Author Molly E. Lee Talks Ember of Night & Shares Excerpt

• About Ember of Night

  

  I am a weed.

  Unloved by my abusive, alcoholic dad. Unwanted by my classmates. Unnoticed by everyone else.

  But I’d suffer anything to give my kid sister a better life—the minute I turn eighteen, I’m getting us the hell out of here. And some hot stranger telling me I am the key to stopping a war between Heaven and Hell isn’t going to change that.

  Let the world crumble and burn, for all I care.

  Draven is relentless, though. And very much a liar. Every time his sexy lips are moving, I can see it—in the dip of his head, the grit of his jaw—even if my heart begs me to ignore the signs.

  So what does he want?

  I need to figure it out fast, because now everyone is gunning for me. And damn if I don’t want to show them what happens when you let weeds thrive in the cracks of the pavement…

  We can grow powerful enough to shatter the whole foundation.

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• Excerpt

  Something new flares and trembles just beneath my skin, a delicious sort of ripple. I don’t dare look away from him. “If you wanted me dead, I already would be.”

  “Half true,” he says.

  “And I wouldn’t stand a chance at defending myself against you.” I already feel helpless to fight the thrall he has on me, that connection I can’t deny or shake. And part of me wonders why I like it so much—that feeling.

  Because it makes you feel alive.

  Draven’s breath shakes as I take another small step closer to him, but he doesn’t deny my words.

  I reach my finger toward his hand—

  “Don’t,” he says, tracking my movements like a hawk, the primal warning in his tone freezing me.

  “I told you, I’m not scar—”

  He growls. “You were attacked twice in one night. Do you have no self-preservation skills at all?”

  I purse my lips but don’t drop my hand. Instead, I get closer.

  “I’m warning you,” he says, his voice going lethally quiet. “Don’t touch me.”

  I draw my hand back.

  “Fine,” I snap.

  Confusion ripples in those amber eyes.

  “You touch me, then. Show me what I’m supposed to be so afraid of,” I challenge, my voice stronger than I knew possible. “Unless you’re the one who is afraid?”

  That muscle in his jaw ticks.

  I stand my ground, chin raised despite the exhaustion traveling through my body. Soon, I’ll wake up from this hellish nightmare and curse my overactive imagination. I’ll roll my eyes at this twisted dream and get back to my normal twisted life.

  “It’s my birthday,” I whisper, realization hitting me hard. I survived…I made it to eighteen. The overwhelming odds—especially after what’s happened tonight, if I’m not truly dreaming—make a swirling sense of giddiness rush through me.

  So much that a slightly mad laugh bubbles up from my chest.

  Something glitters in his eyes, but he squeezes them shut, effectively blocking me out. He rakes his hands through his hair, his eyes snapping open to reveal some internal battle raging just beneath the surface. “You’re eighteen,” he says, another dark laugh ripping from his lips. His eyes scan the length of my body, his head slightly tilted. “How do you feel, Harley?” His tone is more devastated than concerned.

  “Fine,” I say. In truth, the cuts on my neck barely hurt anymore. It’s hard to feel anything outside the rushing need flaring inside me.

  “Fine? Nothing more?”

  I swallow hard, my hand still extended between us in an offer. “Am I supposed to feel something more?”

  He eyes my hand but doesn’t move.

  “Do you want to make me feel something more?” I challenge, a thrill rushing through me. This…this battle between us…the same one that started the second he stepped into my life, this is better than any adrenaline rush. Distracting and powerful and dangerous and all the things I know I shouldn’t enjoy or want but can’t stop. Not with him.

  Something shifts in his eyes, dark and jagged, as he steps closer. “Do you trust me?”

  “I rarely trust anyone,” I answer. Then add, “But I trust you.”

  Draven tilts his head back, eyes on the ceiling as if he’s silently pleading for help. Slowly, he draws his focus back to mine. “You shouldn’t.”

  I turn my palm up and hold it between us.

  A challenge.

  A dare.

  A question.

  If he’s so terrifying, I want to feel it. Want it to raze me to the ground until all I can feel is this sensation—this spark I’ve never experienced before.

  “Show me,” I say, and Draven flinches.

  “No.”

  I keep my hand open between us.

  His lips turn to a hard line, his eyes darting between my hand and my eyes and back again.

  “Touch me, Draven.”

  His chest rises and falls quickly as he holds his hand over mine, hovering just an inch above my skin.

  The battle is clear in the rigid lines of his body, the way his fingers shake.

  But he spans that distance, the resolution clear enough in his churning eyes.

  So I lift my hand.

  Draven gasps as the pads of my fingers graze his skin.

  Once.

  Twice.

  His eyes fly wide and expectant as they scan my body like he’s searching for some kind of injury. After a few seconds, he grips my hand with a gentle strength that makes heat pulse beneath my skin.

  “Harley?” He whispers my name like a question.

  “Draven.” I answer him, solid, calm, practically bored. “I’m waiting to be terrified,” I tease.