Die In A Fire Lyrics Novels & Stories

The daughter of my father's first love suffered from heatstroke because she was left in the car, so he tied me up in a fit of anger and locked me in the car boot. He looked at me with utter disgust and said, "I don't have a vicious daughter like you. Stay here and reflect on yourself." I begged him, apologized to him, and pleaded for him to let me out, but all I got in return was his ruthless order. "Unless she dies, no one is allowed to let her out." The car was parked in the garage. No one could hear me no matter how much I screamed for help. Seven days later, he finally remembered me and decided to let me out. However, he had no idea that I had already died in that trunk and could never wake up again.

After the young officer Edward Shaw took first place in a high-profile shooting exhibition attended by senior officials, his family adopted a rather peculiar tradition. At the annual family banquet, he would perform a blindfolded shooting. Whichever woman's token his bullet struck was taken as a sign that she would become his fiancée. Determined to marry him, I placed the handkerchief I had carefully chosen as close to him as possible. Yet, for three consecutive years, his shots hit nothing at all. I told myself the handkerchief must have been too light, too easy to miss. So each year, I replaced it with something more refined, more eye-catching than before. That illusion lasted until the night before my eighteenth birthday, when I happened to overhear him speaking with a friend at a reception. "Miss Jasmine's handkerchief is right in front. Even blindfolded, you should be able to hit it. How do you keep missing every year?" Edward swirled his glass, his tone casual. "Tracy's still young. The moment she hears I'm getting engaged, she starts crying. "I promised I'd wait until she's a little older. As for Jasmine, she's waited for me all these years. It's not like she's going anywhere." With that, he casually tossed his glass into a metal bucket in the corner. It rang out with a sharp, hollow clang. I lowered my gaze and thought of my younger sister, only a year younger than me. So it had never been about the token. It was about the person who placed it there. In that case, there was no reason for me to keep holding on. After all, my father had already arranged a marriage for me. Three days later, at that same family banquet, I would be formally engaged.

Mom and Aunt Denise Taylor fell off the balcony in the midst of their heated argument. Dad rushed in just as they hit the ground, each with a broken arm. Without hesitation, he left Mom behind and hurriedly took Denise to the hospital instead. Later, Mom filed for divorce. Dad's face twisted in anger as he yelled, "Enough, Nicole! So what if you broke an arm and can't hold a scalpel anymore? What's the big deal? Dee is a genius designer. If she had lost her hand, her life would've been over! Of course, I had to save her first!" Watching all this in my ghostly state, I couldn't help but laugh. Did Dad really think that Mom had only lost the use of her hand? Mom didn't just lose her hand. She lost me. After all, I had severe heart failure, and the only person who could perform the life-saving surgery was Mom, the medical master herself. But none of that matters now, because I'm already gone.

My mother had a rare disease. After months of dead ends, I found one person in the country who could treat her. She told me there was a price. She said she needed a husband. I agreed. For my mother, I agreed. For six years I was her ATM. I bought her the bags. I bought her the watches. It got worse. She used my money to keep a kept man. She brought him into our bed. The day my mother had her last surgery, she walked out of the operating room halfway through to go celebrate her lover's birthday. The moment they pronounced my mother dead, I decided there and then, she was paying for that with her life.

When Joy Staton, my adoptive sister, fainted in the freezer on her birthday, William Staton, my brother, checked on the security footage in rage. The moment he saw that I was the one who took Joy into the freezer, he kicked me inside without hesitation. Before shutting the door, he stared at me in disgust. “You’ve been pushing your luck a lot these days, huh? If I’d been a second too late, Joy would’ve died!” I wanted to defend myself, but William refused to listen and slammed the door shut. I heard him talking to the bodyguards outside. “If she doesn’t apologize, don’t let her out!” But he did not know that Joy had set the freezer to –58 °F. I did not even have the strength to complain about the freezer being cold. William did not know that the sister he once loved dearly had stopped breathing in the freezer. He had killed his only blood relative left in the world.

