The Fated Fire Princess

The Hottest Thing Since Sliced Bread

Jack’s POV

The only person who’s more devastated than Harper by the news that Effie and Milo secretly arranged for our entire class to attend her sweet sixteen is me.

I had high hopes for tonight, if I’m being honest. I probably never would have worked up the courage to tell her how I feel about her, but I could have at least danced with her, and that would have been enough. I thought it was just going to be me, her, Effie, and the Senses and their friends; that, I could have handled. But our class?

Harper calls herself an outsider, but she has no idea. She’s their princess. Sure, most of the “cool girls” are jealous of her, and give her the resulting cold shoulder because of it. But they still idolize her. And the guys?

The way Logan Townsend looks at her makes me want to punch him in the face.

I probably shouldn’t hate him so much. Of all the cool, golden-boy jocks, he’s really the nicest one. He’s always pleasant to me—doesn’t call me “broomstick boy” like the rest of them do, or jeer at me when I mop the floors of the Academy at night. Really, he doesn’t treat me like I’m different at all, and there are few people I can say that about.

“Jack,” Effie says, frowning at me. “Harper needs to get dressed. Can you go dust some shelves, or something?”

Harper swiftly smacks Effie in the arm, coming to my defense as she always does. Effie, Harper and I have been something of a threesome for years, but Effie and I never quite hit it off the way she and Harper did. If you ask me, Effie’s boldness that Harper admires so much is only fifty percent actual courage and the other fifty percent flat-out mean-spiritedness. 

Anyway, Harper’s far braver than Effie could ever dream of being. She just doesn’t realize it.

Despite my annoyance at Effie’s comment, I do step out of the room. Watching Harper change her clothes would be way too much for me to handle; sometimes I can barely contain my s****l desires for her when she’s fully clothed.

I wait as patiently as I can outside the door while Harper changes, then smile politely at her when she opens the door again.

Once I see her, though, my polite smile turns into something else entirely. If I had to label it, I’d say it’s halfway between a drool and a scowl.

I’ve never seen Harper in something half this scandalous, and it’s not even all that revealing. It’s a fire-red, knee-length dress with seductive, off-the-shoulder straps and a neckline just low enough to taunt without actually revealing the perky, supple breasts that I’ve dreamt about more times than—

Well, you get it.

“You’re wearing that?” I hear myself demand before I can stop myself.

Harper glances down at herself, frowning. “Is it ugly?”

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so disgusted by the thought of Logan f*****g Townsend seeing her in this dress. Still, my kinder half gets the better of me, and I say quickly, “Of course, not. I’m just… I… haven’t really seen you in a dress like that before, is all.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, scanning them thoughtfully as if trying to figure out what I really mean by that. I look away, not prepared for her to find out.

I know that, in some ways, it would be a whole lot easier if she just knew how I felt about her. At least then the ball would be in her court.

But what if she never kicked it back? What if she never…

Well, let’s face it—I’m nobody’s dream guy. I’m a regular, for one, and a janitor’s son, for another.

And she’s, as Effie so eloquently put it, the hottest thing since sliced bread. Not to mention, she has the most badass fire powers the world has ever known.

Not that the world actually knows. Somehow, Nell and Milo have managed to keep it a secret from the masses.

She beckons me back into the room when she gathers that I’m at a loss for words, and I obey obediently, taking a seat on her bed as Effie proceeds to pepper her with makeup for a good thirty minutes. By the time they finish, I’ve started to get the sense that I might be a tad bit underdressed.

“I grabbed something for you, too,” Effie tells me when she sees my expression. “Didn’t think I’d let you show up to the party of the year in your usual getup, did you?”

Harper nudges Effie scoldingly again, but I don’t mind her words this time. Honestly, I’m glad she had the foresight to assume I wouldn’t know how to dress for this. The last party I went to was my mother’s work Christmas party in the Academy’s cafeteria. Not exactly high-brow.

By the time we’ve all finished getting ready, we’re a good twenty minutes late to the party. Given that Harper’s the guest of honor, we decide twenty is fashionably late enough, and make our way downstairs.

A part of me hoped that, even though Nell and Effie invited our whole class, they wouldn’t come. But, whether for Harper, for the good food, or for the free liquor (the drinking age in NZ is eighteen, and we at Farnethia HQ take that rule a bit loosely), they all did. And I mean all.

The first person that comes up to us, of course, is him. Logan f*****g Townsend.

“Harper,” he greets with a voice as smooth as his black, button-down shirt and equally black slacks. “You look incredible.”

Why didn’t I think to say that? What was it I said, again? I haven’t seen you in a dress like that before, is all?

I’m such a moron.

“Thanks.” She sounds as uninterested in him as she usually does, thank God. “My mom bribe you to come out to this, or what?”

He laughs. “Not at all. It’s been on my calendar for weeks.”

On his calendar? What a prat.

“So,” he continues. “Want to dance?”

I mentally prepare myself for the subjugation of watching Harper and Logan dance the night away, but, to my distinct relief, she turns him down.

“Thanks, but I already promised Jack I’d give him the first dance of the evening.”

My jaw nearly drops as she swiftly takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she says sweetly as she wraps her arms around my neck and starts to sway from side to side. I carefully place my hands on her waist, praying that my palms aren’t as sweaty as they feel. “Didn’t really want to dance with him.”

I stare down at her with even more amazement than usual. “Wh… why?” I stammer.

She shrugs. “He’s boring.”

The heat seems to radiate between us, and I’m not sure if it’s her powers or all the blood rushing to my head. “And I’m not?”

She laughs and shakes her head. Her long, dark, glossy chocolate curls swoosh with the move, filling my nostrils with that smoky, fiery scent that no one in the world but Harper exudes.

“No, Jack,” she tells me. “You’re not boring at all.”