In Flames
In Flames
Phoenix: LexTal Chronicles #2
Elise Faber
IN FLAMES
by Elise Faber
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Copyright © 2021 ELISE FABER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
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IN FLAMES
Copyright © 2021 ELISE FABER
Print ISBN: 978-1-946140-98-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-946140-97-5
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
Contents
Fire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
To Smoke
To Smoke
Also by Elise Faber
About the Author
Fire
Flames. Ash. Heat and cinder.
Tearing through and destroying everything in its path, and even after it’s extinguished, its embers can be fanned to life, causing massive amounts of destruction in no time at all. Lush greenery can become blackened fields, felled forests, acre after acre of dark, empty space.
But eventually, that black transforms into green, the soil growing richer, the fields more fertile. Trees sprout and slowly begin their ascent into the sky.
Slowly, the emptiness becomes full.
Of life.
Of love.
One
Suz
Another date.
Another loser.
Sighing, she waited long enough so the man—said loser—would have vacated the hallway, then she slipped out of her room and made her way to the infirmary.
It was empty, but she could always find something to keep her busy.
And, if she waited long enough, someone would get hurt and she’d have something real to do, something that wasn’t sitting around reviewing charts and being jealous because her friends were ridiculously happy and bonded and . . . she was dating losers.
Which wasn’t entirely fair.
The Rengalla she’d gone out with that evening was a perfectly nice man.
Just not the one for her.
And, if she were being completely honest, he was a little boring.
As her life had been . . . for decades.
Nearly a hundred years old, she’d lived through medical and technological advancements, she’d lived through wars and loss, and . . . she was bored out of her mind.
She wanted excitement.
She wanted to feel something, anything aside from this heavy weight sitting on her chest.
The one that told her she was missing out, missing something.
Not doing enough. Not helping enough. Not living—
Enough.
Yes, that was a trend with her.
Well, that and lonely.
Unfortunately, lonely was also a trend. Because as much as the men she’d dated had waxed poetic about liking strong women, that hadn’t actually come to fruition, especially when she was pulled out of dinner or bed or sexy, fun naked time and called into the infirmary because someone had broken their leg, or burned their arm, or because a baby had decided to make an untimely arrival.
Then they realized that dating the Rengalla’s top healer wasn’t all fun and games.
Then they tolerated the intrusion a time or five, maybe even ten.
But eventually they tired of the interruptions, of not being first in her priorities and then . . . they went away.
So circling back to lonely. And she might as well add horny into that mix.
Because that was the crux of it, too. She was tired of her hand and her vibrator. She wanted an orgasm courtesy of someone else. She wanted someone to look at her with desire. To want her. No, to need her.
Like Dee had Cody.
Like Gabby had Mason.
Like she would probably never have.
Sighing, she grabbed the doorknob, started to push into the infirmary. Maybe she wouldn’t ever bond or have a man devoted to her like her friends did, “But, is it too much for me to have just one night of hot sex?”
“Pent up, Suzie girl?”
That voice.
Liquid honey down her spine, heat drifting between her thighs, desire making the tips of her fingers itch—
To release her magic, to wipe that smirk off his gorgeous face.
To . . . wrap her fingers in the strands of his deep brown hair and yank his head down for a kiss.
She let go of the knob and turned to face Graham.
Cocky, funny Graham.
Whom everyone liked. Who was nice to every Rengalla, big and small.
Every Rengalla, except for her.
Her he liked to torment.
She couldn’t stand the man—or at least that was what she told herself. Plus, he was too arrogant by half and never failed to infuriate her. But he wasn’t dating anyone, and clearly after this evening, she wasn’t either.
And . . . she wanted him, had spent years wanting him while pretending not to.
She stepped toward him, close enough to smell his scent—all damp forest floor and warm summer sunshine—close enough to feel the heat from his body, sense his strength in the hard planes of his body.
“You offering to help me out?” she asked, taking another step, her breasts brushing against his chest.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Suz,” he muttered, moving back and putting some distance between them. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Hurt.
God, it sliced right through her, tore at her insides.
Not even the man who’d slept with half the single women in the Colony wanted her.
Cool.
She forced a laugh, her eyes burning. So stupid. “Right,” she said and spun around, reached for the knob once again. “I’m busy. Now, go away.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm.
