Title: Knight of Flame
Author: Scott Eder
Publisher: Twilight Times Books
Publication: September 14, 2013
Author: Scott Eder
Publisher: Twilight Times Books
Publication: September 14, 2013
Genre: Romantic Fantasy
Synopsis:
Fire. The most chaotic of the primal elements. When wielded properly by the Knight of Flame, it burns like the sun. Otherwise, it slowly consumes the Knight, burning away his control, driving him towards dark deeds.
Stationed in Tampa, FL, Develore Quinteele, sixth Knight of Flame, waits impatiently for the predicted emergence of the last Gray Lord, his Order’s ancient enemy. Hampered by a centuries-old tragedy, Dev knows of only one way to control his elemental power—rage. It broils just below his surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to set it alight.Anticipating Dev’s transition from asset to liability, his commander assigns a young guardian, Wren, to report on Dev’s actions. Torn between duty and love, Wren struggles to save her Knight; but, after a brutal attack by the Gray Lord’s minions for which Dev is wrongly blamed, he’s stripped of his freedom until he regains control.
With the help of his fellow Knights, can Dev regain his balance and unlock his full elemental potential in time to prevent the destruction of all life in Tampa?
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
Knights don't dance. Develor Quinteele wrung the leather-wrapped steering wheel and swallowed hard. The muted roar of the rented Jag's high-performance engine and smooth-as-silk ride did nothing to dispel his apprehension. Wren could have picked anything, but she chose dancing. He jammed a finger under the rigid collar of his first modern suit and yanked it away from his skin.
Great. Just great.
Dev stretched to adjust the rear-view mirror and ripped the
seam of his jacket. Armani stretch wool, my ass. A growl rumbled in his chest
and he glared at Wren, but she seemed oblivious to his distress.
"How much farther?" Wren's excitement tumbled out
with each word. The sun's last rays reflected off the silver sequins of her
micro-dress and sparkled across the car's dark chocolate interior. She shifted
position, adjusted her dress, and crossed her legs. Despite her fidgeting, her
head remained still, focused on the distant horizon, straining to get her first
look at Club Mastodon.
Dev smiled through his growing unease. Though somewhere in
her early twenties, Wren reminded him of a small child driving up to the gates
of Disney World for the first time. Her usually tense and critical Japanese
features were soft, eager and innocent. Seeing her excitement helped steady his
nerves…a little.
"Just a few more minutes. You know I'm missing a Three Stooges
marathon for this, don't you?"
"Whatevs." Wren brushed him off.
Dev checked his mirrors, vision in constant motion, and
raked the hair out of his eyes. The thin, wavy strands felt foreign to his
calloused fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he had more than a dark prickly
shadow on top of his head, let alone mussed brown locks.
With a careless wave of his hand, he grazed the new bruise over his left eye. Damn, forgot about that. He prodded the tender skin, trying to gauge the size of the purpling evidence. So far, he'd managed to keep his fights at work from Wren. If she found out, he'd never hear the end of it. The last time, she went on and on about him being reckless, and jeopardizing the mission. Thankfully, she hadn't reported the incident to Stillman, his commander. It had been close, though. Cost Dev a night on the town. But it wasn't that big of a sacrifice. He loved her like a little sister, and enjoyed seeing her smile.
Brushing his hair forward, Dev tried to cover the injured area, and hoped for the best.
"This place won't be crowded, will it?" he asked.
"You know crowds and I don't mix."
"Mmhm." Wren's arm shot out, pointed ahead and to
the right. "There it is." The rest of her words blurred together,
"I can't believe you got us on the list. I mean, like, I've never been
to a place like this." She turned her sparkling green eyes on Dev.
"Do you think a lot of movie stars will be here?"
"Breathe, Wren." Dev took the exit off I-275
south, just in sight of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, and stopped at the traffic
light across from the club. When Club Mastodon first opened he'd read about the
local business leaders raising an uproar over how quickly the permits, zoning
and associated building minutia were pushed through. But, when the club was
bank-rolled by Alexander Gray, one of the head honchos at Daegon Gray, the
normal red tape-covered bullshit disappeared.
