The Call of Fire: A Natura Elementals Novel
Page 1
The Call of Fire
Copyright © 2020 by Sloane Calder
All Rights Reserved
Published by Pretty Dynamite Press, LLC, Austin, Texas
ISBN: 9781733379403 (eBook)
LCCN: 2020920692
Cover Design by Hang Le
Editing by Holly Ingraham and Joyce Lamb
Formatting by Champagne Book Design
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks, and word marks mentioned in this book.
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
About the Author
To my husband and children
Thank you for supporting my dream
Of living things, some are made friends with Fire and some with Water,
Some with Air and some with Earth, and some with two of these,
Though a rare few with all.
From the Greek text Kore Kosmou, 510 BC
Savannah, GA
Twenty paces, and the wait would be over.
Aleron Foussé gripped the gate’s black spires. His Fire element rose, and beneath his hands, the iron glowed red. He killed the heat and bowed his head to open his senses, casting his power through streets canopied by moss-draped Spanish oaks.
Might as well dull his Fire element now of his own accord. The moment he walked through the gate, the inhibitors would render him neutered. He’d be a double-mantled Fire reduced to a weak-ass warlock, if only temporarily.
He’d hate every second of it as much as he hated Seanair Lennox, so he’d get in, get his orders, and get out.
He reined in his energy. Now was not the time to risk a human catching a glimpse of his hands lighting up like glowsticks. Humankind had to be kept ignorant of the elemental powers inherent to the Natura race, powers that had been battering and rocking the earth since the dawn of Homo sapiens.
His need to remain concealed from humans didn’t have his Fire in a fury. Truth was, hiding his power had become habit. What he needed was to kill Seanair, and he’d do it in the streets like a blazin’ Wild West showdown if he could get away with it.
But he couldn’t.
Besides, acting rashly on his revenge—and without the Goddess’s help—wouldn’t get him anything but dead. Both brutal and power mad, Seanair wasn’t reckless. He hadn’t killed his way to the top of the North American Naturas by using the “light” version of his powers, and Aleron wouldn’t be able to catch him unaware.
What Aleron needed still seemed impossible. He had to get their leader alone in one of the Goddess’s chapels. Those were the only places on the planet where Seanair let down his guard, but in the twelve years Aleron had been in the monster’s servitude, he’d never seen an opportunity.
He looked at the mansion, squinting against the sunlight and the pain lancing through his head. The spear in his temples struck when he snuffed out the simmering siren call to obliterate the man who’d killed Bill Foussé, the greatest man who’d ever lived.
His father.
He took a long, slow, Fire-dampening breath. It didn’t matter if it took twelve more years. Twenty. Fifty. He’d long given up on miracles, so today, he’d remain muzzled and leashed.
And patient.
He hitched the duffel bag higher on his shoulder and strode up the red brick sidewalk. The magnolia at the house’s corner drew him up short. He looked to the windows hidden by branches and remembered the view from the guest room on the first anniversary of his father’s death. Seanair had declared an end to Aleron’s mourning. Clear as yesterday. The Christmas that had forever changed him.
The problem with having an unrelenting memory for details meant he could picture the monstrous, ornamented fir dominating the foyer. Red bows had dotted the window wreaths and fence posts. Atop it all had been his recommitment. A star of determination.
To finish what his father had started.
And fix his own fuckup.
He inhaled and concentrated on keeping his steps steady as he passed through the first damper barrier, his power now blunted embers barely smoldering inside him. Thanks to his mother, he had a touch of Air, the ability latent, but that secret weapon was also scrambled by the inhibitors. The cravings within him clawed to restore his element power. Earths liked dirt, Waters their mist. Airs adored stirring the atmosphere, from brutal gusts to petite puffs.
And Fires? The hotter, the better. The place inside him where his power lived yearned for blue. A brilliant, scorching blue.
Eyes trained on the stained-glass door, he walked up the steps and stood before the doorbell camera. Why waste the energy to ring the damned thing? Seanair had sensed his arrival the second his taxi crossed into the city limits, for Goddess’s sake.
He laughed to himself. The Goddess. Yeah. Some divine being She was. He didn’t understand why She hadn’t punished Seanair for his abomination. How had he gotten away with blaspheming Her temple with murder? Aleron had been sure, before that horrific moment, Mother Nature was real. Then—
He gave his head a hard shake to stop the memory, the smell, the horror. Yet, he remembered Her voice as he’d stared at his father’s ash pile. Her voice had been gentle, but firm. Telling him, I’m here.
Their Goddess/Mother Nature/Creator might have shown up, but She hadn’t done jack to intervene.
