled his fingers with hers and resisted the urge to tug her closer, to crush her body against his own and feel all of her against all of him.

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft.

  Felicity took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. “I know it probably seems ridiculous, but when I saw you yesterday, it felt—important. It was like—when you’re short on breath, and then suddenly you get a big lungful of air. Do you know what I mean?”

  He cocked his head to the side, but nodded, cautiously.

  “I’m not explaining it right …,” she trailed off. “It was like there was something missing my whole life, and I didn’t know it—couldn’t have known it, without something to compare it to. But suddenly the comparison was there, and it was so obvious ….” She looked up, his eyes meeting hers deliberately, and his heart stopped beating in his chest. “That’s what it felt like, when I first saw you.”