Love That Burns Against Fate Novels & Stories

But because my sister, Raven Webster, thought Snowviper was too terrifying to look at, she stole Blazewing for herself. A month later, the whole world turned hotter, and the heatwave apocalypse began. Snowviper's power, just like his name, could lower the temperature within ten feet of him, creating a living shield against the burning world. Blazewing, on the other hand, carried the opposite—heat and fire. Raven took Blazewing, but she died of heat stroke in the heatwave apocalypse, while I survived thanks to Snowviper's cooling power. In her final moments, Raven was convinced I had stolen her husband. She whispered poison into Snowviper's ear, and he killed me.

“You think I would betray him.” His smile widened, terrible and beautiful. “Not betray. Save. Only with me can you hold him. Only with me can you break the fate that seeks to break you both.” The ground quaked. Flames burst in the ash, not red, not gold, but black. They curled around me, hungry, familiar. My own fire. Tainted. Twisted. I screamed, trying to smother it, but it only grew, pouring from my palms, my veins, the mark blazing like a brand.

“We both know you wouldn’t dare.” “Try me,” she whispered with a wicked smile, then kissed him hard. Their bodies moved with practiced rhythm. This wasn’t love,it was lust, greed, and power games all wrapped into one heated exchange. Clothes flew off. Moans filled the room. And when it was over, they lay there breathless, not from emotion, but from the thrill of getting everything they wanted without consequences. Tamara lit a cigarette, took a drag, and handed it to Rumero. “So what’s next?”

Smoke filled my lungs—thick, black, choking. Five months pregnant, I woke to the scent of burning pine and sacred oak smoldering. Through the haze, I saw her: Eira, my fated mate’s foster sister, his “little sister of the pack,” pouring accelerant on our den threshold. I didn’t call him. Last life, I screamed through our bond. Cassian—my fated mate, my Alpha, the wolf I’d loved since we were six—came for me. Pulled me from the flames while Eira burned to charcoal behind us.

And I did. It was messy, desperate, nothing like the neat fantasies I’d allowed myself to imagine. We didn’t slow down, we didn’t pause to think, we simply burned. And when it was over, when the fire ebbed just enough to breathe, my forehead rested against his chest, and my lungs dragged in frantic gulps of air. Every brush of his mouth, every drag of his fingers against me was reckless, forbidden, perfect. “Tell me to stop,” he breathed against my skin, even as his body betrayed the words, trembling with restraint that was already cracking.

“Love is a flame. Power is ice. The closer a man draws to the crown, the more the flame dies. And if it doesn’t... the ice breaks him.” “Boris isn’t ice,” I said. “He’s fire.” “Then he’ll melt,” she said flatly. I shook my head, defiant despite the searing pain. “Yes, he’ll melt the ice before it breaks him! You’re wrong. He wouldn’t betray me. Neither for power, nor for your games.”

And for one, stuttering heartbeat, I wished she hadn’t. Because they weren’t the same. Still green—still hers—but threaded through with something bright and merciless, like a star trying to burn its way out. It looked at me. Through me. And I hated that some twisted, broken part of me wasn’t afraid. I sat beside her, forcing my hands steady as I wrapped the last strip of linen around her arm. The burns there were deep, black-edged and angry, like the fire hadn’t just scorched her skin but claimed a piece of her soul on the way out.

Leaving only the burn marks where her kiss had branded me. I whispered into the silence, voice breaking “Rory, come back to me.” No answer. Only shadow. Only ache. Only a single burning question ringing like fate: When she chooses… will she save me or kill me? Why does liking him feel like killing him? I used to believe love healed. Now I know love can break bones. Love can cut deep. Love can pull blood from the heart and call it dedication. I never meant to hurt him. Not with my power. Not with my kiss.

Her hand pressed over mine, sealing it like a vow. “We need to burn it all,” she whispered, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes as she bent to kiss my forehead. Her rosary beads brushed against my temple, cool against the fever heat. For a moment, I let myself believe her, that the fire could cauterize every wound, every betrayal, every ghost still tearing at me from the inside. But when she pulled back, when the room went quiet but, I knew the truth. You can burn flesh. You can burn bone. But you can’t burn love.

The fire roars in response, surging higher, brighter, heat slamming into my skin like a living force. The pain becomes unbearable. It’s not just heat—it’s memory. Instinct. Fate itself fighting back. Images flash behind my eyes: moonlit forests, running on four legs, golden eyes watching from the dark. A bond forming without permission, without mercy. I scream. Ashton does too. The fire turns white-hot. “Speak the rejection,” Maereth shouts over the roar. “Or the moon will claim you both!” My voice shakes—but it holds. “I reject this bond,” I cry. “I reject the claim, the pull, the destiny forced upon me. I would burn before I accept it.”