Page 41 of Wild Flame

“Damn Fleshfire addicts,” a second warrior standing beside the other grumbled.

“Fleshfire?” I asked. It was obvious the man had been taking something, but I had never heard of Fleshfire before.

The two warriors glanced at each other, then to their prince.

Malik answered for them. “It’s a drug that has cropped up recently on our streets. Highly addictive, it causes blackouts, and it can be deadly. Taj has been trying to find the source for months now, but with little success.”

It must have been a real problem if Malik had put his spymaster on it. I didn’t have long to dwell on it though, because Malik turned down a side street just off the main thoroughfare that opened into a small area between several buildings. At its center was a small bonfire, next to which sat a wrought iron stand holding several unlit candles.

I glanced to the man beside me. “Why are we here, Malik?”

His head cocked, and he grinned as a piece of hair fell into his eyes. “I like my name on your lips, siren.”

I glanced over to where the guards stood at the mouth of the street, too far away to hear. Azrun was also sitting down several paces away, cleaning his scales.

I sent Malik a censuring look, though there might have been a slight tug to my lips and perhaps a small warm flutter in my belly as I did.

Malik held up both his hands. “Fine. I brought you here to thank you for coming out with me tonight.” As he spoke, he picked up two candles from the stand and walked over to me. He ducked his head slightly, meeting my eyes. “Especially given the fact that being surrounded by all this fire might be harder for you than most.”

For an instant, I wondered who had told him of my fear and if he knew about my back. But slowly, reason prevailed as I realized that he had more likely simply put it together himself. He had seen my reaction to the flames that night Amir’s dragon transformed in the hall, after all.

Accepting the candle, I nodded. “An accident when I was young,” I said by way of explanation. “The fear has never entirely gone away.”

That was an understatement, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached for my hand, and I let him take it as he led me a few steps closer.

“Is this all right?”

I took another deep breath and nodded again.

“Good. Now I also brought you here because I wanted to let you take part in one of the oldest Unari traditions. First, hold out your candle and think of something that has been holding you back. A resentment, hurt, or grievance. Or you can think of something you wish to accomplish or change about yourself, or wish to do differently.”

I stared at him.

“Just humor me, siren. It’s tradition.”

“Very well,” I said, holding up my candle. I considered and discarded several possibilities before something came to me. It was perhaps more a wish than anything but. . .

I didn’t want to be a part of The Order—not that I ever had, but I didn’t want to kill anymore. Even if it was a god who demanded it of me. I wanted to be done with my vow to The Assassin. Even if most of those I had killed were not good people and usually criminals themselves, I still hated it. And I hated being under Silvanus’ thumb even more. Sending me after Zara had been the last straw. No more. I was done.

It was a heady decision. I felt lighter and uplifted by it in a way I couldn’t explain. Even if I knew there would likelybe consequences because of it—likely from Silvanus or the god himself. I suddenly didn’t care. I was done.

“Have you got something?” Malik asked.

I looked to him. “Yes, I do.”

With his olive skin lit by the flames, highlighting the dips and valleys of his chest and arms, Malik looked inhuman, untouchable, painfully masculine, and everything I shouldn’t let myself want. And for the first time, I could not deny or explain away the answering desire smoldering in his eyes as he regarded me. I didn’t want to. His fingers traced down my arm, following the line of my inner wrist. The brush of skin on skin made me suck in a breath, and then he cupped my hand, holding the candle and held his much larger one over mine as he guided it towards the flames of the bonfire. Heat tickled my skin, and I shuddered, pushing back the painful memories that attempted to invade and intrude on this moment.

“Easy,isholet,” he murmured, his rough thumb rubbing circles against the delicate skin of my wrist where it rested. “I’m right here. You will not be harmed.” The touch and his words were soothing, and I forced myself to relax.

The small wick lit, and I quickly pulled the now burning candle back as Malik dropped his hand. I instantly missed the calming touch. “Now what?” I asked, holding the flame away from me like it was one of the cobras I had seen a street urchin performing with earlier.

I could tell Malik was desperately trying to hold back a grin, though part of one still slipped through. “Now you let the wick burn down,” he explained. I realized the small candle holder part way down the candle was no doubt to protect our hands from the melted wax, as it did just that.

He closed his eyes for a moment before lighting his own candle. I found myself wondering what he thought of before he did.

When he opened his eyes, they immediately found mine. The moment felt weighted, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand the look in his eyes. Then those incredible orbs dropped to my mouth.

My breath caught, my heartbeat pounding madly in my ears.

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