Heart of the Volcano

by Imogen Howson

  He drew her against him. She caught his scent of cloves and cinnamon, felt his skin warm against hers, touched the sand-roughened texture of his hair…and found that, after all, some answers could be given without words.

  And later, much later, his wings carried them up into the empty sky, away to the north.

  About the Author

  When Imogen Howson was a child, she loved reading so much she not only read in bed, at the table and in the bath, but in the shower and—not so successfully—on her bicycle. She enjoyed books in a slightly unorthodox way, too—many of her childhood books still have ragged edges where she tore paper from the margins in order to eat it.

  When Imogen and her younger sister became bored on family outings, Imogen entertained them both with stories about fairies or, in defiance of biology, “the people inside your body” who made everything work.

  Imogen’s favorite stories are still those that ignore biology, reality and the known laws of nature. She writes romantic fantasy and science fiction, and makes liberal use of the substance known as handwavium.

  Imogen lives near Sherwood Forest in England, with her partner and their two daughters. She still reads in most places, but nowadays she prefers Cheddar cheese and endless cups of coffee to paper.

  Imogen can be found at her website www.imogenhowson.com, blog http://imogenhowson.blogspot.com, and Twitter www.twitter.com/imogenhowson. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at imogen@imogenhowson.com.

  Between mage and man lies fire.

  Touch of Fire

  © 2008 Maria Zannini

  Leda has been ordered by the House of Ilia to use her fae gifts to find an alchemist’s bible, no matter what the cost. In a world where technology has been replaced by Elemental magic, this book is more dangerous than any spell or potion.

  A ragged scrap of parchment is Leda’s only clue and it leads her to the last man known to have had the book—a savagely handsome ex-soldier turned scavenger. Greyhawke Tams. He’ll serve her needs nicely, in both her quest, and her bed.

  The last thing Grey remembers is a bar brawl leaving him flat on his face. When he awakes, his situation hasn’t improved. He’s been bound in service to a contemptuous little fire mage with luscious curves and a deceptively innocent face. Grey’s not fooled—he’s hated the Elementals ever since he lost his younger brother to their brutal rites of passage.

  But something about Leda tangles his brain faster than any woman he’s ever known. And soon it becomes clear she needs more than his “services”. A barbarous overlord wants that book and he’s willing to shatter Leda—body and spirit—to get it.

  She needs his protection. Whether she wants it or not.

  Warning: Sex, sin and sauciness abound. This just in: Virgin butter not only helps nervous young virgins on their wedding night, it makes a damn fine hair liniment too.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Touch of Fire:

  Grey slowed to a halt. He raised the palm of his hand and tilted his head to one side, trying to catch a whisper in the breeze. The forest had grown thicker, darker. They had traveled far in one day and dusk would be upon them soon.

  “We should camp here, priestess. The forest will swallow us up if we continue in the fading light.”

  “You’re right.” Leda shivered. There was something in the air, like a bad omen looking for a host. She sensed it, but it had no form. Leda had been raised as an earth fae, but the elements knew their own kind. This forest did not welcome her.

  Leda gripped the hilt of her sword. “Stay close to me, savage. These woods hold secrets.”

  Grey slid his sword from its sheath on Ghost’s saddle. His fingers curled around its hilt, one by one. “Little fae, is that blade of yours sharp?”

  Leda snarled at him. “Perhaps you’d like to test it.”

  “We sleep in shifts tonight.” He threw their saddlebags at her feet. “I’ll take first watch. If your magic works in this forest, I suggest you weave us a warding spell.” He examined the broken limb of a bush. “We’re being watched.”

  “From where?”

  Grey shifted his gaze from side to side, looking for any clues of trespass. “I don’t know, but I feel the glare of something dangerous. Someone is watching us.”

  Leda wove her spell though she wasn’t sure it would take this deep in the wood. Earth realms didn’t readily obey the will of a fire fae.

