Of Ashes And Sin_A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance Read online

  Of Ashes And Sin

  Fire Trails Book 1

  K.N. Knight

  Ariana Hawkes

  Copyright ©2018 by K.N. Knight and Ariana Hawkes

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events and businesses is purely coincidental.

  This is a standalone reverse harem paranormal romance of 67,000 words.

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  A 4.5-star rated, comedy romance featuring one kickass roller derby chick, two scorching-hot Alphas, and the naughty nip that changed their lives forever.

  The only thing missing from Aspen Richardson’s life is a man who will love her just the way she is. In the small town she calls home, bullies from the past remain, making her wonder if it's ever going to happen. But, things are about to change in a major way, as the secret Aspen’s parents have been keeping from her comes out…

  “This book definitely needs to be added to your MUST read list – you will quickly fall in love with this steamy and fast paced story.”

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  (If your device doesn’t support links, go to www.arianahawkes.com/freebook)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Thank you!

  Also by Ariana Hawkes

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  About the authors

  About this book

  A world without fire. Three sizzling shifters. One flame-haired hustler. And the elemental bond that could bring fire back to the world, or be the end of them…

  The last Phoenix has perished in a huge blaze of flames, extinguishing fire from the earth. Ranger Mason is a nineteen-year-old shifter whose spirit animal has not yet been fixed. An orphan, hustler and part-time exorcist, she scrapes a living in a dangerous, burned-out world, with no idea of the unique power she holds. That is, until a sexy tiger, bear and eagle shifter trio bursts into her life, convinced she’s the key to recreating fire.

  What none of them realizes is that she's no fire elemental, but something even more rare and special…something that will create the strongest possible bond between them, but also threaten to destroy her. Ranger is the only one capable of uniting a dragon with the three water, earth and air elementals, but as the love bond between the four of them ignites, the guys are unwilling to risk her safety—even if it means restoring balance to the world.

  But Rael, Zain and Oran are not the only ones who have discovered Ranger’s gifts, and suddenly the decision is taken out of their hands. Will she be able to create peace between her three mates, who have vowed to do anything to protect her, and a dragon intent on keeping her in his cave as his personal, flame-haired treasure?

  “In order to rise

  From its own ashes

  A phoenix

  First

  Must

  Burn.”

  — Octavia E. Butler

  Chapter 1

  The orangey, late-afternoon sun was in my eyes as I squinted up at the old motel-style billboard out front. The lettering had been vandalized beyond recognition, but the first letter of the first word might have been an H. And the building matched the description I’d been given by another hobo. This had to be the place. I pushed open a low, chicken-wire gate and eyed the long, low concrete structure in front of me with as much resignation as relief. It was painted the color of swamp mud and had a rusted metal roof. As usual, the windows were half bricked up, to keep the cold out. A handwritten sign over the entranceway read vacancy, and underneath, in smaller letters, was written food available. Rarely anything to boast about these days.

  There was a collection of beat-up plastic tables and chairs dotted around the forecourt, mostly occupied by small groups of humans. I trudged over to one of the vacant seats and collapsed onto it, sighing as the burning in my legs and feet eased to a dull ache. Heads flicked in my direction, blank-faced, then returned to their conversations. Good. I worked hard to be unobtrusive, most of the time anyway. My dark red hair was pulled into a low bun and covered with a gray beanie, while a long gray trench coat swamped the rest of me. Gray wasn’t really my color, to be honest, but practicality trumped style.

  I dumped my tattered old rucksack on the table and rooted in my pockets for my coins. There were ten, as I’d expected. All different denominations, but that no longer mattered—a coin was a coin. And ten of them were enough to get you lodging or a meal. But not both. They were all I had left from the job I did two days previously in another small town that looked just about the same as this one— clapboard houses badly burned; brick and stone houses still standing. Some parts of town decimated; others barely touched. Here and there were shacks that had been hurriedly built since the fires, from whatever materials were available.

  I poured the coins slowly from one hand to another, like sand spilling through an hour glass. Food or lodging? Food or lodging? What a choice to have to make. I stifled a laugh. It was so tragic it was almost funny. Almost. Keep it together, Ranger. Don’t go down that road. Laughing to yourself about nothing at all might be the first step.

  My stomach was growling, as usual, but there was also a little nip in the air. I sighed. The trees that were still alive were already turning yellow and orange, and the nights would soon be bitter. I should probably sleep out tonight, save lodging for when it got really cold. What was that thing my grandma used to say—don’t put your coat on until you go outside, or you won’t feel the benefit?

  “Food it is,” I muttered, hauling myself to my feet again.

