Treasure of the Fire Kingdom (The Elemental Phases Book 4) (11 page)

“He
won’t actually hurt me, though.  He proved that!  Let him go.”

“Kingu!” 
Zakkery was still up in the box.  He cupped his palms around his mouth like a
megaphone, so he could be heard over the crowd.  “Shit!  You’re gonna scare the
girl, ya moron!”

He
got a quick red glare and then Kingu was turning back to Hope.  He looked like
he was trying not to bellow at her, but that just meant his words came out as a
snarl.  “If I want to kill every fucking Phase in the world, I
will
. 
You have no impact on my decision.”

Oh
dear.

That
was the problem with warriors.  They didn’t react well to direct orders. 
Sometimes they did the exact opposite, just to prove they
could
.  If
Kingu had been a Fire Phase, Lycus would be getting his neck snapped just on
principle.

Hope
glanced over at Lycus worriedly.  She didn’t really have time to argue with
Kingu or talk him down.  Not even a Phase could survive a broken neck or
strangulation, and he was really struggling, now.  Kingu was genuinely going to
kill him, unless she offered some distraction.

Hope
tore her eyes away from Lycus and looked up at Kingu.  “Let him live and I’ll
go with you.”

That
should do the trick.  She would have gone with Kingu
anyway
, but there
was no need to tell him that.  Warriors liked to win.  Liked getting their own
way.  Over the past century, Hope had learned how to appease their egos and
still get them moving in the right direction.  Sometimes it meant a teeny bit
of manipulation or selective omissions, but it was all for the greater good.

Rule
seventy-six of being a Fire Phase:  Victory at any cost.

Sure
enough, Kingu dropped Lycus like the stone.  The words weren’t even all the way
out of Hope’s mouth before Kingu released the gladiator and directed all his
attention at her.  He’d been focusing on her this whole time, really, but now
it was like he’d aimed a spotlight at her face.

Lycus
fell onto the sand, gasping for breath.

“Are
you okay?”  Hope started over to check on him, but Kingu cut her off.  One
giant hand grasped her upper arm as he kept her still.

“You’re
coming with me, woman?”  It was more of an impatient demand than a question,
but his grip on her was almost tentative.  Like Kingu was afraid he might crush
her bones if he didn’t handle her like he was cradling a bird.

The
masculine gentleness just completely charmed her.  Hope’s heartbeat kicked into
overdrive as arousal hummed through her system.  Kingu’s fingers encircled her
upper arm with room to spare.  “Yes.”  It came out as a whisper.  “I’ll go with
you.”

He
didn’t trust her easy agreement.  She could tell that it threw him off guard. 
His grip got a bit tighter like he was anticipating some kind of wild dash for
freedom.  “You’ll come
willingly
?”  He stipulated
.
  “I have your
word?  I don’t want to chase you all over this dreary little kingdom, while you
dream up half-assed escape plans.”

Well,
that was a whole different promise. 
Going
wasn’t the same as
staying
. 
Hope wasn’t going to
stay
in the Cloudland.  The whole place was creepy
and she already missed her family.  Sooner or later, Hope
had
to go home
and that might mean an escape plan or two.  For now, though, of course she’d go
with Kingu.  That she could swear to honestly.

“I’ll
leave with you, of my own free will, so long as you promise not to hurt
anyone.”

Kingu
blinked.  “I would not harm you.”  He pitched his voice so low that only she
could hear it.  “That would gain me nothing.”  He hesitated and then murmured. 
“Besides, I’ve seen you in battle and I have no desire to fight you.”  His eyes
gleamed like smoldering embers, fondly remembering the bloodshed.

God,
the man was appealing.  “I know you won’t hurt
me
.”  Oberon never would
have selected a
dangerous
monster for her.  That was crazy.  “I’m
worried you’re going to hurt
other
people.”

“Oh,
I’m sure I will.”

She
frowned.  “How many?”

“Probably
a lot.”  Kingu sighed loudly at her disapproving expression.  “Alright, fine. 
Just point out the important ones as we go and I’ll try to let them live.”  He
shook his head.  “I can’t believe I’m actually negotiating with you over this
nonsense.  It sets a bad precedent.”

Apparently,
he thought he’d been the soul of compromise and she was the unreasonable one. 
His hand slid down her sleeve to grip her bare wrist.

