Elemental Love
Page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Elemental Love
ISBN # 978-1-78651-395-3
©Copyright L.M. Somerton 2016
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2016
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warlocks
ELEMENTAL LOVE
L.M. Somerton
Book one in the Warlocks series
An untrained warlock is a dangerous man to love.
On his twenty-first birthday, Evrain Brookes discovers he is an elemental warlock. The spell suppressing his talent lifts and he has to get used to a whole new existence. The protection that kept him safe during his childhood is gone, his skills are wild and uncontrolled and there are those that seek to use him for their own gain.
Evrain’s grandmother is a witch, his godfather another warlock. Between them they do their best to keep Evrain on the right path. He learns that in order to gain control of his formidable powers, he will need to ‘channel’ through a life partner, a process that happens only with consent and through love. But how will he ever find a man prepared to put up with a Dominant warlock for a boyfriend?
Dominic Castine has no idea that Evrain’s grandmother sees him as a prospective partner for Evrain. He tends her garden and she teaches him about herbs—a trade-off they both enjoy. He is drawn to Evrain’s charismatic presence but doesn’t understand why he wants to drop to his knees and submit to him.
When Agatha is murdered, Evrain and Dominic are thrown together as she manipulates them from beyond the grave. Dominic becomes the pawn in a terrifying game between warlocks whose powers he barely comprehends.
In the end, lives will depend on his courage, his willingness to grant Evrain control and the power of love.
Dedication
For anyone who needs a little magic in their life.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Midsomer Murders: ITV Network Limited
Jack Daniel’s: Brown-Forman Corporation
Skype: Microsoft Corporation
Jacuzzi: Jacuzzi Hot Tubs, Inc.
Harry Potter: J.K. Rowling
Star Wars: George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd., The Walt Disney Company
Gatorade: The Gatorade Company, Inc.; The Quaker Oats Company
Marriott: Marriott International, Inc.
Dickensian: Charles Dickens
BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation
Bleak House: Charles Dickens
Marple: Agatha Christie
Poirot: Agatha Christie
TARDIS: British Broadcasting Corporation
Doctor Who: British Broadcasting Corporation
Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.
The Final Countdown (Europe): Joey Tempest
Streetcar: City of Portland
The Day of the Triffids: John Wyndham. Rank Organisation and Allied Artists International, Inc.
Coven: Northwest Productions
Prologue
Twenty-one years ago…
“Closed doors, I hate closed doors. Why don’t I have the power to see through them? That, at least, would be a useful ability.” Three-hundred-year-old floorboards creaked as Gregory Thanet paced the galleried landing of Wenlock House. He walked up and down past three doors, each fashioned from heavy oak and furnished with black iron hinges and handles. Two stood ajar, revealing hints of unoccupied bedrooms, but the third was firmly closed, a solid barrier to unwanted intrusion and the cause of Gregory’s current frustration.
“For goodness’ sake, Gregory, you’re wearing out the carpet. Be still.” Gregory’s companion leaned against the gallery rail and gave him an exasperated look.
Gregory paused his march briefly, shot a glare at the woman but then resumed his pacing with a grunt. “Leave me be, woman, I’ll be still when we know that everything is as it should be.”
“Nature moves at her own pace, you know that. There’s no changing it—nor should we. What will be will be.”
“Stop trying to sound like some wise and ancient soothsayer, Agatha. You’re not helping and it doesn’t suit you. The kid is a week late already—you’d think he would be keen to greet the world by now. When he’s grown I’ll remember that he kept me up half the night. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of opportunities for revenge when he’s older.” Gregory stopped and folded his arms across his chest.
“I might not be able to see the future, Gregory Thanet, but even a complete idiot could have predicted that my grandson would arrive today.”
Gregory examined his companion. Agatha looked tired. Her skin was quite smooth, marred only by a few laughter lines around her hazel eyes, eyes that still sparkled with warmth and intelligence. Her silver hair was swept smoothly back and fastened with a comb, intricately fashioned from beaten copper. She remained an attractive woman, who must have possessed great beauty in her youth, but she looked paler than usual and she rested her weight against the banister rather than standing in her usual ramrod-straight stance.
Gregory experienced a rare pang of guilt that he might be adding to his friend’s worries. “All Hallows’ Eve. There’s a lot of power in the air right now.”
Agatha cocked her head to one side and closed her eyes as if listening to sounds that only she could hear. “My grandson will be with us soon and there is little that you or I can do to change the course of his destiny.” For a moment, a worried frown creased her forehead. “It is not certain that he will inherit the gift.”
