Light My Fire Book Novels & Stories

Alice snapped Kingston roll his eyes and walked away from her sight “You really won’t say anything about It?” Alice asked Kingston didn’t say a word “Fine,,goodbye” Alice said and turned back She walked away Kingston fold his fists angrily,,his hands which was placed on the table started bringing out some flames of fire,,his eyes and hair turning red. The table was almost catching fire when the door opened again and Alice c@m£ in “I c@m£ to take my book,,,,” she st©pped when she saw Kingston and her eyes wi-de-ned

To her greatest bewilderment, it didn’t seem like it was totally irrelevant and it read thus; “let me start by saying a very big sorry to you. It’s me Ekaris, I was the one that called earlier during the day. This is what I should have done earlier before now, but the courage and morale to do that was lacking in me. I feared how grieved and angry you were and probably you are …. I never meant all those stuffs to happen regardless that they have. It was my foolishness, selfishness and I that should be blamed….most especially me for possessing such bad and insane qualities. Whatever you feel right now is right, I really deserve no mercy. I know right from time, I couldn’t just do things on my

The pain doubled and she instinctively let out a curse. Lifting her palms off the street to inspect them, she could already feel a burning sensation beginning to spread. Her hands were covered in the dirty water, but it didn't conceal the road burns she had received. She tried to brush the dirt off her skin before it got inside her cuts, but it was no use. Arder looked away from her hands in time to see the red street light change to green. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to get off the ground. Once safe on the sidewalk once more, she felt a weight on her shoulder.

Somewhere in the mess, a candle lay knocked over, wax hardened against the side. Then came the image again: Cassie and Ledger, laughing, holding hands. That stupid kiss. Her fingers flicked the lighter and a flame burst forth. Then she released her finger. She repeated the motions a few more times before leaving the flame on. Her eyes fell on the book shelf and before she knew it, she was setting the books on fire. “Let’s see how perfect she looks when everything’s gone.” The flames caught on the curtains and then began to spread. There was smoke and heat.

My gaze drifted to the desk in the corner of the room where General Caldert’s brown journal rested, worn-out and untouched. The urge to open it and read it again overwhelmed me. Answers waited there. Truths I hadn’t yet faced. Then memory slammed into me just as hard. The seal. The blinding pain. The way darkness had swallowed my sight the instant I read the very first line— I was the fire… My fingers curled into my palm, and flecks of flame sparked to life between them, dancing restlessly against my skin. I clenched my hand tighter, forcing the fire down before it got out of hand.

Rex stood beside me, his presence a quiet strength. ‎ ‎Today was the day I had dreaded and longed for: the passing of the flame. ‎ ‎I had carried the Lycan light for seventy years, since the night it woke in me. It had healed lands, sealed veils, mended hearts. But it was time. The light was meant to pass on, not hoard. ‎ ‎I raised my hands, the glow soft but bright, wrapping around me like a cloak. ‎ ‎“Long ago,” I began, my voice carrying without effort, “I was a girl called cursed. I carried pain, loss, fear. But I learned that light isn’t the absence of darkness. It’s the choice to burn anyway.”

But his eyes always flick to the satchel at my side, then away again. They think I’m grieving. Mourning. Fragile. They’re half right. At night, when the fires burn low and the camp quiets to snores and the occasional cough of the wounded, I open the tome. Not by lantern light—too risky, too bright. I wait until the last torch gutters out, until the only glow is the faint violet shimmer that clings to my own fingertips now, like foxfire on a grave. The pages drink that light and give it back brighter, clearer. The script seems to move when I stare too long, letters curling like smoke before settling into meaning.

Of her. She flipped through pages drawn in charcoal—some with shaking hands, some with precision. One page showed a girl surrounded by flame. Her eyes were glowing. Her silhouette, familiar. “What is this?” she asked. “It’s the record of the Fireborn,” he said. “There’s only ever one in a generation. Sometimes none. It skips centuries. But when the world begins to change—when things grow restless—that fire finds a home.” She closed the journal, her heart thudding. “Why me?”

Not waiting to behold the fallout, I scramble out of the dining room, fleeing back to the nursery. Once back in the room, I ignite a taper from the room's only wall sconce. I make my way to my dark cell, lighting the little oil lamp on the nightstand next to my sleeping pallet. The small oil lamp sheds enough light for me to open my newly acquired trunk and grab another woolen tunic. I change and performing a cursory exam of the fading burn marks on my thighs, relieved that the soup is not any hotter because this is a time where I could die from a splinter.

The lighter tumbled on the grass. “ELAINE, STOP!” But I didn’t. I forced my hand to pick up the lighter. After three tries, the colors of the flame danced in my eyes. And I dropped it on my feet. In one swift motion, bright light erupted. One moment, I was just wet with gasoline. But now, I am screaming. Screaming from the pain of the fire, burning. I am burning, a beacon amid the dark forest. A wild flame, in flesh and bones, dancing above the grass.