Free Fervor (The Fervor Chronicles Book 1) by Lynn Carmer

her feminine instincts must have been frozen to hell by this icebox of a kingdom. A chill raced down his spine. What if it wasn’t the place, but her? Maybe the fervor had no power over her people. No drive to nurture, protect, and care for her mate.
    No. She wanted him. She’d showed him. Had taken him in hand so gently, so tenderly…
    Arun growled his frustration, embracing the strange sensation coursing through his body. His power had grown at her touch, and it didn’t disappear with his release. A current built in his palms, jumping back and forth between his hands. He didn’t know what it was, because he couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, and it felt damn good. He’d have time later to dissect this new ability. For now, he needed to find her.
    Shredding the manacles around his ankles, he reveled in the energy flowing through him, but he couldn’t stand the loss of sight. A vulnerability in the face of so much power. Bracing for the onslaught of the guards who pounded through the dungeon, he knelt low, using all his other senses.
    His abilities were instinctual. Even without his sight, he started to differentiate the sounds, the scraping of metal against scabbards and the pounding of feet. He sensed twenty guards. He could smell the pungent odor of sweat and fear.
    Let them fear. They would pay, pay for trapping him in this hellhole and for scaring off his mate.
    The door slammed inward and the invading army of guards descended. Shocked that he only felt the pounding of skin against skin, rather than steel, he realized they must want to keep him alive.
    Mistake. Nothing will keep me from her.
    When the crush of bodies slammed him against the wall, almost bringing him to his knees, he gathered the power in his body, straining with all his might to concentrate the flow of energy into his hands. The knowledge was there, but just out of his reach.
    Where the hell was his princess? If they hurt her during her escape, he’d kill them. The current inside him jacked up. Raising his hands in the air, he released jagged lightning that knocked him to his knees.
    The bodies were gone. There was no pressure; he was free. His eyesight flickered on, then off, then on again.
    I can see.
    But at what price? His strength was gone. Chest heaving, he looked down at his body and saw red. Rivers of blood coated his skin. He swiped a finger against his stomach, but bronze flesh lay underneath.
    The blood was not his own.
    He caught a glimpse of severed arms and legs, crimson splattered from floor to ceiling. He had decimated the guards, incinerated them by the look of it. What strange new power did he wield? The fervor had created a weapon… but he was Fiera. Born and bred for strength. For power anchored in muscle and bone. This electricity, this current running under his skin reminded him of the dry lightning that slammed his palace walls during the long summer nights. It bore no resemblance to the legacy of his people.
    Looking up, he saw a hallway. Somewhere down that path lay his princess, the key to his mystery. And seeing as how he had a kingdom to save, he didn’t have time to stick around and have a little chat with her. In an instant, he decided she would be coming home with him. And as soon as he had his fill, he’d force her to tell him why she’d run away.
    Gods, I don’t even know her name.
    Pushing against the wall, he staggered to his feet. Placing one foot in front of the other, he concentrated on remaining standing. He kicked an arm out of his way and heard a crunch as he stepped on a few scattered fingers. No moans or sighs, the silence held the finality of death.
    Ascending the stairwell, he didn’t encounter one guard. They had sent everyone they had. He neared a large doorway. Standing in shadow, he saw the large courtyard where they had chained and put him on display like an animal up for auction. Disgusting. His people had abolished slavery centuries before. And to think he considered moving his