Lincoln (sci-fi romance - The Ember Quest Book 3) Read online

  Lincoln

  The Ember Quest, Volume 3

  Arcadia Shield

  Published by Arcadia Shield, 2017.

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  LINCOLN

  First edition. November 21, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Arcadia Shield.

  Written by Arcadia Shield.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21 | Two weeks later

  Chapter 22 | Arlo

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1

  Lincoln Ember heard the satisfying crack as his opponent’s nose broke. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and gestured the man toward him again.

  The dim lighting in the fight club did nothing to disguise the old bloodstains on the floor. That, combined with the baying chants from the amped-up crowd, made the atmosphere electric.

  Lincoln grabbed his opponent around the neck and dropped him to the ground. The sprung floor took some of the impact, but his steroid-fueled, fury-eyed opponent still grunted.

  The crowd roared with a mixture of glee and fury, as they saw their undefeated fighter downed by a newcomer.

  “Boys and girls, we’ve got a contender,” yelled the squat, overly muscled announcer, who bounced on his toes at the edge of the ring, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Who wants to place a bet that the new guy will kill Thrasher in the next thirty seconds?”

  The crowd surged forward, throwing credit notes toward the waiting tellers, who stood at the edge of the ring in tight, black outfits, fingers outstretched to grab the bets.

  Lincoln narrowed his eyes, as he glared at the announcer. He would not kill his opponent, no matter how many punches Thrasher threw at him. The guy was high on something; he could tell that from the guy’s pupils, which were the size of pinpricks. It made him strong, but sloppy. He wasn’t a match for Lincoln.

  But he had to put on a good show, convince the fight-club boss he could be relied upon and was handy with his fists. Handy to have on his team, doing the dirty work. If he didn’t gain his confidence fast, then the mission would fail. And Lincoln never failed at anything. Among his five other brothers, he was the competitive one. But they all loved to win and were as stubborn as mules. Lincoln, however, edged ahead of them all in his steely determination.

  Thrasher raced at him again, spittle flying from his mouth as he ranted curses. He caught Lincoln in the stomach with a fist. Lincoln made a show of doubling over before swinging his leg out and knocking Thrasher off his feet. With a practiced spin, Lincoln dropped to the ground, his elbow landing on Thrasher’s throat.

  “Just play dead,” he hissed into Thrasher’s ear as he bucked beneath him. “They want you dead.”

  Thrasher kicked out and raked his dirty nails down Lincoln’s arm. “I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m supposed to be the one killing you.” He pressed down with his elbow.

  “You little grunt,” howled Thrasher, between gasps for breath. “This is my arena.”

  “Not anymore.” Lincoln closed off Thrasher’s airway. And after Thrasher threw a few more wild punches, the man collapsed on the ground, drool sliding from his mouth as his eyes rolled back.

  “We have a victor!” The announcer jumped into the ring and grabbed Lincoln’s arm. He pulled him to his feet, before pumping their fists together in the air. “What’s your stage name, son?”

  “Don’t have one. Just came here to fight.” Adrenaline surged through Lincoln’s veins. He watched the yelling, sweating crowd as he was paraded around the ring. There had to be three hundred people crammed into the small, underground space.

  “You’re our latest hot ticket. You’ve won all six fights. You must have a stage name.” The announcer dropped Lincoln’s hand and stepped back, his pale-blue gaze running over Lincoln’s muscular body. “I’m calling you Devil Killer.”

  Lincoln shrugged. Wouldn’t have been his first choice, but if it meant any future opponents paused before slamming their fists into him, he’d welcome it.

  “Boys and girls, we have your new fight club champion. I give you Devil Killer.”

  The crowd roared and stomped their feet on the rough stone ground. The air was full of the scent of hot bodies and strong alcohol. Lincoln spotted several fights among the crowd, as the testosterone-fueled atmosphere got to be too much.

  “You get a five-minute break. Then we’re calling your next opponent,” said the announcer. He walked away through the crowd, slapping people on the back and commiserating with those who lost credits on Lincoln’s fight.

  Lincoln looked around at the sea of drunk, pumped up spectators. He strode to the corner where a stool, a thin towel, and a bottle of water sat. He sucked down the water and wiped sweat off his face as he scanned the crowd.

  It had taken weeks to find a way into this fight club. It was run by a gang who did the dirty work of the State, the mysterious organization who’d run the world for more than a year after killing the monarchy, removing the dragons, and bringing the population under control using powerful hypnotic suggestion. There were only a few left who knew their tyrannical rule wasn’t the norm. And word was, this club trafficked hybrids—people who were half-human, half-dragon—and ran a sideline in acquiring valuable dragon egg fragments. Both things needed to stop. And the easiest way to do that was from the inside.

  A flash of red hair caught his attention. It was Anastasia. Lincoln gritted his teeth and swiped more sweat off his forehead. When Heath had proposed the two of them work together on this mission, Lincoln had been reluctant. Anastasia could hold her own, he’d seen her take down dozens of soldiers with her abilities as a dragon hybrid. But ever since she’d joined them at the bunker, her presence unnerved him.

