Fire's Kiss Read online

  Fire’s Kiss

  Brittany Pate

  Copyright © 2017 Brittany Pate.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in an article or book review.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Fire's Kiss

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cover Art by Juan Padrón

  Edited by Vicki McGough

  Published by Emma Annette Press

  Dedication

  For my husband and son.

  You have all of my love.

  Chapter One

  Embyr looked around the tavern’s empty common room, at the vacant tables and neatly arranged chairs, her lips pursed at the thought of yet another slow night. She turned back to the washbasin, running a wet cloth over the tankard with more force than was necessary.

  “Death’s Horsemen are in town,” Katrina said from her spot at the bar.

  The tankard slipped from Embyr’s hand and fell back into the soapy water. She frowned and pushed her sleeve higher, rooting around in the washbasin. “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking,” Katrina said. “People say they’ve been seen in the streets at night.”

  “People say a lot of things that aren’t true.” She retrieved the tankard and dunked it in fresh water to rinse the soap away. “If the Horsemen were here, half the city would already be in flames.”

  “I don’t see how you’d know way out here,” Kat snorted as she took a drink. “That’s why it’s slow tonight. People don’t want to venture too far from home.”

  “You did.”

  “Only because I know you enjoy my company so much,” Katrina said.

  “If there are Horsemen in Al’Din and they happen to wander in here, I doubt they’ll do more than spill their ale.” Embyr dried her hands. Her lack of business didn’t have anything to do with Death’s Horsemen. While her tavern wasn’t an unreasonable distance from the city, most of her patrons were people entering or leaving Al’Din. Perhaps it was merely a slow night for travelers.

  “They could burn the tavern down,” Kat said. Embyr arched a brow and her friend smirked. “Well, not yours, but someone else’s.”

  “I think you’ve had too much ale.” Embyr slid the tankard across the bar and away from Katrina’s outstretched hand.

  The other woman scowled. “I’m not done with that.”

  “Looks empty to me,” Embyr said as she peered into the cup.

  “It wouldn’t be if you refilled it,” Katrina grumbled. “It’s a wonder you keep this place open, what with refusing to serve paying customers.”

  Embyr laughed. “When did you become a paying customer?”

  “I like to think my superb company is payment enough.” Kat stood and swayed. She grumbled as she adjusted her sleeves so they better concealed the daggers strapped to her arms.

  “Does that work at other taverns?” Embyr asked as she followed Kat to the door.

  “Come to think of it, no.” Kat opened the door, then hesitated before stepping out. She turned back to Embyr, her expression comically serious. “What if the Horsemen come in here after I leave? You’ll be alone.”

  “I think I can manage without a drunken assassin by my side.”

  “Former assassin,” Katrina corrected on her way out. Embyr watched her glare at the steps as she negotiated her way off the porch and teetered down the darkened road.

  Once Kat disappeared from view, she shut the door and turned to survey the tavern. She couldn’t see the point in staying open, though the thought of returning home didn’t hold much appeal, either.

  Empty home, empty tavern. What difference did it make? Shoulders slumped, she headed to the bar to begin her nightly chores, footsteps echoing in the empty room.

  She dunked Katrina’s tankard into the washbasin just as the door opened. Lips drawn in a tight line, Embyr put her hands on her hips and turned around. “Kat, I told you...”

  Sweet Creator above.

  Two men stood just inside the door, watching her silently as a third stepped in behind them. She hadn’t realized men came that large. The third man had to duck his head to enter, black hair obscuring his face.

  Large though they were, their weapons drew her attention. A wide assortment of blades decorated their leather armor—swords, daggers, even a spiked mace. The fire in the hearth churned, mirroring her unease.

  Armed men in Al’Din weren’t such a rare sight. The city had certainly earned its hard reputation. Those who had no way to defend themselves quickly wound up dead or penniless. She even had a few blades of her own secreted away in the tavern, an old habit she’d been unable to break.

  But these men looked ready for war.

  The fire snapped. She took a deep breath and the flames settled.

  One of them stepped forward, moving with the calculated grace of a predator. Wavy blond hair framed a clean-shaven face, his thick brows raised. The sardonic smirk on his narrow lips sent a chill down her back.

  Something else niggled at her too, like an itch in the back of her head she couldn’t quite scratch.

  “Hello, lovely,” he said, his voice little more than a growl. His dark, hard eyes made her feel exposed, as if he knew exactly what she was hiding.

  The other two moved around him, further into the common room, the shortest of the trio shouldering the blond man aside. He finally broke his gaze and moved to join them at a table.