She shook him off, pushed into the space that had become her sanctuary. Maybe there were some bandages to organize, some charts to file—
Click.
That wasn’t the sound of the door closing.
Rather, it was the sound of the door locking.
On a gasp, she spun around.
Graham was there, eyes hot as he stepped away from the door. “So, little Suzie girl is feeling needy,” he said, the words sending a shiver down her spine. He crowded into her. “She wants my help scratching that itch—”
She lifted her chin. “Go to he—”
He kissed her.
Two
Graham
He shouldn’t be here.
And he really fucking shouldn’t be doing this.
This being his mouth pressed to Suz’s lush lips, his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against him.
She was a baby.
She was friends with his younger sister, for God’s sake.
&
nbsp; He was one hundred and twelve years older than her, and while their long lifespans meant that the Rengalla didn’t often worry about age gaps, a century more of experience was . . . well, an entire lifetime.
Plus, she was friends with his sister.
Who was young and innocent and . . . young.
Suz was too young.
For him to have his hands on her. His lips pressed to hers. His tongue inside her mouth.
Shame whipped through him, slicing his insides to ribbons, and he dropped his hands, started to lift his head.
Then she moaned.
A soft, rasping noise that emerged from her throat, vibrated against his lips, licked down his skin like flames. And instead of letting her go, instead of moving to the door and getting back on with his day, he wrapped his arms tighter around her and . . . kissed her like his magic was fading and this was his last day on Earth.
And she responded.
Oh, how she responded—melting against him, her lush breasts flush against his chest, her fingers wrapping tight in his hair, her tongue dancing against his as she kissed him back until his head spun. Her hands slipped under the hem of his T-shirt, trailed across his abdomen, dipped under the waistband of his jeans.
Fuck, that was good.
Fuck, that was really good.
Fuck, that was good enough to make him forget all about the age difference and to let his fingers do some slipping and sliding of their own.
He released her lips to allow them both to suck in some much-needed air then began kissing his way along her jaw, down her throat.
Citrus and cloves, tart and spice. The scent that was so intrinsically Suz filled his senses. That perfume was imprinted into her skin, floated like a cloud around her hair, made him feel like she was surrounding every inch of him. And being this close to her, closer than he’d ever allowed himself before—or realistically, he hadn’t allowed himself to be this close since the moment his body had recognized hers as an adult—was both the greatest pleasure and absolute torture.
She was a woman.
A woman he wanted.
When she’d gone away to college, she’d still been a girl, bright and innocent and all lanky limbs and freckle-covered nose. She’d gotten her degree then had gone to medical school, completed her residency, when it was safer, when their enemy hadn’t been so good at hunting them.
God, he could still remember the day she’d left. He’d been on a normal patrol, had watched her from the trees surrounding the Colony, entranced by the way she’d hugged her family and friends goodbye, so much care in each of the embraces. She’d waved off help as she’d loaded a couple of suitcases in the back of her VW Bug, her hair long and straight, tie-dye and bell-bottoms covering her lanky frame. Then with a wave, she’d gotten in the car and driven off, excitement on her face.
She’d left a sweet, youthful girl looking forward to the future.
Then she’d come back, almost a decade later, a woman—the real world written on the lines of her face, the shadows in her eyes. Maturity that comes from experience and yet still that wealth of compassion beneath.
He’d arrested, completely frozen in place when he’d first laid eyes on her upon her return.
He could remember that moment with crystal clarity, too.
An arm around his sister’s waist, curves filling out tight jeans, breasts pushing out the cotton of her T-shirt. Simple clothes, and yet, the sexiest outfit he’d ever laid eyes on. Every instinct in his body had screamed at him to close the distance between them, to stake a claim right then and there.
She wasn’t so innocent.
But . . . she was still young. Still his sister’s friend.
And still too many years, too many experiences between them. She needed someone her age, someone without his baggage.
But when her eyes had met his, wide and warm, her lips curved into a tempting smile, he’d nearly forgotten about all of his reasons to stay away.
Which was the moment he’d realized he needed to withdraw.
A tactical retreat in order to keep his distance.
Except . . . he wasn’t keeping his distance tonight. He was really fucking close, and it was absolutely glorious.
Suz wasn’t wearing her usual T-shirt and jeans—she’d kept the latter but swapped out the former for a shining piece of black silk that clung to her curves and made him want to trace his fingers over the glittering material . . . then beneath it.
