Incendiary

by Elisabeth

  Imperial Publishing House Presents

  Incendiary

  by Elisabeth

  Incendiary

  * Tending to arouse strife, sedition, etc.*

  Author Note

  This story of Paris, Alexander of Troy, is something that popped up in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. Now, as some of you know in Homer’s the Iliad, Paris was the soldier who killed Achilles. Their story links together whether they like it or not, and it was the best transition from my own version of Achilles in Catalyst to Paris in Incendiary. These two warriors are known all over Greek mythology and tragedies. So many different versions of them have been written and released. My version is based loosely on mythology but with my own spin.

  As you may know, Paris, who in this book goes by Alexander, did suffer the fate of dying as he did in the Greek tragedy, but after that everything is different. This book can be read before or after Catalyst as you do not need to read that book in order to understand Incendiary. Both warriors in their roughness and charismatic love show you that even they deserve the chance to truly love who their heart desires.

  Enjoy.

  Xoxo,

  Elisabeth

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I.

  Alexander

  McKenna

  Chapter II.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter III.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter IV.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter V.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter VI.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter VII.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Chapter VIII.

  McKenna

  Alexander

  McKenna

  Alexander

  Epilogue

  McKenna

  ~*~

  SNEAK PEAK

  I.Nights spent

  Prologue

  Hera and Athena watched as the scene unfolded. Helen of Sparta begged Oenone to heal Paris “Alexander of Troy,” the man she loved. Paris shouldn’t have chosen Aphrodite as the most beautiful amongst them and given her the golden apple. He was warned he would live to regret it, and there he was mortally wounded on the battlefield by Philoctetes. Did he think no one heard Oenone’s cries when he left her for Helen of Sparta? Did he think the two goddesses would’ve ignored her as she pleaded for them to restore her heart and make her better? Hera, along with Athena, had hardened Oenone’s heart, and she became bitter. So bitter this moment didn’t matter to her. Cursing Paris was the only way for her. Oenone made her decision, Paris was dying.

  “I will not heal him. He will die… He will know what it feels like to love someone much more than himself as I have loved him… To love someone so much, it drives you mad to the point of insanity. He will suffer as I have. He will love her more than he’s ever claimed to love you. When he sees her, he will fall for her at the snap of mere fingers. Dying is too easy for someone such as him. As for you, Oh Helen of Sparta, you who coveted someone else’s husband, may you die with misery and shame. Your love will be meaningless to him. You will be but a bitter memory.” Oenone spoke filled with bitterness in her heart.

  “No! No! Please help him. Save him. Heal him. You loved him such as I have. Do it because you love him,” Helen of Sparta begged.

  Oenone laughed such a bitter laugh as she looked over at Helen of Sparta. She didn’t care. Neither of them would ever get his love not even in death or the afterlife.

  Helen of Sparta cried all the way back to where Paris was. By the time she came back to him, he had passed away. It only took days for his fatal wounds to conquer his body and soul. She couldn’t speak as she watched his funeral pyre burn on. She was numb to it all and didn’t speak a word, but there was a commotion that went on, and she turned towards the noise. She watched as Oenone struggled with the guards. Then, after a moment, she broke loose and ran towards Paris’ funeral pyre. Helen of Sparta gasped as Oenone threw herself in the funeral pyre. Her body burning right along with his.

  Hera and Athena watched the whole thing as it transpired. They didn’t understand why Oenone would throw herself into the fire, but then they turned to their right seeing Aphrodite standing there in the far corner of the funeral pyre. She did something before they heard her last words.

  “You will find your true love Paris, Alexander of Troy. This may not have been your time for it, but you will know when it’s time. The name which means ‘fiery love’ or ‘born of flames’ mixed in there with Eros will be the one for you. She will be born with one purpose … to be yours.” Aphrodite blew in the fire causing the flames to grow higher and brighter. She needed a sacrifice to give him what he truly needed. Oenone was the sacrifice, but not his. Neither woman was born to be his.

  No one noticed as the bodies were swapped. Oenone burned there in the fire as Paris’ body evaporated. Aphrodite smiled and disappeared from the scene. None of the humans even knew she was ever there.

  Chapter I.

  Alexander

  I promised never to beat my own child. I swore I would treat him differently than my father treated me, but this kid… Man, this kid tried my damn patience. Was I a little douchebag at fifteen? I massaged my temple with my tattooed hand before I asked him the question again?

  “Kid, what did you say to me?” I tried being level-headed for once.

  “I said, my teacher wants to see you.” He huffed like he had a right to. I should put him in the ring and spar with him. See if he talks to me like this again.

  “See me about what?”

  “I—” He cleared his throat. “I got into a little altercation with some punk kid that was making fun of my name.”

  “Your name!” I yelled as I stood up, flipping back my office chair I was sitting in. “You scrapped a kid because he made fun of your name?”

  “Yes!” this fool answered.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Only this kid was allowed to talk to me like that. If any of my men spoke to me like this, I would pull my piece out and kill them. I clenched my jaw looking up towards the ceiling and counted backward from ten and then finally spoke.

  “Fine, Paris. When do you I see this teacher of yours?”