  Inside, the lodging house was dim. Sunset was still a couple of hours away, but the tiny windows didn’t let in much light. I trudged over to the counter and wearily surveyed the hand-written menu. Oats, buckwheat, amaranth, cheese, yoghurt, and salad vegetables. Nothing wrong with it, but it had started to get old at least two years ago.

  The owner paid me no attention at all, deep in conversation with one of the other patrons who was seated at a table near the counter.

  “Can I get a large bowl of buckwheat with tomatoes and sour cheese on the side?” I said loud enough to get her attention.

  A miserable-looking woman in her mid-fifties with a squat body and wiry gray hair, she ran her eyes over me without interest. “It’ll be ten minutes,” she said flatly. Then she raised her head and bawled my order to someone in a back room before returning to her conversation.

  It was quite warm inside at least. They’d done a good job of insulating the place with rugs and pieces of carpets nailed over the walls, and the windows had real glass, which was becoming rare. I might as well make the mos
t of it while I waited for my food. Besides, some of the things I was hearing piqued my interest. Pricking up my ears, I took off my coat and sat at a nearby table.

  “Yeah, can’t sleep at night, she says,” the lodging house owner said, her voice going high with intrigue.

  “What’s she been hearing exactly?” the patron asked eagerly.

  “Voices, she says. Like two people are having the same conversation over and over. And it’s not a good one. Feet, as well, running along the corridors.”

  “Nooo! Really?”

  “And she’s heard a couple of screams in the dead of night. Gerta says they’re bloodcurdling sometimes. She can’t stand it; she wants out of there.”

  “She and the mayor only just moved into the house, didn’t they?”

  Interesting, I thought. Very interesting. It sounded like an echo. And if there was really an echo haunting the dwelling, it was either very strong, or this Gerta, whoever she was, was unusually sensitive, since most humans were oblivious to such things. But then, reports about supernatural disturbances were far more commonplace since the fires. My theory was that humans were becoming more in tune with the world as they edged toward their animal sides to survive. Or maybe the echoes were just intensifying because there was so much pain in the world.

  “I don’t buy it,” the other patron drawled, and I tuned back into the conversation. “Gerta’s just jealous that Dr. Murphy laid claim to the big house next door to hers, and she wants to force her out by making her believe the whole neighborhood is haunted.”

  The owner made a loud puffing noise. “I don’t know. You should see Gerta when she tells you about it. Her face goes as pale as milk. And those bags under her eyes! That woman is scared, believe you me.”

  A spark of adrenaline fizzed in my chest. I didn’t want to deal with a real echo, but I certainly wasn’t averse to using someone’s gullibility to my advantage. I got to my feet so abruptly that my chair fell backward weighed down by my coat. I caught it before it hit the floor, pulled the coat on, and grabbed my bag. “Sorry, but I need to cancel that order,” I said, already striding toward the exit.

  “You can’t do that!” the lodging owner squawked to my retreating back.

  “I’ll eat it when I get back,” I called over my shoulder. “Not like it’s going to get cold, is it?” I gave a mirthless laugh. If I played my cards right, I might be able to come back, eat the food and get a bed for the night.

  Dreaming of a private room with a lockable door, a clean bed, and heaps of fluffy blankets, I retraced my steps along a crumbling asphalt road to the central crossroads of the town.

  The mayor’s office wasn’t hard to find among the collection of drab houses, most of which were burned out and abandoned. It was a squat building with a fancy wooden façade and all kinds of flags and stars attached to the exterior to signify the occupier was a Very Important Person. I rolled my eyes and rapped on the front door several times, while peering through a small glass panel that revealed nothing. No answer, and the door was locked.

  “Well there goes that idea,” I muttered, and tiredness washed over me. Christ. I really needed a night in a comfortable bed, where I didn’t have to sleep with one eye open. I turned a one-eighty and began to trudge back to the lodging house, wondering how the owner would greet my return, when a reedy voice called, “You looking for the mayor?”

  I turned around, trying to locate its owner. An old man in a cowboy hat, flannel shirt, and leather chaps emerged from around the side of the building.

  “I might be,” I said. These days, it paid to be terse with strangers, and luckily shooting the breeze had never been one of my key attributes.

  “Well, if you might be, he might be at home.” He pointed an index finger skyward and grinned.

  Crazy as a soup sandwich, I concluded. “And where might home be?” I said.

