They hit a bump in the road, and she gasped.
“Piece of cake, huh?” he said.
“Uh, yeah, right.” Her grip on him tightened. And she found herself smiling at what she found.
His muscles contracted beneath her arms—fine, strong, capable muscles—and his ribs expanded as he inhaled. On a groan, she pressed her face into his jacket. He smelled fabulous. A spicy musk. Woodsy.
Suddenly, images began bombarding her brain. The pictures appeared and disappeared in a confusing, rhythmic tempo. She saw herself riding a horse, which was crazy. She’d never ridden. Yet the loping sensation felt natural, familiar.
In her mind’s eye, fall foliage clipped past, frame by frame. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in an old-time movie. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized these were a new type of vision, and mere snippets. Her visions were usually more fully formed and focused on some sort of danger. But that didn’t seem the case now. Strange.
Then as if her previous thought prompted it, the scene switched and she saw fire. Raging fire. A building burned. She inhaled a sharp breath. There was no rhyme or reason as far as she could tell. What on earth was the deal?
It wasn’t difficult to return to the here-and-now since she was traveling forty miles an hour along a winding road. The situation took care of that for her. And she went with it. She’d have plenty of time to think about her visions later.
Venn navigated a curve with ease, as she leaned into him. As scared as she was, and despite her stupid visions, she felt wonderful.
Before she knew it, he slowed the bike, stopped, and cut the ignition. The silence was cold and disorienting, a stark contrast to her Paris home. She didn’t want to, but she raised her head. Taking in as much oxygen as she could, she breathed.
“Was it too bad?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No,” she answered. However, in her mind his question and her response weren’t about the same subject. Holding on to him for dear life hadn’t been bad at all.
But she still felt like she was moving and remained unsettled.
With unbelievable grace, he kicked one leg over the handle bar and landed with both feet on the ground in a smooth twist, the picture of a martial-arts pro.
He was so fast, she flinched. “Oh.”
Holding out one large hand to help her, he asked, “Hungry?”
She placed her palm in his. “I will be as soon as my stomach recovers.” Unlike his, her dismount wasn’t pretty. Her leg had caught on the seat awkwardly, and after a lot of shifting, she’d finally managed to stand up.
To her relief, he didn’t seem to notice her clumsiness. Or at least he was polite about it. She stared at her feet, feeling the firm ground beneath her soles, and inconspicuously tugged her jeans down at the side seams.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To my cottage.”
It occurred to her that being in the middle of nowhere with a stranger should elicit fear. But that’s not what she felt. No, she was drawn to this man in a way she couldn’t explain.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I arranged a very private dinner,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.
She jerked up her head. Glancing around, she took in the water, a pontoon boat, and lots and lots of forest. Where was his cottage?
“Is this the Savannah River?”
“Yes, there’s a small island there that’s been in my family for…generations. It allows me to get away from it all.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your job must be demanding.”
“That depends. If you mean how I make money, that’s a pretty easy job, actually. I’m an investor.”
“Must be nice.” She swallowed, wondering where her brain had gone as a hint of perspiration made her bra cling to her skin, even though it was cold outside. Any other time she’d adjust the thing. The constricting pressure grew worse as her stomach tensed. Was she actually going to hop on a boat with a man she’d just met?
Grams knew him, she reasoned. That made it okay, didn’t it?
She stepped onto the boat, and the floor tilted under her weight, dipping and rocking even more when Venn came aboard and sat beside her.
* * *
In the form of a great horned owl, Io had tracked the motorcycle along winding roads. He stayed well out of sight, employing his keen eye and acute hearing to spy on his prey. When they’d stopped and boarded the boat, he knew exactly where Venn was taking her and winged ahead to the cottage.
Leave it to Venn to take Emma to his private lakeside retreat.
Cozy.
And dangerous to Io’s mission.
After all, Venn’s and Emma’s souls were connected. If Venn swayed Emma and convinced her not to follow Io’s commands during the statue-raising ceremony, well, the tree would live. Venn would live. And the Guardian’s world would remain intact.
Not going to happen.
Emma held the power to cause the tree’s demise. Io had the ambition to use it. The instructions had cost him a heavy price to acquire from Satan. It required her to hold the stakes in her bare hands, using her inner heat to change the chemistry of the metal, making it toxic to Venn’s precious tree. As long as she moved forward and nothing messed up his plan, that was.
No, he wouldn’t dwell on that. He would focus on the victory to come. By the time Venn figured it out, it would be far too late.
Still, he mustn’t get cocky. It was imperative to keep them off guard.
Harsh yellow light angled between oaks and maples as he flew ahead to the cottage. He carefully chose his landing spot high in a dense oak for optimum cover, a good spot to watch the show. Below, a servant fine-tuned the atmosphere, complete with gleaming china and linens. How elegant. Tea lights floated in a crystal bowl. How romantic. Expensive wine ready to pour. How predictable.
And best of all, in his opinion, a hot glowing fire pit.
Io swallowed. Taking down a Divine Tree and its Guardian would earn a huge trophy in the form of well-deserved recognition from the Dark One himself. Only one scion had ever achieved such a thing.
