King of the Fire Dancers by S.T. Sterlings

Author:S.T. Sterlings
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, lgbt, fantasy, shifters, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Publisher: NineStar Press

More than anything, August was disappointed when he woke up. In the back of his mind, he had hoped Conlin would have just killed him in his sleep. At least then he wouldn’t have had to deal with his present reality.

He sat up, and his back protested the movement. Conlin was lying on his bed, watching him with curious, mismatched eyes.

“So, you’re not dead,” Conlin remarked.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be. I can change that anytime I want.”

August stood up, grunting and wincing at the pain that shot throughout his body. If he’d known that one day he would have ended up wearing a shifter collar, he would have designed it to apply a lot less force.

“What time is it?”

“What’s it matter? You’re in prison. Time doesn’t mean shit here.”

“It would be helpful if you answered the question.”

“Since when have I ever given you any impression that I’d be willing to help you?”

“Forget it.”

“It’s forgotten.”

August looked around the cell and spotted two empty food trays. Turning back toward Conlin, he understood the smirk on his face. He had eaten both August’s dinner and his own.

Without speaking, he walked over to his new bed. Conlin had claimed the bottom bunk from the start, so it looked like August was going to have to sleep on the top. His body ached too much to climb up to it, but anything beat lying on the hard floor.

He could feel Conlin’s eyes on him as he struggled to pull himself onto the top bunk.

“Make sure your feet don’t touch my bed,” Conlin warned.

August ignored him. His toes touched the metal frame beneath Conlin’s mattress, but not the mattress itself. As luck—or lack of it, really—would have it, he lost his footing and had to brace against the edge of Conlin’s mattress.

The top bunk seemed to ascend, rising into the air before he could reach it. Conlin had clipped him, his foot smacking August’s shin so that he lost his grip on the bed frame and fell. His knees hit the frame with a loud crack before he landed, his back smashing against the floor.

He panted, body pulsing with pain as he stared up at the ceiling. Without moving his head, he shifted his gaze to Conlin, who stared down at him with a bored expression.

“I told you not to touch my bed.”

“It was not on purpose,” August replied. It hurt to speak.

“Not my problem.”

He grunted when he sat up, moving slowly so the room wouldn’t spin. It took effort to stand. His knees weren’t broken, at least. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make a second attempt at climbing onto his bed, so he grabbed the thin mattress off of it instead and laid it on the floor as far away from Conlin as possible—which wasn’t far at all, given the cell’s size.

His entire body hurt as he crawled onto the mat. He may as well have been sleeping on the floor. It was hard and uncomfortable, like lying on a bed made out of sand.

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