Immortal Fire
"A Destiny Forged in Flames"
Tara Adams thought her biggest challenge was basketball camp… until a Master Soulless claimed her as his bride. Swept into danger, she finds herself protected by Lucian Nortson — a Celtic demigod who breaks every rule to keep her safe.
As the Blood Moon rises, passion and peril ignite. Will love be strong enough to set their world ablaze?
Sample Chapters
PROLOGUE
500 BC, Northern Territory, Europe
Snow drifted softly across the small village pressed against the blackened river. The round moon, faintly orange, slipped in and out of stringy clouds. Silence wrapped the homes in an eerie calm.
Against a jagged rock formation, a tall, slender man waited. Thick flakes landed on his shoulders, melting into the thin shirt that marked him as out of place. His gray eyes fixed on a shack to the west—a single-room hut with a chimney leaning to one side. He stared, expectant, as though time itself were holding its breath.
Restless, he pulled a golden watch from his pocket. The ticking hands glinted in the moonlight before he tucked it away again.
Minutes passed. A figure slipped around the edge of the shack. A heavy robe concealed her, but her dancer-like movements betrayed a woman. He straightened, watching her crouch at the door. For a heartbeat, she lingered—and then vanished. His eyes widened. Shock froze him, disbelief holding him longer than he wished, before suspicion narrowed his gaze.
The door creaked open. A sliver of light spilled across the snow. A small, round woman filled the doorway, her head turning left, then right, searching. At last, she looked down. A bundle lay at her feet. She bent, lifting a baby into her arms. Her face glowed with a love more radiant than he had ever seen in a human.
When the door closed, the watcher drew a folded paper from his breast pocket. He checked off a name, lips curling into a pale grin. His gray eyes shimmered gold, the light spilling faintly into the snow, before he vanished from the frozen land.
CHAPTER 1
The mild summer night carried a hint of humidity. Yellow streetlights dusted the vacant buildings and narrow alleys of the old town.
Tara hurried along the street, her feet tapping lightly against the concrete. She was headed back to the campus dorm where she was staying for two weeks.
The basketball camp was strict—ten days of drills from dawn to dusk, with only two hours to unwind before lights out. Rules forbade leaving the dorm without a chaperone, so sneaking out with her teammates to a nearby club had been easy to justify.
A door slammed behind her. The tiny hairs on her neck rose as she froze, glancing back. The alley lay empty, the pale glow of a streetlight catching the single door. Silence pressed in from all sides.
She inhaled and forced herself forward. A thought flickered through her mind: Now’s the time girls get whacked in the movies…
With each step, Tara wished she’d stayed at the club. But it wasn’t her scene.
At seventeen, she didn’t party like other girls. Even Nora—her best friend and the mastermind behind the sneak out—called her “not normal.” Tonight, Tara agreed.
After all, it didn’t take a normal person to walk the alleys of Knoxville’s oldest quarter alone at one in the morning.
No. I’m insane.
Her footsteps echoed louder now, thick thumps bouncing off the block walls. The sound surrounded her, quickening her pulse as she picked up her pace.
She rounded the corner—and froze. Three boys stood waiting, pale faces stretched into smiles. Tara’s eyes widened.
She stopped short, her voice caught in her throat. Finally, she managed, “Excuse me,” and tried to sidestep past them.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” asked the boy, his eyes as pale as his face.
“I’m meeting someone,” Tara said, pushing forward.
Another boy stepped in, cutting her off. His tall frame loomed over her, shrinking her down despite her height.
“Don’t leave,” he murmured, his voice humming with a strange pull.
The sound wrapped around her, draining her fight. For a moment she surrendered to it—and the surrender terrified her. What are you doing? she thought, shaking her head to clear the fog. “I have to go.”
The third boy blocked her path. His thin nose hooked like a bird’s beak, his glare sharp. “You’ll stay,” he said, smiling wide enough to reveal fangs.
Tara stumbled back, eyes locked on teeth that belonged in a movie.
The first boy’s grin deepened. “For a bite.”
Tara’s eyes darted between the three as they pressed her back against the brick wall. Her breath came in gusts, her heart thundering against her chest. When the rough stone scraped her shoulders, her fingers clawed at it for anchor.
“Get away from me,” she blurted.
