The Fire in Vengeance

by Sue Wilder

  And she understood. When they finished after a day of practice, Lexi cupped his face, knowing he taught her things he wished she didn’t need to know.

  She looked long into his dark obsidian gaze and whispered, “Thank you,” with an answering grief in her eyes, that she had needed him to do it. Needed him. Him.

  Christan thought he might have hurt her, then, when he pulled her into his arms.

  But she laughed, instead, and held him just as tightly back. If they were changing, they’d change together.

  During month six, the festival was announced. It would be held on the other side of the island, the tourist side, with food and music boomed through the speakers set out on the sand. Fires on the beach. And bokator, the rounds of fighting that would start with the youngest of boys, so of course they’d go. It was a chance to relax the way normal humans did, and even though it sounded odd to phrase it that way, Lexi hadn’t felt odd at all.

  Christan drove the battered green jeep he’d bought in the small village, followed the dusty road across the island. They parked beneath the shade of a palm and never bothered to lock the doors, since the jeep was open to the air without a top. Hand in hand they walked to the beach. Poles had been spiked into the sand, decorated with streamers in yellow, pink and salmon. Dancers in orange and green swirled while bare-chested men beat on drums beneath the heavy fronds of the palm trees.

  Lexi loved the way Christan kept touching her, the casual brush of his shoulder, the way he found so much pleasure in the smallest things. A laughing child. A fisherman’s booth—which was the man’s wooden boat—where Christan selected a squirming creature and waggled it close to her face. They ate rice and pork and sat in the shade, watched the little boys bow and kick and screech beneath the gentle guidance of the adults. Watched the older boys, and the men, each round more intense until Lexi couldn’t help but think about Phillipe.

  And then he was there, standing on the other side of the crowd. Christan saw him, too, and his hand settled firmly against her back. Slowly he rose to his feet, tugging her protectively against his side, and Lexi was so glad Phillipe was alive. So frightened that he was here. He came to stand in front of them, nodded his dark head in greeting. The wound to his neck was completely healed except for the red scar that only made him look more dangerous.

  “Words cannot express what I feel,” he told her telepathically, and held out his arms.

  She moved into them and hugged him back. Knew Christan was tense, but Lexi refused to stop the moisture that gathered in her eyes and dampened Phillipe’s shirt. It was just so damn good to see him, hold him. Even if he was an emotionless, lethal immortal who only pretended to be that way.

  “How did you know we were here?” Christan asked with careful neutrality. “Not even you should have sensed us through my shields.”

  The immortal pointed silently toward the sky. “She was able to detect your energy and tasked a private satellite. Once she knew you were safe, she left you alone. But she refused to leave you unguarded. That was non-negotiable, Enforcer. You’re right in the middle of Seven’s territory.”

  “On purpose. He’s too busy on his walkabout, and no one else would think to look here.”

  “No one knows about her surveillance,” Phillipe said. “Not even Ethan.”

  “You knew.”

  “And Arsen,” Phillipe agreed.

  “Then why are you here?” Christan demanded, his hand tightening around Lexi’s arm.

  The tall immortal looked away and then back again.

  “Arsen is missing,” he said. “And she needs you.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Christan led the way back to the jeep. They rode in silence, splashing through ruts muddy from a recent rain, pulled up behind the wooden bungalow with the palm thatched roof. Christan scented the air, found nothing unusual as he walked up the wooden steps. Inside, he went to the drawer where he kept the Beretta pistol and a loaded magazine, checked it and returned it to the drawer. Lexi was lighting the tiny stove, offering to prepare either coffee or the light lemon tea that Christan pretended to like. Thankfully, Phillipe asked for coffee.

  Christan watched as Phillipe sat in a rattan chair with gaudy, flowered cushions. The chair had come with the bungalow; they hadn’t replaced it because Lexi claimed she liked it, enough that she asked for plastic pink flamingoes to go with the chair. Christan still wasn’t sure if she’d been serious or not, but watching Phillipe now, Christan suspected her remark fell into the “not serious” category since the man looked ridiculous in his black suit and red suspenders, smothered by orange hibiscus.

  You’ve recovered fully from your wound?” he asked as the immortal crossed one leg over the other and straightened the crease in the dark suit pants.

  “Yes.” Phillipe nodded. “Thanks to your mate.”

  “I didn’t do much except scream.”

  Lexi brought the tray and three cups of coffee. She still struggled with that moment when she compelled Three and needed to downplay the emotions. Christan lightly brushed his knuckles against her cheek. Lexi settled on the couch, curling one foot beneath her. He remained standing, done with the pleasantries.

  “What happened?”

  “Arsen was in Florence, working with the Italians and keeping an eye on Six. He was helping Three transfer a business entity to One. The negotiations were smooth, everything seemed normal. Then two days ago, Arsen left on personal business. It wasn’t questioned until he didn’t return. When they couldn’t find him, Giam contacted Three.”

  Christan read the immortal’s tone. “But they found something, didn’t they, Phillipe?”

  “Katerina may have been involved.”

  “When is she not?”

  “Everyone is working on this.” Phillipe noticed Lexi’s tense expression. “It’s too early to be worried.”

