Title: Fireborn Author: Jessa Graythorne Genre: Urban Fantasy
Halley Ashwood is well on her way to achieving her dream of being a doctor. Focused and independent with a mother she never knew and a father who never loved her, the only constant Halley has ever had in her life is her brother, Flynn. Whilst Halley is logical and grounded, and Flynn a reckless conspiracy theorist, they have always been able to trust each other above anyone else.
Halley and Flynn don’t believe in making promises. So when Flynn leaves Halley a message the day before her scheduled trip to visit him in Amsterdam, asking her to promise him she won’t come, she knows something is wrong. Halley arrives in Amsterdam to find her brother is missing, leaving only those ominous words in his wake. Halley sets out to find out what happened to him and makes a terrifying discovery. Turns out Flynn’s conspiracy theories maybe weren’t so farfetched after all: demons are real, they’re stalking the streets of Amsterdam, and they may hold the answer as to what happened to Flynn.
Determined to find out the truth about her brother’s fate, Halley begins a dark journey that will force her to question everything she thinks she knows about the nature of the world, the forces within it, and even herself.
“Good girls don’t sit around here this time of night.”
I didn’t register that the voice was speaking to me. The only reason I even looked up was because it was the first American accent I had heard all night and it sent a comforting shiver through my entire body. When I saw its owner leaning against the bar beside me, that turned to a chill.
Let me admit here and now that powerful people scare me. I’m not afraid of them, per se, but I am afraid of what they are capable of. They don’t make me fear for my safety; they make me fear for my entire world. It frightens me how anyone can become so consumed by themselves that they lose sight of everything but their own ambition. Power isn’t quiet. The power I fear clings to the fabric of their clothing and oozes from the place in which they stand. It’s palpable, touchable, electrical, and I despise it.
So, when I first laid eyes on Azrael Falkov, it was like being christened in ice water.
I guessed he was around thirty, and if I was six-one in these shoes, he was at least six-four, with the build one required to pull off that height. He was dressed in black from head to toe, from his pointed dress shoes to his bowtie. He beat me hands down in the tan department, and his face had the angular elegance of an old photograph—you know the kind, those portraits of your grandparents’ youth that you look at and wonder why you didn’t inherit that perfect skin, those sharp features. His dark hair was styled back off his face and eyes a startling shade of amber were fixed steadily on me.
He was the kind of man I would not take home in a million years. Because never in a million years would he carefully drive my Viper GTS downtown to buy coffee and crawl back to me in reverence. He was the kind of man who would burn out my clutch and kill me to keep my car for himself.
Jessa Graythorne is an Australian author from the south coast of New South Wales. She lives near the beach with her partner and two cats, Henry and Ophelia—who, despite their names, are disappointingly disinterested in Shakespeare.
Jessa holds a Bachelor of Engineering and works in a steel mill. She adores the sea but not the sand, prefers sunrises to sunsets, and would decorate the world with fairy lights given half a chance. After writing, her second great love is travel, and she is eternally thankful that she has been able to spend the past year living vicariously through books.
Meeting long-lost siblings should be awesome, right?
Well, when you happen to be on the wrong side of the law and have every intention of staying there, having a cop for a sister isn’t exactly ideal. And teaming up with said sister? Well, that is just the cherry on top of the craptastic pie that has been my life.
But when our brother decides to attack us head on, banding together is the least of our problems.
Because in our family? Being the hunter also means being the hunted.
I felt the swish of wings a moment before my father spoke, his appearance making both Bastian and Emrys jump nearly out of their skins.
“You called?” Azrael asked from the doorway.
I tossed an irritated glare over my shoulder. “Yeah, I did. Lots. Good of you to show up.”
Bastian found my hand and squeezed my fingers, likely trying to get me to shut up. But he didn’t realize just how many times I had pleaded for Azrael for help in my head. Hundreds maybe thousands of times over the last two days and he’d stayed gone. When our brother showed up, when that stupid note was in the grass, when Darby was breaking her living room apart. I had begged and pleaded with him to come and help us—help her—and still he’d stayed away.
“Sorry,” he said, tilting his dark head to the side as he assessed Bastian. “I was working.”
He and I both knew could do his job from anywhere. In fact, he had done this job from a squat prison underneath thousands of pounds of rock and rubble and water where he’d stayed for nearly twenty years. And now when we needed him that’s when he decided he needed to be on site to collect souls?
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.