  Grey gathered brushwood, stacking it high. No doubt, he intended for the fire to last all night. He pulled out his flint and struck it with the flat of his knife. The tinder sparked but refused to take life. Another spark, and the ember faded again.

  Leda snatched the flint from his hand and flung it to the ground in exasperation. “Oh, for pity’s sake! How do you plainfolk survive from day to day?” She passed the palm of her hand over the kindling and mumbled a chant, then pulled out several dried stalks of hay that had been flattened to the ground. She closed her eyes and rolled the sheaf between her thumb and forefinger in a rapid motion. A fragile ember emerged and she covered it with her free hand, then laid it on the rest of the kindling, lighting the papery bundle to hungry flames.

  “Impressive. But we plainfolk managed long before you fae-kind rose from either hell.” Grey walked over to the horses and ran his hands down Milke’s back, showing more interest in the mare than the fire. “She’s a fine one. I’ll bet she can run all day without tiring.”

  “The Reverend Mother says we were born on the same cusp. She bought her for me six years ago. Milke and I have never been apart.”

  “I can see that. You bear a surprising resemblance to this nag.” He cocked a teasing grin.

  Leda tossed him an apple. “That’s for Milke, not you,” she warned.

  “And what do I eat?”

  “You’re the servant. You cook.” She pointed to the bag closest to him. “Supplies are in there.”

  He dug them out one by one, arching a brow at the well-stocked bag. Dried meat, cheese, and wine. “You travel well, priestess, but I see no bread.”

  She laughed. “This is where we test your cooking skills.” Her hands rustled inside another bag and pulled out a small sack of flour and various herbs. “I trust a bachelor knows how to make flatbread.”

  They sat with their backs against their packs, watching the pita bread brown on the griddle. Grey offered her a swig from the wine skin. She shook her head dismissively.

  “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  He chortled. “What? Everyone drinks wine.”

  She wiggled her fingers in front of the fire, delighting in its warmth. “I don’t. It muddies the senses.”

  Grey took the skin back and drew a big gulp from it. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He wedged the nearly full wine skin in the soft pine mulch between his legs. “Why do you carry wine if you don’t drink it?”

  “I find information flows more freely from the lips of a drunkard.” She smiled at him sweetly.

  He curled a lip at her. “Is there something more you want from me, priestess?”

  “My name is Leda.”

  “And my name is Grey, so you can stop calling me savage.”

  Leda bit the inside of her lip. “I apologize…Grey.” Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, concentrating instead on the rice meal in her scarred wooden bowl. “I don’t mingle with the plainfolk much, unless it’s requested of me.”

  “And when you find this book, you’ll take this collar off my neck?”

  “I will. All we need is the book.”

  Grey grew strangely quiet and Leda noticed an aura of pale orange around him, the aura of secrets. She pushed her bowl aside and dug inside her vest for the single page of paper that had led her this far. “The book’s not at your house, is it, Grey?”

  He didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Grey.”

  “No. It was stolen from me before I even left the badlands.”

  “Who took it?”

  “A madman. A fool. He came to my campfire after I had salva
ged all I could from the stone crypt. He looked hungry and worn so I invited him to share my food. It wasn’t until he sat down at my fire that I realized he was an untouchable.”

  “You let the unclean eat at your fire?”

  “He was just an old man, hungry and lost. If he was infected with anything, I never caught the bad air.”

  Grey scratched the rough of a two-day old beard, his mind elsewhere. “Strange old man,” he said, shaking his head. “He had the most peculiar expressions, nonsense, I suppose. When we bedded for the night, he blessed me for my kindness. Come morning, he was gone. So was my book.”

  “And was it the only thing he took?”

  He ran his hand down the back of his head. “I don’t know why, but he cut off a hunk of my hair. I had it tied with a short piece of cord. When I woke in the morning, my hair was loose and I was missing the knotted tail. I can’t imagine how he got so close without me hearing him.”

  Leda narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re sure he was an untouchable?”

