Sylvia Day Crossfire Novel Novels & Stories

Stripes. Burning across my body like fire. The air itself seemed to change. The wolves hesitated. Just for a second. That was their mistake. I moved. Faster than before. Stronger. Unstoppable. I tore through them. No hesitation now. No strategy. Just dominance. One after another. They fell. Until only one remained. Celdor stepped forward. Finally. I tilted my head slightly, blood dripping from my jaw. “You should have stayed hidden.” He didn’t respond.

The subsequent explosion would decimate the surrounding block into a heap of ash and dust, leaving the rest of us to navigate through the flames and smoke. “I can’t help it,” Rachel said with a sigh as she shook her head and gave us a reluctant cringe. “You’d better work on it because if she doesn’t come back because you’re being a raving bitch-” I started before David cut me off. He sent me a look before turning to Rachel. “She’s angry and you’re the last person that should be provoking her,” he added, giving Rachel an exasperated look. “She’s angry because you had some sick idea that the only way to drive her away was to have sex with another woman,” she retorted with a scowl. “I’d be fuck

And when she pulled back, breathing ragged, she said: “You’re not the only one who can play with fire, Damian.” Their eyes locked. And in that moment, something changed. They weren’t predator and prey anymore. They were two beasts tangled in the same sin—burning, dangerous, and doomed. Outside, the storm that had been brewing all night finally broke—thunder rattled the windows, wind howled against the mansion walls. Inside, two people who should never have touched were unraveling each other in silence. And neither of them knew— Vivienne Cross was still alive. Watching. Waiting.

Suddenly, a firm hand gripped her head, cutting off her thoughts— And then— ~FSHUUUUU!~ “ARGGHHHHHH!!!” Heat seared through her head as the hand that held her burned through her hair and began to dig into her flesh. Smoke came out of her burning skin as simmering sounds echoed within the room. “STOOOOPP! I’LL TAAALLLK! I’ll… I’ll talk…” As the searing heat ceased, Sylvia was left with the lingering sensation of burning, both physical and mental.

Clara Vale lived on the 12th floor of an old, rundown building in downtown São Paulo. At 32, she was the undisputed queen of bestselling erotic romances. Her books sold by the thousands: Fuck Me Until Dawn, where the protagonist was destroyed by a mafioso with a 23-centimeter cock; Fireman’s Dick — the irony of fate hitting hard now — and her most recent one, Emergency Orgasm, which had spent three straight weeks at the top of the charts.

SELENE. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting golden streaks across the sheets. For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in it, letting the warmth seep into my skin and lull me into a sense of fleeting peace. The night had been… intense. Overwhelming. Consuming. I was ravaged by the beast called Damien Cross, and my sore thighs were proof of that. And for a few stolen seconds, it felt natural, like a life I had no right to imagine.

It wasn’t her though; it was Osline, but it’s still the same thing. I had to burn my hand to match the exact pain she’s probably feeling, to punish myself. I know it’s crazy, but like I said, I can’t help it. After I rinse away the spilled coffee, I open the cupboard and pull out my lighter. For a moment my stomach drops. I stare at it, heart racing in my ribs. I flick the flame and press it to my arm. I hold back my scream as it keeps burning me. This is what happens when I can’t stop thinking about ‘her’ I have to hurt myself until I can stop.

Maya woke Saturday morning to gray light and the sound of rain. She lay still, listening. The drops were steady. Today was the last day. Tomorrow, she would leave. Her phone buzzed. David: Same spot. Noon. Bring the book. She sat up. The floor was cold. She pulled on socks. The book was on her nightstand. David's copy. The margins filled with his handwriting. She'd read it again last night. His notes. His thoughts. The things he'd underlined.

Against one of them, maybe I might have had a chance, but both of them are tougher to fight off, especially since they both can openly use their wolf strength, while I have to repress my own. They grab me by the shoulders and stretch out my arms. “Such pretty skin,” Sylvia says, looking at my arms. “Truly, this hurts me more than it hurts you.” She lowers the lit end of the cigarette down to my arm. I brace myself, yet I’m still unprepared for the searing pain. Again and again, she jabs the fiery end at me, all but stamping the cigarette out straight on my skin. Tears well in my eyes. It burns! I’d cry out, but who would listen? Who would care?

The silence of The Crossroads clinic shattered under the weight of Silas’s scream. Leo held him down, not restraining, but anchoring, as the terror of the phantom purple fire consumed him. Petrova moved swiftly, another sedative needle finding its mark. Silas’s arching body went slack, the desperate cries subsiding into whimpers, then silence, broken only by his ragged, too-fast breathing. Leo brushed sweat-soaked hair from Silas’s forehead, his own heart hammering against his ribs. *"Find the weak... make them burn from the inside..."* Thorne’s promise, seared into Silas’s broken mind, was a countdown ticking in Leo’s skull.