  “Tomorrow at ten in the morning. Don’t be late and please don’t threaten her dad.” He actually had the audacity to say that as if I was a low-life gangster.

  “What am I a thug?” I shrugged.

  Paris shook his head.

  “You’re the freakin’ leader of the Turkish Mafiosi, and you own basically all of Vegas’ streets and Nevada as a goddamn state. Don’t threaten her dad, seriously,” he said as he slumped further into the seat he was sitting in across from me.

  “Fine. Now, get out and tell Tank to come back in here. Go to school and shut your damn mouth, Paris. I’m serious. No more fights.”

  “Ugh fine, dad!”

  “What am I deaf, kid? I can hear you. STOP YELLING!” I cleared my throat as I turned to pick up the leather chair I knocked over as if it was from the dollar store. I turned back around fixing my custom-made suit. I sat back down as Paris stood up. “Kid?”

  “Yes, Dad?” he answered as he looked at me.

  “Seriously, be good. No more fights. I don’t want that for you. You hear me?” I looked at him as he stared back at me.

  He was a goddamn spitting image of me. He had Heterochromia Iridis like I did, except his left eye was gray and his right eye was sea-green, the opposite of mine. We had dark-blondish, brunette hair, his still growing in length. Our differences were that while he stood at five-ten, I was six foot six. His leaner, swimmer’s body was smaller c
ompared to my lean but muscular build. I had a low-cut beard while he was still a boy going through puberty. He was like his mother, though not in character. He had her smile and her dimples. It pained me to look at him sometimes because he reminded me of a time when I thought I loved, but it was false. She left him on my doorstep and took off with her cop boyfriend who wasn’t under my thumb. If I could, I would spit on the ground just on account of thinking about her, but I wouldn’t do that, because he was there.

  “Yes, Dad,” he grumbled as he walked out of my home office just as Tank walked in.

  I watched as Tank came in and took a seat in front of me. He was exactly like his name; big like a damn tank, bald, dark-skinned, the opposite of me, and almost my height.

  “Boss,” he greeted me like this every morning.

  “I need you to check out a couple of the new runners on the streets. I’m hearing some little drug dealer is trying to sell to kids? We don’t do that. Not now, not ever. Also, get me Frederickson? He’s been ditchin’ my calls for a few days now. He thinks I pay him for what? I need to know what’s going on at the station. Where’s Sherri? I need her to tell me when I meet with the Senator.”

  “She’s waiting for you in the car. You’ve got an appointment with him in an hour. He’s messed up again with one of the girls at the strip joint.”

  For the second time, I rubbed my temple.

  “He knows those girls make their own rules and choices. He doesn’t just get to touch them like he owns them. How far did he go this time and with who?”

  “He put Annalise in the hospital.”

  My head jerked up to look at Tank causing some tendrils of hair to escape the low bun. I ground my teeth just thinking of his hands on her like that. Annalise was a beautiful girl with a kind soul, and he hurt her? I wasn’t running some sick, demented joint where he could just do whatever he wanted to the girls. I inhaled then exhaled.

  “Tell him to meet me at the club.”

  “Which one, Boss?”

  “Lust and change the meeting until later on tonight. Bump up the meetings with the other clubs. I want to make sure everything is going okay.”

  “Okay,” he said as he texted it all to Sherri.

  “I need a drink,” I exclaimed.

  “It’s eight in the morning.”

  I looked at Tank and narrowed my eyes.

  “Mario, it’s hard to raise that little douchebag, and yes I just called my own son a douchebag,” I said to him as I chuckled.

  “Look, Alex,” he said dropping the title of ‘boss’ easily as we grew up together. Mario “Tank” Harlow was my best friend. “You’re doing a good job. Granted the kid is a bit of a douchebag, yes, but he is a good kid, and you know it. He’s fifteen. This ain’t gonna be his last fight.”

  “Yeah, yeah thanks, man. I just…” I stopped talking and looked up at the ceiling.

  “I know. Our dads weren’t the greatest examples, man; but look at us, we are better than them. You have never treated Paris the way your dad treated you. You actually care about that boy and his well-being. His mother was an absolute nightmare, but I’m glad she left him with you instead of taking him and being selfish like she always was.”

  “You’re right; I just hope his teacher doesn’t want to suspend him tomorrow,” I said as I straightened and stood. “Let’s get this show on the road, man.”

  “Alright, Boss,” Tank said as he smiled, revealing his pearly whites.

  McKenna

  I couldn’t sleep all night. I had all these random dreams that didn’t make any sense. I shook my head as I got out of bed and made my way to the shower. I had to be in my right mind if I would be talking to Paris’ father today. I didn’t mind the kid. He was so smart and attentive, but lately, he let a lot of kids get to him, and I didn’t understand why. Especially, when those kids were smaller than him in both height and build. I mean, he was taller than me, and he was only fifteen. I sighed and prepared myself for the day.

  I was glad today was a day off for students, but I had back to back meetings with parents. Not all were bad, but it was still tiring. Just as I prepped for Paris’ meeting, I heard a whisper in my ear. ‘You were born for one purpose…to be mine.’ I turned toward the window at the right of my desk but didn’t see anything.

