Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Despite their brief encounter with the vicious immortal underworld, Kyle and Elias, along with their friends, strive to build a calm and happy life together in their small desert town, determined to leave the past behind.
But the arrival of a menacing stranger - and an untimely visitor from Kyle's past - thrusts them back into a game of danger and deceit. As Kyle delves deeper into the ruthless society of "Them", he questions everything he holds true about himself and his place among the immortals.
Meanwhile, Tristan, still reeling from his dramatic encounter with Kyle and the lingering flames of his love, hatches a perilous plan to fix everything with the help of a sadistic, cowboy-hat-wearing witch, who himself is hellbent on a fiery revenge against the Lord of the immortals.
How far is Tristan willing to go to right his wrongs? How deep is Kyle willing to delve to discover his true nature - at the cost of everything?
The stakes are high, the emotions raw, and the danger ever-present in this thrilling sequel to Kissing With Teeth.
ENVIOUS OF FIRE is the second book in the heart-stopping Kissing With Teeth series by USA Today bestselling author Daryl Banner ("When I See You Again", "Raising Hell", "The Beautiful Dead") praised for standing out with its unique spin on the paranormal/vampire genre.
NOTE: This book contains potentially disturbing subject matter. It is advised to check the disclaimer at the beginning of the book (use the "read sample" feature) and exercise discretion in determining whether this book is suitable for you.
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Prologue.
The Purpose of One Life.
—∙—
Fire.
How it dances so beautifully without instruction.
Its choreography, an accident of nature, guided by wind, by God, by whatever it delights in consuming.
A guiltless monster, growing without limit, the envy of any creature who has thirsted beyond their means, who has craved a true freedom outside the intolerable restraints of morality.
Feeding on whatever it finds until there is no more, neither willing nor capable of distinguishing good from bad. It just eats.
These were the thoughts of Tristan twenty-seven years ago in a small Texas suburb as he calmly watched his lover’s house burn.
Kyle Amos’s house.
Within, the corpses of Kyle’s mother, father, and dear little brother, none of whom deserved to die. The fire paid no mind. It was only hungry, and Kyle’s life was ever so tasty.
“Is it done?”
The question came from Tristan’s eternal accomplice in all things terrible. She is Wendy. Voice, thin and frosty, tinny notes on a vibraphone. Her shape, enshrouded and shadowy, as it often is, only giving a faint hint of perhaps a prepubescent girl. That was a gift—the true sight of Wendy was horrifying.
To her question, Tristan tilted his head and, edged with exhaustion, said, My dear Wendy, the work is never done.
“Does the Kyle boy await you elsewhere?”
Inconsolably. In a two-star motel. I told him to count sheep. The star rating is rounded up, by the way.
“Star rating? I know not your strange terms.”
This is why I like you, Wendy.
The fire raged greedily on, biting into wood, licking at the trees. Its twenty tongues reached into the sky like the house and three lives weren’t enough; it also desired the stars. Neighbors had already gathered outside. The distant sirens of fire trucks racing there to put an end to the short and glorious life of the fire wailed through the smoky night air.
No one could see them.
That was thanks to Wendy’s unique ability to bend light. Or swallow it. The exact way her talent functioned was, like many things about Wendy, unclear. But it hid the two of them in plain sight, blending them seamlessly into the shadows of trees, mailboxes, vehicles, and all matters of suburban dullness.
You must return soon, Tristan reminded her. The trip back to Las Vegas will be lengthy, and Lord Markadian always notices when his toys have gone missing for too long.
“Especially when that toy is you,” she returned.
Tristan shrugged. He will forget about me in time.
“You underestimate his love for you.”
He will love another in time, too.
“You overestimate the power of time.”
Lord Markadian has enough to worry about, governing the west region, minding rogue immortals and Ferals and witches and other pests of the night, not to mention the pandering directors who fight for his love themselves … He is never in short supply of fodder for his ego. By the way, thank you for your assistance on this night. You facilitate the act of burning away all trace of three unfortunate human corpses with unsettling finesse. Are you by chance a serial killer in some other reality or parallel existence? … Or a pyromaniac, at the very least …?
“Three?” asked Wendy.
Tristan stopped. It was a single-worded question—Three. Yet that single word cut every thread of Tristan’s flippant calmness.
He returned the word: Three …?
“Two corpses I sense yet,” she said. “Not three.”
The restless beast that was the fire danced and squirmed, flinging out from one window, waltzing into another, laughing, mirthful, chewing upon the walls, sharpening its teeth on the latticework, swimming into the front flowerbed.
Three.
The boy was found in the fiery belly of the beast, sprawled out on the kitchen floor, skin and hair covered in black soot, like the tiles and outdated cabinetry that surrounded his body. He was bloodied and battered, a gash down his cheek. A single arm remained outstretched, like he made a final reach for the back door and gave up. Fire glowed upon his skin from the mouth of the nearby archways, shattering, crackling.
Tristan gazed down at him. The boy turned two weak eyes upward. Eyes, just like Kyle’s. Innocent. Kind as candy. Afraid.
Alive.
The boy’s staring persisted, his sweet eyes burning like the fire as he watched Tristan. Was it the first time they met? Was Tristan to be the last face Kyle’s dear little brother ever saw?
It was not supposed to end this way.
With a brushing of Tristan’s cool fingertips over the boy’s face, he put him to sleep at once, thanks to his gift—the Lull.
“You endure this environment for that boy?” asked Wendy with absolute apathy, appearing over him like a dark thought. “The fire is deadly to you. And yet you are here.”
I did not anticipate this, said Tristan.
“And yet.”
The boy lay in Tristan’s arms now, this thirteen-year-old boy, this smaller version of Kyle, this brave, strong mortal—stronger than Tristan gave him credit for, apparently stronger so far than the gluttonous fire that slowly closed in on them.