Tired of waiting, he moved to ring the doorbell, and pain speared him in the temples. Fuck. Now was not the time. He closed his eyes, his pulse kicking, his headache throbbing. Goddess, he needed to commune with his element. Badly. He also needed time to connect with his Fire, surround himself with flame, and bask in its all-consuming strength.
Not today, though.
Best he could do was toss back a handful of ibuprofen to take the punch out of the pounding thing, but—what do you know?—he was flat out of pain relievers.
The door opened.
“Mr. Foussé, it’s so good—” The butler faltered, his I-didn’t-see-anything face returning in a blink.
Ah, his scar. A slashing reminder of who and what he was.
“Follow me.” The butler strode across the foyer.
Dropping his bag by the door, Aleron took a deep, openmouthed breath to try to dull the throbbing. He walked past the double staircases into the hallway, a bit stunned t
he Beta-level butler was still around. Naturas lived a little longer than humans, but this geezer had more than a toe in the grave.
He steeled his gut and ignored the archway to the dining room where he’d sat long ago on the one-year anniversary of his father’s death.
As they approached the end of the long hall, Aleron felt stunted stabs of power bounce off his shields. Fire energy wavered against his insides like clothes strung on a line. A heavily lacquered door fanned open to reveal a team of men standing in a line, facing Seanair.
Aleron stood at the threshold and scanned the wilted heat signatures of eight Alpha Fires he didn’t recognize.
Assassins, like him, also temporarily castrated.
His dad would be so proud of that résumé bullet.
An A-plus killer.
The unmistakable odor of burnt flesh hung in the room in an acrid, smoky haze. He stepped inside and kept the wall at his back, swallowing waves of nausea. For a moment, he thought he was going to hurl all over the shiny wood floors.
“Unlatch the door, if you would.” Seanair looked to the butler, his baritone as polished as his suit.
Oh, Goddess. Whatever the reason for today’s meeting, it wasn’t just to get his orders.
The man obeyed quickly, as all in Seanair’s orbit did, and opened the French doors.
Seanair began to speak, his words low and in Latin. Not the full prayer, but the equivalent of burying a body without the casket or the service. Aleron made the mistake of looking down and caught sight of the mound of gray dust. A breeze whipped through the room and whirled the small pile into a cyclone, a tiny tornadic reminder of what struck his dreams every night. The bits spun, moving through the billowing curtains and out into the late afternoon haze.
A man reduced to ash.
Gone. Poof.
Memory slashed him again, intensifying the nausea. He hadn’t been here for the crackling of burning skin that he’d once mistaken for a candy wrapper being opened, but death had a taste. One of loss, of nothing. A permanent dehydration no amount of liquor would sate.
“I was clear on the ramifications of failure. Do not disappoint me again. Whoever’s starting those wildfires must be caught and brought to me. Santa Barbara, on fire, best not happen again.” Seanair’s words were ominous, his tone unchanged.
The men bowed and turned in unison to file out of the room, their custom suits making them appear like a band of bankers. To a nosy neighbor, this was nothing more than a business meeting.
Poor humans. If they only had a clue what controlled their small, sheltered world.
“Aleron.” Seanair held out his arms like Christ the Redeemer.
Time to pretend.
“I apologize for the delay in my arrival, sir.” He took a knee, biting the inside of his cheek to stuff down a remark about the demeaning tradition that every other element Magnus had dropped.
“I was informed. Please, join me.”
Aleron got to his feet, his fingers tingling, his Fire flopping like he’d been Water-doused. Twelve years. And their leader still wore the same smug-ass expression.
Seanair’s phone chimed. He pulled his cell from inside his jacket, reading like Aleron’s time and existence were of no consequence.
At the moment, his temper wouldn’t serve him, so he did a mental refresh on his goals. Get the man alone in a sacred place, kill the self-serving tyrant while his powers were down, take the Goddess-forsaken cuff off the bastard’s wrist, and search for the rightful wearer so the planet’s Fire energy would equalize.
He might as well have wished to be Father Time, Mother Nature’s absent lover and the Naturas’ rumored deadbeat dad.
“You’re going to New York.” Seanair continued to scroll his thumb over the phone screen. “My granddaughter’s getting married and requires elite security.”
He was pulled off an intelligence mission to diva-sit? Goddess save him from shopaholic socialites.
“Congratulations, sir,” he managed, thinking of the man’s six grandchildren and realizing he’d met only the four males.
“It’ll be quite the event.” The old man tucked the phone back inside his pocket and toyed with the intricate gold cuff on his wrist. “She’s marrying Yuri Burkov in a month. There’s chatter, but no one’s going to stop this union.”