Gregory sighed. “In this, you deceive yourself, Agatha. The calling has skipped a generation. History dictates that the next born will be unusually powerful and that power will be magnified even further in a male child.”
“There has been no warlock in my family line for over five hundred years, only witches. Why are you so convinced that it will change now? We know of only three others living, Gregory. You, Symeon Malus an
d Constantine De Vries. It would be a chance in a billion.”
Gregory scratched the tip of his long nose. “I should have bought a lottery ticket then. All the portents point to it, the date alone… It is time. Time the triangle became a square.”
“I’m not sure Symeon Malus will ever be part of that square,” Agatha said. “I don’t see him as the cornerstone of anything with value or integrity.”
“True, and if the child is born with the power, you and I will need to ensure that Symeon’s gaze remains elsewhere.” Gregory shivered. “I swear to the goddess, this country is the dampest place on earth. It’s all right for you, Agatha, you live in the second dampest place on the planet. You’re used to groping through fog. I want to get back to Florida. I need to—before I develop trench foot.”
“Pah. What you really want is to get back to Coryn. You’re a ship without an anchor when the two of you are apart. He could have come to see the child too, you know.” Agatha grabbed a stray hair and pushed it back into a restraining grip.
“Coryn hates airplanes, you know that. I would never ask him to fly across the pond unless it was a life or death situation.”
“If it were, you wouldn’t have to ask him.”
“He reckons that if men were designed to fly through the air, then human cannonball would be a much more popular career choice.”
Agatha snorted. “I think his phobia is a myth. He just uses it as an excuse to get a few days’ break from your—” She whistled and twiddled her fingers in the air.
Gregory rolled his eyes. “Twiddling your fingers that way will get you turned into an aardvark. It takes practice to bend your digits into shapes imbued with power. After thirty-two years together, Coryn is more than capable of dealing with my—” He whistled. “As you so delicately put it.”
Agatha snorted. “Men with magic! Whoever the hell thought that would be a good idea was seriously damaged.” She shook her head slowly.
Gregory grinned and waggled a silver eyebrow.
The mewling cry of a newborn sounded from behind the closed bedroom door, and Agatha allowed her lips to curve into a smile.
“Well, it seems the waiting is over. I have a grandchild—and, from the sound of that bellowing, he’s a fine, healthy boy.”
“About damned time.” Gregory grouched. He still smiled right along with Agatha.
Agatha crossed the landing and knocked softly on the door, which soon swung open to admit her. Gregory followed her inside, pushing down his excitement.
The bedroom was bathed in the cool light of a new dawn. The soft green of the walls seemed to shimmer and the wooden floor was burnished with gold. Gregory looked around in wonder, then dragged his gaze back to the bed.
“Lyssa, James—congratulations, my dears!” Agatha clapped her hands together in delight as she walked over to the bed.
Gregory hung back a little, giving her the privilege of first viewing.
Agatha’s daughter, Lyssa, sat up in bed propped against a mound of pillows. She was pale, her eyes shadowed in the purple of exhaustion, but still she glowed with radiant happiness. A small bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket rested in her arms. Her husband, James, sat nervously on the edge of the mattress, looking utterly shell-shocked but delighted as the midwife fussed around them.
Lyssa held the baby out to her mother with a smile. “His name is Evrain. Evrain James Brookes. Hold him, Mum, isn’t he beautiful?”
Gregory held his breath as Agatha reached for the small bundle and cradled the child in her arms. She pushed the blanket back from the baby’s head, and a mop of thick black hair was revealed, sticking out in all directions.
“He is absolutely gorgeous, darling. Didn’t you both do well!” Agatha stroked the child’s hair.
Gregory moved in closer. Tiny fists punched at the air, so Gregory offered the boy his own hand. Immediately, the baby grabbed hold, wrapping his fingers around Gregory’s offering with surprising strength. Gregory grinned at Agatha in delight, then looked back to the baby. His eyes were the dark blue of every newborn but, as Gregory focused his senses on the child, he could see that they would become dark green. Just a shade deeper than his own.
Cooing softly, Agatha muttered a lilting incantation and rocked the baby gently. To Lyssa and James, the song probably sounded like a lullaby, but Gregory knew a spell when he heard one. Tiny eyelids closed and the baby slept. Gregory’s finger was released. After a few more minutes of cuddling, Agatha reluctantly returned the baby to his parents.
“He’s absolutely perfect, Lyssa, love. I’ll leave you to rest now, I’m sure you must be exhausted. Look after her, James.”