  Grey shrugged. “He had the sores on his body, though he seemed to move surprising well for a sick man.”

  “Then you have as much reason to find this man as I do. That was no leper who found you, but a shaman to the outcasts. They sometimes steal hair and fingernails from outsiders for their rituals.”

  “What kind of rituals?”

  “Who knows? The shamans have a magic I don’t understand, but if I were you, I’d want my hair back. There are stories that claim they can turn dead men into walking ghouls.”

  Grey jumped to his feet. “Buddha’s balls! I’ll have no heathen condemn me to the living dead.”

  “Since the book isn’t at your home, we’ll go straight into the badlands where you found your plunder.”

  “No. We go to my homestead first.”

  “Out of the question,” she said curtly.

  Grey loomed over her. “I wasn’t asking, Leda. If that pleasure woman was killed for want of a piece of paper, then they will go to my home next. I intend to protect what’s mine. We’ll go after the shaman once I’ve secured my keep.”

  “Damn it, Grey. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. Those weren’t brigands who killed that woman, but trained assassins.” Leda shoved her bowl into his hard belly. Grey didn’t budge.

  “And you think I am safer under the sword arm of a woman-child? You can barely lift the blade you carry now. I’ll be saving your hide more than my own.”

  Leda tossed the bowl to the ground, and then slid her sword out of its scabbard, flashing it in front of his face. “I am a true fae of fire. And I can challenge any man in a fair fight.”

  He walked toward her, forcing her back step by step. “Who said fights were fair, mistress? Have you ever drawn blood, or even tasted it on your lips?” He slapped the sword from her hand and caught it with his left hand, then leveled its tip against her throat. “You have no idea what it is to fight, to bleed…to die. You witches prefer to butcher young boys in their sleep with your potions and brews.”

  Leda looked down at the blade, surprised that he had disarmed her so quickly. A sword master, and one with a vendetta in his craw. His barbs were personal.

  Most plainfolk distrusted the fae. But this one despised them.

  “Your hatred is obvious. Did someone hurt one of your kin?”

  Grey spat into the fire. “My younger brother dreamt of becoming a fire mage.” His eyes turned cold and distant. “He didn’t make it.”

  “And you blame me for this?” Leda’s words were soft, a hint of regret in its delivery. Many children failed the rites of passage.

  Grey turned toward her, the look of a man still seeking vengeance. For a moment she saw the real savage beneath the soldier. He narrowed his eyes at her and then she noticed his shoulders relax. The savage was buried once more. “He would’ve been your age…had he lived.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Grey sneered at her. “The fae aren’t sorry for anything.”

  He turned to walk away but her fingers touched him on the arm, stroking a long, wide scar. It was a wonder he hadn’t bled to death. “Where did you get this?” She nodded to the old wound, disturbed by its brutality.

  “The battle of the Twin Rivers, a battle with the mages.” He smiled sardonically, rubbing the injury like a trophy.

  “Many of my clan died in that battle.”

  He nodded to the crest on her cloak. “You wear the crest of the earth realm, but you’re a fire fae. I didn’t realize they shared bread with one another.”

  “Normally they don’t. The Reverend Mother of our clan bought me from a family who couldn’t afford another mouth to feed. She sensed I had the gift, but our talent rarely manifests before puberty. She had hoped I was an earth Elemental, like many born in our region.” She kicked a tuft of grass. “But I was born of fire. By the time they realized it, Mother thought it best to keep me with the earth clan. She has no kindness for the elder of the fire clan.”

  “Lord Senosai.”

  “You know him?” Her eyes widened with renewed interest.

  “I know of him. The warlord has placed his trust in him. Where the warlord leads, I must follow.”

  She scoffed at his blind faith. “You still have a soldier’s allegiance.”

  “Even the drudgery of farming can’t dull the blood of a soldier. I miss the life, but not the killing… There was so much killing.”

  His aura changed to something cooler and sad, a hint of lavender. The blush of regret. He handed her back her sword. His colors shifted again, mingling remorse with something new. Deception.

