Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
She stood in the half-burnt skeleton of a tavern once called The Shimmering Thistle, her figure cloaked by smoke and soot-stained beams.
Around her, the kingdom screamed.
Bodies lay like discarded dolls across the cobbled street—some half-burned, others cradled by sobbing kin.
The air trembled with grief and disbelief, a chorus of death that licked the charred stones and rose into the fire-dark sky.
And yet, in this sea of sorrow, she stood untouched. Not because the flames hadn’t tried. But because they couldn’t.
Her name was Sol.
A name only her parents dared whisper in the privacy of their shack at the edge of Lowly village.
In the Kingdom of Hareef, Lowlys had no name.
No rights.
No history.
No future.
In the rest of the kingdom lived the Nobles—pale skinned people with golden silky hair and blue eyes. Anyone that appeared different from that, was considered a Lowly.
Pale skin, yet dark hair—Lowly.
Golden hair, but dark skin—Lowly.
And she was the very opposite of all—dark brown, brown eyes, thick curly black hair.
To the Nobles, she was nothing.
But tonight. . .the nothing had stopped a god and saved them.
I really did! I just wish. . .I knew how to do it again. . .
Sol flicked her eyes to the sky.
Above her, the heavens had begun to clear—dark velvet stretching wide, punctuated with a scattering of stars.
The moon hung low and bruised, haloed in ash.
But not all was still.
The dragon had left his mark.
A trail of glowing orange vapor arched high across the stars.
It was an enchanting slash in the sky—the last breath of his fire lingering in the upper winds.
Wisps of black smoke drifted through the glow, twisting like serpents around the embers, refusing to vanish completely.
Where the stars should have gleamed clean and cold, some pulsed behind the haze—dimmed, shivering beneath the heat Korin had carved through the atmosphere.
She stared at that molten streak—his path—still fresh, still crackling with memory.
Her breath caught, the cold of her magic curling inside her chest as her pulse rose again.
Korin had flown there, and now the image of him lingered behind her eyelids—a creature so vast he swallowed the stars. His body had shimmered with layered black and gold, each scale a weapon of beauty, each wingbeat bending the heavens to his will.
She remembered the way his claws sliced through the clouds-like knives through silk, the way his fangs gleamed like ivory spears.
He had been terrifying, yes, but also. . .magnificent.
A god of fire.
A beast of ancient hunger.
Where others had ignored and avoided her, Korin had seen her.
That thought alone made her shiver.
She hadn’t run.
She’d shot at him, and he hadn’t destroyed her.
Why didn’t he truly fight back?
He’d just hovered—watching.
Breathing her in.
Choosing not to end her.
Why?
She’d been more than prepared to die to save her family.
Power vibrated through her body.
And why me, of all people, should ever think a dragon is. . .magnificent?
Knees trembling, Sol pressed her back against the scorched timber beam. Her breaths came out fast and shallow.
What is this feeling?
Her skin—dark as tempered bronze—began to tingle beneath her tattered white dress. It felt like being kissed from the inside out, a thousand silk-tongued flames licking across her nerves.
Sol blinked.
Her fingers twitched and still sparkled with frost.
No. . .not frost.
This was magic that was older than her. Magic that shimmered with hues of silver and pale blue. That power still swirled at her fingertips.
Now. . .how do I turn this off?
She flexed her fingers and tiny fractals of ice bloomed from her palms, curling like vines before vanishing into the night air.
I pushed it too far. Will I be able to stop it now?
Then, a sudden shock of need surged through her core.
Sol widened her eyes.
And then her knees gave.
She didn’t fall, but her thighs clamped together.
Oh!
She arched her spine as pleasure shimmered down her back.
What is this?
Ribbons of bliss unraveled inside her.
Oh no.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, just above her navel, as if to still the tremor building in her lower belly.
It didn’t stop the bliss.
It grew and it was divine.
Mmmm.
Her nipples hardened, straining against the thin fabric of her dress. The linen stuck to her sweat-slicked brown skin, and she realized—mortified and awestruck—that she was wet between her legs.
Something that never happened often.
She had never lain with a man.
Never been kissed.
Never even dared to dream of such things.
But this?
This feeling had to be what they meant when they talked about pleasure. This was euphoric bliss—not taken or stolen, not granted by a lover’s hand—but somehow made by her magic.
Oh my. . .
She parted her lips and darted her tongue out, tasting the soot and cold that still clung to her lips.
More ribbons of bliss moved up her core.
A moan nearly escaped.
Control yourself.
She began to breathe through her nose, trying to ground herself as the high of magic roared through her body.
And yet. . .
She also didn’t want to come down.