A Vow Of Embers Novels & Stories

Expensive cologne, smoke, leather. My heart starts slamming painfully against my ribs. "No," he says softly. "You didn’t." His gaze drops briefly to my mouth again, then lower, a full sweep across me and I feel it everywhere. Heat crawls beneath my skin. "But I helped you anyway." He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Instead of a weapon, he pulls out a black card, completely plain except for a silver moth embossed into the center, the same moth tattooed across his throat. He holds it out toward me.

He spoke low, each word heavy. “I vow to guard your fire with my shadow. To fight beside you, not against you. To tear down anyone who dares to stand between us. You are the flame. I am the blade. Together—we are war.” Their blood was then drawn—two clean cuts across their palms—and pressed together over a burning brazier. The flames roared higher as their blood hissed into it, sealing the vow not just with words, but with the oldest bond their world knew: blood and fire.

Kira Quezada faked her own death to escape a family legacy that wanted to sell her off like a signature on a contract. Three years later, disguised as a cleaner, she's finally safe, until her new boss looks at her twice and realizes exactly who she is. Luciano Rodriguez doesn't expose her. He makes her an offer instead: marry him, save his dying grandmother's peace of mind, and help him bait the uncle circling his empire like a wolf. It's supposed to be a contract. Nothing more. But the man she was promised to as a girl and the man hunting Luciano's throne are the same person, and he's not done with either of them. As old secrets surface and new ones are made in the dark, Kira has to decide

“Tonight we are honored to officially bring a Luna to Nightshade, binding Ember to our pack and its members for all her days.” He paused and scanned the crowd. All was quiet as they waited for him to continue. We both turned to one another and he began my Luna vows. “Ember of the Timber Coven, do you vow to honor and protect this pack and its members with your life?” he asked me. “Always,” I answered. “Do you vow to help all that ask for it?” “I do.” “Do you vow to always support your Alpha, to stand by his side and guide him when needed?”

“My mother entrusted me to you on her deathbed. And what did you do to me? “If you had a daughter, would you want her to forgive a man who treated her the way you treated me?” “So, no! I won’t forgive you. I don’t want to ever see you again.” He looked at me deeply, as if recalling that day when my mother placed my hand into his, when he had vowed he would take care of me. He lowered his head and fell silent for a long time. As I passed by him, his trembling voice drifted to my ears.

His blood welled slowly, thick, dark, laced with something ancient. She hesitated. “Elara,” he said, his voice suddenly unguarded. “If you’re waiting for me to flinch, you’ll be waiting through the next war.” With a breath, she cut her hand, pressing her palm against his. The moment their blood mingled, the Vowfire ignited. Not in heat. In memory. The altar flared with amber and violet light, casting dancing shadows across the crypt walls. Runes blazed alive, filling the chamber with low harmonic hums—as though the very stones were singing their pact.

The Keeper’s Ember pulsed gently at her side. “This fire,” she said softly, “has passed through hands bloodied by war, cracked by grief, and strengthened by love.” She looked from face to face. “But now, it passes into yours.” One by one, she approached the carriers, touching the orb gently to their flames. Each ember grew—not with force, but with resonance, a subtle harmony of light and memory. When she reached the final carrier, a boy no older than twelve from the Southern Caverns, he leaned forward and whispered, “I will remember you.”

But she also knew that even the strongest empires had weaknesses, vulnerabilities that could be exploited. He sat on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed, yet his eyes still intense. He leaned forward, his breath warm against her cheek. “You have the potential to be a valuable ally. Or a significant threat. Choose wisely.” "My choice has already been made," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of centuries of defiance. He rose, his eyes blazing. His temper was a simmering volcano, always threatening to erupt. "And what choice is that, precisely?”

With a soft clink, two dull platinum wedding bands tumbled out. Inside the bands, our initials were still engraved. At that moment, every last bit of strength drained from my body. I lifted a hand to cover my eyes and sobbed. The fifteen-year-old Pierse had made his promise with a heart full of certainty. And the fifteen-year-old Eva was simply happy to believe that the two of them would grow old together. Back then, neither of us knew the truth. When the fifteen-year-old Pierse made that promise, those very words came back like a bullet—hitting the twenty-eight-year-old Pierse right between the eyes.

THE FIRE THAT BLEEDS “The flame will bow not to might, but to the one whose sorrow sets the earth ablaze.” The Springs of Emberflow Deep within a narrow canyon draped in mist and lined with molten stone veins. Moonlight flickers above through gaps in the jagged rock. A natural spring bubbles at the center, glowing faintly. Ceres approaches, cloaked and barefoot, steam rising around her. Ceres (whispering): "Maera said this spring remembers battles… but it feels more like it's remembering me."