  “Be a good girl, Leda. Take this collar off. You shame me for ill reason. I offered to pay for damages in good faith.”

  “If I remove the collar, the law cannot bind you to me. The collar stays.”

  He moved closer to her and fingered the curls along her face. “Come now, sweetness. I won’t run from you. I’ll help you find your book. Just take this iron cuff off my throat.”

  His eyes looked deep into hers, and she flinched when she caught her heart longing for this stranger’s touch. She’d been alone too long.

  Grey smiled at her, making her feel like a wicked little girl out on her first bed tussle. Allah’s mercy! Did he think he could woo her for his freedom? She had been weaned on every secret of seduction. She was supposed to be the master here.

  Leda pushed him away. “The collar stays. Savage.”

  Giving in to the lure of passion could lead to disaster.

  Lycan Tides

  © 2009 Renee Wildes

  Guardians of the Light, Book 3

  Selkie princess Finora is all too familiar with betrayal. Betrayed by her curiosity, which led her from the sea. By her body, which yielded to a handsome human under the full moon. By the human, who hid her skin and took its location with him to his grave. After seven years of searching, she no longer believes in miracles.

  Trystan is a werewolf on a mission to find and return dragons to his homeland. He follows a slim lead westward across an unfamiliar sea. Gravely wounded in a pirate attack, his ship foundered in a storm and sinking fast, he comes face to face with the most unexpected rescuers—Finora and her two half-human children.

  Selkie and werewolf. Both creatures ruled by the moon. The attraction is instant, mutual, undeniable…and impossible. Trystan is destined to return to the mountains and Finora can’t leave the sea. Their only gift to each other is one night of searing passion—which could lead to the greatest betrayal of all…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Lycan Tides:

  What had she gotten herself into? Finora crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands and watched Trystan’s broad back lead the way into The Mermaid Pub. The tightness in her womb, the wet heat betwixt her thighs, shocked her. The full moon was last night. The burning need should have been over. She wasn’t supposed to respond to a male out of time. Of course, four years was a long time to go without. ’Twas the selkie way to indulge that par
t of their natures. ’Twas the easiest way to trap them, as she’d learned to her sorrow.

  Why now? Why him?

  Her lips still tingled from his kiss. She quivered at the thought of sharing her bed tonight, of limbs entwined and hot skin sliding against hot skin. What was it about Trystan that made him impossible to resist? She should have put her foot down and left him in town to find his own way. Was it because he wasn’t human, either, but a fellow creature of the moon?

  He was safer with her, away from eyes and questions. But was she safer with him? Ioain wasn’t the only one at risk for a broken heart. He’s not staying long. He has a mission to complete, then a family and home of his own to get back to. A family of his own… “I made a promise t’ someone back home, a promise t’ keep,” he’d stated.

  “Trystan, wait.”

  He turned at the doorway, a question in those piercing blue eyes.

  Stars, those eyes…

  “The someone back home whom you promised. Is it a woman? Are you married?”

  “A woman? Aye. But a wife?” He shook his head and smiled. “Nay, lass. Were I bound t’ another, I’d no’ be stayin’ with ye an’ the littles. ’Tis no’ me way. Me folk back home have but one mate. There’s no one awaitin’ me return.”

  One mate per male? In her world the strongest bulls got the most cows. A bull could have many cows in his household, but each cow answered to but one bull. A pang struck her. Acourse being stuck on land, with Bran gone, she’d had an uncommon spell of freedom. None to answer to, making her own decisions. A small rebellious part of her—the part that had caused her to disregard her sire’s warnings so long ago—reveled in that freedom. Even as she yearned for the sea itself, she dreaded going back to the harem, to being just one of many in her sire’s household, until he shipped her off to some other bull.

  Why her heart flipped at Trystan’s unbound status she didn’t know. ’Twas of no consequence to her. “You’ve never taken a wife?”