Dev tilted his head as he caught his first glimpse of their
destination through a ring of palm trees lining the property.
"Really? That's it?"
Wren didn't respond. Instead, she leaned forward, hands
pressed tight against the dash, mouth open wide.
"It's just a big ass tent," Dev said. "I paid
10-K in advance to go to a circus?" His stomach rolled.
"Wonderful."
The light changed and he pulled onto the gravel drive. Tires
crunched on loose stones as they passed through the trees and drove the
half-mile to the front of the club.
"I hate clowns," he murmured, "And elephants.
I hate when they make those big bastards do stupid tricks."
Dev queued for the valet behind a sleek Mercedes SLR and waited his turn. The wait gave him a chance to assess the place without being obvious.
People. Damn. So many people, so many potential ways to piss me off.
A large number of the area celebrities milled about in front of the club's huge entrance. Beyond a set of giant wooden doors rose the three tall peaks of the monstrous Club Mastodon tent. Spotlights spaced evenly around the perimeter beamed on the white walls, causing them to glow. A smaller tent hung off the rear of the main, connected via covered walkway.
He couldn't see any exits other than the big main door, not
even a window. They really weren't kidding about the whole privacy thing. The
club was touted as the place to relax, a soothing oasis where the local
aristocracy and visiting celebs could let their guard down and be themselves.
In essence, society's elite could make fools of themselves without it showing
up on the internet the next day. Absolutely no cameras were allowed, not even
cell phones.
"It's not too late." Dev shook his head. "We
could always go somewhere else." Please…anywhere else.
"Nope, we're good." Wren sounded distracted. Her
gaze darted from one car window to the next. "Hey, isn't that Marcus
Albright from the Bucs?"
"Who?"
"You know, the cornerback for the Buccaneers. Ooh, and
that's the guy from that new show on AB—."
"Dennis Carlisle." The name rolled off Dev's
tongue before she finished the station's call letters.
Wren oohed and ahed over a few other names he'd never heard
of. Probably famous athletes or politicians or something, but he played along
for her sake.
Movement. Out the window to his left. Dev tracked it out of
the corner of his eye. A pair of security guards in black blazers and slacks
marched down a row of exotic cars parked in tight lanes. Their heads swiveled
every few feet so as not to miss anything.
More movement. Further out this time and a couple rows over.
Another pair on patrol. Rent-a-cops didn't move like that. They had to be
ex-military.
I bet the bulges in their jackets are compact automatic weapons.
"Geez, they take their security seriously around
here." Dev spied more guards near the back tent. "Can you say
overkill?"
"What are you babbling about?" Wren asked,
flipping him an annoyed glance.
"Nothing…nothing." Dev moved up in line. Rhythmic
burps of deep bass rattled the windows and thrummed through the steering wheel.
Within seconds, the vein at his temple throbbed in time.
A valet approached the driver's side while another opened
the door for Wren. Dev got out and shrugged at the tear in his jacket then met
her on the curb.
"I feel naked in this." He whispered, running his
hand over his chest and the expensive suit. "Out of my element."
"I feel like a princess." Wren, five-foot three, a
smidgen under five-eight in her knee-high boots, twirled. Even with the added
height, she only came up to Dev's chin. "Like the boots?" She modeled
the right one—slick black leather that laced to the top—turning it enough to
flash a red sole. "Louboutin. Got them yesterday."
Dev shrugged. "Nice, I guess. Not very practical."
She slapped his arm. "Dork. Not everything in this
world is meant to be practical. I think they're gorgeous. Now, hold
still." She straightened his tie and fussed with his hair, exposing his
little secret.
Her eyes narrowed. "You've been fighting again."
She spun on her spiked-heels, her expression blocked by the swish of her
shoulder-length, ebony bob, and wound her way through the throng of socialites
and celebrities.
Dev tried to keep pace, but she melted through the crowd
toward the entrance. Impressed, he admired her agile dips and whirls as she put
years of his hard-core physical training to unconscious use.
