Winter Heat, Part 3
Page 7
Excited, restless, Io sought discipline. And his renewed concentration rewarded him with brilliant clarity, yet at the same time the channeled energy destroyed his smokescreen.
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With a spine-chilling howl, the Divine Tree summoned him.
In the midst of eating Henry’s succulent Black-Pepper-Roasted Duck, Venn Black stopped his molars in mid-grind. What-the-hell? It had been so long since he’d experienced such, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.
Silence.
“Sir. It doesn’t taste agreeable?” Henry asked. “I can prepare something else.”
“No. The meal is superb.” He pushed from the table and stood. Now what? Not demonic-thieves this time. He reached out with his senses. It seemed a different source of energy. The mark near his hip-bone burned, eliciting a grimace. He pressed a hand to his gut, inches above his appendix.
“You’re ill.”
“Shhhhh,” he whispered and angled his head towards the sound.
“What can I get you?”
“Nothing. It will pass. I have to attend to the tree.” He flung his napkin on the table.
“So busy saving the world that you can’t even eat a decent meal,” Henry complained under his breath.
“Guard and protect…that’s why I’m here,” Venn shot over his shoulder as he headed for the study. “Keep dinner warm, please. I don’t want this jaunt to kill an excellent meal.”
Not his lucky day. His stomach growled.
The oak remained quiet, yet…desperate. And desperation had an unpleasant, moldy odor. He wrinkled his nose as the smell segued to one of…fear.
Never a good sign.
In the study, with decisive steps he made his way behind the massive desk to the expensive handmade bookshelf where he traced along a worm-hole in the wood. The precise slide and pressure of his finger over irregular indentations triggered a concealed panel to open off to the left. A section of wall trundled upward, one solid hunk of cloaked steel, a guillotine set to descend on an unsuspecting intruder.
He advanced into an eighteen-foot square secret room, eyeing an arsenal fit for a ruler, a prime selection of weaponry, from ancient to state-of-the-art avant-garde, lined one entire wall housed in armored glass. A collector’s dream, a defender’s necessity.
The safe room was built of four-inch steel, had a dual ventilation system, and housed all the high-tech cameras and equipment any guardian could want. What was it Njorth had just purchased? A blade found in India. From the middle shelf in the center cabinet, he selected a Glock, a five inch perfectly weighted knife, and appropriate custom holster which he strapped to his waist.
Minutes later, he exited through a second door in the back that took him fifty feet into the earth. He jogged through an underground tunnel heading from his estate to the ancient oak.
Arriving at the subterranean entrance to the sanctuary, he halted and raised his eyes to the etchings of wolf and hawk emblazoned into the aged wood above the door, a nod to his alternate forms. Venn extended his wrist positioning a pulsing artery beneath a glistening twisted root. The tree anointed him with a tiny drop of sap which pooled and bubbled before it was absorbed into his skin. A menthol zing visited each of his neurons.
Secrets men died to know, Guardians swore to protect, and Evil Ones were determined to steal or destroy were housed within this sacred place. The language of the universe rustled through the air.
The Divine Tree, one of several hidden around the globe, whispered. “Benison.”
“Blessings,” Venn returned. The door opened and he entered. Immediately, his attention shot upward. Above him, outside. What was that? An irresistible tug made him palm his chest. He proceeded through a short hall, and the dynamic pull intensified with each step. If he were human, he’d be wondering if this were a heart attack.
He hadn’t felt this collision of energy in…two centuries.
Inside the voluminous tree, he climbed rough-hewn stairs to the watch room where he had all the comforts of home. But he ignored the enormous circular room adorned with antique furnishings, as he fixed his attention on the highly polished wooden wall where the force ran strongest. It was as if the bark had eyes because, at will, he could see through the layers of wood to the world beyond.
Outside, two females engaged in conversation. He immediately recognized Claire Grant. The old lady had been bragging everywhere she went about how her granddaughter, Emma, had designed a sculpture for Tyler’s oldest park.
His park, not the town’s. But he’d lost that battle a long time ago, and until recently, had managed to direct the city officials’ attention elsewhere. Damn their renewed interest.
Emma. Venn advanced to the barrier, curious, yet at the same time annoyed with the tree that separated them.
With a sweeping glance, the young woman arched her brows and strolled toward the tree.
She seemed to stare right at him. Thick auburn hair draped over her shoulders; she tilted her head, and his equilibrium shattered. A roar took up residence inside his skull. Thunder vibrated through his chest. Explosive desire made him hard and ready.
His breath hitched. His inner beasts stirred without the customary summons. Wolf and hawk vied for a glimpse.
She inched forward.
Yes, move closer.
She spoke, and he vaguely caught her whispered French phrase. “Coeur de mon coeur.”