  “Everything around Katerina keeps me worried,” Christan said. “Arsen has suspected her all along.”

  “It might be harmless,” Lexi pointed out. “She doesn’t hate him. She’s frightened of him, she keeps having the same dream, and maybe they’re somewhere private, working things out.” She gestured around the bungalow. “It’s not like we haven’t been off the grid for months.”

  “It’s possible,” the immortal agreed, but he was looking at Christan.

  “What are your spies telling you, Phillip?”

  “There’s no word of him anywhere. Giam eventually found security footage. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Do you have your phone?” Silently, Phillipe handed it to Christan, then stood, holding out his hand to Lexi.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said as he pulled her to her feet. “Show me around this private beach of yours.”

  “Phillipe,” she said cautiously.

  He smiled. “Outside. Let him have privacy.”

  ✽✽✽

  They walked along the golden beach as if they had nothing better to do that afternoon than stroll in the warm sun. The water swept in with lacy foam, then drew back, tugging bits of froth as if it would reclaim the sand as its own. Sea birds cried and dipped low in the distance, while the breeze whispered with secrets through the palm fronds.

  “How is he?” Phillipe asked when they reached the point where the beach curved and they lost sight of the bungalow.

  “Fine. He’s happy.”

  “And you?”

  Lexi looked away. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ll have to come back.”

  “I knew that the moment I saw you.” She turned to face him. “What is he finding out right now?”

  “It depends on who he called.”

  “No games, Phillipe.”

  “How far along are you with your transition?”

  “Do you mean, can I lift sand and create a barrier even you’d have trouble breaking through?” She demonstrated with a subtle movement Three would have admired. “He’s been teaching me other tricks. We should spar. You could evaluate my technique.”

  Phill
ipe smiled gently. “You’re more like him than you know.”

  “You can thank Two.” But worry drove her, not anger at Phillipe, and Lexi pushed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes as she struggled for control. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s understandable.”

  “And we’ll go back—there’s no question if Arsen is in danger.”

  “He can’t do this without you.”

  “I’m his other half, Phillipe. He won’t have to.”

  “How stable are you?” It was the unspoken question that had hovered since that moment in the Sahara when Lexi screamed for Justice, and Vengeance had answered her call.

  “I haven’t felt the power in months,” Lexi admitted. “Christan remains in control. He sleeps peacefully, as do I.”

  The immortal stared out at the moving sea. “I have to say that’s a relief.”

  “But the chaos is increasing.” Lexi had followed the news in bits and pieces. A battered television was always on in the small market they frequented, and she understood enough through the images if not the language.

  “Do you believe Arsen’s disappearance is innocent?” Lexi asked.

  Phillipe didn’t immediately answer. The foamy water washed up across the beach with that soft susurration that had once been calming. Now, it swirled around her ankles, drenching the sandals she was wearing and turning the hem of her linen pants a darker shade of brown. From the corner of her eye, Lexi saw water sweep over Phillipe’s dress shoes, too, and drench the black suit pants; he hadn’t bothered to step out of reach. His hands were thrust deeply in his pockets.

  “Please tell me,” she said softly. “I love Arsen, too.” Loved them all, the man who was her brother by choice, the man who was her soul, and the immortal with silver eyes molten with the magic of mercury.

  “The surveillance footage revealed an attack. He was with Katerina at the time, trying to protect her.”

  “Were you able to identify the attackers?”

  “Not yet.”

  Lexi tipped her face to the sun, wanting to draw in the heat as a cold chill began to move through her heart. A hard, unrelenting cold that felt empowering.

  “Is it connected to Six?”

  “The chaos has been growing, but it’s not all generated by the Calata.” Phillipe was watching her. “There are signs the insurrection has spread wider than we previously thought.”

  “New enemies?”

  “Someone outside of Calata is amassing Calata-like power. It’s subtle, not land grabs but control over economies, vital industries. If this reaches critical mass the human world will be unable to regain autonomy and Calata will be helpless without going to outright war. If, by then, we even identify who’s behind this.”

  “How long before critical mass?” Lexi asked.

  “Ethan’s best guess is within a year if something isn’t done.”

  “And Arsen’s disappearance is part of it?”

  “It seems designed to weaken Three’s influence, eliminate those closest to her.”

  A figure appeared at the far end of the beach, his hair glinting midnight-dark in the sun.

  “We’ll find Arsen,” Phillipe said, taking Lexi’s arm, directing her along the beach in Christan’s direction.

  “And then we’ll laugh,” she said, “because Arsen and Katerina have reconciled and we caught them in an indelicate situation.”

  “Yes.”

  Lexi stared at their combined footprints in the golden sand. “Can you promise, Phillipe?”

  “What?”

  She stopped and pushed against the cold, leveled her amber gaze on the immortal’s face. Pinned him with an intensity that she felt in her bones.

  “Can you promise that neither Arsen nor Christan will come to harm?”

  The ocean rushed again over the golden sand, erasing their footprints as quickly as they’d made them while birds flew over the water and dove in the brilliant sunlight.

  Calmly, the immortal assassin looked at her.