On her trail, he moved left and jostled the guy on his
right, "Sorry," then bumped the woman on his left. "Excuse
me." Anger flared, but he forced a tight smile. The shoulder-to-shoulder
press of humanity reminded him of the battlefield. He slid between a
pair of athletic-looking young men, but clipped one's shoulder. "Sorry,
sorry."
High on alpha-male bravado, the kid tried to shove back, but
Dev caught his hand before it made contact. With a deft twist, he bent the
young man's wrist back and lifted him onto his toes. Dev leaned in close and
bared his teeth. Anger boiled into rage, heating his body and fueling his need
to fight.
"I said, pardon me." He spoke so only the impromptu ballerina could hear. Muscles tense, he wanted to yank this punk's arm off and beat him and the rest of the crowd with it, lay waste to everything around him until nothing stood between him and the entrance except Wren.
He straightened, took a loud breath through his nose, and
found her off to the side near the entrance. Safe. Arms crossed. Hip cocked.
Frown in place.
Crap. He'd lost control in front of her again.
"Today's your lucky day, skippy." After a last,
painful wrench on his captive's arm, Dev released him and slogged his way
through the crowd to Wren's side. People reacted to his rough passage, cast
annoyed glances at his broad back then quickly went back to their own lives.
Every nerve, cell and fiber of Dev's being surged inside him. It didn't take much to get him going anymore. And sitting idle in Tampa for the last two years, due to a nebulous prediction of the Gray Lord's return, was not how an elemental warrior should live.
Daily skirmishes in the shipyard got him by, but he craved more. Primed for combat, he wanted a release. He wanted, no, needed, to fight. But this wasn't the time or the place. He needed to be strong, for Wren. This was her night.
"You promised the fighting would stop." Wren said
between clenched teeth. "You stationed yourself at the shipyard
to watch for signs of the Gray Lord, not play around. You don't see me getting
in fights at the airport, do you?"
"It was just a minor disagreement," he said.
"There were eight of them, jumped me behind the scrap metal piles."
"Eight!"
A nearby couple turned to stare at Wren. Dev took her arm and pulled her further away from the crowd.
"Look, I screwed up. They usually attack in threes. I
didn't see Little Mike hiding in the garbage can. He whacked me with a
crowbar." Dev looked away from her accusing stare. "It's no big deal.
Won't happen again." That you'll know of.
"But you —"
"Let it go. Please."
Wren opened her mouth as if to say more when her eyes opened
wide. "You're hot," she whispered, "Smoking."
Dev wiggled his eyebrows. "Why, thank you, thank you
very much. You're looking pretty good yourself."
"That's not what I mean."
Dev caught a whiff of burned hair. His hand shot to the top
of his head and found it still covered. As his body cooled, he found the singed
stalks of the little hairs on the back of his hands. The shirt cuffs were
scorched as well. That was close.
"Maybe this was a mistake." Wren's tentative,
quiet voice touched him. "We should go."
"No." Dev stared at his shoes. Black. Leather.
Uncomfortable. "No. I'm okay. You deserve this."
Wren's face scrunched as she assessed his attitude. She
nodded. "Yeah, I do. Don't screw it up."
Dev blinked….
She laughed, wrapped her arm around his, "Come on, come
on," and pulled him to the entrance.
Up close, the imposing entry reminded Dev of a smaller
version of the village gates on Skull Island built to keep out King Kong. A
dense collection of palm fronds and exotic, big-leaf plants, surrounded a pair
of giant double doors unevenly framed by thick, rough-hewn timbers. The
presence of security cameras positioned within the plants did little to deter
from the primordial setting.
Dev smiled and waved at the camera tracking his movements.
Another pair of guards, much bigger than those patrolling
the parking lot, flanked the entrance. Clad in nothing but loincloths, with
long, black hair draped over heavily muscled shoulders and square pecks, they
looked like stand-ins from Conan the Barbarian. Both stared
straight ahead, boulder-crushing arms rigid at their sides. If it weren't for
the slight motion of their immense chests, they could be statues. A low mist
crawled around their feet and billowed in front of and under the big doors.