Hope
jolted at the feel of his skin against hers.  Her breathing got faster, her
breasts growing tighter.  It was just his hand on hers, but he might as well
have ripped her clothes off and started licking her body like a taffy.

Something
jerked awake deep within Hope.  Instead of a sparkler, the feeling in her body
became an electrical charge.  Burning hot and hungry.  She’d never felt
anything like it and it startled her.  She automatically tried to jerk
backwards.

Kingu
didn’t let her go.  His fingers weren’t even tight enough to redden her skin,
but there was no way Hope was getting free of him.  Not that she wanted to,
really, but the fact that he could keep her chained to his side amped up her
lust even more.  Oh Gaia, he was strong.  The strongest warrior she’d even
met.  Kingu could take whatever he wanted and no one could stop him.

That
was everything a Fire Phase wanted in a mate.

From
out of nowhere, Hope had the image of ancient gods demanding their sacrifices
and women stretched out as offerings in stone temples.  Strapped down and
helpless before an all-powerful monster.  She let out a soft sound of surprise
and confusion and total screaming desire.

Kingu’s
face got unreadable again.  “I can’t let you go.  Cry and fight, but it’ll do
no good.  We’re connected somehow.  We both should just be resigned to it. 
Zakkery,” he didn’t bother to turn around to look at the Smoke Phase when he
called his name.  Instead, he kept his attention on Hope, “I’m ready to fulfill
our bargain, now.  I’ll get you the necklace and this woman is mine.”

The
elements have no forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the air
consumes,

the earth
buries. And perhaps it would be well for our race if the punishment of crimes

against
the Laws of Man were as inevitable as the punishment of crimes against the Laws
of Nature.

Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow- “Table-Talk”

Sullivan
Pryce scowled at Gion “Peterson” across the width of his desk.  “Thanks for
coming in today.  The Mayport Beach police department appreciates your
cooperation.”  The words were delivered with zero sincerity.  Sullivan didn’t
bother to hide his distain as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms
across his chest.  “I’m Constitutionally required to remind you that you can
have lawyer present.  You probably have your legal team’s number on speed dial,
at this point.”

God
knew he’d arrested enough of these weirdoes over the past few months to have
created a gold rush in the legal community.  Every defense attorney in a fifty
mile radius was getting rich.  The Cult’s criminal tendencies were financing a
whole armada of pleasure boats and new Mercedes, while not one Cult member
stayed in jail more than an hour or two.

It
annoyed Sullivan on so many levels.

Gion’s
mouth curved into the sort of smirk that made Sullivan want to book him for
just being a world-class asshole.  “I don’t need my lawyers.  I’m just here to
humor you.”

“
I’m
not.”  On the other side of the police station, Alder “I-don’t-
have-
a-last-name-because-I’m-Alder,-of-the-Fire-Kingdom!”
raised his cuffed hands.  “I’m here because the human is a bigot.”

Sullivan
closed his eyes briefly.  “You’re here because you torched someone’s front
lawn.  Don’t worry.  I’m getting to you next.”

“I
didn’t set that palm tree on fire.”  Alder insisted passionately.  He had the
look of a strip-club bouncer, the seams of his camouflaged T-shirt straining
against his doubtlessly chemically enhanced muscles.  His dark hair sported a
red streak at the temple.

At
least, Sullivan
thought
it was red.  He was colorblind, so it could have
been green or some in between shade of brown.  Not that it particularly
mattered.  All the Cult members had various kinds of colored markers in their
hair.  Sullivan wasn’t sure why, except they were all weirdoes.

“My
sister started the blaze.”  Alder continued.  “I was just standing there.”

“Right. 
Innocently standing there with a torch in your hand.”

“So? 
That doesn’t prove anything.  A lot of people have torches.”

“Not
outside of Frankenstein movies or witch burnings.”  Typical that they would
pull this crap the day before Halloween.  It was probably some kind of
spiritual holiday for whatever the hell fake religion they’d started.

Alder
made an aggravated sound.  “Missy handed me the torch
after
the fire
started.”

“I’m
sure the jury will be lenient with you, then.  You better hope so anyway,
because the lady whose yard you incinerated is not a forgiving soul.  She’s
already calling the DA asking him to go for the death penalty.”

“Look,
I don’t have time for this human crap.  In fact, I’m only not killing you
because I don’t need Job on my ass.”  He hesitated.  “Shit.  Is ‘ass’ a swear
word in the human language?”