They only smiled, inhaling her scent. Their eyes bled to black as fangs slid down, glistening with saliva.
A sudden gust whipped through the alley, chilling her skin. A scream rose in her throat—but fear strangled it silent. Her gaze flicked wildly. Run? Where?
She watched their movements, their steady breaths, their unblinking stares. This can’t be real. Vampires didn’t exist. It’s fake. It has to be.
Tara drew in a breath, forcing her fear down. “Where are the cameras?” she asked, smiling as the boys exchanged confused glances. “Ha, ha. You got me.” She exhaled sharply. “You can come out now.” She shoved the middle boy back.
The instant her palms met his body, a chill shot through her. Her hands froze against him—cold, hard, like stone. People didn’t feel that way. Her wide eyes lifted slowly to meet his narrowed gaze.
The taller boy’s hand lashed out, clamping her throat. Lightning fast, he lifted her off the ground and slammed her against the wall. Tara gasped, gripping his wrist, kicking at his solid frame. Each strike landed as if against nothing.
His eyes bored into hers as he leaned close. “I assure you, I am very real,” he growled, his breath choking her.
She thrashed, nails digging into his flesh, but his grip only tightened. Her vision blurred, her chest straining for air.
“Don’t kill her,” one voice murmured. “I want a taste.”
“The blood’s sweeter when they’re kicking,” another added.
The last thing Tara saw before darkness claimed her was the vampire’s smile.
​
CHAPTER 2
Lucian’s senses flared as he rounded the corner. The night air was thick with the stench of bloodsuckers—his kind called them the Soulless.
Soulless were vampires who had killed innocents, draining their blood and stripping away the life force that kept them human. What remained was the Undead: immortal, but hollow.
Lucian pressed forward. The sharp tinge in the air told him the situation was dire. They had found a human to feed on, and it was his duty to stop them.
He had hunted the Soulless his entire life. At eighteen, his father came to the village and revealed the truth: Lucian was the son of a god, bound to protect humanity from the Undead.
With his grandfather’s approval, Lucian followed his father to Olympus—where together they forged the brotherhood known as the Protectors.
When the gods created the vile creatures, they watched in awe as the world unraveled—wars, raids, disease. At last, they decided enough was enough. Humanity was too weak to stand alone, so the gods gave them champions. Lucian and the other sons of the divine—the Protectors—were the answer.
Lucian turned the corner and froze. Three Soulless had a girl by the throat, her body limp in their grip.
Rage surged the moment his eyes found her face. For the first time, he felt the Soulless had wronged him. The strange fire drove him, though he paused only for a heartbeat.
Then duty reclaimed him.
His fingers closed around the hilts of his carp’s tongue swords. The metal was smooth, warm against his palms as he drew them free. Leather whispered as the double-edged blades slid from their sheaths, unnoticed by the Soulless. They were too busy arguing over who would taste the girl first.
Lucian inhaled, flipping the swords once in his hands.
Lucian eyed the three. “Excuse me,” he said, voice steady with confidence. “Mind if I take her off your hands?” When they turned toward him, he added, “Besides, I thought you preferred the conscious ones.”
The two on the ends hissed, stepping forward. The shorter one sneered, “You’re in the wrong place, friend.”
They closed in, eyes fixed on his blades.
Lucian smiled. This was exactly where he wanted to be—Soulless on each side, the one with the girl in front. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
With lightning speed, he thrust right, then swept across at neck level, slicing into the Soulless clutching the girl. Eliminating him came first; she was in the most danger.
Without pause, Lucian snapped his swords together like scissors, severing the next one’s head cleanly.
The last Soulless froze, mouth agape, intestines spilling through his fingers. In a blink, Lucian’s blades crossed at his shoulders, severing his head as well.
Lucian drew a steady breath, wiping his swords against his pants before sliding them back into their sheaths. His focus shifted to the girl. She lay in a puddle of Soulless blood, her pink shirt soaked half black.
He crouched beside her, fighting the urge to hack the Soulless into pieces for what they’d done. Instead, he pressed two fingers to her neck.
There. Alive. Her pulse was faint, and her neck would ache like hell, but she would live.
Lucian pulled a phone from his pocket, pressed the button, and waited. “Archer and Bee Street. Three down.” He shoved the phone away and gathered the girl into his arms.