Fire In His Fingertips Books Novels & Stories

Before my eyes, my memories—moments with Lucas, our seaside home, our love—were being gathered in his palm like burning spheres of fire. As a final attempt, I detonated the “super-simulation” code within me. Flames burst through the gaps between the Original Father’s fingers. The entire lab shook violently. In that blinding white explosion, when I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the metallic city. I stood in an endless library—filled with billions of bookshelves. Every book was titled “Sophia.” I opened one book—it was the story of my life. I opened another—it described my death.

I yelled. He was already moving. A silent inferno of white-gold fire surged from him, engulfing the creatures advancing on the city. It wasn't a wild blaze, but a contained, controlled storm of annihilation. Turning to face the threat at our backs, I followed his lead. A wave of violet fire roared from my hands, and I focused its full, devouring power on the sentinel until not even a wisp of it remained.

Ruby read and was belwirded by each and every word, and she turned the pages, reading and processing every single word. After the Flames extinction, a prophecy was predicted that when the time is right. A Flame will rise from the ashes, A Hybrid, a flame and werewolf, born from a human bloodline. A Queen to both Witches and Werewolves. The Last Flame in existence shall rise and be reunited with her Ignis for they shall lead the wolves and the witches. Like a true King and Queen. She stopped reading and looked at the ceiling in amazement, "I am a freaking Queen?"

Our best bet would be if the sprinklers in response to the fire alarm would do their job properly . I was so concerned about the books catching fire that I didn't even process the fact that there was a fucking flame in her palm ! It wasn't burning her , it was just whirling around , bright red and orange colours playing with each other in fury . I should interrupt . I grab a book from the cart and stand a good 2 feet away from the men . I close one eye and position the book in front of me with my hand to make an aim . Perfect . I hurl the book as fast as I can and hear a groan in response .

My eyes snap open and my hands are on fire. Silver fire. The flames curl around my fingers like vines, weightless and bright. They flicker with light, not heat, and my heart stutters. Everyone is silent. Rhea stares, eyes wide with something between wonder and fear. "She’s doing it," she whispers. The flames ripple higher, sliding up my arms. They don’t hurt. They hum. Like they know me. I breathe. And that’s when it all goes wrong. The fire flares, too fast, too much. It jumps from my arms to the air around me. Moonstones crack. Wind whips across the courtyard. I hear someone shout. Rhea’s voice calling my name. The Elders moving. And then-

"You may be my fated mate but you aren't my mate." "No one will want you," Jarek snarls in my direction. "You are a freak." "I am a powerful freak," I say coolly. Clearing my head I breathe in deeply. I try to imagine fireballs bursting from my fingertips. I imagine how it would feel to hold the flames in my hands. How the fire would feel. I open my eyes and see that tiny sparks are erupting from my fingertips. I look down at my hands and then smile evilly back at Jarek.

Perse said. “He’s got more than five supernatural powers within him.” “Have you ever heard of Pyrokinesis?” Perse asked and I thought for a while. “Isn’t that the controlling of fire with mind? Or fire manipulation, something like that?” I asked and they both nodded. “He has that ability too” She whispered and a light gasp escaped my lips. “So be careful” she added and I nodded even though I didn't mean it. How dare he hurt me? He messed with the wrong girl, I’m going to have my pound of flesh, no matter what.

Prologue II: Pyre, 3113 Pyre Av 5, 3113 Stephan Caliphus, King Everything was on fire the night he finished the book in the back room of a borrowed house. He laid his glasses down on the desk in front of him and rubbed his tired eyes. The crackling of flames could be heard as the city burned all around them. The blood curdling screams of the men in the streets where they died was enough to make the blood of the fiercest warrior run cold, but he was a man of empathy and it hurt him more than it did the others.

And I needed to know what. The air shifted. I felt it before I saw anything. Like the moment before lightning strikes. That stillness. That hush. That breath the world takes. And then... Fire. It sparked from my fingers. Not big. Not flashy. Just... there. A flicker. An ember. Then another. I lifted my hand, palm up. The flame danced. Responded. To my thoughts. My fear. My anger. The more I felt, the more it grew. Until my whole hand was on fire.

His eyes burned with a fervent, almost religious zeal. He reached for my face, his fingers, cold and long, extending towards me. I twisted, my bound body straining against the invisible bonds, a surge of desperate energy bursting forth. Flames, sharp and silver, erupted from my hands, arcing towards him, but he was terrifyingly fast. With a casual flick of his wrist, he deflected the fire, and then, with blinding speed, his hands shot out, catching my wrists in an iron grip, forcing me still, the last remnants of my struggle dying in a frustrated whimper.