“Of course,” James replied. “She’ll be a pampered lady of leisure from now on.”
Lyssa nearly choked laughing. “Oh, James, I think you are in for a big shock. I can’t wait to see you change your first nappy or clean up some projectile vomiting.”
“Hey, don’t spoil my idealized view of the world, I have my rose-tinted specs firmly in place.”
“As all new fathers should,” Gregory said, shaking James’ hand.
Agatha tutted. “It’s been a long night. I, for one, am looking forward to my bed.”
“Thanks, Mum. I’m so glad that you and Gregory are here. It’s made all the difference having you both around.”
The midwife hovered, her face a studied mask of professional patience, but Gregory knew he was about to be ejected. He took a last peek at the sleeping child then led the way from the room, ushering Agatha through the door before closing it behind him. He didn’t have a chance to utter a word. Agatha took his arm and pulled him downstairs to the kitchen. As she put the kettle on, Gregory sent her a questioning glance.
“Well? I caught the spell you did. Does that mean what I think it does?” Gregory asked.
She nodded. “It has come to pass. My grandson has the potential to become one of the most powerful warlocks ever known. His aura is shockingly bright.” She busied herself making herbal tea. Gregory recognized her fear and her need for distraction. He let her potter without interfering.
“Less than an hour old and it is already evident to me that he will possess terrifying power,” Agatha said. She held up a bony hand to still Gregory’s questions. “I have placed a shielding spell on him—no evidence of his abilities will manifest until he passes the age of twenty-one. We can only pray that by then he will have the strength to accept what he is and to face his future.”
Gregory sighed. “When he comes of age, we must do what we can to guide him. If he breaks under the strain and turns to the wild magic, we will have no choice but to destroy him.”
Agatha nodded and handed him a mug of tea. “Agreed. I accept this duty—he is my blood. I will do all I can to lead him down the right path and protect him from those who will wish him harm. But I need your help too, Gregory.”
Gregory nodded.
“He will need guidance from another warlock. I don’t have the skills to teach him everything he’ll need to know.”
His hands suddenly cold, Gregory gripped his mug tightly. “I may not be a blood relative, but you and yours are still my family, Agatha. You have my word… I will do everything in my power to keep him safe. To teach and guide him.”
They fell quiet and steam from their pungent drinks misted the air.
Chapter One
Present day
“You didn’t have to babysit me, Gregory. I’m quite capable of traveling alone, even if it is transatlantic.” Evrain glanced at the man seated next to him in the luxurious first-class cabin. “Not that I don’t appreciate the ticket. I could get used to this. I usually get stuck in the back row with the delights of eau de chemical toilet.”
His godfather’s seat was slightly reclined. Gregory’s eyes were closed and a couple of faint lines furrowed the bridge of his nose. He opened one eye, revealing a slither of pale green.
“Is it over?” Gregory asked.
“Is what over?” Evrain asked in confusion. They had only be
en in the air ten minutes.
“Takeoff. I hate it. My stomach always stays on the tarmac while its contents journey in the wrong direction up my esophagus.”
“Ugh, gross!” Evrain groped in the pocket next to his seat and extracted a pristine paper bag. “Do you need this?”
Gregory opened his other eye. “No. But I could use a Bloody Mary. Where’s the trolley-dolly?” He jabbed at the call button.
“I’m sure he’ll be around in a moment. Give the poor guy a chance. He’s probably still strapped in his seat. I thought it was Coryn who didn’t like flying?”
“He loathes it, poor dear. I am entirely indifferent. It’s just the upping and downing parts that don’t agree with me. I have a delicate constitution.”
Evrain snorted. “Bullshit, Gregory. I’ve seen you down half a bottle of Jack alongside a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and that’s a combination that’s probably banned under international law. If it isn’t, it should be. You have a cast-iron stomach.”
“We have a wide range of beverages, sir, but that’s not a combination I can offer, I’m afraid. Nor would I advise it.”
Evrain, who was sitting in the aisle seat, turned to the air steward standing next to him. The man had a huge grin on his face and a trolley stacked high with miniature bottles of every type of booze known to man.
“Something we can be thankful for,” Evrain said. “Could we have a couple of virgin Bloody Marys please?”
“Make that one virgin and one fully confirmed slut,” Gregory grouched. “Which category do you fall into, sweetheart?” he asked the steward whose name badge declared him to be called Samuel. A pair of pretty hazel eyes sparkled.
“I can see I’m going to have trouble with you, sir.”
He was cute. Not Evrain’s type, but the sandy hair that flopped into his eyes was endearing.