The Impetuous Amazon

by Sandy James

  With an enormous grin, she stopped the chant. “Megan has never learned the depths of her powers or how to control them. You are here to help her take the next step toward her destiny, despite Rhiannon’s interference.”

  “But I’m supposed to decide if I have to take—”

  “Nay, you will not take her powers away.” Her voice was filled with confidence. “You will not disappoint me.”

  He hated the reminder of his purpose, hoping Megan would one day understand he was simply doing his job. He’d promised himself he’d do everything within his power to help her. But after her reaction tonight, he feared she was beyond his help. Worse, he blamed himself for her loss of control. Was it anger or sexual excitement that caused her to burst into flames? God, he hoped it was the former. But if she had that reaction every time she was with a man…

  He had to choke back the jealousy that clogged his throat over the thought of another man—any man—touching her. “I don’t know if I can help her.”

  “Of course you can.” Freya reached for the shiny gold cloth and held it up. “You will not take away her powers. No, you will increase them. You will help her reach a level no Fire Amazon has ever reached. I bring you something to help in your task.”

  “What is it?”

  “A gift from Apollo.” She shook the material until it fanned out in front of her. “I have held onto it for many centuries, waiting for the right moment. It will aid you in your pursuit of Megan.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The goddess gave him an enigmatic smile. “I know, Sentinel. Some things are better experienced than explained. Those burns are proof that you are in need of Apollo’s gift. They are the sign I have been waiting to see. They show she is finally ready. If you are to save Fire and help her expand her powers, you must be able to bear her passion.”

  Before Johann could react, Freya snapped her fingers and his clothes disappeared. His hands dropped to inadequately cover his groin.

  She draped the iridescent cloth around him.

  A cloak.

  He was damned grateful his nudity had been quickly covered. The garment seemed thin and light, barely a whisper on his shoulders and back. She pulled up a hood that covered his head and fell over his face.

  He lifted the edge to stare at the goddess. “What’s it supposed to do? And why am I naked?”

  She pushed his hand away and tugged the gold material until his entire face was hidden by the cloak. “It is supposed to spare you further harm. You are naked because it must bond to your skin.”

  “My skin? You mean all of my skin?” His voice cracked like an adolescent at the notion of anything permanently bonding to him—especially to certain parts of his anatomy. “Freya?”

  Her only answer was one of the laughs he’d heard many a time when she was up to trouble. That didn’t bode well.

  Then she spoke in the same language she’d used before. The material stiffened around him and started to shrink.

  He knew not to react in fear. His body and mind had long ago been trained to keep calm in any situation. And he trusted Freya—at least as far as he could trust any of the goddesses. Yet the thought of looking like someone who’d literally received the Midas touch had his heart pounding a rough cadence.

  The fabric kept tightening until it felt like a second skin. As his nose and mouth were covered with the snug cloth, it became harder and harder to breathe. Before he could protest his discomfort, the gold before his eyes vanished.

  “’Tis done. You will be safe to love Megan. She can no longer burn you, not matter how hot the passion between you becomes.” Freya snapped her fingers.

  Johann glanced down. “What the hell?” He was now clad once again in his black shirt and pants. The shirt had even been restored, the burn holes gone. He hated feeling ignorant and wondered if he could use to spend more time with Artair MacKay to learn more about the Ancients and their abilities, especially the magicks of the four patron goddesses.

  “Where did the cloak go?” he asked.

  “It has become the barrier between your skin and any flame. It will be with you the rest of your days. You are Fireproof.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The goddess grabbed his hand and held it in front of her, palm up. “Watch and learn, Sentinel.”

  A spark shot from her finger to his hand. Having been injured enough for one night, he would have recoiled if she hadn’t had such a strong hold on him. The flame landed on his palm, flared for a moment to a bright white as it danced and twisted, then it extinguished to a thin line of gray smoke. He hadn’t felt pain, just the tickle of the flame across his skin.

  “Apollo crafted this long ago,” she said. “Yet no Fire needed his generous gift. None found true love.”

