Wings Of Fire Pictures Novels & Stories

They flare on either side of me and when I stand, the points arch to encompass a wide scope of the ground, causing the others to back away in shock. Because I have wings. Wings of fire.

Give in. I closed my eyes and felt him deep inside me. I felt him clawing away in there, and I let go, dropping whatever barrier was holding him back. A ring of fire spread across my eyes. My entire body was a light yellow fire with bright orange and red tips. Wings erupted from my shoulder blades, spreading wide beside me. They were covered in orange and deep red flames. Every step I took turned the sand on the shore into glass.

I was floating in the air with golden angelic wings made of fire spread out and protruding from my back. What the actual fuck?!

That little motion was my signal to myself and I pulled at my inner fire, calling it into place the second my foot hit the dirt. Flames of brilliant violet burst out all around me, surrounding every piece of silver I had on, as well as the entire sword. This was the reason why I had nothing but plain silver adornments on, because I was using them as place holders for my fire. They were heavy and cold against my skin, giving me precise locations to focus my inner flames on. So now I stood before the audience with purple flames around my ankles and wrists, with more swallowing the small earrings and thin silver threads that were hanging in my hair.

She shot him a smile, “Well if I don't get something else soon, all the parts that make me womanly will be out for all to see.” “Ah! I see. As I said, we will see what we can muster up.” Albian motioned for her, “If you will climb onto Foxfire, we will be off.” Evrah threw up her hands, “What? We are riding on her back?” It was then she had noticed the large furry copper wings. She had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. She wasn't. They were there. Foxfire, to show it wasn't a ruse, slowly waved her wings a bit.

I braced myself, but no amount of preparation could stop the flood of images that hit me. Flames. The forest, once green and alive, was engulfed in a violent blaze. The sky above was black with smoke, the heat of the fire suffocating. I watched as the trees that had stood for centuries collapsed into ash, their mighty forms reduced to nothing. And amidst the destruction, there were wolves—wolves from both packs, Silverclaw and Draven’s, locked in a battle of pure chaos. Their howls pierced through the roar of the flames, cries of pain and anger that chilled me to my core.

Ambrose merely looked to that wall of flames, as a faint glowing figure slowly materialized before them. Eyes blazing brighter than The Seer's white orbs, hair glowing brighter than any ruby you have ever seen, skin illuminated like a candle in the darkness. Great sweeping wings of fire , stretching almost the entire width of the Assembly room, had more Ardanams crying out for mercy. Fire encircled wherever she stood, her steps bringing her ever closer to the stage. Her dress flickered and billowed around her, playing in and among her flames. A wickedly delighted smile curved on her lips, just as a vibrant and blazing crown of fire circled her head. The Pheonix had arrived.

The moment the last drop hit the fire, the Pack Soul exploded with life. The flames shot up, higher than I’d thought possible, roaring with such intensity that I could feel the heat against my skin. The wind tore through the clearing, and the flames began to shift, molding into the shape of a massive, ferocious wolf. Its glowing form howled towards the heavens before shifting, transforming into a stunning phoenix with wings of fire.

Rhett coughed out. Aislen shook her head and jumped to grasp the top of the wall and pull herself up. The bricks were warm under her skin, almost enough to burn. Within the courtyard, there was a scorch mark radiating out from a central point, where Ember stood utterly naked, wings spread. The wings were not wings as Samuel’s were, like those of a bat covered in black membrane, rather Ember’s wings were those of fire, the flickering flame generating enough heat to lift the ends of her long red hair.

You cannot… It didn’t finish, because the fire moved from us. The white blaze poured outward, sculpting itself into form. Wings, yes, but not of flame alone. They carried weight, shape, bone made of light, feathers cut from fire. They unfurled behind us, vast enough to brush the hollow walls, each beat scattering roots like brittle twigs. The girl gasped, her voice a ragged prayer. “Saints… you’re… ” But she couldn’t name it, neither could I.