“Yep.” 
At least, Sullivan’s grandmother had always chastised him when he said it.  The
fact the he took the non sequitur in stride was a sad commentary on how normal
the Cult’s insanity was becoming.

“
Shit!
 
I hate this frigging realm.  I only come here to fight in the wars, and now to
look for a Match.  I have to
go!
  This whole stupid jail thing is making
me late to pick up my cousin Hope and
now
you made me curse.”  Alder
tugged at the zip-tie handcuffs securing his wrists and looked over at Gion. 
“Would you do something about this?  You were raised by the damn Wood Phases. 
Tell this idiot to let me go!”

“Of
course.”  Gion nodded gravely and glanced back at Sullivan.  “Let him go,
idiot.”  He deadpanned, a mocking glint in his eye.

“God,
I hate you people.”  Sullivan had never been much of an actor.  He left that up
to Mayport Beach’s
second
biggest problem, she of the scorched palm tree
and vengeance issues.  No, everything Sullivan felt about a person was
typically written all over his face and/or came through loud-and-clear in his
voice.  And, in case they missed those subtle clues, he also usually told them
outright just what he thought.  Sullivan found rudeness so much easier than
polite, social lies.

He
thought Alder was a pyromanical lunatic and he thought Gion was an arrogant,
violent son-of-a-bitch.

They
might as well know he was on to them, because he also thought Gion was an
arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch who could… do things.  Weird things.  And
since the Cult came to town, Sullivan’s previous standards of weird had
undergone a dramatic tilt towards the bizarre.  All in all, this wasn’t going
to be the friendliest interrogation on record.

He
didn’t like the Cult.

There
was no sense in pretending otherwise.

They’d
hit Mayport Beach a few months back, with too much money, too much free time,
and no respect for the law.  Since then, Sullivan had been aching to get rid of
them and now he had a shot at making his dream come true.

Mayport
Beach, Florida was a small, sleepy beach town, with the population skewed
heavily towards the eighty-three year old retiree demographic.  Until the Cult,
keeping crime under control mainly consisted of locking up ass-hat grandkids
joyriding in stolen Cadillacs or dealing with stoners breaking into empty
vacation homes.  Still, Sullivan was the chief of police and he took his job
seriously.  He took Mayport Beach seriously.  He’d lived there all his life.

The
last thing he wanted his peaceful community overrun with lunatics.

No
matter how much said community seemed to
like
the invasion.

Sullivan
often felt like was the last human uninfected by the Pod People.  Most of
Mayport Beach
loved
the Cult.  Few seemed to notice that they were
weirdoes.  They had weird habits and weird stripes in their hair and a weird
obsession with following him around.  Literally, they followed Sullivan
everywhere.  Like he was a celebrity in whatever the hell their weird religion
was.  They waved at him, and tried to talk with him, and brought him gifts.

It
was really, really
weird
.

Thankfully,
so far only the women of the Cult seemed fascinated with everything he did,
said, or thought.  That was
something
, at least.  But, Sullivan was
still getting real damn sick of their weirdness.  All the female Cult members
looked like underwear models dipped in skimpy clothes and shiny, bright
perfectness.  There was nothing in the world Sullivan trusted less than
beautiful people.

What
did they want from him?  It had to be
something
.  They kept asking him
out on dates, and asking him to have sex with them, and asking him for things
that made Sullivan squint, because he wasn’t really sure what that even
meant
,
but he knew that it was weird.

Normal
women didn’t come on to Sullivan.  At six foot six, with dark hair he usually
forgot to trim and a permanent scowl, he was big and not the least bit cuddly. 
He had a lousy sense of humor.  He wasn’t rich.  He didn’t do small talk.  And
he sure as shit wasn’t handsome.

The
large, symmetrical scar on his cheek ensured he wouldn’t be winning any beauty
pageants.  Every time he looked in the mirror and saw the raised concentric
circles marring his cheek, he knew that the Cult women were playing some weird
Cult-y prank on him and he didn’t appreciate the joke.

Now,
he had something to hold over their heads and he intended to make the most of
it.

Beside
Gion sat the one reason Sullivan was
striving
to remain civil.  Ty
Waterhouse was sweet, and little, and shy.  She favored pink sweater sets and
rhinestone necklaces with
Hello Kitty
on them.  The girl was cute in the
way of little sisters everywhere.