  A shiver ran down my spine, and I turned to my left. When I turned, it was like a god stepped into my classroom. My eyes widened as a giant man, to my small stature, walked in wearing a dark burgundy, pin-striped three-piece suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie underneath. He even had the pocket square. His hair was in a low bun with the sides shaved a bit lower than the rest. His body looked like he spent enough time in the gym, lean but so muscular. His mismatched eyes, the right one gray, the left sea green, kept me captive behind those horn-rimmed glasses, making him look so WOW.

  His low-cut beard showed off the structure of his jaw. As he got closer, I couldn’t move for a moment. I just stared at him as he sauntered in like he was a damn wet dream.

  “Ms. Eros?” I heard my name called.

  I blinked, looking to the side.

  OH. MY. GOD!

  I was checking out a student’s parent. If I could be seen as blushing in my dark-mocha skin, I would’ve been caught red-handed. I cleared my throat and stood up. I walked over to where Paris stood with his father, and I looked higher and higher until I could meet his face. I was short, I knew that, but damn, this man. I stretched my hand out to greet him.

  “Hello, my name is McKenna Eros. I’m Paris’ teacher. You must be his father?” I said as I ignored the jolt of electricity I felt going through my entire body. I gulped.

  He smiled at me and my heart dropped to my panties.

  “Yes, yes I am. I’m Alexander of Troy,” he said, and I cocked my eyebrow. What did he just say? Just before I could respond to it, Paris spoke up.

  “He means he’s Alexander Troy.” I couldn’t even look away from Alexander to look at his son. I felt like I was caught under a spell.

  Paris cleared his throat once, then twice, which caused me to take a step back and yank my hand from his father’s. I blinked rapidly and forced myself to look away, but I broke a sweat trying to do that.

  The hell is wrong with me?

  “Let’s,” I cleared my throat. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” I pointed toward the chairs across my desk.

  Father and son took their seats, and still, I pretended to shuffle some papers as my hands trembled. I took a breath and looked up at Paris first needing to focus on anybody other than his father who looked like lust on a damn stick.

  “So, Paris, have you told your father the purpose of this meeting?” I asked him.

  Paris nodded and looked up at his father, who I dared to look at as he rolled his eyes at Paris.

  “He did.” That sandpapery voice traveled through my ears landing in all parts of my body.

  “Okay.” My voice came out in a whisper, and I had to clear my throat again. “So, I just want to bring it to your attention, Paris hasn’t gotten into fights before, so I don’t see the need to suspend him. I spoke to the principal about it, and she agrees with me, but there are consequences.”

  His father, Alexander, grinned. I watched as he was staring at my full lips while I talked. He licked his lips as his tattooed hand scratched his low-cut beard. His eyes twinkled as he caught me staring at his lips.

  “What kind of consequences?” he asked.

  Jesus!

  He needed to be on the radio or some sort of hotline. I bet he could make women explode with just his voice.

  “He has to offer to help out the younger kids. Since this school runs from elementary all the way to high school, he can stay after and help one of the teachers who just came off maternity leave.”

  Paris spoke up, “Who? Mrs. Petra?”

  “Yes,” I answered and looked back up at his father. “She teaches second and third grade, but she would love the extra help.”

  Alexander sucked his bottom l
ip into his mouth and nodded as he still watched me. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he came in there.

  “Well, Paris?” I cleared my throat and looked at him. “What do you think?”

  Paris shrugged. “Beats getting suspended. Dad would kill me.”

  “You’re right about that,” Alexander sputtered, looking at Paris then back at me. “Your last name is Eros? It means passionate love, right?”

  My eyes widened so much, I was sure they would pop out the sockets.

  WHAT!

  Paris grumbled, saying something under his breath I didn’t hear.

  “Yes,” I squeaked. “My mom was into Greek everything.”

  “Hmm,” he responded still staring at me. He fixed his glasses and then spoke again. “What does your first name mean?”

  “McKenna?” I scrambled through my mind trying to remember what my mother told me. “Oh, it means fiery or born from flames, something like that. She thought it was a cute wordplay to name me McKenna Eros. ‘Fiery love.’” I chuckled, but looking into Alexander’s eyes, he wasn’t smiling. If anything, it seemed like he was lost in thought.

  I watched as he removed his glasses from his face, shutting his eyes as he rubbed his temple. He cracked his neck, and I saw a little bit of a neck tattoo peeking through his collar. Then, he groaned low, and it traveled from my toes all the way up to my brain. It shot up so fast that I felt like I had been electrocuted. He stopped rubbing his temple then straightened up and looked at me. There was something there in his eyes, but I didn’t know what. He pulled out a cloth from inside his suit jacket pocket.

  “Ms. Eros?”

  “Yes?”

  “So, that means you’re not married?”

  How many times was I going to be shocked by this man today? Was he asking me that in front of his son?

  “No, not yet. I’m engaged, soon to be married.”

  “Not for long,” he said nonchalantly as he placed his glasses back on his face and stood up. He fixed his suit jacket and stretched his hand out to a dumbfounded me. I think I reached out of habit as I placed my hand in his. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said as he leaned down and kissed the back of my hand.