Page 1 of Burn for Her

Prologue

Nearly three hundred years ago…

Thunder cracked and lightning shredded the sky as the boy staggered through the woods, bloody and broken. Wheezing, he pressed his trembling hand against the most painful of his many wounds. Blood flowed freely from between his fingers. His lungs ached, caught between frozen and burning. A fresh wave of panic and terror propelled him forward. Unbalanced, his bare feet slipped in mud causing him to slide down a small ravine and crash into the river.

The harsh chill of the water attacked his burns, both soothing and searing them at the same time. The current was too strong for his weak body to fight. He let it drag him under and smack his brittle bones against the large rocks. Instinct demanded he kick his legs harder, faster, while his arms pinwheeled and clawed at the water. Finally, his head broke through the surface and he gasped for air.

The current sucked him down again.

In this darkness, he saw nothing. The chill of his terror combined with the frigid water, froze the marrow in his bones. He was tired. So tired.

Should he continue to let the river drag him down to the bottom, or should he crawl his way out? More than anything, he just wanted it to be over. Please let this be over… by death or by miracle, please someone end this nightmare.

The whispering, taunting, seductive voice of death tried to lure him into a watery grave. His ears filled with the rushing current of the river. His eyes blinded to all rock, felled tree, and whatever else lay ahead of him. His back slammed against something hard and sharp. It forced the rest of the air to leave his lungs while blinding white agony shot stars in his vision.

He was going to throw up.

He was going to drown.

He wasn’t ready yet. Not ready to give up. Not ready to relent to death’s peaceful embrace. He needed air. He needed help. The next boulder he crashed into, he clutched the sharp edges and pulled upwards. Squeezing his eyes shut, his head broke through the surface again. His grip slipped and the current swept him away.

But this time he fought it.

Snagging a low hanging branch whipping through the wind and rain, he clung to it with both hands. Using it as a lifeline, he painstakingly pulled himself up and out of the water.

Every bone in his body ached with exhaustion from over a decade of brutality.

It’s over, he told himself. It’s over.

He was losing too much blood, which made him slow and disoriented. He couldn’t afford either weakness right now. Wolves would scent him. If he didn’t get moving, he’d be dinner.

And there were worse things than wolves out there…

Trudging through the woods to get away from the river, he stumbled, fell, and dragged himself across the ground, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. There was a light ahead. Small and blurry, that tiny glow was all the hope this dark forest offered, so he locked his gaze on it and forced himself to keep going.

It took forever to reach the light source. His eyes kept shutting and legs kept wobbling. He vomited twice, but his empty belly cramped with nothing except dry heaves. He didn’t care. He ignored the pain, dismissed his fear, bit back his next whimper, and banged on the solid wooden door of the cabin shining the single light like a beacon calling him to safety.

The door swung open.

His eyes widened a fraction with panic. Danger stood before him, staring down at him with a growl. Lycan. As if some piece of his soul recognized what this beast was by instinct, he knew it was a Lycan. A powerful one. A dangerous one.

But he had no strength left to run away from the beast staring down at him.

The Lycan’s fierce gaze shot fear through the boy’s veins. They stared at one another, neither moving.

“Who is it?” A woman peered from around the large Lycan’s shoulder. She held a hand protectively over her swollen belly. “Alistair, who’s at the door? Move so I can see.”

“Get back, Marie. It’s a vampire.”

She didn’t listen. “He looks like he’s been half eaten alive!”

“Get. Back. Marie.” The shifter’s hulking body took up every square inch of the doorway. “What is your name, boy? What House are you from?”

“Dorian.” He slowly blinked and swayed with the effort to keep upright. “No House.” He so badly wanted to be stronger than he was but had nothing left in him except terror and starvation. “I… have… no other place… to go.”

At the threshold of his sworn enemy’s doorstep, he collapsed in the shifter’s arms.

Chapter 1

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