Odd. The Russian factions usually kept to themselves. Always had. And yeah, the other continents for sure wouldn’t want an alliance between two of the wealthiest Natura groups. Moreover, King Mikhail equaled Seanair in the savagery department. No one sane wanted an alliance of their sociopathies. The girl was marrying the heir apparent, but Yuri would take power eventually. Aleron had a feeling Seanair had grand visions of controlling the thrones of both North America and Russia.
“She’s promised to the Burkovs?” Aleron had ignored the engagement rumors, mostly because he could give a shit about the Lennox women who were, no doubt, as obnoxious as the men. He gave even less of a shit about the Lennoxes’ adherence to the old-school tradition of arranged unions, always for maximum power. But the Russians? Who would marry their granddaughter into the throngs of that batshit conglomerate?
Who was he kidding? Seanair Lennox would marry his granddaughter to exponential batshit if it bought him something he wanted.
“I need her safe, but I also need her visible.” Seanair walked over to the credenza and poured a whisky. “Get to Manhattan, get her out of the apartment and into public view. I want the others to see what their defiance has cost them.”
He stood at perfect attention and bit back the crude suggestion that would get him melted on the spot. Seanair was a Dual, and though most feared his Fire energy, the subtlety of his Air was the true danger. When inhaled, the potent combination of oxygen and power weaved through a person’s body and revealed their inner thoughts when they exhaled.
Not a good sitch when his power hovered at a tenth of normal levels and Seanair had a full freakin’ tank.
To most, Seanair Lennox looked the quintessential Southern gentleman, ready for lunch at the club. But his genteel exterior disguised a ruthless tyrant who’d singlehandedly controlled the Natura families in North America for fifty years and who clearly intended to use his grandchildren to every advantage.
“She’ll be safe with me, sir. It’s an honor to be asked to protect her.”
“Your work of late has been exemplary. I commend your thoroughness.” Seanair took a small sip from his glass and tipped the rim in Aleron’s direction. “You’ll receive a file complete with her photo, places she frequents, and a profile of her best friend, who’s an incorrigible Water. Keep an eye on Kazumi Fukada. She attempts to lead Elspeth astray at every turn. Your role will be to get Elspeth safely to the altar and guard her until the ceremony’s completed.”
Aleron’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, likely signaling the arrival of Elspeth Lennox’s file. If she was anything like her brother Lach, no doubt she was a hundred percent high maintenance and guaranteed to be a pain in the ass until she got shipped to the land of snow and cagey assholes.
“I’ll head to the airport immediately.” Good thing he traveled light and often. Everything he owned was in the duffel bag he’d left at the front door.
“One thing regarding my granddaughter.” Seanair’s draw on his whisky was meant as misdirection, but Aleron hadn’t survived this long by dropping his guard. “If she complains about you in any way, there will be repercussions.”
The skin along his scar itched. Heated. Burned. He should purge the mark Seanair had given him, but why eliminate the visual reminder of his only goal? He kept his gaze on the wall and rode out the pain. Savored it, actually. Pain brought clarity. Pain meant he was still alive and could exact his revenge when the time was right.
“I guarantee her safety, sir.” Aleron’s fingers tensed, the hand wanting to fist, to counter the sizzle on his face and neck.
Seanair’s eyebrows rose in an appreciative arc. Power and strength were the only things he respected.
The logical portion of Aleron’s brain knew he was being tested. Seanair enjoyed tossing out the occasional reminder of that fateful day. Aleron didn’t dignify the provocation with the response Seanair wanted, focusing instead on his choice of words. He often liked to think of himself as a garbage disposal, with Seanair as the next scrap he’d destroy.
“Lach’s in New York as well, keeping his ever-watchful eye on his sister. If you detect any disintegration in his Dual energies, alert me immediately.”
Ah, hell. Not that terminal douche. “Yes, sir.”
All Naturas had one or two complementary powers, max. Rumor had it Lach was tripowered. Those thankfully rare individuals were usually dead before their twenty-fifth birthday. Their slide into madness triggered weird shit. Hail in Mexico. Triple-digit temperatures in San Francisco and Paris. The global warming humans loved to debate.
It was real, all right, but not manmade in the way people believed. The Industrial Age had both started the end-of-the-world party and sickened the Natura, the earth’s keepers.
“Lach’s my most skilled interrogator. You might learn from him while you’re there.”
Hell no. Aleron killed for a living, but he had some standards.
“Sadly, he won’t be around much longer, but my grandson isn’t the only problem. He’s the reason for this marriage, as I have to do something to get this situation under control. Naturas are taking ill in greater numbers. People are starting to be overly bold in suggesting I should bring back the Tribunal.” Seanair’s gaze shifted to Aleron’s. “This isn’t a democracy.”
He hid his surprise at this rare disclosure of Seanair’s reasoning. The man didn’t share. He demanded, and you didn’t want one of his explanations.