Ty
was one of the few Cult members he could stand.  Sullivan felt protective of
her.  At some point in her past, the kid had been somebody’s punching bag.  He
could tell.  Whatever lingered in her memories, it still haunted her.  Sullivan
was an expert at spotting abuse, although it wasn’t a skill he was proud of.

Ty
reminded him of the families he often encountered on domestic dispute calls. 
Children who wouldn’t meet his eyes or who cringed at the sound of their
parents’ voices.  Looking at her brought back a lot of memories for Sullivan
about his own life.

Lately,
Ty had been more outgoing, though.  Less likely to shrink back from physical
contact or dissolve into panic attacks.  As much as he hated to admit it,
Sullivan figured Gion was responsible for the positive changes he’d seen in the
kid over the past few weeks.

Ever
since she married the arrogant, violent son-of-a-bitch, Ty’s confidence had
soared.

Just
what she saw in that condescending bastard was anyone’s guess.  Even on days
that weren’t full of jack-o’-lanterns, Gion looked like he was off to a costume
party.  Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, the guy dressed like a
vampire, right down to the Batman cape.  The solid black clothes matched his
career choice perfectly.  The guy was a high rent, well-spoken criminal.  With
sinister icy blue eyes and black hair combed back from his angular face, Gion
looked like a criminal.  He acted like a criminal.  He thought like a criminal.

Basically,
he
was
criminal, right down to his questionable DNA.

And
Sullivan had the surveillance footage to prove it.

Ty
tucked a stray curly-cue of red hair behind her ear and leaned forward.  “I
swear to you, Sullivan, Gion had nothing to do with that Home Depot thing. 
Really.  That was all Chason.”

“Chason?” 
Sullivan repeated, doubtfully.  That wasn’t the name of any of his usual
suspects.  In fact, he very much doubted it was a name, at all.  He knew all
the troublemakers who’d come to town recently.  Ever since the Cult arrived,
he’d been keeping tabs on them.

“Yes! 
Chason is… damaged.  Ever since his Match –
wife
-- died, he’s been so
volatile and wounded.  It’s affected the way he thinks and the things that he
does.  You see, there was a… sickness about two years ago that killed so many
innocent people.  It damaged us all.”

“You’re
contagious?”  More good news.

“No! 
I’m just saying that you mustn’t judge Chason too harshly.  He used to be so
good. 
Really.  A very responsible, noble man.  But, since he lost Mara…”  She
trailed off with a sigh.

“He’s
a maniac.”  Gion translated calmly.  “He kidnapped Ty.  The next time I see
him, I’m going to kill him.”  It was a flat statement of fact.

Sullivan
wished he could just arrest Gion for saying that.  It would certainly simplify
things if he didn’t have to wait for crimes to happen before he locked-up the
criminals.  “Someone abducted you, Ty?”  He glanced over at her and arched a
skeptical brow.  “You wanna press charges?”

“No,
of course not.  Chason apologized.”

“Right.” 
Sullivan saw no reason to even humor them about this.  “Why are we talking
about this guy, then?”

“Because
Chason was the one who caused all those problems in the hardware store.”  Ty
nodded earnestly.  “He’s the one who started the disturbance and scared those
people into calling the police and that’s what this is all about.  It was
Chason’s
fault.”  She paused.  “But, he’s so traumatized that it wasn’t really his
fault, either.”

Gion
snorted.  “Yes, it was.”

“No,
it wasn’t, dear.  Chason is…”  Ty frowned.  “What’s that term from TV?”  She
snapped her fingers.  “He’s temporarily insane.”

“It’s
not temporary.”  Gion assured her.  But, he liked being called “dear.” 
Sullivan could see it in the way he smiled down at his wife.  Gion was a
criminal, but he was completely besotted with his bride.

That
annoyed Sullivan, too.

Arrogant,
violent son-of-a-bitches shouldn’t get to be happy.

And
Sullivan shouldn’t feel so utterly lonely when they were.

He
arched a brow at Gion.  “Let me guess: This ‘Chason’ is about your height,
dresses in a
Star
-
Trek-
visits-the-Roman-Empire-style uniform, and
carries a real big sword around?”

Gion
glanced at him imperiously.  “So you
have
met him.”

“No,
I just watched his greatest hits.”  Sullivan reached over to the small
television he had set up beside his desk and pushed play on the DVD player. 
“Did I mention the Home Depot had a security camera?”  He looked right at Gion
as he shared that happy news.