Seduce Me in Flames Read online

  The Tarian shoved through the doorway, his bulky frame too big for it, forcing him to duck under to keep from hitting his head. Then he reached out one of those massive paws he called a hand, the palm raised upward as if he were the most refined gentleman asking to escort the heiress of Allay onto a dance floor. The idea of it on such a rough man was, of course, ludicrous. As was the idea of her willingly putting her hand in his, and effectively signing her own death warrant.

  The Tarian saw her hesitate, saw her entire body draw back in fear, although by only a minute movement.

  “One day you are going to have to cross the line, Princess,” he said quietly, his eyes such a deeply intense amber, an overall tinge of rose coloring making them seem so rich and so surprisingly beautiful. It was almost like looking into a warm, moving golden flame instead of the fiery orange one might expect. They were steady on hers as his accent lightened again by half. “You’re going to have to take action to get what you want. To claim what’s rightfully yours. Why not take that action today?”

  By Jacquelyn Frank

  THREE WORLDS

  Seduce Me in Dreams

  Seduce Me in Flames

  NIGHTWALKERS

  Jacob

  Gideon

  Elijah

  Damien

  Noah

  SHADOWDWELLERS

  Ecstasy

  Rapture

  Pleasure

  Seduce Me in Flames is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2011 by Jacquelyn Frank

  Excerpt from Seduce Me in Dreams copyright © 2011 by Jacquelyn Frank

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The

  Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.,

  New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  This book contains an excerpt from Seduce Me in Dreams by Jacquelyn Frank. Available from Ballantine Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-51771-5

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi

  Cover illustration: Craig White

  v3.1

  For Donna and Natalie,

  without whom my life

  would fall completely

  apart

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Seduce Me in Dreams

  Fire burned everywhere. Cinders clung to long grasses that had been obliterated by it but, by some miracle, still held together. The smell of accelerant was still in the air because it had been poured on the field in such a massive quantity. Along with it was the unmistakable stench of char and smoke. Nothing could possibly have survived.

  But in the center of all that destruction, something stirred. There was a cough just before the young man sat up and spit. He was charred as black as everything around him, making him blend in perfectly with his surroundings. He took a breath, his first in what seemed like ages. Well, he thought, it shouldn’t surprise him that they had tried to kill him. After all, he had accidentally exposed his power in the center of the town square during a damn festival.

  Shit. He’d kept it secret from everyone for all of his twenty-one cycles. And it hadn’t been easy. Adolescence alone had been a trial for him, and he’d had something of a temper back then. Still, he’d managed to keep it all under wraps.

  He ought to have known this was coming. There was no way a mutation such as he was could go an entire lifetime undetected.

  But if it hadn’t been for that girl …

  Yet, how could he have turned his back? She would surely have died at the hands of those self-serving sicko bastards.

  He shook his head, shook away the memory for the uselessness that it was. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and it had nothing to do with the Axiom fuel they’d dumped on him in hopes of burning him like all the rest of the char and ash around him. He had let them think they were successful. What choice did he have? If they didn’t “kill” him to their satisfaction, they would keep on trying until they actually figured out a way to succeed.

  Had he truly thought at one time that his lifelong friends and family in his own village would be the ones most likely to understand and accept him? How many times had he come close to revealing himself before, thinking they would love him anyway? He had been so naïve. Such a fool. And yet, why did this shock him so much if he’d felt so driven to keep it hidden?

  He looked around carefully before getting to his feet. It was dark now, the only light coming from the flames that burned so powerfully on the horizon. The damn fools had burned him, yes, but in the process had started a fire on the plains that had quickly raced into the village. The screaming had long since died down. He figured they were all dead, if not mostly so.

  His secret was once again a secret.

  He brushed layers of ash from his bare skin, the remainders of his clothing no doubt. Now he was naked, disenfranchised, and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Still, he began to put one foot in front of the other, began to move. He had learned new things about himself, he could say that much. But he wasn’t sure if that made things worse or better. He was too angry, too hurt to care.

  It would take him a very long time to get over both of those feelings.

  Her heart beat harshly, her breath rasping in the back of her throat. What could it mean? What could he want? The same questions swirled around in her head again and again as she strode through the palace hallways with an air of confidence she did not feel. There had never been a sense of confidence, a sense of security in her life. Even when her father had supposedly loved her, she had never felt that sense of cocooning comfort that a child was supposed to feel when in the presence of her protector.

  She supposed his treatment of her these last years had proven her very intuitive, even at toddling age.

