Awakening Fire: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 1)

by Larissa Emerald

  She felt Venn’s eyes on her, and an intoxicating awareness bubbled to the surface, pressing aside her troubling thoughts. And it wasn’t the wine. Her desire to stay intensified because of him. This striking masculine man sitting across from her made her insides turn giddy and messed with her head. A dangerous combination. An overwhelming sensation she hadn’t felt since she was a sophomore in high school, when she’d tried to smoke a cigarette in order to fit in with her senior boyfriend.

  As she attempted to recall that teenaged moment in more detail, she found she couldn’t. Venn dominated her thoughts. She turned her head and met his eyes.

  Silence fell between them, a long interval of what should have been an uncomfortable lack of exchange. But it wasn’t. The encounter was like a pause that came between whipping gusts of wind, comfortable and treasured. He seemed to be giving her space, and she appreciated that consideration. It was more than she was accustomed to with her father, who was always pressuring her, trying to make her into the normal pretty little rich girl he wanted her to be. And in the midst of her emotions she wondered…who did Venn want her to be?

  Oh no, that was her father’s influence talking, she scolded herself, then set her wineglass on the table.

  Avoiding Venn’s powerful gaze this time, she said, “I think I should go. I have a busy schedule tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” His brow creased in displeasure before he expertly hid it. “You must also be tired from traveling.”

  “A little.” A lie, she muttered to herself. Stay.

  Go. Stay. Go. Stay. What was wrong with her?

  Venn stood and came around the table. “Let’s walk through the cottage this time. It will warm you before the ride home.”

  “I’m not cold.” Her core temperature rose the closer he got. He helped her with her chair, and beads of perspiration dotted between her breasts. “The fire’s, uh, been quite toasty. Thank you.”

  She heard him draw an extended breath. “My pleasure.”

  His long fingers flexed, as if he were dying to touch her and had to forcibly hold himself back. If he only knew how her body longed to embrace him in return. She glanced away, lightly touching her face and lips as more images stole her thoughts, creating a pang in her heart. Hands, powerful yet gentle, stroking along her collarbone, over her shoulders, down her back as she was drawn into a kiss.

  “Would you like to go inside?”

  She blinked rapidly, startled by Venn’s words as they slowly dragged her from more fragments of the vision. “Yes. I’d love to see the cottage. It’s so quaint.”

  They walked side by side toward the entrance, and he motioned for her to enter first. Past the threshold, warm air cocooned her, the drastic temperature change overpowering. If she stayed in here long, she’d have to shed some clothing.

  Moving to the center of the room, she took in the decor, awed. It was masculine and pleasing, dark leather and wood. But everything in the room changed her opinion of the cottage. This was far from quaint. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined one wall. A river rock fireplace centered another. What surprised her most was the abundance of artwork. Expensive pieces, too. Some works she recognized from a Christie’s auction. A gorgeous nickel-coated brass sculpture of a tree dominated a collection of animals and beer steins on the coffee table.

  “You’ve done some serious shopping.” She peered at him, intrigued and impressed. “Hmm, superb taste in food and art. I’m going to have to keep my eye on you.”

  “I’ll count on that,” he said with a hint of flirtation.

  “Mind if I look around a moment before we leave?”

  He smiled. “Take your time. I’m going to speak with Henry. I’ll be right back.”

  Either she was too absorbed or he was damned quiet because she didn’t hear him leave the room. Unable to resist, she circled the seating area to examine each piece more closely. The art was a mixture of American and European artists, ancient and modern, originals and high-end replica work. One thing was clear, Venn Hearst had money. Lots of money.

  But she knew firsthand that money didn’t buy happiness.

  She barely breathed as she moved from picture to picture, ending on The Violin by Juan Gris. The last she’d heard the painting sold at a Christie’s auction in Paris featuring Yves Saint Laurent’s private art collection. Holy moly. Venn had connections, too.