Her eyes widened in horror. The sound was unmistakable — the snap of a belt buckle, the hiss of it being undone. Then came the crash of fabric hitting stone. Terror exploded in her chest. She struggled violently, chains biting into her wrists until blood slicked her palms. Her chest heaved, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Ezra pressed harder, his knee locking her in place. One hand clenched her throat — not enough to choke, but enough to remind her she could not escape. His breath was ragged, wild, as if possessed. “You feel it too,” he growled against her skin. “Don’t lie to me, Nova. Your body wants this. You want me.” No. No, no, no. Her body burned, but it wasn’t for him. It was the cursed bond, the fire belonging to another. And that other… Her eyes filled with tears. Her lips shaped a silent prayer: Kilian. The bond within her surged like wildfire. Her chest arched, a gasp tearing from her throat. She felt it — claws raking down her soul, a storm breaking in her veins. He was here. He had come for her. *** Nova is a skilled hunter, fierce and independent, yet unaware of her true nature and the extraordinary destiny that awaits her. Humiliated by her fellow hunter colleagues for refusing to kill innocent wolves, she flees — only to be rescued by Kilian, the feared Lycan King. Thrust into his world, she must prove herself and earn her place within his pack, all while navigating the sharp wit, teasing sarcasm, and growing tension between them. Kilian is powerful, commanding, and fiercely protective, yet finds himself drawn to Nova in ways he cannot explain. Their connection develops slowly, charged with banter, challenges, and unacknowledged desire. But Nova is far more special and powerful than anyone could have predicted. Her choices, and the bond she shares with Kilian, will shape the fate of their world — deciding whether to destroy it, or to revolutionize and transform it for the better. As they uncover enemies deeply rooted in their lives, they must rely on their bond, courage, and love to face what comes next.

Our company was having a team building event in the Huka Islands, where every employee would get their own room. As I prepared to check in, my colleague from the same department, Yvonne Caruso, suddenly snatched my ID from my hand. "The rooms are full. The rest of you should find another hotel." I did not say anything much but took my ID back to hand it to the employee working behind the front desk. "One room, please. Thank you." However, Yvonne pushed me away viciously and berated me, "I told you to get lost. Are you deaf?!" I was not prepared for it, and I hit the corner of the front desk hard. I felt a sharp pain in my waist and immediately lost my temper. Yvonne was infuriated when I pushed her back, and she roared at me, "How dare you push me! My dad is the real boss behind this company. He's the Don of the Carusos. Cross me and you won't even see it coming when you die!" I was taken aback and broke out with laughter a second later. The Don of the Carusos, Ian Caruso, was my father. Why did I have no idea that he had another daughter apart from me?

Lucifron was one of the best friends of Hanna, the daughter of Boris, the Dragon King of the Southern Clan. Emotionless and stoic-faced, his only ambition was to follow in his father\'s footsteps and become the next General of King Boris's troops. An invitation to attend an Alpha title change party coming from his friend Ryan's pack, leads him to leave Dragons Island for the first time in his life and to find his fireheart in one of the guests, Gary, the Red River Pack's Alpha. A dragon and a werewolf was something he didn't think was worthy of a future General, but the attraction of the flame that would complete his heart and knowing that that man would be his only chance for love during his long dragon life, makes him avoid turning his back. Would Gary be able to prove to Lucifron that a werewolf heart could burn bright too? Can a wolf's heart contain the flame that will complete Lucifron's heart? Is he really able to be his firehart?

My name is Elena, and I died at twenty-two. My parents forced me to take my foster sister’s place and traded me for a territorial alliance. My mate was the most volatile heir of the wolf packs. Beaten bloody and fading fast, I made my eighth call for help. At my adopted sister Seraphina’s birthday party, she played the recording of my final, groveling plea—and laughed. My parents listened to those desperate calls with nothing but irritation, dismissing each one as theatrics, an inconvenience unworthy of their time. My brother snarled over the phone, “Then just die already!” So I did. In the end, it was my three-year-old daughter who made the final call—using her smartwatch to video my mother, live-streaming the freezer where my severed head lay. Now, my spirit watches from above as they all, one by one, begin to unravel.

The operation had just gone dark when the chatter started in the comms. “Easy, Zane. Don’t burn through another mattress.” A low laugh came through the headset. Relaxed. Careless. “I’ve been deployed for six months. I needed the release. And don’t let my wife hear that.” More laughter. “Right. Take care of the little mistress first, then call home and play devoted husband?” My phone rang. His voice when I answered was warm. Intimate. Soft in a way it never was on the field. He said he missed me. Said he counted the days until he could come home. I watched the live drone feed while he said it. What he didn’t know was that three months ago, I had quietly transferred into the family’s Strategic Intelligence division. Every operation his crew ran, I was the one behind the monitors—tracking shipments, rerouting safehouses, intercepting rival signals, listening to every word spoken over secured lines. The first night he slept with her, I logged the timestamp. 00:43 hours. When the call ended, I dialed another number—encrypted, family internal. “I’ll accept your offer,” I said calmly. “After this job, I’m stepping away.” The voice on the other end was steady. Controlled. Powerful. “You’ll leave after the Palermo Capture,” he replied. “I’ll personally see to your relocation.” A pause. “Three days.”