The Fire Within Series: Books 1 - 3

by Ella M. Lee

  Occasionally, Ryan glanced at me, concerned. It was easier than I had thought it would be to see why Nicolas trusted him. I was less nervous now that our silence felt a bit more comfortable, but I was still conscious of the fact that everyone here, in some way, had a part in judging my potential value to the clan. Ryan was just one more person I needed to include in my worthless prayers.

  Please let me charm him, please let me impress him, please let him see something useful and good in me.

  Nicolas returned sooner than I expected. He came through the door only a couple of hours later with Daniel at his heels. Both of them were dressed formally in black suits. Nicolas’s expression was grave and closed, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense and hunched. Daniel looked more severe and older than usual, his usually messy hair combed straight and neat today.

  Ryan went to Nicolas’s bar to retrieve three glasses and an expensive-looking bottle of whiskey. Daniel flopped into a chair with hardly a glance in my direction, but Nicolas’s cold gaze lingered on me.

  Are you okay? I thought at him.

  If he heard my thoughts, he gave zero indication. I frowned. Carefully, so as not to startle any of them, I got up and went into the bedroom. I hesitated in the doorway, glancing back. Nicolas’s eyes were still following me as he took Ryan’s offered glass.

  I’m sorry for today, I thought at him. I hope you’re okay.

  I watched him close his eyes and throw back the glass, downing it in one swallow, before I continued on. Nicolas had been kind enough to give me as much space as he could; I had no problem doing the same for him.

  I curled up under the duvet, listening to their quiet conversation in Cantonese, trying to figure out what to do next.

  I didn’t have any options. I knew that. All I could do right now was hope that today hadn’t completely changed Nicolas’s mind about me, that I wasn’t about to be executed because he realized he could never forgive me.

  I curled tighter into myself, shivering.

  If by some miracle I still had the opportunity to prove myself to Nicolas, I was going to try harder to connect with him. Ryan had given me a place to start, and I was grateful for that. It was now up to me to find out more, to do what I could to make this work.

  But I was too afraid to move, too afraid to think closely about what might happen next, and definitely too afraid to ask if this was the end of the line for me.

  It was well into the afternoon before Ryan and Daniel left. I was getting good at not moving, at not thinking, at fighting back the urge to talk or whine or just plain scream. Although I was worried about myself and my precarious situation, I had no desire to bother Nicolas or gain any ill will from him.

  I watched him carefully when he briefly came into the bedroom, eyeing his stiff movements as he removed his jacket and dress shirt and tossed them unceremoniously into the laundry basket. Still, I had no idea what sort of mood he was in.

  Sunset came. I watched the light die behind the mountains, trying to muster the courage to get out of bed and go out into the living room. I was still psyching myself up when I heard Nicolas’s voice.

  “Fiona?” he called quietly.

  I crept to the bedroom doorway, nervous. Nicolas was perched cross-legged on one of the couches. His expression was less drawn, and he seemed a little more centered and collected than before. He tilted his head and waved me over. I took a tentative seat on the other end of the couch from him.

  Please be okay, I thought, feeling light-headed.

  The corners of Nicolas’s lips twitched into a tiny smile, and he put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Relax. I merely want to thank you for being so compassionate today.”

  “Oh. You… you don’t have to thank me,” I said, startled. “I know today was probably very hard on you.”

  He nodded, his gaze serious. “It was,” he agreed. “None of this has been easy on you, either. I know I am difficult to handle on the best of days and… You see, strong emotions from others are stressful for me. This morning was miserable. I don’t feel like myself right now...”

  With everyone else’s thoughts in his head—that was the part he didn’t need to say. I felt terrible for him, forced to grieve for himself and everyone else.

  “Are you an empath?” I asked.

  Wind Clan was the only clan who had members with any sort of mind-reading abilities. Even then, they were extremely rare and weak, and they tended to be a cheat, to work mostly via magical empathy. Magical empathy was the ability to feel the emotions of others and project emotions onto others. In some cases within Wind, it was strong enough to actually allow the magician to glean thoughts.

  It was a dangerous ability. It was possible to hurt and disable a person with emotional projection, and it was very easy to lose yourself within a person’s emotions or have your magic shaped or harmed by someone’s emotions.

  It was said that empaths often lived in solitude or near solitude because of that, otherwise their magic was incredibly difficult to handle.

  My question seemed to surprise Nicolas. “No. Not in the traditional sense, anyhow. I cannot project my emotions, nor is my magic affected by emotions in the same way as an empath. But… I am human. Sadness, grief, pain—these things bother me. Especially when I sense them from the people I love.”

  “If you… if you ever want to talk…” I said, barely above a whisper.

  His brows drew together in what I could only think was gratitude and appreciation, but he said nothing. I leaned over to pick the jar of almonds up off the table. I took several and then offered him the jar. He took it with a slight smile.

  “Would you like dinner?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I hadn’t been eating much these past few days, but my body didn’t seem to care. I wasn’t hungry, and couldn’t fathom the idea of squeezing more than a bite or two of food into my tight stomach.

