The Tempting Touch Of Fire
Book One in The Elemental Awakening Series
By Nicola Claire
Copyright © 2013, Nicola Claire
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-0-473-25224-3
nicolaclairebooks.blogspot.com
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Cover Art: by Nicola Claire
Image Credit: 123RF Stock Photo
Image # 5880171
Font Credit: Last Soundtrack "Birth Of A Hero"
More books by Nicola Claire:
Kindred Series
Kindred
Blood Life Seeker
Forbidden Drink
Giver of Light
Dancing Dragon
Shadow's Light
Entwined With The Dark
Kiss Of The Dragon
Mixed Blessing Mystery Series
Mixed Blessing
Sweet Seduction Series
Sweet Seduction Sacrifice
Sweet Seduction Serenade
Sweet Seduction Shadow
Sweet Seduction Surrender (Late 2013)
Elemental Awakening Series
The Tempting Touch Of Fire
For:
My good friend Janette,
who has read all my books,
loved all my books,
and deserves a little more
romance in her life...
starting between these pages.
Definitions
Aeras - Air; one of five elements
Aether - Quintessence; one of five elements
Anaisthetikos - Anaesthetise; a Gi ability to channel the essence of a plant, in order to remove a person's sentience.
Athanatos - Immortal; or near immortal
Ekmetalleftis - Elemental; can control one of five elements
Gi - Earth; one of five elements
Nero - Water; one of five elements
Oraia - Lovely; term of endearment
Pateras - Father
Pyrgos - Castle
Pyrkagia - Fire; one of five elements
Rigas - King
Stoicheio - Element; five power-filled elements exist
Thisavros - Treasure; someone precious, an Elemental mate
Chapter 1
I Had A Sinking Feeling
My heart thundered in my chest. I could feel every... single... beat. I thought I was dying.
Hazy images of a horror movie memory skittered across my mind, trying valiantly to hide from me. Something had happened. And it was very bad. I tried to roll onto my side, but my movements were hindered. For a frozen moment in time, I feared my attacker was still here, pinning me to the ground. A whimper rose up from the depths of my chest, a sob broke free from my mouth.
As soon as my lips parted dirt poured in. Suffocating, tasteless, gritty. It surrounded me, filled me, consumed me.
And I knew I was dying.
I struggled against the sensations of asphyxiation and entrapment. I dug my fingers into the dirt at my sides as though they were claws. I firmly kept my lips compressed in a thin line and took only shallow breaths through my nose, but the damage was done. I was surrounded with, buried in, entombed by... dirt.
I frantically tried to remember where I was, how I got here. Not that those memories would probably get me out of this predicament, but it was a survival instinct that came from deep within. I couldn't run, I couldn't fight, so I tried to out-think my captor. Knowledge was power, and the knowledge of escape lay in remembering how and why I was here.
I'd been out for an early morning run, before the store opened. I always ran through the Rose Gardens between my house and lower downtown. Then out along Tamaki Drive, taking in the sea and the gulls that swooped along the foreshore. The path for pedestrians along the winding drive is dotted with Pohutukawa Trees. I often brushed my hands across their gnarled and rough bark trunks as I jogged past.
But I didn't have a memory of touching the bark, or of seeing the gulls in the sky. I hadn't made it to Tamaki Drive, so was I still in the Rose Gardens?
I attempted another struggle against the binds that held me tight. I felt a responding tug against my limbs, then the shock of something pricking my skin, tearing at the flesh, scraping against my legs and wrists and sides. It wasn't enough that my mugger had buried me alive in the ground, he'd also securely tied me up with thorny rose bushes and vines.
Differing emotions of bristling anger and heart-stopping panic warred inside me at that realisation.
But I hadn't seen my attacker. I don't think I heard a thing at all. I simply woke to this nightmare, covered in dirt, unable to call for help. Unable to move without getting cut to shreds on thorns.
What the hell did I do now?
Relax, came a soft whisper, a rustling of leaves that somehow formed words.
What the...?
Let us in, said a similar voice, but this one held a different tone than the other. Not so much the rustling of leaves, as the creaking of branches overhead.
Oh God, I was hallucinating. There was nothing else for it. I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen and thought the rose bushes were talking to me now. What a way to go. I always enjoyed nature, but right now I'd take the concrete jungle of Queen Street over lush green lawns, that was for sure.
I waited for the next onslaught, but the roses had settled down. Instead I could hear something scratching, something stirring off to the side of my face in the dirt. I couldn't turn towards it, I couldn't turn away. The vines held me securely and any movement meant a thorn through my skin. A whimper sounded in the back of my throat. I hate insects. Creepy crawlies are the only animal life I cannot abide. Give me a rabid dog over the quivering legs of a soil dwelling insect any day.
I couldn't help it, it came from deep down inside. I struggled away from that sound with all of my might, feeling every prick of blood and tear of my skin. Every scratch and tug and pull against me. I struggled for mere minutes, growing weaker by the second. Pain radiating from every scratch, every puncture wound in my flesh. I ached from straining, and stung from the harsh scratch of thorns. I'd never been one to shy away from getting dirty, but this was character changing.