  She moved into a hall and lingered engrossed in an original from American artist Bev Doolittle, The Forest Has Eyes. She looked at the faces hidden in the scene. She sensed rather than heard him as he came up behind her. “As a child I had a book of Doolittle’s pieces.”

  He placed a hand at the small of her back, and she let the moment roll over her. A few other art forms were tucked into display boxes and featured on shelves. One in particular caught her attention, and she moved closer to the wolf standing on a rock. She stared at the piece, rubbing her fingers over her brow. It was one of her early sculptures. She recalled entering it in a local art show the summer of her junior year in college. “This is one of mine. I’m surprised you have it.”

  “I never realized.” He scratched along his firm jawline apparently in genuine surprise. “I’ve always felt a connection to wolves.”

  She lifted the wolf from its stand and held it in her hands. More images and sensations fired through her mind—soft, thick fur so long her fingers disappeared into it, golden eyes, howling. Wolves had been in her dreams many times, and in her visions, too.

  She passed the sculpture to Venn—his warm fingers brushed over hers as he took it, making her even more aware of him, if that was possible. In this light, his eyes shone amber. She blinked and leaned in closer as her cheeks heated.

  He balanced the piece on his large, opened palm. “Huh. You created this. No wonder I was drawn to it.” A sexy smile eased across his face. “It’s coming home with me tonight.”

  All of a sudden, she wished she were going home with him, too.

  His eyes lingered on her face, his gaze flickering to her lips. She moistened them with a sweep of her tongue, wondering what it would be like if he kissed her. With his free hand, he touched her face, sliding his fingers over her cheek. He tipped up her chin and ran a thumb over her lower lip. Her knees grew weak. Oh, geez. If he kissed her this moment, she’d let him.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  She took a deep breath and stepped back. “Yes.”

  Pulling her jacket closer around her, she suppressed a sigh, not worried at all about the return motorcycle ride home as she should have been. Instead, this time her stomach churned because of the growing connection she felt for Venn.

  During the boat trip back to the motorcycle, Emma longingly stared past his shoulder at the receding cottage. The place touched her in a way she couldn’t express. She’d always known her visions and dreams were more enthusiastic when she was in Tyler, but now she realized they were undeniably increasing in frequency and intensity.

  She chewed on her lip and watched Venn from beneath lowered lashes, again in comfortable silence until they reached the shore. The motorcycle ride home was exhilarating this time, and Emma relaxed into Venn while letting go of inhibitions as she became one with the cold wind, the balancing motion of the bike, and the firm male form she had her arms around.

  She knew in that short ride she wanted to see him again. Venn was so different from Todd. His mature and sophisticated manner attracted her beyond measure, his appreciation of art touched her soul, and he made her heart race like no one else ever had.

  Oh my. She had some decisions to make.

  The walk to the front door of Grams’s house made her heart skip with a burst of panic, almost afraid to let him out of her sight. Afraid she wouldn’t get to see him again.

  He gently pulled her into his arms, forcing her to look up at him. “The evening was too short,” he said. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” A dance of relief rippled through her. Tomorrow. She thought of the way wire transformed into a sculpt
ed creation. Possibilities visualized in a single strand that required time and application to emerge. Relationships were like that, too. She nodded and smiled up at him.

  Then he captured her mouth and kissed her, at first long and sweet. Warm. Perfect. In a heartbeat, a light within her ignited and she clutched him tighter, pulling him against her, desperate for something more. He dipped his tongue into her mouth to taste her and she matched his every move. She knew as he drew back that he’d just given her the most delicious kiss of her life. And yet, she sensed he had so much more to offer. As if, he was saving the best for later.

  Her head remained tipped back, her eyes closed, for a lingering moment after he moved away. When she opened her eyes again, a roguish smile enhanced his features.

  “What time can I pick you up?” he asked. “I want to spend the whole day with you.”

  “I have to meet with someone at the warehouse in the morning when they uncrate the statue, but I should be free after that.”

