Soul of Flame Page 2

  Matthews had paid her a visit and confirmed what she already knew. The entire team had died, killed by her inability to control the fire. He’d asked her what went wrong, but she’d refused to answer. The boss knew more than he should already about the existence of the fae, and she wouldn’t do anything else to put him in danger.

  She had lain in the sterile, white room for days without speaking, and Matthews had returned that morning with a ticket and a bagful of clothes and essentials. He’d threatened to dress her himself if she didn’t cooperate. Bundling her into his car, he drove for a couple of hours, heading toward the coast. Ignoring her protests, he shoved her onto the small ferry without explanation.

  Ceara had a feeling she knew her destination, although she could not understand how she’d been gifted with a ticket. Wiccan Haus was renowned throughout the para realms. The ferry she rode carried human guests—all paras arrived and departed the island via one of the portals. She looked around at the other passengers who hung from the rail, straining for a glimpse of the island. Chatter about the resort milled through the group. They discussed the classes each wanted to take, but she refused all attempts to be drawn into conversation. Tugging her jacket hood up, she shoved her gloved hands deep into her pockets.

  Conversation faded, quieting beneath the blanket of fog enveloping the small vessel. The sun disappeared, the temperature plummeting, and she shivered in earnest. Pain racked her body, and she bent double, squeezing her eyes shut. The cold struck deep, and concerned murmurs about the sudden fog bank rose around her.

  The sounds of distress faded once the ferry broke through the wet, dank curtain and the sun blazed again. The cabin emptied, the other guests hurrying to lean over the side rails, gasping and exclaiming at their first sight of the island.

  White cliffs rose high, trees dotted the landscape, and the very tips of the Haus could be seen peeking through the woods. A natural harbor carved deep into the cliff held a loading dock, and a few small boats bobbed in the gentle ripples made by the ferry as it edged closer to dry land.

  The ferry bumped against the dock. She barely registered the movement as she shuddered in the corner, until a soft touch on her shoulder stilled the pain in her body. Blinking back tears, she stared into a pair of bright-blue eyes. A tall man with flowing blond hair leaned over her, and she recognized him as one of the Rowan siblings, the owners of Wiccan Haus and the island upon which it sat.

  “Be well, Ceara. I am Cemil Rowan and you are welcome at Wiccan Haus.” The man wrapped a heated blanket around her shivering form, coaxing her from the cabin to the gangplank leading from the ferry to the pier. She clutched the cozy material close, shuffling along the strip of wood. Cemil followed her, his heavy tread making the plank bounce beneath her feet.

  The Haus rose ahead of her, its wooden chalet-style architecture both quirky and welcoming. She followed Cemil on the short walk to reception, keeping her eyes on the path beneath her feet. Although the day was pleasant, Ceara gained no comfort from the sun. She didn’t think she would ever be warm again. The blanket eased the worst of her shivers, but could do nothing to fill the aching cold in her soul.

  Cemil paused at the entrance to the Haus, a kind smile on his face. “We will find a way to heal you, Ceara. Have a little faith in us.”

  With no time for platitudes, she brushed past him into the foyer. “The Lord and Lady are silent to me, Cemil. My powers are spent, and I am naught but a husk, doomed to eternity with no purpose, no calling. I have heard many stories of the Rowans and your abilities, but some things are beyond your ken.”

  She waited at the reception desk, studying the young woman seated behind it who shuffled a pack of cards, her entire focus on them as she dealt four face up before her. This child may be human but not mundane. The young woman lifted her head and smiled. Her nametag said “Cyrus” which Ceara found confusing to say the least. The woman brushed her turquoise bangs from her forehead and tilted her head to one side, studying her.

  “Well, you are a conundrum, aren’t you? A para without power. Every time I ask the cards for your room number it comes up with something different. I’m not sure what to do with you. My instincts say second floor, but it doesn’t sit well to place you amongst the other paras when you are defenseless. A room number for the third floor comes up two out of three times, but what risk to the human residents should you regain your power and become unstable?” The small woman frowned past Ceara’s shoulder.