  He had once professed a magnificent love for her mother. There were those in her household who swore, to this day, that her mother had been the great love of his life. But then his eminence the emperor had tired of his favorite concubine. Some said it was because a newer, younger woman had caught his fancy. Others said her mother had overstepped herself with him one too many times, that she’d grown proud and arrogant, making the mistake of thinking that being the mother of his heir apparent made her as good as being empress.

  Whatever the reason, Emperor Benit Tsu Allay had put down his common-law wife like a dog. Unafraid of the possible repercussions he might face at the hands of the Interplanetary Militia, he’d had her tried for treason, proclaiming her an enemy to his crown and a conspirator in a plot to have him killed. Her mother’s trial had been a whirlwind of, some said, overwhelmingly damning evidence, spurious accusations, and her execution one of the cruelest and most horrific in the hist
ory of their realm. Then, before she could understand that her mother would never touch her again, hold her or hug her, Ambrea had been declared fruit of a poisonous tree and packed off into the back of nowhere, and there she had been languishing ever since.

  More or less.

  She’d been called into her father’s presence twice since her exile at the age of four—once at the age of eleven and once when she was thirteen. Both times he had hurled accusations of treason at her, accused her of knowingly plotting with his enemies to overthrow him and take his throne. However, lack of evidence, or, perhaps more likely, his unwillingness to slaughter a child, had spared her life—but not before she had spent over a year each time in his prisons.

  Then there had been an almost chilling quiet.

  After some time news had filtered down to her that the emperor had sired a male heir. Her brother, and her only living sibling. This decided lack of proliferation the emperor had blamed on his weak-blooded concubines; however, with medical technology at such an advanced state that in vitro fertilization could have been performed at any time with any viable uterus, it was widely believed that Emperor Benit was the one with the problem. However, Benit wasn’t about to prove anyone right by having himself tested.

  All of this swam through her mind in a ceaseless stream as she was led by a cadre of guards through the grand halls of Blossom Palace, the emperor’s most favored of his seven residences. The astounding opulence of just the corridors took one’s breath away, but she could still remember playing in these halls, running the maze-like lengths day after day, her rich little gowns inlaid with Delran platinum. Her bed had been so big and soft that she had needed help getting in and out of it, and all six of her body attendants could lie on either side of her comfortably.

  Now her bed was narrow and serviceable, the sheets a bit worn in places. She had only two personal attendants (one of whom was, she suspected, her father’s spy) and a household totaling four when the maid and cook were taken into account. Her gown was threadbare at the seams, her father having neglected her household stipend, and when he did remember to pay her servants, there was nothing left over for new clothes. She balanced the books herself because years earlier, she had been forced to let go her secretary. As it stood, her servants stayed purely on the basis of their love for her, because they certainly did not stay for the value of the living she could provide.

  Still, it was a damn sight better than the cold, bleak dampness of the emperor’s prisons.

  The fact of the matter was, she was the emperor’s daughter, whether he wanted to acknowledge that or not. The blood in her veins meant that his enemies could use her to stage a coup. So, he had to control her and have her close enough to keep an eye on her. At least, she believed, until he could contrive a way to be rid of her as he had done with her mother.

  Now she was twenty-six cycles old and more than adult enough to be a threat to her twelve-cycles-old brother, whom Benit considered his new heir apparent. She was also old enough now to be executed without making her father look too much like the monster he was. Truthfully, ever since her previous incarceration, she had been living in anticipation of this day—the day when she would be called into his presence for the last time.

  When she reached the presence chamber, the guards before her threw open the doors. She had expected to see her father at the end of the bamboo runner that led through a sea of courtiers and ended at the foot of the throne, where he was usually sitting in much state and pompousness. After all, when he handed down his abject humiliations to her, he enjoyed doing so publicly, to make an example of her, to make sure everyone knew that even his own daughter’s acts against him, be they perceived or real, would not be tolerated.

  But the throne sat empty, and there was an eerie quietude amongst the courtiers. Her chin rose proudly as she realized that all eyes were upon her. She might be terrified of what the emperor had in store for her, but she would be damned if she would let anyone else see that. No matter what he decreed, as far as she was concerned she was the heir to his throne. She was his firstborn child. The law of their land demanded that she be his heiress. She did not recognize the laws he had hastily passed in order to put her aside.

  But neither would she raise a hand against her innocent half-blood sibling. She knew there were factions willing and able to overthrow the young prince, should he ever ascend to the throne, if she so much as nodded in their direction, but she would not banish another to the fate she had been exiled to. And the alternative of eliminating him entirely was out of the question.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Prelate Kitsos step to the edge of the runner as she was being hurried past the roomful of prelates and paxors. He tried to catch her eye, his look full of some kind of meaning and intent. She remained staring full ahead, not wanting in any way to be associated with the man’s plots and plans. He was too obvious in his avarice. He would be the death of them both if he were not more careful.