I didn't think I could enjoy nature ever again. I'd avoid parks and shun animals, and spend the rest of my life walking paved streets and living in tall buildings, far from the scent of soil.
It must have been that thought that did it, because suddenly I could smell so much. The earthy loam of dirt, the pungent smell of a budding rose, the clean scent of newly mown grass, the crisp tang of salty air, the ugly stench of diesel, the acidic bite of bile. I realised that last one was coming from me and it wasn't the taste I was responding to, but the smell. How bizarre.
My struggles had stopped while I took the plethora of scents in. As though their presence, and my recognition of them, was grounding, calming even. My heartbeat had settled, my skin no longer crawling with the sensations of insect-like feet, my nostrils no longer filled with dirt, but filled with the delightful smells and scents of the earth.
And... I liked it. I liked it a lot. For a moment I just savoured it, all of it. Even the intrusion of exhaust fumes and pollution. My nose reacted badly to those, but immediately pulled the
scents of nature around me to soothe. As though a natural protection from the outside world.
I realised, from feeling trapped and imprisoned by something so very foul, I was now embraced within it, cared for by it, comforted and cosseted and protected from unnatural sights, sounds and smells. I still couldn't see, and I was no longer hearing any scratching sounds.
But, oh God, could I smell. I wanted to sit up and see what else I could scent. I wanted to embrace the earth around me, give worship, roll around in the welcoming smell of dirt.
As soon as those thoughts found my conscious mind, the earth above me shifted. Weight lifted off my body and the vines and rose bushes that had held me, parted and simply slipped away. I sat up gingerly, finding myself in a deep trench at what I presumed was the back of the Rose Gardens on Gladstone Road. Where my early morning run always took me. I hadn't made it to Tamaki Drive, I'd only made it this far. And fallen into an open pit in the early morning dark.
What a dork. Clearly I'd tripped and fallen and then the dirt, being newly dug over, collapsed on top. Somehow making the rose bushes and some nearby vines get tangled up in the whole mess. My struggles had only gotten myself more entangled in them, until I almost buried myself alive, trapped by prickly thorns. What a friggin' freak.
I shook my head and staggered out of the pit, into a brighter sunlit sky than when my self-inflicted ordeal began. I had no idea how much time had passed, but by the position of the sun in the sky I was late. Way late for work. I dusted myself down, feeling soothed by the sensation of dirt beneath my palms as I cleaned my leggings of sod.
Then I raced back up Gladstone Road and slipped my key in my apartment door. Traipsing dirt across the entranceway, I kicked off my running shoes and tiptoed towards the bathroom down the hall. My efforts were entirely wasted, as little spots of soil followed behind in a zigzagging trail. I showered as quickly as I could, but several hours in the dirt meant three shampoos and conditioning treatments, as well as half my extremely expensive Lilly of the Valley body-wash from Monsoon.
Fifteen minutes later, no doubt half a day's pay packet, and I was pristine clean, but weirdly still smelling the earth. It was as though it was all around me. In the kitchen as I downed a glass and a half of milk. In the lounge as I snatched up my latest supplier's bill off the coffee table for work. And out on the concrete driveway of my apartment complex as I hot-trotted it towards the shop.
I couldn't shake the scents of nature around me. Every blossom on a tree caught my attention, their fragrance meeting me first, calling my eyes to find out where that delightful scent came from. Crossing Parnell Road, to walk down the side in the sun, I could smell the hanging baskets several feet away, before I even registered they'd been replanted for Spring. Smells assaulted me at every corner, they were rich and delicious, making me lick my lips and smile a mile wide. After what had happened this morning, you'd think I would abhor anything to do with dirt. But I seemed to gravitate towards it, weaving along the pavement, avoiding harried mid-morning workers, just so I could walk beneath each basket overhead.
My deli came into view, the planters outside appearing fuller and brighter than those on either side. They would have been replanted at the same time as the others in the street, by the Parnell Business Owners Association, whom I paid an exorbitant fee to, so my shop matched all the rest. But they looked so much better, so much more, than those trailing the length of the street either side.
I pushed the chiming door open and glanced around my domain. The potted plants I enjoyed tending, and received many remarks of approval about, looked lush and vibrant this morning. I was sure they hadn't been as healthy last night when I left. But today their leaves were silky and smooth, unblemished and verdant. The whole place looked full of life.
Except for Sonya, whose eyes expanded to the size of saucers as soon as they met mine.
"Where the hell have you been?" she hissed under her breath as I approached.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I'm late, I'll tell you all about it later, when we're not so busy." The place was packed, and with lunch just around the corner, everyone would be wanting a flat-bread or focaccia loaf with salad and cold cuts and some decadent home made sauce.
"Late!" she spluttered. "That's a bit of an understatement. You're not just late, you're..."