  He grinned, happy I was joining in the joke. “Up the hill, second house from the top. You better run, missy. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, green eyes,” he replied. Then he formed his hands into the shape of pistols, index and middle fingers extended, and started shooting up random objects on the street, complete with sound effects. I shook my head. A lot of people had lost their minds since the fires, shifters and humans alike. At least he was one of the gently crazy ones. He was right though—if I didn’t get there before nightfall, it’d be too dark to do anything apart from hunker down under the nearest bush and try to sleep until dawn.

  It was a short but very steep hill, and I was soon breathless. The road was lined on both sides by grand old brick houses. Most of them seemed to be deserted as well, windows and doors smashed in and gardens wild with weeds, but the two at the top of the hill had been cared for. I went from one to the other, inspecting them. They both had wooden shutters at all the windows and large front doors. This hill escaped the fires, I registered. Its height must’ve protected it somehow. But most of the inhabitants would’ve abandoned their houses regardless, escaping to what they hoped were more prosperous parts of the country. Either that or they froze up here during the harsh winters, or caught some disease, or went mad. Hardly any place I’d passed through still had the same occupants as before the fires. Everyone assumed there must be something better someplace else.

  I came to a stop in front of the house that the crazy cowboy said was the mayor’s. Something vibrated in the air.

  It was a beautiful house, Victorian-style, with dormer windows and ornamental turrets, but it was forbidding somehow. A creepy house, I would’ve called it as a kid. And I would’ve brought my friends and forced them to break into the rear garden with me at nightfall, then tell ghost stories until we were all scared witless.

  I slipped through the low garden gate, closing it softly behind me. There was a stoop directly ahead leading up to a grand front door, but I decided to take a look around the back first. It usually pays to know exactly what you’re dealing with.

  I followed a narrow path made from oval paving slabs set into gravel. This house had been well cared for once, but now the gravel was choked with weeds and long grasses. The rear garden looked to be deserted, so, keeping close to the building, I crept up to one of the rear windows. The shutters were open, most likely to allow the last warmth of the day to penetrate, and the windows were made from real glass. There was a light inside. I jerked back from the window reflexively, then snuck up to it again. A small lamp of some kind, fairly bright, was sitting on a dresser on the opposite side of the room. “Damn,” I muttered. These people had money. Or influence. Or both.

  My confidence increasing, I retraced my steps to the front of the building, skipped up the stoop, and strained my ears at the door. It was silent inside, but a shiver crept all the way to my tailbone, as if a drop of ice water had just run down my back. I felt the vibration again, stronger this time. I tugged off my hat and stuffed it in my pocket, then I pulled the band out of my bun and shook my hair loose, fanning it around my shoulders. I found it helped to look the part. Then I rapped on the front door.

  Heavy feet padded on plush carpet before the door swung open, revealing a rotund man in his late fifties with heavy jowls and balding gray hair. He blinked at the sight of me. My waist-length auburn locks could have that effect on people. His forehead was furrowed with uncertainty, but his demeanor wasn’t overtly hostile. Not hostile was a good start.

  “I’m looking for the mayor,” I said.

  He planted his hands on his hips, accentuating his swollen belly. “This is he. Although I’m afraid it’s outside of office hours.”

  “Well that’s most likely a good thing since my business relates to your house here.” I slapped the brick front wall of the house, as if it were an old friend. Then I paused, allowing his curiosity to build.

  “Yes?” His tone was more guarded now.

  “I understand you folks are looking for an exorcism.”

  The creases in his forehead deepened. “Exorcism? I’m afraid I d
on’t know what you mean.”

  “I was sent here by people from the town who told me your place is haunted by past sufferings. But fortunately, I have been endowed with a gift from above”—I laid my hand on my heart and looked up to the heavens—“which enables me to rid dwellings of spirits trapped by past trauma.”

  “No…” He cast a glance over his shoulder as if he expected a ghost to be standing in his hallway. “I don’t think we need that here.”

  I swung my head from side to side, affecting sadness. “I’m afraid you do, sir. I can feel them even from where I’m standing. If I was to step over your threshold, the negative energy in here would likely knock me flat.”

  “Have you got the door open again, Stan?” A loud, high voice came from somewhere to the left of the door.

  “Don’t worry, Gerta. I’ll be back in a moment,” he shouted back.

  “It’s a very simple process, and it only takes a few minutes. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, and you’ll have a home where you can sleep easy. What have you got to lose?” I said, speaking rapidly.

  “Stan!” The voice came again, and a tall, wiry blond woman marched up the hallway and came to a stop beside him. “Who are you?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’m what’s commonly known as an exorcist, ma’am,” I said, dipping my head respectfully. “I received intelligence that your house was haunted, as indeed it is, and I’m here to relieve you of your problem.”