The Demon's Forbidden Passion. Zoey Williams

      Prologue

      Gripping the steering wheel so tight his tendons bulged, Ethan Phillips winced at the sight of every car quickly dodging out of his way, their tires screeching. The siren wailed louder and louder overhead as Ethan eyed the speedometer, its pin inching closer and closer to ninety miles per hour. He had definitely never driven the truck that fast before. But he had never responded to a call at 52 Crawford Place before either, an address within a gated community that he had been trying to forget for a decade.

      As he hit the brake to turn the corner, he wished he could press the pedal just a bit farther, delay the inevitable, make time morph into slow motion. His stomach clenched, dread settling into his body. He pulled up to the scene, where five other fire trucks were already parked, their crews surrounding the house and attempting to fight the monstrous flames. He sat motionless, his seat belt still buckled. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he could feel it begin: his body temperature rising above the flames in front of him, the crystal blue of his eyes transforming into yellow slits. His forehead ached, his horns desperately wanting to break through his skin—the skin that, although his uniform obscured it, he knew was turning from a deep tan to a blistering red. His teeth sharpened into points and he ran his tongue over them in a desperate attempt to suppress the transformation.

      Regain your control, he reminded himself. Don’t get angry.

      Another wicked clap of thunder vibrated through the sky, just as he had been hearing all night, and still no rain had come. It was a tease—one of those hot, stuffy summer evening thunderstorms that didn’t hold the promise of rain. And what Ethan would do right now for rain. The house, a gigantic three-story mansion, was fully engulfed in flames so tall he couldn’t tell where the angry bursts of fire ended and the deep vermilion sunset began.

      Ethan exited the truck and bolted toward the house with incredible swiftness despite his heavy uniform and equipment. As he clomped toward the front steps, the gravel driveway crunching beneath him, he could feel the air vibrating with the spray of the immense hoses that were on full blast all around him, a slight coolness emanating from them, before he surged into the blazing heat ahead.

      “Hey!” one of the men called out to him. “We haven’t secured an entrance yet—” But Ethan had already slipped into the residence, his pace never slowing. It was as if his body simply turned to smoke and the house had breathed him in.

      Once inside, Ethan maneuvered around the smoldering surroundings, trying to ignore the wave of crackling and popping that flooded his ears. He needed to focus, to find whoever lived here before it was too late. He did a sweep through the first floor, but found no one. Through the thick, dark smoke, his heightened vision helped him find his way to the staircase.

      At the top, a beam—white-hot with flames—crashed down from the ceiling, hitting Ethan’s right shoulder with a powerful smack. He grunted, but pressed on.

      The first door he approached was off one of its hinges, and leaned precariously in the door frame. The door easily gave way when Ethan knocked it down with a powerful kick from his heavy boots. It revealed a massive library—shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, the pages of its thousands of books flapping in the blaze like frantic birds.

      “Saunville Fire Department. Anyone in here?” he called out. The room seemed to crackle louder in response. “Speak to me if you can!” he shouted, his eyes desperately searching for any sign of movement, any sign of life.

      He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but after hearing no response for a few seconds, an unmistakable sound finally reached his ears: a cough. It was coming from under a mahogany desk, flames licking one of its panels.

      In one fluid motion, he lifted the massive desk and tossed it aside, feeding it to the inferno around him. It revealed a young boy, lying in the fetal position, one tiny hand pressed hard into the crook of his opposite forearm. Ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder, Ethan picked the boy up and hugged him close. The boy cowered.

      “I’m going to get you out of here, buddy,” Ethan said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

      “M-my eyes,” the boy stuttered, his voice thick with trepidation.

      “I know they sting from the smoke, keep ’em closed for me, okay?” They needed to get out of there now. Valuable time was ticking.

      “No, it’s not that,” the boy replied. “My eyes...they just...my eyes do the same thing. And I can’t control when they do it, either.”

      The words sliced through Ethan like a knife, stopping him dead in his tracks. Ethan forced himself to look down at the boy cradled in his arms. The same golden color of his eyes reflected back at him. Just for a flash, and then they went back to the same crystal blue as Ethan’s.

      The boy wasn’t a regular demon. He was a Half Blood, just like him. An anomaly.