  Shaking his head, Lincoln noticed a short, curvy woman in a skin-tight, black catsuit sliding toward him, her dark eyes overly made up, and the zip on the catsuit dangerously low. He flashed her a grin. She returned it, before moving closer, taking his smile as an invitation.

  “You alone, gorgeous?” The woman ran a hand down Lincoln’s muscled arm.

  “At the moment.”

  “You want company later?”

  “If I survive the next fight.”

  The woman leaned closer, giving Lincoln full view of her ample assets. “You’ll survive. You’ve got the killer instinct in you. I’ve never seen anyone take down Thrasher.”

  “Maybe it was a lucky strike.”

  The woman shook her head, her heady floral perfume drifting over him. “You have training. I can see that.”

  Leaning back in his seat, Lincoln’s gaze ran over the woman. Her curves were so perfect they could kill, but they left him cold. Still, he needed to act the part. He grabbed the woman’s hand and tugged her into his lap. “What do you know about my training?”

  The woman purred as he ran a hand up her thigh. “I’ve been around a lot of men who can fight. You’ve got lethal written in yo
ur bones. I’m betting on you in the next fight.”

  “I always play to win.” Lincoln eased her zipper down another inch and pressed his lips to the swell of the woman’s breasts. “Do you like to play?”

  “I love to play.” The woman arched her back, pressing herself close to Lincoln.

  At the press of female flesh, he couldn’t help but feel a stir of attraction. Lincoln shifted her closer and flipped her long, dark hair over one shoulder. “When I win, I’ll have sore muscles that’ll need a workout.”

  “Happy to oblige with that, sweetness.”

  “Lots of kinks and hard bits that will need your attention.”

  The woman sucked on his earlobe. “Anything you want. I’m all yours.”

  Lincoln’s gaze lifted over the woman’s shoulder. He spotted Anastasia watching, her brow lowered and her arms folded over her chest. She wore a black, fitted jumpsuit. Lincoln knew what was underneath hers. He grew more aroused by that thought than the squirming woman in his lap.

  He grinned and ducked his head, a sliver of pleasure running through him at seeing the anger on Anastasia’s face. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was jealous.

  “It’s show time, killer.” The announcer appeared by Lincoln’s side. “And the boss needs your services, Orchid.”

  Orchid placed a lingering kiss on Lincoln’s lips, before sliding from his lap. “Don’t forget about me, sugar.” She sashayed away, her hips swaying from side to side as Lincoln admired the view.

  The announcer chuckled, his gaze also glued to Orchid’s backside. “Watch out for that one. She’ll steal your heart and your wallet.”

  “She looks like a fun ride.”

  “She’s that, all right,” said the announcer. “Orchid is also the property of Clive, the boss. He gets to decide who she’s friendly with. Make sure you don’t get on the wrong side of him by messing with his woman when he hasn’t given you permission.”

  “Good to know.” Lincoln stood and rolled his shoulders, his dislike for the club boss growing. Any man who ordered women around was no friend of his.

  “And since you like feisty women, you’ll love your next opponent. This way.” The announcer led Lincoln through the crowd back to the ring.

  “We’ve met before.” Forcing his fists to unclench, Lincoln watched as the crowd parted before him. He knew who his next opponent would be, and he didn’t like it. But she’d insisted. And once Anastasia set her mind to something, she couldn’t be stopped.

  “Boys and girls, welcome back Devil Killer.”

  The crowd gave a roar. The stamping of feet began again, making the whole room seem to shake and sway.

  The announcer leaned closer to Lincoln and cupped his hand over the mic. “She’s tiny, but don’t be deceived. The boss put her through her paces. She can hold her own. Little and lethal is my favorite kind of woman.” He stood to one side and held his hand out. “Please give a big welcome to Taser.”

  Anastasia stepped into the ring, taking hold of the announcer’s hand as she did so, and giving him a false-looking smile. She wore a tiny pair of red shorts that clung to every curve, and a sturdy, but equally revealing, red sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her hair was teased around her head and her lips painted bright red. She ignored Lincoln as she swept around the ring, blowing kisses to the audience and wiggling her curves. Several men howled their delight and slammed their fists against the fight ring railings.

  The air felt like it had been punched out of Lincoln’s lungs as he watched Anastasia play to the crowd. She was stunning, with her flame-red hair, painted face and tiny outfit. But it was more than that. It was the way she held herself, as if she had an inner confidence, or a secret that no one else knew about. And, she did. Being a dragon hybrid gave her the ability to breathe fire.

  “Boys and girls, it’s time to place your bets.”

  ANASTASIA’S HEART RACED. She could taste the bloodlust in the crowd. She wrinkled her nose as fresh sweat and the tang of unwashed bodies threatened to overwhelm her senses. They wouldn’t be content with anything other than a fight to the death. She needed to make this appear amazing.

  Without even needing to look at him, she sensed Lincoln’s presence behind her. She felt his eyes tracking her every move, and added an extra wiggle to her hips as she moved around the ring. He could look all he wanted to, but he couldn’t touch.

