Touch Of Flame Novels & Stories

The flames seem alive, dancing with a mesmerizing energy that draws me in, making it impossible to look away. I trace the pattern with my fingers, following it along the curve of my neck and down toward my collarbone. The tendrils of flame aren’t just etched into my skin—they’re a part of me, living and breathing, pulsing… when I touch it, my mind instinctively goes to Eamon. “Explain,” I state simply.

I know he's doing it for show because he already looked for that prophecy in his own library and told me how he one hundred percent believes that's me, "I must admit... this makes more sense to me. When the rogues trespassed my pack, Ivy believed they were going to take her and our son. She wanted nothing more than to protect him, and that is the only time I've seen her create such a huge fire. Other than that, she can produce the small flame River talked about." "Yes, this," I say and lift my hand, producing Baby Flame. I don't miss the way everyone jumps, "It's like my child. If I tell him not to burn you, it won't. Look... Alpha Winston, try it. Touch it. It won't burn." Nobody believes m

We dismounted built a fire from the last dry wood we could scavenge low flames that barely pushed back the dark. Flame stirred as I settled her near the fire silver violet eyes opening glowing faintly. “Mommy?” she whispered tiny voice sleepy, trusting. I knelt brushing her cheek. “Soon, little flame. Mommy’s coming.” She smiled small vines curling tighter around my wrist then Kael’s then drifting toward Riven. Riven knelt letting the vine touch his palm. “Rest, little flame,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.” Flame sighed eyes closing light dimming again.

As the fire raged fiercely, I took my husband's hand and tried to rush out of the banquet hall with him. However, Frank Winston shook me off and turned to run toward his assistant, Johanna Scott. As I stood frozen in disbelief, the cabinet beside me collapsed with a rumble and pinned me beneath it. I yelled out for Frank, but he simply picked Johanna up and hurried off without a single glance back at me. Flames and thick smoke enveloped me. I watched helplessly as Frank and Johanna moved further and further away until I eventually lost consciousness.

The flame pulsed faintly, responsive, aware, as if it recognised the gravity of what she was asking it to do, like it waited not for permission but for certainty. “Just like before,” she whispered to herself, her voice quieter now, worn thin with exhaustion. “Just… close it.” She pressed her finger along the line. The reaction was immediate. The skin sealed beneath the heat, not burning away, not charring, but melting together in a smooth, controlled fusion that followed the path of her touch. The white flame sank into the wound as she moved, not devouring but judging, as though deciding what was allowed to remain, leaving behind a clean line where torn flesh had been moments before.

But now it's ugly and dirty. Liam reached out and tugged at the handkerchief stuffed in Sylvia's mouth, repeating in a joking tone. "Thirsty… right? Would you like some water?" Liam swings the water bottle in front of Sylvia, provoking them. "Please… give me water!" Sylvia's throat burned, she begged in a low voice. "Here's your water…!" Liam brought the water bottle closer to Sylvia and suddenly poured it all on the poor girl. Sylvia's whole body trembled. Her long, wet hair was grabbed by Liam, tugging at her brain.

he said simply. My breath hitched he lifted a hand, slow as melting ice, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers barely grazed my skin, but it felt like fire. I didn’t pull away.“Rule broken,” I whispered, voice shaky.“Only the no-touching one,” he replied, lips curving. “Still plenty left.”I laughed—actually laughed, a small, breathless sound that surprised us both. The tension cracked, just a little, letting in air, but the crack let in other things too, because in the next heartbeat, the lights flickered once, twice,then the power went out.

Stephen said, "Or are you holding out for him, keeping yourself pure?" The words pierced Elaine's inner turmoil like a needle. She paused, her heart racing, and then she made her move. With a boldness that surprised even herself, she cradled his face, rose on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his. Passion did not always need love to ignite into a blazing fire. Elaine had not touched a drop of alcohol that night, yet she felt utterly drunk at the moment. Lost in the intensity, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her short nails carving fervent trails across his skin.

But we both knew that this was the last time we would ever be this close, the last time we would ever share something so intimate. The passion between us ignited like a spark to dry kindling, and for a brief moment, the world outside this room didn’t exist. There was only us—our love, our pain, our need for each other. I could taste the salt of our tears as our lips moved together, the kiss becoming more desperate, more raw, as we both fought against the inevitable.

However, before I even reached the front entrance, I saw black smoke billowing out of the blazing house. Immediately, I thought about my son, Harrison Ellis, who should be sleeping in his room. Wasting no time, I drenched a piece of tissue to cover my nose and mouth before rushing in. As soon as I entered the living room, I could feel the flames licking at my skin. The pain intensified as boils soon formed on my red, swollen skin. Every time I breathed in, it felt as though I were inhaling burning hot coals. Even my throat felt like it'd been scalded, causing so much pain that I couldn't even speak. My tears flowed uncontrollably.