  “Ah, hello.” A forced smile curved her lips as she collected herself. They were probably nothing more than a small band of mercenaries who’d come to Al’Din to see what fortunes could be made from the rumors of Death’s Horsemen. “What can I get for you?”

  “Ale,” said the one who’d jostled the blond man. He wasn’t as heavily muscled as the other two, though it didn’t make him appear any less threatening. The smile on his lips looked as false as her own and never quite reached his eyes.

  Embyr turned away to gather three tankards, mentally chiding herself for allowing them to fluster her. They acted like regular customers and if they did prove troublesome, she had an unpleasant surprise for them.

  The odd sensation in the back of her head intensi
fied. She turned to find the blond man standing directly across the bar from her, his black eyes trailing down her body in a way that made her skin crawl. She knew that hungry look too well.

  Embyr sat the tankards down and placed her hands flat on the bar. One brow arched as she leveled a cool, wholly uninterested gaze on him. “May I help you?”

  He didn’t speak. Instead, one hand shot out to grasp a lock of her long hair. He wrapped the bright red strands around his fingers and lifted them to his nose.

  “You smell delicious,” he rumbled.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, sir.” Her words were polite, but the fire in the hearth spiked with her anger. She tilted her head away, the hair sliding from his grasp.

  The man growled deep in his throat. His hand shot out again, aiming for a fist full of hair. She caught his wrist before he could snag her. The man frowned as if resistance wasn’t something he often experienced.

  “Don’t.” Her eyes narrowed as the fire in the hearth began to churn. “I’ll not tell you again. Leave me be or you and your friends can find another tavern.”

  His lips curled away from his teeth in a snarl, firelight reflecting in his black eyes as he began to climb over the bar.

  Embyr pressed herself along the back counter, one hand groping along its edge for the dagger hidden there as she struggled not to let anger and panic take control. Despite her resolve, the fire roared higher in answer to her call and her skin began to warm...

  “Shifter.”

  That single word, spoken with chilly authority, made both of them pause. The flames calmed as the man turned to look behind him. Embyr craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the speaker, but the broad shoulders of the blond man blocked her view.

  “Do not break the female. Sit down and leave her alone.” The third man never raised his rough, deep voice, though there was no mistaking the sound of a command.

  “I wasn’t going to break her,” the blond man said as he turned back to her. “Just a little taste.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t know what he meant by that, but the way he licked his lips told her it wasn’t something pleasant.

  “Are you questioning me?”

  “No,” the blond man said without hesitation. He climbed off the bar at once and moved to their table. Embyr took the opportunity to steal a glance at the third man.

  He was bigger than any man had a right to be. He wore the same leather armor as the other two, though his chest piece had no sleeves. The muscles in his arms had to be as big around as her thigh. Black vambraces dotted with silver studs protected his forearms, twin blades with black hilts crisscrossed over his back. He was turned away from her so she couldn’t see his face, though she could see a leather band, partially obscured by thick black hair, wrapped around his head.

  Embyr ceased her perusal of him and moved to fill their tankards with shaking hands. She glared down at her fingers and made a tight fist, willing the tremors to stop. She scooped the tankards up and carried them to their table, trying to ignore the heavy weight of their gazes.

  The power inside her itched to lash out. She had to keep her temper in check, had to maintain the façade of a normal woman, or she’d find herself sold to the nearest mage and dissected for study. A cool disinterest settled over her, a defense she commonly invoked when the power threatened. She was above letting these men bother her. She was calm. Collected.

  At least until she placed the last tankard in front of the third man. Embyr couldn’t resist one peek at him.

  The band around his head secured a mask of human flesh over his face.

  Her stomach roiled and she began a hasty retreat.

  She didn’t get far before one of his massive hands encircled her wrist in a grasp that made her wince. Her attempts to pull away only served to make his fingers tightened. Indignation filled her and she turned, ready to give him the tongue-lashing of his life. The gaze staring back made the words freeze in her mouth.

  His ice-blue eyes were as cold and empty as anything she’d ever seen before, like staring into the eyes of a corpse. The fire burned higher to combat the chill creeping down her back.

  “Tell me.” His rough voice rolled over her skin. “Does my face frighten you?”

  Embyr broke her stare from his eyes to study the macabre mask once more. Now that she openly examined it, she realized it wasn’t actually human skin, but some sort of animal hide cured and shaped to conform to his own. The hide had been cut away from his mouth, lips twitching as if fending off a smirk.

  Still a disgusting practice, regardless of what the mask was made from. She lifted her chin, determined not to let him intimidate her.

  “No.”

  He released her. “Then you are a fool.”