  People thrust credit notes toward the waiting tellers. Anastasia had no clue how many people were betting on her. They knew she had extra skills, but not that she was a real dragon hybrid. It was why this underground club was so popular; it gave thrill seekers something new to watch. None of them believed she was an actual dragon hybrid, but were happy to suck up the lie that she’d had enhancements made to give the illusion she was more than human. This was illegal under State rules, but crowds like this turned a blind eye to the rules, so long as they got entertained.

  She pivoted on her bare feet, finally forcing herself to look at Lincoln. Her breath caught in her throat. He was stripped down to a pair of black shorts, his firm chest bare and slicked with sweat from his previous fight. His dark, wavy hair was pushed from his face, showing her his perfect mouth and high cheekbones.

  His bright-green eyes sparkled when he caught her watching. She grimaced and looked away. Why did he have to be so damned attractive? Maybe she could punch some of the handsomeness out of him when they fought.

  The idea sent the trace of a smile across her lips. Lincoln Ember was trouble in a ridiculously hot package. Ever since they’d met, when he’d helped rescue her and her sister, she’d not been able to get him out of her thoughts. He was arrogant and cocky, and a hit with the women in the underground bunker they lived in.

  She’d caught herself admiring his form so many times. But there was no way she would get any closer than she needed to. He was a player; someone who’d charm the pants off you and then leave when he’d gotten what he wanted. When she found a mate, she wanted him to stay. Dragons mated for life. And Lincoln was not a stayer.

  Even as she told herself that, she allowed her gaze to run over him. Stripped to the waist, muscles on display, and a twinkle in his eye, it made her want to punch him in the face and then kiss the hell out of him. This Ember brother did strange things to her insides. She hated it. Hated him for being able to affect her this way.

  “Boys and girls, I give you Devil Killer. Standing at six-foot-five-inches. Weighing in at two-hundred-and-ten pounds of solid muscle, this is our new undefeated champion. Already growing in legend, thanks to his defeat of Thrasher. Devil Killer is going up against Taser. Coming in at five-foot-four. Weighing one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of pure curves, don’t be deceived by her stature. This lady packs a punch. And her skills are beyond your wildest nightmares.”

  Anastasia slicked her tongue across her dry teeth and forced a smile.

  “Be prepared for a treat. Brute force against beauty, brains, and balls of fire.” The announcer roared with laughter, and the crowd joined in.

  “You’re the brute force,” called Lincoln from the other side of the ring.

  Anastasia shot him a rude gesture.

  “Are you ready?” yelled the announcer.

  The crowd roared back in agreement and edged closer to the ring.

  “I don’t think I heard you,” screamed the announcer, whipping them into an even wilder frenzy. “Are you ready?”

  The yelling and roaring intensified. Anastasia couldn’t help but wince as she saw the crowd’s bloodlust heighten. Shit, if they got any worse, they’d breach the ring and join in the fight. She was good, but couldn’t take out this whole room of jacked up, drunk sickos.

  The announcer beckoned Lincoln and Anastasia toward him and covered the mic. “Make this a good fight. There’s a lot of credits riding on this.”

  “Who’s the favorite?” asked Anastasia.

  The announcer smirked. “Take a guess, sweetheart. You’re good to look at, but the crowd knows a winner when they
see one.”

  Anastasia gritted her teeth. “I’ll give them a show to remember.”

  “We’re counting on that,” said the announcer. “And make sure you do, because the boss is watching this. If you please him, he’ll want to see you afterward.”

  Lincoln quirked his eyebrows at Anastasia, but she ignored him.

  “The rules are, there aren’t any rules,” said the announcer. “The first one to knock the other unconscious is the winner. Or you can always submit. Just say the word, and the fight is over.”

  “No fight to the death?” asked Anastasia.

  “If that’s what you get off on, be my guest,” said the announcer. “But you’ll have to get rid of his body.”

  Lincoln grunted. “We won’t kill each other.”

  “I’m tempted to kill you,” growled Anastasia. Her lust for Lincoln mingled with her primal dragon rage, leaving her confused and horny as hell.

  “Good girl.” The announcer patted her backside before turning to the crowd. “Let’s play!”

  A bell rang, signaling the start of the fight. Anastasia skipped backward. They’d discussed fight tactics before coming into this. Both knew they needed to make it realistic. That meant landing hard punches and causing blood to spill. That was something she didn’t mind doing when it came to Lincoln. Maybe if she hit him a few times, she’d realize he wasn’t so amazing, just a regular guy with a more than average level of hotness.

  Lincoln bounced on his bare feet, rolling his shoulders and twisting his head from side to side, as if limbering up to prepare for the first blow.

  “You going to play fair?”

  “Only if you do.”

  “I always play fair.” Lincoln winked and closed the distance between them.

  Anastasia ducked and rolled, not yet ready to engage. “Not what I’ve heard.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

  She threw out a punch. “I find they’re surprisingly accurate.”

  “You should get to know a person before you pass judgment.” Lincoln blocked the punch.