But I waved her away as a customer approached and set about making a little slice of heaven for their lunch. Sonya watched me like a hawk for the duration of the lunchtime rush, but thankfully didn't get a chance to wring me out. I knew I deserved it. They'd been left to open and prep on their own, and they'd only ever had to do that when I was sick. And I always warned them, I never simply didn't turn up. But I was sure she'd understand as soon as I got an opportunity to explain.
Lunch rush zoomed by and before I knew it, Marcus and Alice were able to hold the fort, so I walked out the rear of the shop to face an extremely irate Sonya. I brushed my fingers over the leaves of the pot plants that lined the back of the shop, somehow feeling braver for the action, even if what I was about to admit would sound really lame. Who falls into a pit and gets buried alive whilst jogging through a park?
"Hey," I said, rounding to face her as we made it to the kitchen out back. "I'm sorry I'm late, but there is a perfectly decent explanation, if you'll just hear me out."
"You didn't call. You didn't leave a message. You simply didn't turn up," Sonya said, sounding more serious than I had ever heard her before. Her face was set as hard as stone, the water bottle in her hand was crushed under her fisted palm. Her pale blue eyes blazed with ire, and her rosebud lips were pressed in a thin line. I'd never seen Sonya this angry before, and for a moment I lost the ability to speak.
I reached out and thumbed the leaf of a potted palm off to my side nervously. God knows why I have so many plants in the store, even here out the back, where we bake the bread, I had a little green corner by my work desk. The smooth leaf sifting through my fingers calmed me down and allowed me to find my voice again.
"I fell into a ditch on my run. It must have knocked me out for a time and when I woke up the sun was higher in the sky," I admitted with chagrin.
Sonya stared at me for several long seconds, a shocked look on her face. Then through gritted teeth she said, "You were knocked out for two days?"
I stared back at her, speech impossible right then. She had to be wrong. Two days?
"What day is it?" I asked eventually, through numbed lips.
"Thursday," she replied, the look of anger turning to something else. Concern.
I shook my head and slumped onto my desk chair, my face landing into my cupped palms. It couldn't be Thursday. I couldn't have been in that ditch since my run on Tuesday morning. No way.
"You're kidding right?" I said in a croak.
"Oh, hell, Casey. What the devil have you been up to? Everyone has been so worried. The staff, your brother. Even Theo was asking where you had gone."
"Theo asked where I was?" Of course I'd home in on that little bit of gossip. I'd been flirting with the adorable, very fine looking Theo Peters for almost a year. He was the one man I could actually use my feminine wiles on. Or at least attempt to. I'm not sure he'd been that affected by my unskilled flirting talents, or just humouring me. But either way, since Theo started getting his afternoon snack in my deli, life had taken on a new sense of fun.
"Yes, even Theo. He was concerned as much as us." Sonya flicked her glance to a wall clock in the corner. "And he should be here any minute to ask again. So, honestly, you're going with passed out in a ditch in the Rose Gardens? Is that the best you've got?"
She started chewing on a strand of her long blonde hair, a habit I had unsuccessfully been trying to wean her from. It does not look good in a delicatessen having the staff gnaw on their hair. Dusky blonde locks or not.
"Stop that!" I reprimanded and watched in utter shock as the branch on the potted palm next to her swatted at Sonya's hand. She let out a choked, strangled sound, then reached forward to grasp the base o
f the pot as though she thought the movement meant it was about to fall off its stand. With two hands and a frown line marring her usually smooth forehead, she shoved the pot back a few centimetres, despite it not needing to be moved at all, and then dusted her palms off on her jeans.
I was so stunned that she hadn't realised that the plant had actually swatted her, that I stood up too quickly. And consequently made the chair tumble over backwards crashing into a tower of baking trays, which all clattered to the ground in a thundering crash.
Sonya yelped. I shushed her. Then we both started snapping at each other as adrenaline flowed.
A noise came from the front of shop interrupting our little sniping match, then pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, into the chaos and raised voices, stood Theo. Staring at Sonya who was still yelping and now swearing something unspeakable about bossy employers and even bossier best friends, and then his gaze turned to me, as I bent over trying frantically to right the baking trays with little success.
But at the sight of Theo Peters - made to measure suit, red silk tie and stunning hazel eyes - I promptly dropped the lot of them. The clang of metal on tile rang out and Sonya screamed in surprise. Then promptly stormed from the kitchen with a look of thunder on her face directed at me. I huffed out a breath at Sonya's inability to handle loud and disruptive situations at the best of times, and tried to ignore Theo's piercing gaze.
"Let me help you with that, Cassandra," he said in that deep, velvet voice of his.
For some reason Theo always calls me Cassandra. I don't know why, but he does. And although I should be annoyed by it, I am endeared. My reaction makes no sense at all. Maybe it's his slight Greek accent; Cassandra rolling off those lush red lips not only sounds seductive, it somehow connects right to that hidden spot between my legs. Every time he calls me Cassandra, I threaten to pool in a puddle of longing and desire at his feet.
The Tempting Touch Of Fire (Elemental Awakening, Book 1) Page 1