  “What’s the problem, Myron?” Cemil’s easygoing tone and relentless good nature irritated Ceara.

  The small woman opened her mouth to explain, but a deep, growling voice cut across her.

  “The problem, Cemil, is you permitted a para to approach the island via the ferry, and you didn’t bother to clue me in.” A huge man, well over six feet tall, folded his arms across his broad chest and glared at Ceara as though all of this was her fault. His deep voice held a lyrical quality, and she surmised he’d once called one of the Celtic lands home. “I’m head of security in case you’d bloody forgotten. How the hell can I be expected to protect the family and residents of the island if you don’t keep me informed?” His voice deepened further, the contained power and grace of his posture screaming shifter.

  “She needed our help, Rekkus. Without her powers, she is no threat to the humans. Sage and I discussed it and agreed her need for healing outweighed your rules. Expecting her to travel unprotected through the para realms is unreasonable.” Cemil paused and studied Ceara with a shrewd look. “Her obligation to a human friend is the only reason she came to us. I doubt she would be here without his perseverance.”

  Ceara ducked her head, refusing to acknowledge the truth in the Wiccan’s observant words. Another dark-haired man joined the group, and she sighed at the growing audience. She didn’t even want to be here in the first place, never mind be the source of so much unwanted attention. The newcomer resembled Cemil, although everything about him was dark—his hair, his clothing, even the leather gloves he wore.

  She moved away from the desk area, giving the staff space to have a heated discussion about security and accommodation. Turning in a slow circle, she examined the rafters of the airy space. Wood surrounded her, the sort of environment that would sing to her powers, rich with sources of fuel, but her soul lay dead inside her. A small blonde woman hurried through the front door, her long skirt billowing. She adjusted a large cloth bag over her shoulder. Smiling sweetly, as though they were old friends, she held out her hands in greeting.

  “Ceara, it’s good to have you with us. I’ve just finished preparing your cottage, and I’m sure you will enjoy the location. It’s not far from the meadow, which will be one of the spaces we use for your healing.” Sage—who else could it be, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes so like Cemil’s—waved toward the group at the desk as she hurried to the elevators. “Can one of you get Ceara settled in the stone cottage? I must check the humans are all resting before the portal opens.” With a smile and a waft of lavender and thyme, the beautiful young woman disappeared into the far right elevator.

  Cemil grinned and shrugged at the frowning security officer and the silent, black-clad man beside him. “It seems Sage has it all in hand. I’ll take our guest to the cottage. I’m sure you will want to monitor the rest of the para arrivals.”

  The big man growled viciously, snatching his clipboard from the reception desk. “I can’t bloody wait to see what surprises come through that damn portal.”

  The picturesque path led from the Haus to the meadow, and Cemil, a conscientious guide, pointed out various routes leading from the main pathway—to the south, a wooded area surrounded a lake. To the north lay an orchard, the faint scent of apple blossom traveling on the air. She listened to the information and instructions he gave. They passed a set of gates, which he indicated was the entrance to the meadow, and the path continued up to the northwest, growing steeper. A narrow trail appeared to the left, winding through the trees, and he
guided her along it. Just a few paces in, the trees opened onto a delightful bower with a grassed area and a single-story stone cottage on one side, pale gray with a darker slate roof. The door stood ajar.

  Cemil pushed open the door. Ducking his head beneath the frame, he entered the living space. The open-plan area featured a large plush couch before a huge brick fireplace which blazed away in spite of the warmth of the day. At the back of the room stood an enormous bed, dressed in crisp, cream cotton sheets with a thick dark-green blanket rolled back at the foot. A set of gauzy curtains were hooked back and would provide a semblance of privacy for the bed area when released from their position. A stone archway to the right led to a bathroom with a luxury shower stall and a huge sunken bath, carved from the same stone as the cottage itself. Candles ringed the edge of the tub, and a large basket on the counter held a selection of soaps and shampoos.