“Come here,” she whispered, gripping the sides of his face, tugging his head up from her throat, and taking his mouth in a kiss that showed exactly how much she’d grown up. Confident and demanding, he’d never had anything hotter than this woman pressed up against him, kissing him until his lungs screamed for oxygen.
Eventually though, they needed to breathe, so he released her lips, trailing his mouth along her jaw, reveling in the soft moans, the way her fingers grew tighter in his hair.
But he couldn’t kiss the parts he wanted to reach.
She was short, and he was tall, and he couldn’t become a fucking pretzel, much as he was trying.
Luckily, he was also strong.
A senior soldier, he was trained to protect his people—and that didn’t mean just using his magic. He was deadly in hand-to-hand combat, a decent marksman, and prided himself on being a tough motherfucker.
His mother had told him more than once as a child that it was okay to cry if he was hurting, that he was allowed to be sad after his father had died.
But Graham wasn’t like that.
Tie it down, buckle it tight, be a man, and make sure she was okay, his sister was okay.
Make sure they all were okay. He’d do it, serve his people, care for those who were vulnerable until his last breath.
Just like his father.
Except . . . he wasn’t really thinking about his father, his past, his centuries on this planet. Or not for long, anyway.
Because Suz was in his arms, those glorious breasts pressed to his chest, her scent surrounding him, her hands dragging his head back up as she slanted her lips across his. Her tongue in his mouth, fingers sliding from his hair to grip his shoulders. He shifted, slipping his hands under her thighs and lifting her up into his arms, coaxing her to straddle his hips, and holding back a moan when she pressed against the hard jut of his erection.
And still, he kissed her. Or maybe she was kissing him.
Either way, any concerns about the past, their differences disappeared. She rocked against his cock, sending desire flooding through him, making sparks coalesce in the corners of his vision. And just that—her in his arms, riding him—was the hottest fucking sexual experience of his life, and they were both still fully clothed.
Speaking of which. He wanted to get them some place horizontal. Hell, vertical, diagonal, upside down, he didn’t give a fuck.
He just wanted to go somewhere he could get Suz naked.
Immediately.
“Where?” he asked, pulling his mouth free and nipping at the shell of her ear.
“My office,” she moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders, thighs tightening around his waist. “Hurry. I—”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He’d had five decades of pretending he didn’t notice the luscious curves she was packing, the ass that filled out the backside of her jeans and made a man imagine way too many ways to pay homage to those squeezable globes, the breasts that would overfill his hands, thighs that were strong and capable and felt fucking incredible beneath his palms, even still encased in denim.
Rapid steps brought him down the hall, to the office where he’d seen her working late many a night.
Come to think of it, he’d also seen her here many an early morning.
Which brought to mind the question of when this woman actually slept, and if she was taking care of herself, and—
His mind went blank.
Because the moment he’d crossed the threshold to her office, she wiggled out of his arms and shimmied out of
the sleek black top she was wearing.
His mouth went dry.
His cock grew harder.
Lace. Pale lavender that brought out the gold tones in her skin, the dusky pink of her nipples just barely evident through the material of her bra. His eyes trailed down the softness of her abdomen to the jeans . . . well, to the button of her jeans. Because her fingers were there, flicking open the circle of metal.
The noise as she drew down the zipper was loud in the silence of the room.
Then . . . more pale lace.
Her mouth quirked when he managed to drag his gaze back up to hers. “You like?”
He liked. Way too fucking much. Except . . . “Why are you wearing it?” he asked, a bolt of annoyance shooting through him.
Or maybe it wasn’t annoyance so much as jealousy.
She shouldn’t have dressed with care, planning to sleep with someone else, then jump him in the hall.
He should be special and hers—only hers.
Dumbass.
Him.
Because she didn’t belong to him, and if she wanted to sleep with someone, he didn’t have one fucking right to say anything about it. Guilt slid through him at that thought, enough to clear the haze of desire and make him step back a pace.
Suz couldn’t be his. She was Amelia’s.
Amelia’s friend.
Her young friend.
A husky chuckle.
“You think my underwear was for him?” She shoved down her jeans, stepped out of the black flats and denim then moved toward him in that skimpy lace set of undergarments.
One finger trailed down his chest.