His heart smiled wickedly.
It was his turn now and much overdue.
* * *
Broken shadows elongated between trees as the sun dipped low on the horizon. Venn guided Emma off the boat and along the flagstone walk leading to the three-hundred-year-old stone cottage. He’d made a few upgrades but the place was basically the same as it had been when he’d brought her here two centuries ago. Only then she was Amelia.
Would the familiar environment jump-start her memory?
“Venn, this is adorable,” she said while eyeing the house.
“I’m pleased you like it.” The cottage sat on a thumb-sized island, and every window offered a waterfront view. Perfect isolation. Easy to monitor.
“Like it? I love it. But if I were a sane person, I’d be—”
She didn’t finish, her hesitation clear. “Demanding that I take you back to civilization,” he murmured in a lighthearted yet soothing tone.
She rewarded him with a laugh. “You read my mind.” With a shake of her head, she met his eyes. “I don’t really know you at all, though.”
“You know me better than you think. I’ll convince you otherwise,” he said, only half-kidding, prepared to do precisely that and more.
Instead of leading her through the house, they followed the path around to the back deck. He wanted the first thing she saw to be the glowing fire pit and deck overlooking the river. They would go inside and sit and chat later, maybe she’d even remember their past by then.
A gentle breeze rolled off the water and reminded him that it was a bit cold. Yesterday’s snow had melted showing patches of earth, but the chill remained.
She stopped when the prepared table and roaring fire came into view. She inhaled sharply. “Oh my God. This is sooo beyond first-date material.”
“It’s a sin to do things half-assed.” He cleared his throat and extended his hand.
“Shall we?”
He led her to the table where he pulled out her chair. His fingers brushed her shoulder as she sat, and he sucked air into his lungs. Jesus, the surge of desire that coursed through him would boil liquid again, if he didn’t control himself.
He straightened, a feeling of unease suddenly nudging him. At the faint whoosh of wings, the muscles in his arms and back tightened. Shit. Not. Now. He glanced around, reining in his anger, scanning the foliage and trees. Sure as Satan, Io was here.
Venn didn’t have days, didn’t have hours, didn’t have minutes to convince Emma her life was in jeopardy. However, such a claim wasn’t something blurted out to a stranger. He couldn’t just say, Jacob Price is out to kill you.
“On second thought, let’s move inside. It’s too cold out here,” he said. Yes, the stone cottage equaled armor.
“Nonsense. This is delightful. The fire pit gives off plenty of warmth.”
Of course she’d refuse his suggestion. Emma shook out her napkin and placed it in her lap. All he wanted was to wrap her in his arms and protect her. But he couldn’t very well toss her to the ground in the name of safety.
She flashed a smile that hit his heart, and his gaze shot from tree to tree, surveying the area. At the moment, the one good thing was that Io couldn’t fire an arrow, or truly harm her, while in his owl form.
If only she’d remember, then she’d believe him. But he still needed to progress slowly, dammit. Earn her trust and pray for the stars to line up to speed her memory along.
Using his mind, he roared at Io. Leave her be. You’ll not harm her again. Hell will not be far enough to run off to and hide this time.
Ah, why did you not come after me?
Venn didn’t reply. “Wine?” he asked Emma, ignoring Io’s taunt.
She nodded.
He filled a glass and handed it to her, allowing his fingers to stroke hers as she took it. He loved the way her touch made him feel alive. It had been so long since he’d experienced that glow of warmth deep inside him. The sensation extended to his beasts, and they rolled inside of him as he felt them stretching for the caress. All those years of loneliness and isolation, they’d been part of that, too.
Her eyes flared as she looked at his hand. “Your ring is beautiful. So unusual. I noticed it at the coffee shop.” She set down her glass. “May I have a closer look?”
He leaned into the table and reached his hand across for her inspection. “Sure. But it doesn’t come off my finger easily.”
She took his hand in hers, and the delicacy of her touch made his heart bang against his ribs as wild, driving desire coursed through his body. He studied her face, wishing again that they could just pick up where they’d left off in her previous life.
“It has a Celtic look.” Her brows pinched. “And so meaningful, the tree set in circles, a wolf and a hawk guarding each side. The stones are gorgeous. The metals are blended together so expertly. I’m jealous.”
“An old friend gave it to me,” he murmured.
Oh, how sweet, Io shot at Venn with a snort, half contempt, half laughter.
Venn tensed, trying to erect walls to keep Io out of his head. If Emma knew the danger he’d put her in, she’d run for the high hills, back across the ocean to Paris. And maybe that was the best way to protect her. To let her go.
If it were that easy, he’d put her on the next plane.
“Your friend has excellent taste,” she said with another smile and released his hand.
With perfect timing, Henry brought out their meals. A medium steak—done to a perfect pink, just the way Amelia had liked it—crusted asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes.
As Emma picked up her utensils, she made a face. Almost imperceptible but he caught it. “Is something wrong?”
She blushed. “I prefer my meat a bit more well-done. But that’s okay.”