  Nicolas studied me with a frown. “I hope you’ll tell me if you’d like to eat. I’m not looking to starve you. Would you perhaps like something specific? I never asked you what you enjoy.”

  I shrugged, unsure of what to say. Although I was glad he was feeling better and that there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger of him canceling our deal, I was still wary of this Nicolas who cared for my feelings and desires.

  Oh.

  Strong emotions from others are stressful for me, he had just said, and I was contributing to that. Of course he would want to make me feel better—my feelings had a direct impact on him.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it?” I asked. “That I’m upset and scared?”

  “While it’s true that your mental state is slightly irritating to me, I’m more concerned for your health,” he said. “It isn’t good for you to be under so much stress, to lose so much sleep, to not eat or throw up the meals you do eat.”

  I sighed. As hard as it was, I needed to be grateful. Today could have gone worse. Yesterday could have gone worse. Every single moment since setting foot in Vienna could have gone worse, and I could have been dead already.

  “I will try to be calmer,” I said.

  “I would appreciate that, although I told you that you have freedom inside my apartment, and I will not go back on that,” he said, studying me. “I also told you I won’t hurt you in here, and that still holds true.”

  “I get it. I should be able to relax. If only my body were as smart as my brain.”

  He smiled slightly. “Hang in there, Fiona. You’re doing well.”

  I had nothing nice or helpful to say to that, so I remained silent. I didn’t want to annoy Nicolas. His fingers were white as they gripped the glass jar, and his posture was still tense. I could only hope time and rest would help him handle his grief.

  I was hoping the same thing for myself, too, but it was difficult to believe.

  Chapter 11

  Nicolas didn’t say a word to me for the rest of the night. Eventually he went into the bedroom and didn’t reemerge, shutting off the light with a cl
ick.

  I lay down on the couch, taking deep breaths, trying to center and ground myself. Nicolas was right—I would die soon without him doing anything at all if I didn’t get food or rest, if I couldn’t manage to slow my heartbeat down to normal.

  But I couldn’t calm down, I couldn’t center myself, and I couldn’t sleep.

  I was sick to my stomach and worried about what tomorrow would bring. It was exhausting to walk on eggshells all the time, to have to watch every single thing I even so much as thought inside my own head.

  I went into the bathroom and pressed a wet washcloth over my face. I had only wanted to do something to soothe my shaking and nerves, but it didn’t work. I took a shower, hoping the hot water would help me relax, but that didn’t do anything, either.

  I opened the door back into the living room but couldn’t make myself take a step forward. I retreated, lying down on the bathroom tile like I had two nights before, taking deep breath after deep breath to keep myself from vomiting.

  It didn’t work. I spent the night heaving up bile yet again, my brutally honest brain reminding me over and over that my life could end at any time. I could barely move, shattered from stress and not taking care of myself and having my magic ripped from me.

  At dawn, I was still on the floor, watching the mountains and misty water sparkle in the morning sun. I hated it here. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this building. I was overwhelmed by a longing for the vast stretches of green wilderness laid out before me. It was impossible to feel like I would ever have that freedom again.

  I would likely die here.

  I jumped at Nicolas’s light touch on my shoulder, my heart kicking into overdrive.

  “Fiona,” he said softly.

  I rolled onto my back, looking up at him. He was kneeling on the tile, his palms flat on his thighs. His hair was a mess, an amusing contrast to his serene expression. He looked calm and composed once again. He even seemed a little younger and kinder in the morning light without stress wrinkling his brow. At least one of us had managed to get some rest.

  “What?” I asked, wishing he would leave me alone.

  “Get up,” he said, although his tone was still gentle.

  I closed my eyes. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

  “You said I don’t have to listen to you here, remember?”

  “You don’t,” he agreed, standing, “but I guarantee you will enjoy where I’m taking you more than shivering on the floor in a miserable heap. Get cleaned up and let’s go.”

  I watched as he stalked out of the bathroom. I could push back. Not move, stay here, spend the day cold and numb. I didn’t think he would actually force me to do anything.

  But I was interested in his words, interested in where he might be taking me, interested in why he was being kind to me. I had promised myself that if I got the opportunity, I would try to connect with him, and here was an opportunity.

  I hauled myself to my feet, sore and stiff. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, still bleary, Nicolas was leaning against the apartment door with his arms crossed.

  He beckoned lazily for me to come to him. When I was within his reach, he held my shoulder in one hand and placed the other lightly on my face, making the quick gesture of a spell.

  “A glamour,” he said. “We’re going outside, and bruises like yours attract unwanted attention in the real world.”

  “Outside?” I asked, excitement shooting painfully through me. “Outside the building?”

  “Yes, indeed,” he said. He released me, but his eyes were still on mine, level and serious. “Do I need to tell you what deep shit you will be in if you try to run? If you disobey me or cause me trouble in any way?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

  Escape had crossed my mind for only a moment before I realized that my whole body felt like lead. I was in an unfamiliar city where I did not speak the language, and the person I would be running from could turn into a literal wolf and track me down in seconds.

  Even if I could somehow manage to overcome all that, I had nowhere to go. My clan would not take me back, and I had very few connections among other magicians or mortals. I would be running for my life against forces far more powerful than myself, and I didn’t think I’d succeed.

