Kianna made him sleep on the sofa.
He couldn’t blame her, not after admitting to accidentally killing his comrade in his half sleep. It was another reason he didn’t want to stay here, why he wanted to be on the road and as close to Edinburgh as possible: he couldn’t trust himself. Not around anyone, but especially not around her.
He didn’t think he could move forward if he accidentally killed his only friend.
So he lay on the leather couch, covered in quilts, while the fire smoldered in the hearth and Kianna snored from the nearby bedroom. He was tired. More than tired. But sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t thoughtful. He was just...angry.
After all Aidan had done for the troops—the battles won, the lives saved, the plans made—this one cock-up was all it had taken to get kicked out. One mistake, and everything he’d fought and bled for was thrown out the window. No one gave a shit that he was the only reason the highlands were free. No one cared that, without him, they would have lost the battle for Glasgow a year after the Resurrection. Without him, they’d all be dead or Howls by now, no question. And now, he wouldn’t even get to take part in the attack he’d spent the last year devising.
He wouldn’t be there when the castle fell and the first of the Kin was destroyed.
He wouldn’t be the one to liberate Scotland from the Howls for good.
Someone else would get the credit.
Someone else would gain that immortality.
He lay there, fists clenched, and seethed at it. The injustice. The stupidity. Fire smoldered in his chest, wanted nothing more than to burn the whole flat down, to run back to the Guild and make them all pay. It filled him with that want, that need. To burn. To hurt. To feed. And as he stared at the embers in the hearth, he realized how easy it would be. They wouldn’t be prepared for it. He knew the secret ins and outs of the place. He could sneak in, murder Trevor in his sleep, and take the Guild as his own. They would follow him into battle. And if they didn’t? He could burn it all down from the inside out.
He could show them.
He could prove to the world not to cross Aidan Belmont.
He could...
...what the hell was he thinking?
He tried to take a deep breath and quench the embers in his chest. He wasn’t going to kill his co-commander—even if he’d screwed his commander and been screwed over in return. He wasn’t going to openly rebel against the Guild. He was still a Hunter. He was still sworn to protect the innocent.
What if they don’t deserve protecting?
The voice hissed from the bowels of Fire, a feminine smolder that sent chills down his spine. The same voice that had whispered to him earlier...
What if they are but cattle? Sheep? And you the shepherd. The butcher. The king.
He saw it then, in the fires of the hearth—him on the throne in Edinburgh, the remains of civilization sprawled at his feet, bowed and praying, begging and groveling.
Why do you serve, when they should serve you? Why do you give them power, when you have the might of the eternal flame in your hands?
He looked down, and the blankets were gone, and in his palms sparks like constellations spun and danced. The power thrummed through him, a smoldering chord that lay heavy on his heart. The power. The power. To burn or bless, to consume or cauterize. He held life in his hands, and that life pulsed with possibility.
Why do you serve, when you are meant to rule?
The voice changed, melted from feminine to masculine, and from the shadows a figure appeared, flickering from dark to light like an ignited spark. Once, nothing. Then, presence.
And what a presence this man was.
“Why do you grovel, when I can make you king?”
The guy snared Aidan’s senses. From head to toe, he breathed sex and sensuality and danger. Tousled black hair that fell past his chiseled jaw; glinting copper eyes and pure white teeth; olive skin that glistened in the firelight. Or maybe it was his own light that made him shine. He wore very little—tight black denim with ripped knees, pointed black shoes, and a smile that sent a thousand terrible thoughts racing through Aidan’s head.
That smile said that even the jeans were more than he wanted to be wearing.
Aidan knew the questions he should ask: Who are you? What are you doing here?
He knew that the man wasn’t a man, not really—he was too otherworldly, too utterly perfect. Which meant he was an incubus, a Howl pulled from Fire, a monster craving and crafted for heat and sex and passion.
Aidan knew all of this, but the only question he could ask was, “How?”
The man tilted his head to the side.
“I like you,” he mused. The words sent more flame racing through Aidan’s chest. Aidan tried to sit up, but the man was at his side, and he pressed Aidan back down with one smoldering, frozen hand. “You are much more...enthusiastic...than the last.”
The man knelt. His hand remained on Aidan’s chest. This close, only a foot away, and Aidan could see every fleck in the flames of the incubus’s eyes. He could smell the musk and cologne, the undercurrent that promised two things: sex and destruction.
Two things he wanted with every inch of him.
“My name, Hunter,” the incubus cooed, “is Tomás.” The way he bit his lip made Aidan squirm. “And we are going to have so much fun.”
“How...” Aidan managed. “How will I be king?”
“Shh,” Tomás said. He pressed a finger to Aidan’s lips. Ice shattered across Aidan’s tongue, chills and fever piercing his throat.
Aidan leaned against the touch.
“It matters not how,” Tomás said. “Only when. And I can promise you, Aidan, that your rule will be soon. Together, we will send the whole world to its knees.”
“I know what you are,” Aidan whispered against Tomás’s finger. The Howl’s flesh tasted sweet.
Tomás’s hand clenched on his chest, and the blossom of pain made him moan with pleasure.
“Do you, now?”
“Yes,” Aidan whispered.
“What am I then?”
“What I’ve been waiting for.”
Tomás smiled and removed his finger, pulling down Aidan’s bottom lip. “Good answer.”
Then Tomás leaned over and kissed his forehead.
Fire raged across Aidan’s vision, burning away the flat, the sofa, the city, until it was only the two of them in the flames, the heat and the chaos and bliss, and even as his body ached and writhed and throbbed, he was apart from it, watching it all—him and the incubus, locked in this embrace—but that wasn’t what snared his attention. It was the flames. The glorious, pulsating flames that whirled around them, the fire that burned bright with passion and promise.
Because in those flames, he saw his future.
A throne of kraven skulls and a crown of bloodling teeth, a castle of ever-living fire and ash. At his feet, the humans who had scorned him, the Howls who’d hunted him. And at his side, on a throne of ribs and basalt, sat Tomás. His lover. His savior. His king.
“All of this will be ours,” Tomás said, reaching over to grip Aidan’s thigh. “All I ask is that you submit to me. Obey me. And I will give you everything you desire.”
Tomás squeezed, and the castle burned, and around them humans and Howls screamed in agony, in harmony, but he barely heard it as Tomás climbed atop him, took Aidan’s face in his hands.
“Be mine,” Tomás whispered.
“I already am,” Aidan replied, arching his body to be closer to Tomás, to the heat, to the power, to the desire. “I want you.”
“Then I am yours.”
Tomás pulled their lips together, and Aidan grabbed his hips, pulled himself closer, closer, as the world burned hotter, hotter...
“Damn it, Aidan!” Kianna yelled.
Something soft smacked into the side of his head, knocking the dream away and bringing reality into focus.
The acrid scent of burnt wool filled his nostrils.
“You’ve set the bloody couch on fire!” she said. She stood by the hearth, hands on her hips and a disgusted look on her face.
“I—” he began, but he couldn’t gain his bearings. The sofa smoldered, but it wasn’t in flames, thank gods. Just a few patches in the arms and in the wool blanket. But that dream...
Kianna shook her head.
“And you have a boner. Is that what this is? Fire acting up because you haven’t gotten off in a while?”
“I—”
“Take your time,” she said. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
She chuckled and headed toward the exit, stopping before she left.
“Just make sure you don’t burn the place down when you come.”