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Thank you for reading book 1 in the VALE OF STARS. If you’d like to check out more of the VOS series and my other romantasy series, feel free to visit my website. New book news comes once a month in my newsletter if you’d like to subscribe.
Flame Kissed
ANNIE ANDERSON
Dear Reader,
This book is intended for readers aged 18 and older. Within these pages are situations containing effluent cursing, torture, blood, guts, gore, sex, love, despair, war, heartbreak, corruption, and death. If you are unable to handle these situations, I would advise putting this book down immediately.
Because shit’s about to get real.
All jokes aside, if you would like a full list of CW in this book, please find them HERE.
Prologue
AURELIA—1855
Fates, help me. They are going to kill each other.
Breath saws through my lungs as I whip my head, searching. The colors of the withering leaves tumble and writhe together as I stumble through the forest. I can’t see them, but I know they’re out there. Just like I know something is wrong.
I can’t find him. I can’t. I can’t.
But what’s more, I don’t want to find him—or rather them. I do not want to see another reality of a vision I will never change. I don’t want to confirm the truth that is painfully etching its way into my soul.
Dead leaves crunch beneath my feet as I scramble through the bedrock and crest the first foothill toward the outlook cliff.
Stupid skirt. Stupid slippery shoes.
I’m not moving quickly enough, but in my state, I’m surprised I can move at all. Cradling the swell of my belly, I try to climb faster, the stitch in my side nearly bringing me to my knees.
Where are they?
I stop and search the sky for them—for their flames, for their wings, but I know it’s too late. It is rapidly darkening to the inky black of evening of the early Autumn, and without the light from the moon tonight, I’ll never see as properly as I should.
A vision slams into my consciousness once more: my husband and his childhood friend, Rhys, locked in the heat of battle. I want to shout, but I’m lost to the depths of their conflict, and as my husband rains down a blow upon his friend, my eyes snap open. I’m overcome with disillusion at first, the phantom pains from the vision ripping through my flesh. Then I see the very real blood dripping down my arm.
But I’m alone. How can this be happening?
I hear and see no one, only the large gaping gash that has torn open my arm from wrist to elbow. The coppery bite of blood turns my stomach as the warm, sticky stream seeps past my fingers and drips onto the dirt.
Blackness clouds my vision for a moment, but I force myself to forget the constant pulse of my injury and pull myself together. Ripping a swath from my billowing skirt, I use the fabric to bind my arm in an effort to stem the bleeding. The navy-blue patterned fabric turns indigo from the blood quickly oozing from my wound.
I should already be healing, but I’m not.
Dread fills my gut as the nausea returns.
This is not good.
Picking myself up from the gritty forest floor, I rethink the panicked pace of before and plod forward at a more sedate pace. Running with this injury just isn’t possible. I’m already pushing it with this silly corset and dress, especially in my delicate condition.
As if impending motherhood was anything but delicate.
There.
The sound of Rhys and Lucien clashing together somewhere in the distance rings through my ears. If I don’t get there in time, I am certain they’ll kill each other. The chilling growl of an angry man drifts through the trees, and my feet carry me faster as if they have a mind of their own.
But when I get there, I realize I should never have stopped to catch my breath.