Shock zinged through him, making him sit straighter. He thought the two women would be the same. That he could draw on the past to affect her now. Suddenly it occurred to him that winning Emma might not be so simple.
“No. It will take but a moment for Henry to cook it more.” He stood, retrieved both their plates and began to head for the kitchen when he recalled Io and thought better of leaving her. “Henry,” he spoke from the door. When Henry arrived he explained the situation in low tones, then returned to the table and refreshed their wine.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve gone to too much trouble.”
“Not at all.”
She giggled. Like the sound of a perfectly tuned wind chime.
“What?” he asked, pleased that she’d relaxed.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
He grinned lazily over his wineglass. “I talk enough.”
She rolled her eyes.
“So tell me about your project for the square.”
She cleared her throat daintily. “It’s a statue of a soldier on horseback. I’m sure there are similar ones around, though.”
“Not using the techniques you use. Have you always worked in barbed wire?”
“I forget the medium seems unusual to people. Bronze or poured metals are more traditional. Barbed wire is made of steel, but it’s not that hard to work with once you get used to it. I like working with the old or ‘black’ wire. It’s soft yet durable.”
“I enjoyed watching you work earlier,” he murmured.
“Really?” Her shoulder rose and fell. “I didn’t think it would be that interesting to someone who isn’t emotionally involved in the work.”
“Is that what happens when you craft a project? You get attached or something?”
“Yes. It’s like having a child, I suppose. I create and shape it, then let it go.”
Henry returned for a second time with their meals and then quietly exited.
“How long do you expect your project to take?” he asked as they dug in.
“I’m scheduled to be here for a week.” She paused to eat some asparagus, closing her eyes briefly as if the morsel were melting in her mouth. Gently stabbing her fork into more, she continued. “Mmm, this is heavenly… Anyway, the park is in far worse condition than I had imagined. Had I known, I would have delayed my trip.”
“I suppose I should opt for full disclosure and tell you that technically I own the park, or at least the land it sits on. A skirmish during the Civil War forced my ancestors to relinquish usage rights to the town.”
Her mouth slackened. “How could you allow it to fall into such disrepair?” Her cell phone purred. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have turned it off.”
“That’s okay. Go ahead and take the call.”
“Only if it’s my grandmother,” she said as she fished around in her small shoulder bag. In quick succession, she withdrew a pair of sunglasses and a misshapen spoon and set them on the table, then she pulled out the phone. Her back straightened as she read the screen. “Oh darn. It’s Paris. I really should…”
Venn gestured her to go on, then turned his attention to the distorted spoon. Certainly an odd thing to carry. It was smooth, with the handle kind of misshaped in a stretched-out sort of way, like the metal had been heated and cooled. He was itching for a closer look.
After a cursory hello, she switched to French, angling her body away from him.
Well, at least it isn’t Io.
His gaze swept from her to across to where the river joined the the lake where a full moon peeked above the trees and then to the dancing fire. He kept his eyes on the flame despite the way her tone abruptly grew pressing. As hard as he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t help overhearing both sides of the conversation. It was a friend with bad news. His gaze slid to hers.
“Incendie? Mon appartement?” she repeated, her eyes round.
He frowned and leaned toward her. He stopped pretending he was just looking off into the night.
She hung up, closing her eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
“Not really. There was a fire in my apar
tment.”
“Bad?”
“Not burned to the ground, but bad enough.”
Venn absorbed the implications. The timing of the act concerned him. He wondered if Io had anything to do with the incident. Perhaps he was trying to force her back to here, or distract her, or just cause her grief in general.
He reached over the table and rested his hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Thank you. It’s just difficult being this far away.”
“And your belongings?”
“Yes, I’ll have to deal with that when I return. Until then, my roommate is there.” Her words came out rushed, somewhat distracted.
He backed off and picked up his fork and knife once more. Then added, “If you need anything—”
“Thank you.” She returned her array of items to her bag.
“Your food must be cold,” he said. “Would you like it warmed?”
“No. My appetite seems to have deserted me.” She smiled awkwardly. “It was excellent, though.”
He nodded. She was putting on a brave face, but he suspected she was feeling otherwise. And he was helpless to make it better. He was going to find out through Ian what actually happened in Paris. His brother had extensive connections throughout France and should be able to offer an accurate report of the situation. Possibly it was merely a coincidence. But no, he didn’t believe that. He longed to talk with her about it, share everything with her the way they used to. He couldn’t push her, but it was hell to act like they didn’t have a bond.
CHAPTER FIVE
A cold breeze rolled off the water as the temperature plummeted. Emma polished off the last of her wine, hoping to ease the ache in her chest, then stared into the empty glass at the tiny crimson pool that remained. Frustration flamed in her gut.
What was she to do? She couldn’t simply hop on a plane and tear back home to Paris. Her grandmother had gone through a lot of trouble on her behalf. She couldn’t abandon the project. So no matter what happened at home, she had to stay here. And maybe…maybe it was time to investigate the meaning behind her visions. The one in the park yesterday had left an incredible mark. And earlier, she’d seen the fire and now it’s coming true. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. What’s going on…and why are her visions changing?
Awakening Fire: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 1) Page 6
