Romans & histoires Heir Of Fire Free Audiobook

What if it was true and not just some wild thought “Then I’ll pick you up jeez, you won’t even waste your car’s fuel” Rumors have it that if your blood is mutated, you get killed at night and your body is never found. I jumped up in fright after reading that, what if I’m mutated and I get killed “I’m having none of this” I whispered “Dude really?” I heard Sebastian grumble. I then remembered that I was speaking to someone on the phone “Uhm, you were saying?” I asked in an apologetic tone

The financial analyst who just wanted to live a quiet, useless life was dead. The only person left alive was Nathaniel Wentworth, the heir to Wentworth Group and the future leader of a business empire.

"Now, finish the audit. Darius is expecting those records by noon. We have a pack to restructure, and I suggest you decide very quickly if you’re going to be his partner or his conscience. Because in this house, there isn't room for both." He turned and left, leaving me in the silence of my father’s sins. I looked at the journal, then at the door leading to the library where Darius was currently dismantling my father’s legacy. The fire was no longer slow. It was a forest fire, and as I picked up the pen to begin the final audit, I realized I was no longer afraid of the heat. I was the one holding the flame.

Hadn't spoken since she told him what his grandfather had confessed. "Damien." Isabella's voice was soft. "We need to look." "I know." He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging strands from his bun. "I just need a minute." She waited. The penthouse was silent except for the distant hum of the city below. Somewhere out there, people were living their lives, unaware that the fate of an empire rested on a flash drive and the courage of two broken people. "Okay." Damien reached for the drive, plugging it into his laptop. "Let's see what my brother left behind."

“They want the heir. And they want you. For your blood. For the power it holds.” Elara’s scar burned, and she thought of Eleanor’s words: “The fire is born of light. Of blood.” “What do we do?” she said. “Embrace it.” The witch held out a leather-bound book, identical to Eleanor’s journals. “This belonged to your mother. She knew this day would come. Knew the fire would need a Voss to guide it.” Elara took the book, her fingers brushing the cover—embossed with a phoenix, just like the others. Inside, her mother’s handwriting, neat and precise:

Its crystal eyes flashed white, and a voice like grinding rocks filled her head: “Heir.” The word hit her like a shock. Liora screamed, falling to her knees. The journal burned her hands. The firelight twisted around her and the statues’ voices kept saying in her head, over and over, until it hurt: “Heir. Heir. Heir.” “Stop it!” Ash yelled, hitting a statue with his poker. It sparked, but the statue didn’t move, like he hit a mountain. Kael’s knife scratched a statue, but the blade broke. The statue didn’t even notice.

And a voice—neither loud nor gentle. “Heir” it said. “No,” I said again, louder. “I won’t.” The presence pressed harder. “You were made for this” it spoke. “I was made to live,” I snarled, anger cutting through the fear. “Not to be used.” The pressure spiked, testing and probing all parts of me Rael pulled me fully against him now, grounding, solid, real. His heartbeat thudded beneath my ear, anchoring me to flesh and breath and gravity.

The trials were over. Dorian stepped forward, raising both hands. “Let it be known, Cassia Nova Ashford is Flameborne by right, by blood, and by flame. She is heir to the golden fire. The prophecy has been fulfilled.” The sigil beneath Cassia turned gold. Her eyes, once deep brown, flickered with the light of the first fire. Nova ran forward, lifting her daughter. Liam wrapped them both in his arms. Tears. Laughter. Hope. And somewhere deep inside the shadows, even Dorian smiled.