Soul of Flame (3 page)

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.

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 seemed, 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.

The screams and shouts behind him muted, a distant nuisance to be ignored. Though he longed to savor the moment of his revenge, a security team would arrive any moment and spoil his fun. He’d spent too many days plotting what he would do if he ever got his claws into her again. He would not be thwarted.

The slender fae turned her head, exposing her long pale neck, and he pressed close, expecting the bitter icy scent he despised. The lungful of warm smoke and spice he inhaled made him lightheaded. Soft, creamy skin exposed when she turned her head begged for his bite. He spread his jaws wide, preparing to sink his teeth deep to rend her flesh, but the urge to lick her overwhelmed him.

Shim pulled back, staring at her, wary as the woman turned her head to regard him. She looked so familiar, and yet not.

The pain beneath his skin itched beyond his ability to bear, and tears poured from his eyes. A tickling sensation built in his throat and nose until he couldn’t hold it in. A sharp pain in his side distracted a moment before he let loose an almighty sneeze straight into her face. Huge hands grappled around his throat and rolled him off his prey.

He couldn’t struggle against the hands gripping him, his muscles like water. Rekkus’ face loomed close, twisted into a harsh snarl. He pulled back a meaty fist and punched Shim in the jaw. The blow combined with the sedative pumping through his veins from the dart gun, and he slumped to the floor.

His eyes flickered closed, and he battled to open them, his vision blurred by a combination of the drugs and his tears. The fae sat up, her face twisted in utter disgust. Lifting her hand, she tried to remove a huge lump of snot from her hair. Her face dripped with it, and he curled his lip in a smile.

That’ll teach the bitch to curse me into being allergic to my animal form
.

Blackness swallowed him.

Ceara wiped her face with the thick, white towel Cyrus handed to her. He crouched close, shielding her from view. The Light Ones moved around the room, settling the other guests, their calm, sweet natures being more suitable to the task. Sage whipped up a batch of shakes as Cemil wove a tale about an accidental escape from the preserve, the island’s own animal sanctuary.

Desperate for a shower, she struggled to her feet. The mucus in her hair set like glue, and a cold trail ran down her neck into her bra. Trying not to retch at the unpleasant sensation, she followed the Dark Ones, as Cyrus and his sister Sarka were known, from the room. Shock turned to irritation when they led her to an office behind the reception desk. She wanted nothing more than to seek the sanctuary of her cottage. The pair studied her from the other side of the desk, their icy-blue eyes an unwelcome reminder of her twin, although the emotion reflected by the Rowans appeared sympathetic—something she’d never seen in her sister’s gaze.

“Do you require medical assistance?” Sarka asked, and Ceara shook her head. Her arms stung a little from scratches left by the jaguar’s claws, but if she never saw a medic again it would be too soon.

She’d experienced a moment of utter peace pinned beneath the big cat. Waiting for those sharp fangs to sink deep into her throat, she’d blessed the Fates for providing a release. She longed for nothing more than to escape the prison her life had become since the fire went silent. Hot fury surged in her veins at the Wiccans and their staff for interfering, although she fought hard not to show it.

“And you’re sure you’ve never met Shimeer Neguar before?” Cyrus sounded somewhat skeptical.
Who is this impudent pup to question my honesty?
The fae were skilled at manipulating the truth, but she’d grown out of the habit after spending so long away from court.

“I have never seen him until a few moments ago. The majority of the past century, I have dwelled in the mundane world. I assume you are aware of my banishment?” She raised one eyebrow at Cyrus, and he nodded.

“We ran a check on you with the Syndicate prior to your arrival.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand, frowning.
I’m not going to like this.

“Unbeknownst to us, your clan queen left a standing instruction with them. Any inquiries regarding you or your sister are to be reported to her. I’ve pulled some strings, and they’ve agreed to keep it quiet until the end of the week. Given the little I know of fae politics, you must have done something special to get banished?”