Table Of ContentIn the Passion of the Night
She awoke to the feel of him. The light that still burned and the
suddenness of awakening put panic in her eyes; they opened to find
his face hovering above hers, his eyes topaz chips that smoldered
with dark destructive passions. Her gaze fled. The panic caused her
tostrugglebriefly,andhejerkedbothherhandsaboveherhead,pin-
ning them together beneath one bandaged palm. He used his freed
hand to bracket her jaw, dragging her eye back to him.
“Don’tfightme,”hesaidthickly.“Fortheloveofheaven,don’tfight
me now. Don’t make me stop.”
She moaned. “I won’t fight you. I’ll let you, Daniel, but—”
He freed her wrists and sank his white-swathed fingers into her
hair. “Then kiss me,” he commanded.
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Table of Contents
Heart Of The Flame
BOOK I: The Weapon
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
BOOK II: The Will
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
BOOK III: The Way
29
30
31
32
33
BOOK I
The Weapon
1
PROLOGUE
In the year 1858, ten years before he acquired his first railroad,
andmorethanaquarterofacenturybeforehebecameknownasthe
ManintheIronFist,JulianGowhadhisfirstmanifestationofthere-
curring vision that was to haunt him until his death.
It happened in New York, in the shank of a warm April night. He
had had visions before, visions of power; and because these visions
gavehimpleasure,andbecausetheyalwayscameatthishour,hehad
always welcomed the fact that he needed so little sleep.
Onthatparticularnightin1858,beingtheninhistwenty-seventh
year, he lay in bed, staring unblinkingly at the blankness of his ceil-
ing, and waiting for a vision. It came.
He was in a boardroom, at the head of a table. On the table and
stretching its full length lay a great double-edged sword, silvery and
shining, its hilt toward his hand. The chairs along the sides of the
table were empty. At the far end of the table a shadowy figure stood.
The figure was clad in shapeless black, the face was hidden in the
shadow of a hood.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Revenge,” came the whispered answer, and he knew it was
a woman. A cold chill touched Julian Gow, like a presage of his own
doom.
“I am Revenge,” repeated that faint inexorable voice.
He felt chilled to the bone. Sweat broke out on his brow and ran
sideways in rivulets, darkening his ashen hair. He began to blink
rapidly, willing the vision to vanish, but he could not wrest his eyes
away. The vision was more real than reality.
“I am Revenge,” she said for the third time.
“You are only a woman.” He trembled. “You cannot destroy me.”
“I have the weapon,” she whispered. “I have the will. I have the
way.”
And he saw that the woman bore a seed in her belly, and that she
wasgreatwithchild.Andheknewthattheseedwasofhisownsow-
ing.
Hereachedfortheswordwithouttakinghiseyesfromtheceiling.
2
He screamed. He looked down at his fingers, and saw blood. With a
horror too great for words, he realized that the hilt was no longer at
his hand, but at hers.
When the vision vanished, the blood remained. Julian Gow had
bitten through his own hand, nearly to the bone.
In the morning, for he was a rich man even then, he hired a team
ofItalianartisanstopaintscenesonhisbedroomceiling,scenesthat
would remind him what a woman was for.
3