Capping off the primitive atmosphere, flames swirled and popped above their
heads in a long trench dug out of the lintel.
Blessed fire. Dev
focused on the flames. He felt their lure, their potential, and the fire's raw
power. A taste. That's all he needed. A quick fix to steady his nerves and help
him through the night. With a thought he called to his element, drew it into
him. His body tingled. Invisible tendrils of heat trickled into his chest and
coalesced into a fireball behind his ribcage. It churned and roiled and
intensified.
"Dev." Wren's harsh whisper seemed to come from
far away.
That's nice. With
another thought, he capped the flow and dispersed the warmth throughout his
body. It calmed his spirit, dispelled his rage.
"Dev." An elbow to the ribs punctuated her call.
Awareness rushed in as his wind rushed out. Damn, that
girl knows right where to hit a guy. He wheezed, tried to refill
his lungs, and ignored the curious stares of the other patrons.
Knights don't dance. Develor Quinteele wrung the leather-wrapped steering wheel and swallowed hard. The muted roar of the rented Jag's high-performance engine and smooth-as-silk ride did nothing to dispel his apprehension. Wren could have picked anything, but she chose dancing. He jammed a finger under the rigid collar of his first modern suit and yanked it away from his skin.
With a careless wave of his hand, he grazed the new bruise over his left eye. Damn, forgot about that. He prodded the tender skin, trying to gauge the size of the purpling evidence. So far, he'd managed to keep his fights at work from Wren. If she found out, he'd never hear the end of it. The last time, she went on and on about him being reckless, and jeopardizing the mission. Thankfully, she hadn't reported the incident to Stillman, his commander. It had been close, though. Cost Dev a night on the town. But it wasn't that big of a sacrifice. He loved her like a little sister, and enjoyed seeing her smile.
Brushing his hair forward, Dev tried to cover the injured area, and hoped for the best.
"Really? That's it?"
Dev queued for the valet behind a sleek Mercedes SLR and waited his turn. The wait gave him a chance to assess the place without being obvious.
People. Damn. So many people, so many potential ways to piss me off.
A large number of the area celebrities milled about in front of the club's huge entrance. Beyond a set of giant wooden doors rose the three tall peaks of the monstrous Club Mastodon tent. Spotlights spaced evenly around the perimeter beamed on the white walls, causing them to glow. A smaller tent hung off the rear of the main, connected via covered walkway.
I bet the bulges in their jackets are compact automatic weapons.
"I said, pardon me." He spoke so only the impromptu ballerina could hear. Muscles tense, he wanted to yank this punk's arm off and beat him and the rest of the crowd with it, lay waste to everything around him until nothing stood between him and the entrance except Wren.
Crap. He'd lost control in front of her again.
Every nerve, cell and fiber of Dev's being surged inside him. It didn't take much to get him going anymore. And sitting idle in Tampa for the last two years, due to a nebulous prediction of the Gray Lord's return, was not how an elemental warrior should live.
Daily skirmishes in the shipyard got him by, but he craved more. Primed for combat, he wanted a release. He wanted, no, needed, to fight. But this wasn't the time or the place. He needed to be strong, for Wren. This was her night.
A nearby couple turned to stare at Wren. Dev took her arm and pulled her further away from the crowd.
Author Bio:
Since he was a kid, Scott wanted to be an author and explored
many genres through high school and college. Fantasy, though, captivated his
soul. Tales of Knights and magic, dragons and elves filled his dreams. After
greasing the gears of the corporate machine for many years, he escaped the
Information Technology vortex to focus full-time on writing. The stories he’d
envisioned years ago—of nobility and strife, honor and chaos—demanded they be
brought to life.
Scott lives with his wife, two children, and a giant Chihuahua
on the west coast of Florida.
Hi Ashna,
ReplyDeleteThanks for showcasing Knight of Flame.
Have fun,
Scott