Havocfire by Nora Hartwell

Talia

I have always loved dangerous things. The sharp, breathless second before everything finally breaks.

At Daric Academy, that has always made me difficult to manage. I hit too hard, push too far, and laugh when most people would run. My magic has always liked that part of me. It burns hotter when my pulse rises. It flares when adrenaline takes over. It answers every reckless instinct inside me like it has been waiting for permission.

Then Viktor Kane starts watching me too closely.

Viktor is controlled where I am chaos, disciplined where I am impulse, and dangerous in a way that makes every survival instinct I have go silent. He looks at me like I am a disaster he should contain, but every time he steps closer, my fire gets worse. Brighter, wilder, more alive.

Private training with him is supposed to help me control my new magic.

It does not feel like control.
It feels like his hands on my body, his voice in my ear, and the unbearable tension of standing too close to a man who is always keeping himself away from losing restraint. Viktor pushes back harder than anyone ever has, and I cannot stop pushing him in return. Every argument turns physical. Every sparring match becomes a test. Every touch makes my Havocfire rise until the air around us burns.

The problem is not that Viktor is dangerous.
The problem is that I like him that way.

The more Viktor and I collide, the harder it becomes to tell the difference between control and surrender, between violence and wanting, between something that could save me and something that could ruin us both.

I wanted more fire.
I never expected it to burn this deep.