  “Sage makes those specifically for each guest.” Cemil lifted one of the bars to his nose and inhaled. “Ginger and pink peppercorns, a perfect combination for a salamander.”

  “Do not call me that,” she snapped. Snatching her bag away from his grasp, she headed over to the large bed.

  “My apologies, Ceara, but your current difficulties do not mean you should deny your very self.” He approached the door, pausing in the entranceway to regard her. “The portal will open soon. You will hear it and no doubt feel the vibrations. Rest and get settled in, but don’t forget you must return to the Haus for dinner. All our guests dine together, without exception.” With that final instruction, he departed, the cottage seeming empty without his presence.

  The crackling of the logs in the fireplace drew and repelled her in equal measures. She edged closer to the warmth of the fire to examine the sideboard holding an electric kettle, a mug tree, and a small wooden box. Prying open the lid, she bent her head to draw in the delicious scents of the homemade infusions encased in small muslin bags.

  She brewed a cup of tea and perched cross-legged on the dark-green velvet couch, her gaze resting time and again on the flickering flames. Her cheeks flushed, the warmth from the fire heating up the room. The smoky lapsang souchong and orange tea spread an echoing warmth in her belly, and she uncurled her limbs as the bone-deep chill loosened.

  Ceara unzipped her jacket and pulled the hood back. Her once-vibrant red hair fell in a limp brown mass around her shoulders, and she leaned back deeper into the plump cushions.

  The muted tones of the cottage provided a pleasant contrast to the harsh brightness of the clinic room she’d occupied for the previous few weeks, which seemed half a world away already. How had Matthews been able to arrange for her passage to the island?

  Thoughts of their stoic leader led to memories of the rest of her team, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Staring into the dancing flames, she pictured Kellan, Derren, and the others writhing in agony as her failed control incinerated them to ash and bone.

  Chapter Two

  Shimeer Neguar waited at the instructed entry point, flipping the small, bright-red lizard-shaped charm in his hand. The shape of the charm meant nothing to him, black jaguars having little in common with lizards too small to even be considered snack worthy. The ground beneath his feet shuddered, but Shim held steady, unlike some of the others who queued beside him. Living at the foot of a volcano deep in the Ecuadorian rainforest, he’d gotten used to Mother Earth shrugging her shoulders.

  A low rumble built until a loud boom rolled around the platform, and the portal appeared before him. Shim slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped through, his alpha nature making it impossible for him to cede to any of his traveling companions. He entered a plain stone room, nodding in respect at the huge were-tiger who stood in front of him. Rekkus Duteigr, a legend among the big cat shifters. His reputation had spread even to the remote forest areas where Shim and his kind preferred to dwell. Rekkus was the last of his kind, the sole living black tiger—although rumors circulated of a recent mating.

  Shim knew what it meant to be alone, the last survivor of his clan. Other jaguar clans still existed in the depths of the rainforest, but none were related to him. Overtures had been made by a few who wanted him to join their prowl and refresh their bloodlines, but he had little interest in mating. Especially while he remained cursed. He loosed a coughing growl at the thought of his curse and the evil fae bitch who’d ruined his life. If he ever got his hands on her again….

  A rumble from Rekkus brought him back to full awareness, and he ceased his own growling, raising a hand in apology. The head of security for the island squinted before gesturing another guard forward who escorted him to reception for his room allocation.

  The pretty human female behind the desk gave him an appraising look, and he flashed her a quick smile. A tasty little morsel like her might be just what he needed to take his mind off the shit-fest he called life. He thought about the last female to catch his eye, shuddering at the echo of sharp, cold pain blasting through his shoulder. He rubbed the joint, a reflex action to soothe a wound long healed.

  Claiming the key to his room, he listened to the strict instruction to use only the middle elevator which would take him to the second floor, reserved for the use of para species. With a quick nod, he strode across the lobby. The rest of the para guests gathered at the desk, and he was in no mood to be in a confined space with any of them.