  “No one can predict the future, Lexi. But no one is as powerful as Christan.”

  She didn’t waver.

  “Can you promise, Phillipe?”

  “There is only one vow I will make,” he said, “that I know without doubt that I can fulfill. I will be at Christan’s side.”

  They were within a few yards of where Christan stood, powerful, lethal, the breeze lifting the dark hair from his face. He was a creature of myth, who lived where the angels lived, and so was she.

  Lexi turned to look at Phillipe and felt something fundamental change. Embraced it.

  “I make the same vow.”

  “Because you are his other half?”

  Wings flared high above her shoulders, shimmering opalescent in the sunlight. Sending out a wave of terrifying power.

  “Because I am Justice,” she said.

  And Vengeance fell to his knees and roared.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  If you enjoyed reading this story, please support the author by leaving an honest review on the site where you purchased it, so that others might enjoy the author’s work. I appreciate all my readers and their enthusiasm. Thank you!

  This novel takes place in many locations, and I’ve tried to keep them as accurate as possible while using details creatively. There is no small town on the Oregon coast called Rock Cove, but the Shanghai Tunnels in Portland do exist, perhaps not to the extent as I've described them, and they are open to tourists and the history is accurate.

  In Italy, there are many large and ancient villas in the countryside, surrounded by vineyards and very similar to One’s compound, other than the long curtain wall. Unfortunately, there’s no whitewashed house at the top of the hill on the island of Marettimo although if there was, I would surely be living there. The legends of that island are also accurate.

  It’s true that there is much illicit fishing in the Mediterranean that can’t be controlled, even though there is an extensive tracking system. Cyrene’s history is accurate, and the descriptions—for those interested there are satellite maps where you can see the locations of the ruins. In 2003, Japanese satellites discovered the ancient Tamanrasett River System now extinct and hidden beneath the sand. It stretched from the Hoggar highlands in Algeria to the Atlantic Ocean.

  With so many wonderful and generous sources of information from friends and readers, I can’t thank you all personally, but your support has been invaluable. My thanks to Professor Angela Zagarella, who patiently assisted me with the Italian dialog in this novel and added her personal knowledge. Any errors in the translations or typographical errors are strictly my own.

  As always, this book is dedicated to my husband and children who had been unwavering in their support and enthusiasm. And with a special dedication to my sweet Bella. “You live where the angels live, sweet girl. I’ll see you soon.”

  For more information about Sue Wilder, please visit suewilderwrites.com and subscribe to the blog to learn more about upcoming titles and release dates.

  Suewilderwrites.com

  ✽✽✽

  Enforcer’s Legacy series (the stories around the Calata’s Enforcers)

  The Darkness in Dreams

  Christan and Lexi’s trilogy March 30, 2018

  The Fire in Vengeance

  Christan and Lexi’s trilogy June 1, 2018

  The Danger in Justice

  Christan and Lexi’s trilogy summer 2018

  The Tears in Midnight

  Arsen and Katerina fall 2018

  More to come

  READ ON FOR BONUS CHAPTER for THE DANGER IN JUSTICE

  CHAPTER 1

  Florence, Italy

  They met near the end of October, in secret and in the middle of the night.

  Two women were present, opposites yet united toward a single goal, standing in a room not meant for a war council—but a war council had certainly been called. Firelight danced through the room, then lost itself in the red-tiled floors, and music played softly in the backgrou
nd. The villa was Italian. The furnishing, though, were Moorish with strapped leather stools and small, hammered-brass tables catching the yellow light. There were silks, carved wooden screens, large urns with geometric patterns in lapis, emerald and cobalt blue. Saffron-colored draperies covered windows where the glass was black, and rain outside streaked like falling tears.

  They faced each other, not quite combatants but coming close. One woman was tall and blond and considered beautiful by some—but she wasn’t human. Her voice, when she spoke, carried memories of France, or Italy, or even Russia since no one could identify the accent. She was Calata, which meant the invasion, named by an early culture with no other way to describe them. Within their immortal society only seven had been strong enough to rule. Now there were six. Their names were in the origin form with no equivalent in the human language. For expediency they used numbers. The blond woman was Three. The woman with chestnut hair was One.

  One was also Calata and quite capable, but she was nowhere near the level of Three, a woman who’d been Ais to the Etruscans, and the Potnia Theron to ancient Greece. Ais meant “God” in the dead Etruscan language and the meaning was inaccurate—but the name Potnia Theron was frighteningly accurate since it meant mistress of the wild beast. Three did control the wild beast, the legend, a creature who once terrorized the ancient world; the modern world, too, if recent rumors could be confirmed. When she was angry Three could destroy dynasties, using her wild beast to do it, and Three was angry now.

  While Three paced, One watched from several feet away. She stood barely over five-foot-four unless she was wearing four-inch heels—which she was, and the soles were always red, reminding her enemies of the blood through which she had walked over the long centuries. Chestnut hair flowed in a riot around her face. Her temper, normally quite volatile, was held with strict control as she watched her strongest ally pace the darkened room.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have come,” One said, her voice tense as she nearly disappeared in the shadows. “Six will realize you’re here.”