Succubus (The Executioners Book 1) (Sample)

Chapter 3

Fire was everywhere. It consumed everything. No matter where I looked, all I could see was the bright red flames that engulfed my home. All around me there roared a blazing inferno that caused my skin to blister and my body to burn.

It was not just my house that was on fire. Everything else was on fire, too. The entire town I lived in was burning. The once humble dwellings of my neighbors were caught in a blaze. The house belonging to the funny old man who always told jokes had collapsed on itself. Walls reduced to rubble. Roofs crumbling as flames crackled and popped.

I could hear screams in the distance. Cries for help. Cries of despair. I wanted to scream, too, but couldn't.

Smoke filled the sky, as well as my lungs. It clung to my skin and clothes. It clogged my throat. I couldn't breathe, I could scarcely think, as I stumbled through the acrid blackness.

"Mom! Dad!"

I called out to my parents in desperation, or I tried to. The smoke made it difficult. Several times, I found myself choking as I attempted to shout.

"Mom! Dad!"

Smoke or not, call I did. Over and over again.

"Mom! Dad!"

I called because I couldn't believe they were not here with me. I had to believe they were around here, somewhere, someway, somehow. They couldn't have vanished. They had to be here.

"Mom! Dad!"

They had to be!

"MOM! DAD!"

But there was no one. No one but myself and the infernal flames and the cries of the damned. My parents were gone.

Tears gathered in my eyes. Yet even those were consumed by the heat of the flames, the liquid evaporating almost as soon as it was produced.

Where were my parents? What had happened to them? Why was I alone?

***

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Wakey-wakey, rise and bakey!"

Christian's sleep was rudely interrupted by childish words produced by an annoyingly familiar male voice. Opening his eyes, he looked around, groaned, and then rolled over onto his side and tried to go back to sleep. Maybe if he ignored the voice, his tormenter would leave him alone.

"Come on now, sleepyhead! Get that butt out of bed!"

The knocking persisted, as did the voice. Worse still, the owner of said voice had started rhyming. That the man banging on his door had now resorted to terrible rhyming only served to give Christian a headache. There was no way he couldn't not answer the door, not unless he was willing to deal with the mother of all migraines.

"Christian! Christian! Come on, Christian!"

With an exasperated groan, Christian stumbled out of bed and made his way to the door.

He flung the door open with startling violence and cast a withering glare at the man who dared to interrupt his sleep.

"What?!"

"You're always so cheerful when you first wake up," Tristin, the person on the other side of the door, said with his ever-present grin. Wavy blond hair hovered over light blues eyes, and framed a handsome face. Pretty boy. That's what this guy was, one of those Prince Charming types, the ones that made women flock to them just by standing around. And Tristin never failed to bask in their attention.