  A snake shifter hissed as he passed. He paused long enough to bare his teeth at the impudent fool before hitting the elevator and escaping the busy lobby for the peace and quiet of his room. Jaguars preferred to remain solitary. Being around crowds—particularly in unfamiliar territory—raised his hackles. The trip through the capital city to the portal had driven him near crazy with all the noises and smells.

  The key to Room 2 slipped into the well-oiled lock, and he stepped inside the airy space. The furnishings were plain, sparse even, but perfect for his needs. A large bed dominated the area, and he dropped his duffel on the caramel-colored cover before stepping into the bathroom. The huge tub and multi-jet shower were a welcome sight, and he stripped his clothes before stepping into the glass stall, turning the jets on full blast. The hot water pounded his tense muscles, washing away the stink of the city. He grabbed a bar of dark-green soap from the rack. Eucalyptus and cloves filled the room, the steam absorbing and magnifying the scent. He drew in a huge lungful of hot air while scrubbing at his short black hair. The black-on-black rosettes decorating his fur in animal form were echoed in his human form, and, unlike some other shifters, his eyes stayed the same jade-green whether man or beast.

  He dried off and regarded the bed, fighting the urge to take a nap and unwind from the stresses of the day. The instruction to attend dinner had been explicit, so he pulled his clothes out of the duffel and shoved them into the chest of drawers, keeping out a fresh shirt and jeans. Kicking his hated shoes under the bed, he strode barefoot from the room. With a few minutes before dinner started, he decided to explore the Haus and get his bearings. He palmed the small folding map he’d been issued with his room key and headed for the elevator.

  Having spent longer than he intended poking his head into various treatment rooms, closets, and offices, Shim hurried into the dining room. He headed to the side painted dark-green, which his guide told him had been reserved for the para guests. Small tables and chairs scattered about the space, and he chose one by the window so he could keep the rest of the room in sight. He perused the menu and gave his order to the wait staff, accepting a jug of water with a nod. Alcohol was not available to guests, but he wasn’t bothered. He wanted to keep his wits sharp until he could assess the other residents. He’d met the paranormal faction waiting for the portal to open, and, like him, none of them seemed inclined toward company. They ranged through the para-allocated section of the room, each at lone tables.

  He turned his attention to the opposite side of the room, painted lighter-green and reserved for the human guests. They were a little more sociable, it seeme
d, a couple of larger tables occupied by small groups. A person sat alone, a small figure bundled in an oversized hooded sweatshirt, female by her stature.

  As though feeling his eyes upon her, the woman raised her head, and he recoiled in horror. The face of his nightmares stared back at him, framed by the hood of the sweatshirt. Hatred boiling in his veins, he studied her high cheekbones, the same stubborn jawline he saw every night in his dreams. His chair flew in one direction, the table another. He yanked his shirt over his head then shed his jeans. Ignoring the gasps and wide-eyed stares from the humans, he focused on the bitch across the room. Crouching low, he let the shift come. Bones snapping and twisting, his jaguar forced his way to the fore in a shimmer of light. Huge leg muscles propelled him across the room in a matter of moments.

  The woman stumbled from her seat, but he cut off her escape route. He paced closer, tail flicking, eyes locked on his prey. The woman tripped over the edge of one of the tables, falling backwards. Her hood slipped down, revealing dull-brown hair instead of the white-blonde he’d expected to see, but he didn’t hesitate. Claws pricking deep, he pinned her limbs to the floor before she could summon her power. His fur started to itch and burn. He growled in frustration at the first signs of his curse taking effect. Adrenaline and fury had carried him through the change but, now, a thousand fire ants crawled beneath his skin.

  Shaking his head to try and clear the tears in his eyes, he pressed his face close to the fae bitch. Saliva dripped from his open jaws to trickle down her neck. He snarled into her terrified face. The chocolate hue to her iris surprised him. It was not the cold blue he expected to see, but the fae were renowned for their trickery and glamor. Terror in those deep-brown depths melted first into resignation and then peace.