My best friend is my switchblade. My favorite hobby is using it on the cruel, the abusive, and anyone who gets on my bad side. I’m a convicted murderer with a chip on my shoulder and a dangerous lack of restraint.
And then there’s Zak.
His rap sheet makes mine look tame. The bounty on his head is worth more money than I’ll ever make, and the deadly fae that shadow his every step wield more power than I’ll ever know.
He’s the Crystal Druid, and his first mistake was setting foot on my turf.
His second was saving my life.
And his final mistake will be failing to realize that however dark, however ruthless, however broken he is…
When my attention landed on him, he strode toward me, his long legs eating up the ground and coat billowing out behind him. Stopping almost on top of me, he reached down as though to take my elbow—and seized the front of my jacket.
I grabbed his wrist as he roughly hauled me onto my tiptoes, bringing my face close to his. Despite the moonlight and forgotten flashlights illuminating the clearing, the interior of his hood was filled with unnatural darkness.
Ríkr watched us from his lofty perch, pale blue eyes gleaming.
“That was quite the scene I came in on,” the man rumbled in a low, dangerous tone. “What do you know about that bear fae?”
I stared into his hood.
A rough sound grated from his throat. “You don’t seem to be grasping the situation. Tell me what you know before I lose patience.”
I smiled, showing my teeth. “Was that a threat?” “What do you think?”
My smile widened, and I lifted my empty hand toward his face. “It’ll take more than a hood and a threat to scare me, especially when”—I pushed his hood back—“I’ve already seen your face.”
The shadows fell away, revealing his countenance again. Inhumanly vibrant green eyes, framed by dark lashes, fixed on mine, his eyebrows lowered with menace. A beautiful face, if I were honest. Striking cheekbones, a strong jaw, full mouth—currently pressed into a thin, angry line. By my best guess, he was in his mid-twenties, maybe a bit older.
My palm brushed against his clean-shaven cheek as I let his hood fall—and with the same motion, I flicked my hand, pulling my switchblade from my jacket sleeve. The blade sprang free, and in an instant, I had the point resting against the corner of his left eye.
But not fast enough.
A cold, thin edge pressed against my left cheek. I didn’t break eye contact to see what sort of weapon he had in my face, but the blade felt sharp—sharper than my little knife.
Neither of us moved, his fist tight around the front of my jacket. If either of our hands wobbled, we’d both bleed.
His right eyebrow arched slightly. “How do you want to play this?” “Let go of me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I stab you, you stab me,” I suggested frostily. “My cheek is more likely to heal than your eye.”
“Pass.”
He wouldn’t let me go and he wouldn’t play knife-chicken. What was left? “Then I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
His full mouth thinned again, green eyes raking across me. “Fine.”
His agreement surprised me until I realized he expected to win this game too. He thought I’d reveal more with my answers than he would with his.
Not likely.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded. “Answer my question first.”
“You first. Who are you?”
He growled under his breath. “The Crystal Druid.”
Surprise flushed through me, and I couldn’t stop my eyelids from flickering with a single, startled blink. He was a druid?
“Now,” he rumbled, “tell me what you know about that bear and the other aggressive fae in this area.” “I don’t know anything.”
His blade pressed painfully into my cheek. “This little game doesn’t work if you lie.” “I’m not lying.”
“Then you’re an idiot. Every fae across the lower mainland is talking about the attacks and disappearances around here.”
“Fascinating, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.” “Aren’t you a witch?”
“Yes, but a terrible one.”
His striking green eyes narrowed. “Terrible in what way?”
Ignoring his question, I shifted my blade ever so slightly, ensuring he couldn’t miss the sharp point in his peripheral vision. “My turn again. Why are you here?”
“The fae—” “Yes, yes, the attacks. But why do you care about some aggressive fae?” I arched my eyebrows, though my bangs probably hid them. “What are you hoping to gain, Crystal Druid?”
Annette Marie is the best-selling author of The Guild Codex, an expansive collection of interwoven urban fantasy series ranging from thrilling adventure to hilarious hijinks to heartrending romance. Her other works include YA urban fantasy series Steel & Stone, its prequel trilogy Spell Weaver, and romantic fantasy trilogy Red Winter.
Her first love is fantasy, but fast-paced adventures and tantalizing forbidden romances are her guilty pleasures. She lives in the frozen winter wasteland of Alberta, Canada with her husband and their furry minion of darkness. When not writing, she can be found elbow-deep in one art project or another while blissfully ignoring all adult responsibilities.
