Burning Heart Book Novels & Stories

*** James The sound of my heartbeat hammered in my chest, each beat a violent, relentless thrum that threatened to deafen me as I pushed through the choking smoke. My eyes burned, but they were fixed—locked—on Katniss. There, in the center of the inferno, her body motionless, consumed by flames that seemed to have a mind of their own. The fire wasn’t just destroying the house; it was alive, vicious, almost as if it were taking revenge, as if it had been waiting for this moment. The orange and red tongues of flame reached hungrily, devouring everything they could touch, twisting and flicking in every direction, daring anyone to come close. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was her.

The path to freedom was clear and direct. In murderous rage, I pierced my claws into the palm of my right hand, hovered it over the last remaining shreds of the book and watched Vincent's eyes glaze over with tears. I uttered a single word, "Burn." And the book caught on fire the moment drops of my blood from the cut I made on my palm came into contact with it. In Vincent's absentmindedness, with his gaze still pinned on the burning book, everything slowed down before me. I moved faster than the law of time permitted, over to where he knelt with a sorrowful expression as he watched the remains of the book become ash.

--- She dreamed of fire again—but not the roaring inferno she’d learned to wield, not the disciplined heat she kept leashed inside her chest. This fire was small. A single flame burning in the center of a dark room. Around it stood wolves she didn’t recognize—some scarred, some young, some carrying themselves with the quiet authority of elders long ignored. They did not reach for the flame. They simply watched it burn. Then the flame flickered. Fear surged through Rose’s chest. She stepped forward instinctively—and froze. Her feet were bare. Her hands empty. She realized then that the flame did not belong to her.

I had to believe they were doing it for a good reason. I walk further into the room and see a row of red leather books all along the back wall on shelves. I rip a book from the shelf, flipping through the pages; every spell in here is black magic. I grab another book and another. They are all full of black magic, words of evil, each book darker and darker. I flip to a page that says “removing souls, the patient must endure months of torture to separate the soul from the body.” I stare at the page in disbelief. Is this what they are doing down here?

Something heavy and sharp, like a block of ice sliding into the space where my heart used to be. I don’t read the letter a second time. Every word is burned into my mind already. I don’t look for tear stains. I don’t press it to my nose to smell him. I get up, walking across the floor naked. The air is freezing against my skin, but I don’t feel it. The fire is dead. Just gray ash and blackened wood, much like my own inner landscape. I strike a match, watching impassively as the flame flares, small and orange. Then I hold the corner of the parchment to the flame.

"I don't believe in miracles anymore, Ben. I believe in stubbornly refusing to die. There's a difference." "Is there?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Sometimes I think your stubborn refusal to give up is the closest thing to a miracle I've seen since The Burning." The mention of The Burning made my chest tighten, as it always did. The memories were still too fresh, too raw. I could still smell the smoke, hear the screms, see the sky turning that terrible shade of orange as the world caught fire. I pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Care to follow me? It’s late and dangerous for a girl like you to be wandering around, besides its nearly twelve midnight.” “Oh,’ I took the jacket from him. It was late indeed. “Or do you want me to search for a hotel for you?” I looked at him, not saying a word. My body, my heart, was numb to even think about the consequences of following someone I don’t know. I just want to get this pain out of my heart. I just want to forget about Noah right now. He doesn’t deserve my trust. I hate him for what he did to me. I wish I had never met him.

Not a scratch. Exhausted, we both collapsed to the ground, surrounded by ancient books. When I pulled the book from the flames, I realized it wouldn't leave my hand. It was stuck to my palm. "Micha—" He stepped closer, ready to help, but I shook my head. "Relax. A book can't hurt me." If only I knew. The book began to move on its own. The pages beat like a heart. Heat spread across my palm, burning my skin.

Her chest felt too tight for her lungs, like her bones were a cage closing in. “Stop it,” she said, backing into the bedpost again. “Stop reading me—stop feeling me—stop whatever you’re doing.” He flinched as if she’d stabbed him a second time. “I’m not doing anything,” he said. “You’re doing it. You’re the one… burning through me.” Burning. That word made something inside her twist violently. Images flashed unbidden—torches in the clearing, his eyes in the dark, her own rage licking up like flame when she’d driven the spear into him.

Joanne’s POV The burning in my chest spread like wildfire, searing through every vein until I couldn’t tell where the pain ended and I began. The room spun in violent circles; the world narrowed to choking smoke, black edges closing in. I tried to pull myself out of the fire and the rubble it created in its path, but I knocked into something that halted me. I barely managed to glance up in time to see the bookshelf sway, a hulking shadow tilting forward, ready to crush me.