Heart of my heart. He swallowed, hard.
She placed a delicate palm on the trunk. Venn growled as a surge of energy—her very essence—flowed into the tree, filled him as earthy air filled his lungs.
“I…feel something,” Emma said with opened-mouth awe. “The oak has been here for hundreds of years.”
When recognition hit Venn, it was like being rear-ended by a semi while sitting at a traffic light. A screeching sound made him glance back in time. Every muscle in his body tensed as he saw flashes of her in a past life, of their limbs entwined, of her lips warm on his, of her vibrant laugh, of her dying.
He was afraid to hope. Was it possible?
Could it truly be Amelia had returned to him in Emma Grant? Venn closed his eyes and summoned energy, reaching out to her, touching deep into her soul, testing the theory. Her initial response was a lazy yawn, but then her mystical imprint danced, the spirit unique to her, proclaimed…yes.
She. Was. His. Eve.
A heaviness slammed against his chest, followed by whiplash, pain, confusion. He’d been robbed of time, his woman, and a chance to love.
Ahh. Ameila. Brought back to him after so long.
A born-again spark flared in his chest.
His pulse sped up. Unwilling to breathe lest this sudden feel-good-moment disappeared, he folded his arms.
She glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother. “I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu.”
He grinned at her insight.
Overwhelmed, he wished he could vault through the barrier. Instead, Venn braced both hands on thick chair arms as he slowly lowered himself without taking his eyes off the woman with fiery hair and golden skin. Every fiber of his body stretched out to embrace her. She was his.
They’d been lovers in 1809. Companions. A promised journey-mate. A favor from God. His throat tightened at the memory and he tried to drink in air. The one woman gifted with the right powers to complement his. He hadn’t known until too late how much he needed to share his life with someone. And his enemy had murdered her.
She must be the reason the tree summoned him. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the grounds. He’d expected a major threat.
The only ones here were the Grants.
Uncertain what to expect, he watched, fisting his hand with a vow.
This time he would protect her. This time he would fulfill the prophecy. This time she would be his. Forever.
With brows pinched, Emma said, “Did I come here as a girl? I seem to know this place.”
“I don’t think so, child. Your father didn’t wander much south
of the ravine. Claimed he got bad vibes here. Always afraid, that boy. Not enough faith. Of course, it was the unsavory section of town back then. But with the city rejuvenation and clean up, well, as you can see, things are different now.”
Indeed, things had changed, Venn mused. His mansion lay south, far enough away so as to not attract visitors. A strategic plan he’d sanctioned in order to assure his privacy. He met with wealthy plantation owners and connected politicians on his own terms, otherwise he avoided them. However, with the never-ending urbanization…he didn’t care for the coziness.
When Emma released her hold on the tree, it was like part of him flickered then snuffed out. He got a mild case of shakes. The temperature plummeted.
“It’s getting late, you must be tired,” the older Grant said.
“Nah. I’m a night person. Remember? How about if we stop by that new Starbucks on the way home?”
“Okay. You can drive again.”
They were leaving. With a leap, Venn stood, banging his knee on the side table. He winced and beat back a wave of anxiety…he’d been given a second chance and he’d be damned if he’d let her out of his sight this time. At least, not for long.
Keenly aware that she wouldn’t know him, he needed to initiate a meeting. This minute. However, walking up out of nowhere in a shabby park might scare her.
He wished they could simply pick up where they’d left off.
He envisioned her smiling with recognition and running into his opened arms.
But as she got closer to the car and further from him, the vision broke.
Starbucks. He could use a jolt of caffeine. He moved swiftly to the tunnel and took the corridor that led to the garage across the street from the park.
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Stay tuned for the next Chalet Romance Series Available Spring 2015.
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Thank you for reading my debut serial novel, Winter Heat, Part 3.
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About the Author
Larissa Emerald has always had a powerful creative streak whether it’s altering sewing patterns, or the need to make some minor change in recipes, or frequently rearranging her home furnishings, she relishes those little walks on the wild side to offset her otherwise quite ordinary life. Her eclectic taste in books cover numerous genres, and she writes sexy contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and futuristic romantic thrillers. But no matter the genre or time period, she likes strong women in dire situations who find the one man who will adore her beyond reason and give up everything for true love.
Larissa is happy to connect with her readers. Stop by and say hello: Website, Facebook, Twitter, or send her an email: larissaemerald@gmail.com
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my fabulous team of professionals:
Cover design: Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
Interior formatting: Author E.M.S.
Content/copyedits: Karen Dale Harris
Copyedits: Daniel Poiesz, Double Vision Editorial
Dedication
To my husband, Quentin,
Who is truly my soul-mate. There’s no one
else I’d rather be taking this life journey with
other than you.
I love you!