  Now her heart seemed lodged firmly in her throat and it felt as though it was beating twice as fast. She was led past her father’s throne and into his private visitation chamber. The difference in the brightness from one room to the next was shocking, and she was nearly blind in the sudden darkness. She clutched the prayer book she held between her hands, hoping the Great Being was watching over her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was grabbed roughly around each of her arms and shoved hastily forward. She tripped over the skirt of her gown, making her fall to her knees in an obeisance she did not truly feel, may the universe forgive her for her angry heart.

  She was now kneeling at the feet of the man who had tormented her throughout her life in one way or another. She would have bowed to him under her own power, but she would never have groveled before him. She clenched her teeth in anger, forcing her countenance to remain cool and serene. She could not afford to be prideful. She could not risk any show of backbone in front of an emperor who had no compunctions about killing off anyone who angered him.

  Silence ticked by, the only sound in her ears the rasp of her own breathing. She kept her eyes trained on the bamboo runner that ran through this room as well. The woven, decorative mats were used to protect flooring and, in this instance, hand-malleayed carpeting. Artisans created malleay rugs on great looms, teams of people working in some sort of concert of creativity. She had not seen one of the rich creations in completion since childhood, and even now the mat thwarted her. True, the bamboo in itself was cleverly wrought, colorful threads and Delran platinum decorating the plain tan fibers and creating something quite spectacular, but she would much rather see the rug beneath it.

  Far more than she wished to see her father just then. Even now, all she could see of him was his slippered feet.

  “Sister.”

  The pubescent voice startled her, as did his address, and she forgot herself and looked up. Instead of her father, she found herself at the feet of a brother she knew only from images in VidMags and other media. He was tall and gangly, all sharp joints and a physical awkwardness that rolled off him even though all he was doing was standing still. But he also had that imperious air and confidence of a prince born and raised. The luxurious cloth-of-platinum robes he wore were robes of state and, though they seemed to weigh heavily on his narrow frame, he wore them perfectly straight and with the exactness of someone used to such finery.

  “My good brother,” she said, inclining her head again. “I am honored to meet you at last.”

  “Are you?” he questioned her. “Or are you as much a traitoress as your mother was? Now that our father is dead, will you drive a knife in my back at the first opportunity?”

  “Our father is dead?” The shock was so tremendous, so unexpected, that she forgot she was not allowed to acknowledge the emperor as her father.

  “He will be long remembered,” everyone in the room said solemnly, the ritual confirming the fact.

  Beyond the shock there was also such a stupefying release within her psyche, the relief of almos
t a decade’s worth of stress and tension, that she immediately felt light-headed. Blackness rode over her, forcing her to drop her prayer book and brace her hands on the floor. She fought off the faint that was tugging at her and used her seemingly obeisant position to touch her forehead to her brother’s slipper.

  “My great lord and emperor,” she said shakily, “I am so utterly sorry for your loss.”

  “So, you acknowledge me to be our father’s heir?” He was clearly fishing and she had learned to tread carefully around such dangling worms.

  “I have always done so, Your Eminence. Is it not so decreed? I am the fruit of a treacherous woman who conspired to murder our lord and master, the late emperor. Her shame is my shame. I do not deserve to be heir or empress according to the laws he passed against me.”

  “Then you will not mind signing this documentation to that effect.”

  Her brother’s hand swept out to the left. She raised her eyes to see a secretary reach down with a carefully drawn up document, its gilt edges obscenely bright as she quickly read the contents.

  I, Ambrea Vas Allay, do swear from this day forward that I renounce my blood and any connection to the Allay throne. Thus, I will now be known only as Ambrea Vas, a commoner and subject of this realm. I sign this of my own free will with both signature and retinal scan to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that these are my wishes and desires. Any attempts on my part to take the Allay throne, from this day forward, will be considered an act of high treason and will result in the immediate forfeiture of my life.

  —Ambrea Vas

  It meant Ambrea … “daughter.” Ambrea Vas Allay meant “daughter of this realm.” In all these years, her father, though he had alienated her and stripped her of her rightful place in the succession, had never taken this step, stripping her name. She had always wondered why. Perhaps there had been some part of the former emperor that had been, after all, loath to deprive himself of his spare heir while his only living son was still young and susceptible to many illnesses and the dangers of youth. Perhaps he had not, in the end, wanted to leave her without any claim to anyone. But clearly her brother had no such reservations.