  EMBYR KICKED THE TAVERN door closed behind her, grumbling irritably as she shifted her hold on the crate of bottles.

  Her trip into Al’Din for supplies had made her foul mood even worse. Prices and paranoia in the city were both on the rise because of the rumors of Death’s Horsemen. Embyr shook her head as she carried the crate into the back room. Those rumors had probably been started by the merchants to justify the exorbitant prices of basic goods.

  She put the bottles away in neat little rows, pausing every so often to wipe smudges off the glass. She couldn’t lay all the blame on Al’Din for her mood. No, the lion’s portion went to her customers from the night before.

  They had been rowdy and loud, all except for the big one. While the other two drank too much and sloshed ale all over the floor, the man in the gruesome mask remained quiet and never once paid her any heed. The blond man, the one they called the Shifter, left her alone for the most part, aside from a few dark looks.

  Sleep had been hard to come by that night. Her power curled inside her, stirred awake by fear and unspent anger, begging for a release she couldn’t grant even if she’d wanted to. Every time her eyes closed, she saw that ugly mask again.

  Embyr shook her head in an attempt to expel those thoughts. She’d seen the last of them. The tavern required her attention now, not a group of unsavory mercenaries.

  The rumors of Death’s Horsemen weren’t so easily ignored. As the last bit of light faded from the sky, Embyr found herself sitting behind the bar, waiting for the first trickle of business and mulling over the gossip she’d heard today.

  The Horsemen hadn’t been seen in Al’Din for almost eighty years. Only the elderly citizens remembered the bloody month they’d spent here, but that memory left a mark. Supposedly, the city had lived in frozen terror as the Horsemen stalked the night, slaying the entire city watch and anyone foolish enough to get in their way. No one still living could tell why they had come or what they wanted, only that half the city had been left in ruin. They burned homes and businesses, left bodies to rot in the street and murdered entire families.

  The stories were frightening, though not nearly so bad as what came from other places. From the Free Cities of the west to the kingdoms in the east, the entire continent knew and feared Death’s Horsemen.

  Perhaps she really shouldn’t open tonight.

  Embyr shook her head at her foolish musings. People said the Horsemen walked the street at night, yet people also said their leader, Death himself, was still alive. If that were true, he had to be every bit of a hundred years old. It wouldn’t be such a far reach if he was a demon or a vampire, but the elders swore he was human.

  An image popped into her head of a wizened old man, feebly waving a sword and screaming a toothless war cry. She laughed in spite of herself. Death’s Horsemen, indeed.

  The door swung open so hard it crashed against the opposite wall and made her jump. Her gaze swung to the new patron, breath caught in her throat.

  He stood with a shoulder propped against the door frame as if he belonged there, arms crossed over a broad chest, full lips twisted into a smirk under that ugly mask.

  “No warm welcome this time?”

  “That depends,” she said. “Has your friend come back to haras
s me a bit more?”

  “The Shifter is otherwise occupied.”

  “Then by all means, be welcome.”

  For a brief moment, he looked as if he might chuckle. The moment passed and he slammed the door behind him and moved to sit on a stool across from her at the bar. While he was a man who commanded attention simply because of his sheer size, the mask over his face made it damn near impossible to look away.

  Morbid curiosity pricked her as she wondered what sort of horrid deformity he hid under that thing. What little skin showed around his eyes and mouth revealed no sign of pock marks or burns.

  She realized with a start that, aside from the mask, he might have been handsome. His bronzed skin and thick, black hair provided a sharp contrast to those ice-blue eyes, fringed in long, dark lashes she couldn’t help but envy.

  “Are you going to stare at me all night or fetch me ale?”

  Her cheeks heated when she realized she’d been openly studying him. She mumbled an apology and slid out of the chair to retrieve a tankard.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as she filled the cup.

  “Embyr.” She placed the drink in front of him, careful not to spill it. “Yours?”

  “Ryder McLennon.”

  “I’ve heard that name before.” A stray thought tickled her mind and her brows drew together as she tried to place it.

  He did chuckle this time, a rough sound devoid of mirth. “Some people call me Death.”

  His smirk widened as she took an involuntary step back. Ryder McLennon, the leader of the Horsemen. Death’s Horsemen.

  All the tales she’d ever heard of him flooded her mind at once. Death killed indiscriminately, nobles and common folk, women and children. Kingdoms and Free Cities alike refused to stand against the Horsemen.

  Cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The man in front of her had evolved from annoyance to serious threat with one word. So much for believing Death was an insane old codger. This new leader looked to be in his prime.

  “Now you fear me.”