Fire & Fury: Phoenix Burned (Lick of Fire), #1

By K. de Long

He took everything from her: her family, her homeland, and her future. She’d give anything to forget him.

The last time Abeni saw her ex-lover Eren Tristram was when he abandoned her, financing his own future with her family’s heirlooms. She hardened her heart, and promised no one would ever get back in. After years of struggle and exile, the phoenix shifter found herself onstage, dying and rebirthing herself for a crowd of the demonic elite- regardless of the sacrilege and judgment. 

But when hired to perform at a rural Midwinter Festival, the last thing Abeni expects is to see Eren again- awaiting his execution at the festival’s end.

Her disappearance has haunted him for centuries. And now she’s his only hope.

Eren’s only chance of survival is to make amends to the woman he wronged, when he was barely more than a pup, caught between family and love. But Abeni has had hundreds of years to hold this grudge and build her walls. She’s found success despite the pain he brought her- why should she risk that all for the ghost of the love he took advantage of once before?

Content Warning: Fire & Fury contains graphic descriptions of mature contant, including mental illness, self-harm, graphic violence, and sexual content, and is intended for mature readers.

Fire & Fury is the first installment of the Phoenix Burned serial, published as part of the Lick of Fire multi-author series. For more information about the Lick of Fire books, visit LickofFire.com. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie de Long
• Release date: Apr 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386925866

Book preview

Chapter 1

Eren Tristram

Mikayla smiles at me, her curvaceous body pulling taut as she rides me into oblivion. For a moment, her brown eyes have the warmth and heat Abeni's used to. But those days are long gone, and I've learned not to dwell on them—back when I was young, stupid, and hopeful. I bite my lip, Mikayla's lithe body no longer as sexy as it was a second ago. She was only ever a masochistic distraction—as I knew on some level—but now, she's not even that.

Enough of this, I growl, pulling out. The dominant thing does it for her. The emotionally unavailable thing, too. She knows the deal. That’s why she’s here. That’s why she asked me here. One time, no repeats, no feelings, no regrets. No lovemaking, waffling, or strategizing. I want you to use me, and make me like it. I want to like it for a change. On your knees.

Oooh, she purrs. That's it. Fuck me rough. Fuck me dirty.

She’s welcome to think that’s what I’m after. But it's just that I can't stand to look at her. I don't want to see her creamy skin when it's Abeni's russet complexion I crave. If she knew what was on my mind, she’d know that some sick part of me is straining to break every rule we’ve set for ourselves, and this.

Like always. Goddamnit.

I slap Mikayla's ass with a resounding smack, playful yet commanding. Knees. Now.

Jeez. Fine, Mr. Impatient... Mikayla gets on her knees, pushing her ass against me. She's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but she's a quick fuck—nothing more. Not the least because she's got a fiancé, a shifter with the Highland pack. An asshole, she says, which does add to the thrill.

Yeah, I'm a bit of an asshole too. And proud of it. Better to be an asshole than to be used by one. And if Mikayla's a bit of an asshole as well, so much the better.

Oooh, yeah, Mikayla gasps as I reposition myself, sliding home. I grasp her hips, digging my fingers into those sweet curves. "Fuck."

You like that? I laugh to myself and pound her harder. Nothing like a good, hard fuck to clear the ghosts from my head. The hardest winter nights are the ones when I look into the fireplace and remember Abeni: palms raised over the dancing flames, shaping birds in their flickering amber, sending them spiraling into the night as she practiced her illusions behind her mother's back.

Mikayla curls her ankle around the back of my thigh. It's a little intimate gesture, the kind that makes me sick to my stomach. If it wouldn't kill this vague semblance of a mood completely, I'd shove her foot away. But I'm close—balls pulling tight to my body, skin tingling, body roaring with adrenaline close.

And then my heart stops at the sound of footsteps outside the bedroom. She moans loudly, too far gone in her own ecstasy to notice.

Mik—stop— I start to shush her. Start to back away, glancing around for my pants.

The bedroom door opens, and a man pauses in the doorway, dumfounded. But the shocked expression only lasts a half a second before it turns to rage. The kind of blinding rage that could well be the last thing I ever see.

Ah, shit.

She didn't tell me her fiancé was Alpha Ryer Highland.

Chapter 2

Abeni Singsweet

Backstage at Simply Pleasure, I collect myself before my performance. The other strippers have adopted me as their good-luck token—almost a love goddess or mascot—so my attempts to meditate are interrupted by another person stopping by to slip a few bills into my palm every five minutes. It's a portion of the tips they'll make if I do my job well. Don't get me wrong—I appreciate the gesture, but I’d prefer having the time to myself.

Anniversaries are always hard. And this is coming up on the four-hundredth anniversary of the big one—when I lost my family, my future-family, my past, and my future, all in one hellish year.

My hand trembles on the eyeliner pen. I take a deep breath to steady myself before applying a theatrical black flare outward from the corner of my eye.

Break a leg, Destiny says, flashing me a smile before brushing her platinum-blonde hair out of her face and slipping away. I nod, pocketing her twenty. She pats my shoulder and wends away in the clip-clop of platform heels.

A minute later, someone else taps me. Kaetha, you're on in five, Dustin, the stage-caller tells me, hurrying back to make eye contact with the DJ.

I glance in the mirror one last time, taking stock of my heavy makeup: all bold colors, heavy eyeliner wings, rhinestones ensuring that something stays left to the imagination, and crocheted braids hanging midway down my back. Good enough. It's a lot of makeup, but it has to both show up in the club's low lighting, and not be washed out by the stage's harsh spotlights.

I stretch, rolling my head on my neck, pulling muscles taut, running through every warm-up before it's my time. The minutes stretch by in a hazy blur until my name is called.

"Everyone, we are thrilled to welcome back to the stage the queen of pleasure, the emcee pauses, rolling her 'r's', the queen of lust, a goddess of illusion, and benevolent giver of a mindfuck you'll take to your grave. Please put your hands together for the marvelous Miss Kaetha!"

I strut out with an exaggerated sway. Heel, ball, toe. Heel, ball, toe. Get the walk right, and they'll eat out of your hand before they've so much as heard a note.

The music comes on, a seductive yet angry beat, rattling in the club's expensive PA system. It jolts my bones in the socket, drowns out my heartbeat. I roll my shoulders, making eye contact with first one audience member, then another. I am a wildcat, a panther in my skin.

For a moment, I'm him. Or who he might have become were he a man, not a scavenger. Oh, he thought he was a predator, but he was nothing but a bottom-feeder, a parasite, a—

I swallow and force my mind back to the stage; to the angle of my hands, and the movement of my feet. The rhythm inside me, and the building anger. No. Get your mind back on the show.

Simply Pleasure caters to a wide clientele. The only humans here are the kind who can hold their own in a crowd of demons, shapeshifters, and other such monstrosities—myself included. You don't come here for vanilla entertainment—or even mainstream human kinks. Not all of them know how deep the rabbit hole goes…but they do know some of what lurks in its depths.

Right on cue, as the music