Spark

A Fire on the Mountain Novel

Erin Noelle © Copyright 2015

All rights reserved.

Cover Photography by Toski Covey

Cover Design by Hang Le

Editing by Kayla Robichaux

Formatting by Midnight Engel Press, LLC

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, copied in any form or by any means. Electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author/ publisher, except by a reviewer that may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each participant.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, is entirely coincidental.

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Contents

Prologue

Part 1 – Spark

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

Part 2 - Burn

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

Part III - Rekindle

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

Epilogue

Note From The Author

About The Author

Acknowledgements

Excerpt from Wet by Stacy Kestwick

“Have you changed your mind about Tucker’s party tonight?” Lila whines as she tugs on the back of my shirt, reminding me of a little kid begging for someone’s attention. “Everybody who’s anybody is gonna be there.”

Exhaling an audible sigh of frustration, I slam my locker shut for the final time—thus ending my four-year career at Madison High—before turning toward the petite brunette standing to my right. She gives me her best puppy-dog eyes, somehow even glassing them over with fake tears, while her full, lipstick-stained bottom lip is already starting to jut out in a pout.

Momentarily distracted as I recall how good those juicy lips felt wrapped snugly around my dick yesterday afternoon, I shake my head, forcing my attention back to her latest complaint before I end up dragging her into the closest empty classroom and making that day-old memory become a current reality.

“I guess I’ll just have to be a nobody then, ‘cause like I told you this morning, I’m hanging out with my brother tonight. My mom’s working late so she can take off for graduation on Saturday.” I swing my backpack over my shoulder and take off down the hall to where I’m supposed to meet Caleb.

“Bring him with you.”

“Ain’t happening. Not after last time when he got drunk.”

She scuttles behind me, struggling to keep up with my long, purposeful paces in the red stilettos she’s wearing—at least, that’s what she called them this morning, not that I would have any idea. I’m still not sure why Lila and all her minions dressed up like they were interviewing for a sexy secretary position today, but when she tried to explain it earlier, something about them looking the part for their transition into adulthood, I tuned her out pretty fast. I don’t give two shits about what she wears, though I’m a little disappointed I won’t get to bend her over, hike up that pleated black mini-skirt, and bury my cock inside her while she’s wearing those fuck-me heels tonight. ‘Cause I gotta admit, they’re pretty fucking hot.

“But, Crew, we have to go,” she drones on from behind me. “We’re the most popular couple at Madison. What kind of graduation party would it be without the homecoming king and queen? We have an obligation to our classmates…a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m not asking you not to go, and I think you can stop referring to us as that. Homecoming was in October; it’s now June. And as of about fifteen minutes ago, when that final bell rang, I turned in my crown,” I retort, twisting my neck around to flash her my cockiest smirk.

Casting back her bitchiest glare, she stops walking and throws her hands on her hips with an immature hrmph. “Can’t you act like a carefree teenager for once? Just forget about your family responsibilities and have fun for one fucking night? Is that too much—?”

Before she can even finish the thought, I hear commotion coming from the hall perpendicular to the one we’re in—the one I’m headed to—and intuitively, without a shadow of a doubt, I know it’s him.

Taking off like an Olympic sprinter, I fly around the corner, abandoning Queen Lila and her royal bitching once and for all, and immediately spot a flustered crowd of both students and teachers clustered around a body.

A rigid body that is violently convulsing on the floor.

Caleb’s body.

Some of them are crouching next to him, uncertain of what to do, while others are calling out for help to anyone who will listen. In a matter of seconds, I’m tearing through the onlookers and dropping to my knees in the middle of them.

“Back up! Everybody, back up! He needs space and I need a towel. Now!” I bark out orders furiously without bothering to look up at any of them or add a please. My only concern right now is the fair-headed kid jerking and trembling uncontrollably in front of me.

A mixture of blood and saliva streams from his mouth, adding to the already good-sized puddle his face is smearing across the speckled tile. The wet area soaking the front of his pants explains the whiff of ammonia invading my nose, and I can only hope it’s just his bladder he’s lost control of. When his eyes roll back in his head, I hastily turn him on his side to prevent him from gagging or choking, and then scoot back a couple of inches while I wait for the seizure to end.

Helplessly, I watch along with the others, and after what seems like an eternity, the shaking begins to slowly subside. Snatching the towel someone tossed in front of me some minutes ago, I scoop his thin frame into my arms and begin to gently clean off his face as I soothingly rock him against my chest back to awareness.

Most of the crowd has disbursed by the time he pries open his hazy green eyes, and a big smile of relief spreads across my face once I see he’s okay, although the fear-fueled adrenaline still courses heavily through my veins.

“Hey, bro,” I say quietly, pushing back the wet strands of hair that are plastered to his forehead. “Good to have you back.”

He attempts to answer, grunting and gurgling until he hacks up some bloody mucus that had lodged in his throat.

“No need to talk, dude. I’ve got you now. You’re gonna be okay.”

Wiping the mess off of his mouth and chin, I shake my head and force a tight-lipped grin to swallow back the string of curse words I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. The doctors are wrong. My little brother—my only brother—isn’t getting any better; in fact, he’s getting worse.