  “Okay, after that, then. How can I reach you?”

  Still in a haze from his kiss, they exchanged contact information.

  “Call me when you’re done,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  In her room, Emma quickly dressed for bed, feeling a little overwhelmed by the evening. She arranged the usual things on her nightstand: a bottle of water, her touching spoon in case her hands grew hot, and her cell phone. As her eyes roamed over the last, she thought of Venn, and then of Todd, conflicted. Maybe she needed to call Todd tomorrow. Perhaps hearing his voice would relieve the unsettling twitter she was experiencing, snap her out of this longing for another man, for Venn.

  Punching her pillow, she settled into the mattress and dragged the covers to her chin. She closed her eyes with a long sigh. She’d sort out her feelings in the morning when she’d be refreshed and have a clearer perspective.

  But despite her resolve to put everything out of her mind, her thoughts kept flickering from one problem to another: the Paris fire, Venn, Todd, working with Jacob on the statue project. She hadn’t expected this trip to be so complicated.

  Finally, after about thirty minutes she gave up on sleep, got out of bed, and donned her robe. Perhaps she should get a book and read. As she went for the paperback she’d brought with her, the moon shining through the window caught her attention. Tucking one arm over her rib cage, she drew open the curtain with the other hand and peered out.

  The night was shimmering and quiet with an overcast sky, the moon peeking from behind the clouds. Snowflakes danced and waved, reflecting gentle rays of light. When her gaze arrived at the ground, she tensed. A wolf stood a few feet into the yard.

  She rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

  A wolf. In Tyler, Georgia. No way.

  She remembered the vision she’d had in the park, of the wolf howling over a dead woman. She brought her hand to her throat as she looked down at the creature. It seemed to be watching her, too.

  No, that was plain silly. She drew a breath, having the strangest urge to call it nearer. No, not it. Him.

  The wolf had the wide muzzle and brow of a male. Her research for her sculptures had taught her a great deal about forms and mannerisms of all kinds of animals, for the right details gave a project life.

  Then the wolf tilted his head up to her as she watched him. He was watching her back. Did he envy the warmth she possessed inside the house? He traveled a few steps closer, then paced in that spot, seeming undecided about something. Finally, he stopped near a large rock and sat, staring at her window.

  Clouds covered the moon, and Emma squinted hard but lost him. She knew he was there, though, could feel his eyes on her. Eventually, the sky cleared again and he was still there. On a tired reluctant sigh, she let the curtain fall closed.

  With the wolf now occupying her mind, she gave up on the reading idea. As she climbed into bed, she hoped he had the sense to leave before Grams and her shotgun found him. The woman had gunned down raccoons and coyotes poaching her chickens. Emma shivered. He was a beautiful creature, not meant to be killed.

  She would speak to Grams about him in the morning, she decided, turning off the light on the nightstand.

  Emma closed her eyes on a hushed moan and let go of her worrisome thoughts one by one—the project timetable, the fire, her confusing feelings for Venn—and focused solely on a wolf and how many times a lone wolf had come to her in her dreams and visions.

  Hours later, part of her knew she was dreaming as she told herself to wake up. But the sweet essence of the dream was more powerful than her conscious mind.

  This was quite the opposite of the intense visions she typically experienced. Although the time period and even her alter ego seemed the same, the feelings the dream evoked were happy. Contentment and joy wrapped her in a pleasant yet misty bubble. She was with a man.

  And she’d had this dream before.

  Why this person visited her, she’d yet to figure out.

  In a huge study, she sat at a gaming table beside a warm fire. She was halfway into a chess game and had just taken a rook. She laughed. “There. See? I have you.”

  She turned in her seat to view her opponent. He was at the sidebar, refreshing their wine. His back was to her, and his shoulders shook as he chuckled.

  “Did you move them around while my back was turned?” he asked.

  “I didn’t touch the pieces.”

  “Perhaps not, Amelia. But you used your powers.”