  No. I’d have to make the best of things as they were, starting by not annoying Nicolas with futile escape attempts.

  “Follow me, Fiona.”

  The process of getting out of the building was complex. Nicolas took us via elevator down to the fifth floor, which had a rather fancy reception area, staffed by several Water Clan magicians acting as guards.

  A static force shield divided the room, and Nicolas gripped my wrist to bring me through it. On the other side was another bank of elevators. When we stepped into one, Nicolas swiped a black keycard on a reader and hit the button for the lobby.

  He hadn’t been lying to me—there was no way out of the building without magic or a keycard.

  Once outside the building, I looked around curiously. I had thought Hong Kong was a city of skyscrapers, on the ocean, cramped, home to millions of people. Wherever we were right now was barren and deserted, with wide roads and views of only mountains and the occasional towering apartment building.

  “We’re in Sha Tin,” Nicolas said. “In the northern part of Hong Kong, the New Territories. It’s a little more laid back here. The part you’re thinking of is farther south.” He reached his hand out to me. “May I?”

  I couldn’t blame him for preferring to keep a grip on me, and the fact that he had asked before just grabbing me was nicer than usual. I offered him my hand. He wrapped my fingers in his and led me beside him down the sidewalk.

  I loved how light I suddenly felt. There was no press of magic out here. Even Nicolas had carefully reined in all of his glorious power. His expression was less closed than earlier, and his white jeans and blue shirt made him seem less imposing than his usual all-black attire.

  The inside of his clan house was sterile and cold and imposing. Out here, my senses seemed more awake to the smells, the sounds, the weather.

  “It’s really hot here,” I said, but then immediately shut my mouth, alarmed.

  Nicolas smiled faintly. “It’s all right. We’re not likely to run into anyone important out here. You are allowed to speak.”

  “How gracious of you,” I said.

  My sarcasm had come naturally, and I froze, afraid. I had promised myself that I would be on my best behavior, and here I was being a jerk to him. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended.

  “Don’t force me to rescind my generosity,” he said, laughing lightly.

  I studied him warily, my hand tense in his.

  He tilted his head at me. “I’m teasing you,” he said patiently. “Fiona, relax for a minute. It’s a beautiful day. We’re both alive, by some definition. Let’s not be miserable.”

  I glanced away. I kept forgetting that Nicolas had lost someone important, just as I had. It was unfair of me to make him do all the work when he was probably still piecing himself back together. If he could use a sunny day to make himself feel better, I could try too. I didn’t think it would hurt my chances to be empathetic. His kindness and consideration deserved mine in return.

  Before I could reply, we turned a corner, and I jumped, surprised. We were at the entrance to a busy outdoor market. It was a narrow alley crammed with stalls and vendors selling fruit and meat and dry goods and live chickens. Women slicked with sweat haggled with customers while scowling men stacked boxes and refilled stock. It was loud and crowded and I reluctantly crept closer to Nicolas, feeling disoriented and out of place.

  Nicolas walked us through the entire market to the opposite end, where there was a row of tiny restaurants. He steered me into one, and we took a seat in plastic chairs at a cheap Formica table.

  Almost immediately, an old woman came to greet us. Cantonese is a harsh language, and I couldn’t tell if she was hap
py or upset until she clapped Nicolas on the back, and he laughed. He spoke rapid fire to her, still smiling, and she nodded heartily.

  Eventually, she began to turn away, then appeared to change her mind. Leaning in to Nicolas, she pointed at me and said, very slowly and clearly, as though she wanted me to understand, “Lei lui peng yau hou leng!”

  He laughed again. “Hai, ngo ji do.”

  “What was that?” I asked once she had left.

  Nicolas tilted his head at me. “She told me that my ‘girlfriend’ is very pretty.”

  I widened my eyes, surprised. “What did you say?”

  He smiled. “I said ‘yes, I know.’”

  “What, did your glamour make me prettier, too?” I scoffed.

  “No need,” he said, pulling chopsticks and napkins from a drawer beneath the table and setting places for us. He offered me a rather sweet smile, wider and more expressive than others he’d given me.

  I looked away, feeling uneasy and confused. Had he just complimented me? Flirted with me? Or maybe he was just teasing me. He seemed to have a genuinely playful personality now that we were outside the clan house, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it or how much I should engage him.

  I was completely bewildered, more alarmed by his kindness than by his threats and glares. I kept my eyes on the busy market outside until our food was brought over.

  “I don’t think I can eat this,” I said.

  Nicolas’s expression was almost comically shocked. “You don’t eat Chinese food?”

  “No, no, not that. It looks delicious, really,” I said. “I just didn’t have a good night. Food is unappealing right now.”

  He frowned. “Try,” he said, pushing a bowl of wonton noodle soup closer to me.

  He called the owner back to the table and ordered some more items. I was two small bites into my soup when she returned with a foam cup of pale liquid and a plate of white toast with butter.

  “For you,” Nicolas said. He idly scrolled through his phone as he ate, largely ignoring me.