  “I haven’t perfected that yet,” she said evasively, and faced the game. It was true—her mastery and control were inconsistent. However, this time she had managed to use her mind to move the shiny brass-and-silver playing pieces where they stood, exchanging a pawn and a knight as they slid of their own accord to a new position on the board. The task transpired even faster than it would have if she’d used her hands.

  The echoing footfalls on the wood flooring let her know he was moving closer, and then he paused behind her chair. Her heart stammered as it always did with his nearness.

  He leaned over her shoulder, depositing her wineglass on the table. She inhaled his intoxicating scent of spices and musk. With his hand now empty, he rested it on her shoulder and lightly stroked her tired muscles. She closed her eyes at the delicious pressure along the base of her neck.

  “I think that knight is still wobbling,” he said.

  She jerked forward to see. He laughed. It wasn’t, of course, but she was caught by her incriminating reaction.

  “I’m impressed. Your abilities are improving by the day.”

  Inside her mind, Emma pleaded with her dream self—her past self, really—to turn and meet his eyes, to capture his face so she could at last get a good look at him. The lack of clarity was infuriating, the dream cloaked in mist. One thing she noticed in this instant was she and her past self didn’t seem to possess the same abilities. Where she changed metal, Amelia moved things with her mind. Which meant they were not exactly alike. She sighed. The difference pleased her.

  The images faded as she awakened to a whooshing noise and coal-black darkness. Blinking, Emma identified the sound of a flushing toilet. Grams must have gotten up.

  Rolling onto her side, she tried to call the dream back, but it wouldn’t obey. Finally giving up the futile attempts, she sat, patted the nightstand until she found her fidget-spoon, and warmed it between her hands.

  Hmm. Some people used stress balls, squishing them to relieve tension. She had a spoon.

  In the dark room, the spoon glowed amber. She bent it into a horseshoe shape, then back again, rubbing the pad of her thumb into the spoon’s bowl, deepening it. She closed her eyes. Her parents blamed her overactive imagination for making her different and her father always said it didn’t help that she’d chosen art as a profession.

  She’d been two and a half years old when she’d had her first past-life experience. She had talked about horses and people and events that could only have been in the nineteenth century. At f
our, she’d learned she could manipulate metal with her hands—a spoon-bending technique, nothing more. Although she’d tried to develop advanced skills, an element seemed to be missing. She especially felt the disparity whenever she was with Amelia but couldn’t figure out what it was.

  At any rate, the dreams had grown fewer and less intrusive as she’d gotten older. Except when she was here in Tyler, usually spending summers visiting her grandmother. And except now that she’d met Venn.

  Emma returned the spoon to the nightstand, curled onto her side, and closed her eyes, begging for some sound sleep. Her last conscious thought was of Venn’s golden eyes gleaming dark and dangerous, challenging her to join him. But where?

  * * *

  She awoke in the morning still tired. Snuggling deeper into the comforter, she glanced at the light slipping past the curtain thinking, Not yet. She wasn’t quite ready to face the day.

  On one level, this was like a vacation with life set apart from her normal daily work schedule. Her friends thought a self-employed artist had a lot of playtime, but that wasn’t so. If she didn’t produce, she didn’t earn money. And even while at her grandmother’s, she would need to maintain her website, update her blog, and keep creating her metal sculptures.

  She yawned. Her hideaway was warm and cozy, the citrus smell of the sheets soothing. She really didn’t want to get up. For some season, she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Jacob Price, either. He’d been a strange man, especially disappearing the way he had. But otherwise, the day promised to be good. And she definitely looked forward to seeing Venn again. More than she should. She imagined the powerfully handsome set of his jaw and how his face changed when he smiled at her, and something melted a little bit inside her.

  She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind of him, recalling the late-evening snow and her nocturnal visitor. Curiosity drew her from her haven, and she rose, donned a robe and slippers, and shuffled to the window. She paused when her fingertips touched lacey curtain, feeling vulnerable in her anticipation.