  Would he ever understand everything being said in this conversation? “Let me get this straight—I can’t be burned anymore?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then this will help me with Megan, no doubt. But didn’t Artair have one of Apollo’s cloaks too? Didn’t he need to be protected from one of his Fires?”

  “Nay. Apollo made but one. You are not paying attention, Johann Herrmann. There was no need for him to receive a cloak, nor for any man.” She chuckled. “Nor any woman, I suppose. The only Fire before Megan who fell in love chose a man who did not return her affections.”

  “What does the cloak have to do with love?” He wanted to understand. If this gift would help Megan, he was more than happy to have it. He just didn’t appreciate Freya’s riddles.

  “Megan burned you with her desire for you and you alone, but you were not ready to accept her love. Now you are. You may bed her when the notion strikes you.”

  This had been one of the strangest evenings of his life. “M’lady, I—I didn’t want to—”

  Johann didn’t bother finishing the sentence. It was a lie, and judging from her arched eyebrow and shrewd smirk, Freya knew it.

  He suddenly felt the need to clarify his intentions. “It’s not just about sex, you know. That’s not why we were… I wouldn’t do that to Megan.”

  “Aye. ’Tis why I brought the gift I have hidden so carefully for lo these many years. You will use it wisely and well for you truly love my Fire.”

  The words hit him with the force of a punch to the gut.

  You truly love my Fire.

  He couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d run from his feelings long enough, although it bothered him that Freya could so easily know his mind.

  He stared into Freya’s eyes and nodded. “You’re right. I love Megan.”

  “Now you may show her your love.”

  Although it was none of his business, he had to ask anyway. “Do all Fires burn the men they sleep with?”

  “Nay. They warm to a man’s touch, but only love can truly set their passion aflame.”

  His heart skipped a beat as he wondered if he’d heard the words because he wanted to, not because she’d actually spoken them. “Did—did you say—”

  “Aye, Johann Herrmann. Megan Feurer loves you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You’re kidding.”

  Freya’s eyes flashed red.

  He should have censored his reaction to the goddess’s frank statement. The words had tumbled from his mouth before he had the chance to stop them.

  “You are being insolent.” The goddess wagged her finger at him as though he were a misbehaving child. “At the risk of angering Rhiannon—and perhaps other Ancients—I am here to help you. You should not question my sincerity.”

  He saluted her with a quick bow of his head and a fist pounded against his chest. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I wasn’t doubting you. I just… I can’t believe she really…”

  With her eyes now their customary ice-blue, Freya sighed. “I suppose I have f
orgotten the ways of love are such a dilemma for humanity. I often overlook how reticent you are to admit and accept love, choosing to toy with another’s affections or leave your own unfulfilled. Ancients feel no such restraint. We love freely, we love often and we love many. ’Twas why we gifted the Amazons with bodies free of disease and the burden of childbearing. So they could enjoy the carnal pleasures the world has to offer, especially since their lives are often cut short.” She smiled. “Ah, but I see I have given you enough to ponder for one evening.”

  Enough to ponder? His brain was going to explode. The night had been one surprise after another, yet only one thing haunted his thoughts.

  Megan loves me.

  Freya reached out and touched his cheek with her cool fingers. “Accept what I say, Johann Herrmann. Know that I will protect you and my Fire from the impudent interference of Rhiannon and the other Ancients.”

  “What about Megan? Won’t it hurt her if she’s on fire?”

  “Nay. The flames are simply her passion. She can bear them.” Her eyes were full of sadness. “There is still much danger to her. If she cannot channel her feelings for you, she will destroy herself. Her love is too strong an emotion to brush aside, as is her fear.”

  “She tries to hide her fear, especially from me.”

  “Aye. You are her Sentinel. She hides her weakness. Though she conceals her fear, ’tis there all the same. ’Tis why she struggles so, igniting her home with each of her nightmares. Your love will comfort her and ground her. Once she accepts you and her feelings for you, her powers will become formidable, and she will be able to face this threat to the balance between man and divine.”

  “Who will we face?”

  “Nay, I cannot aid you in that quest. I have already done far too much.” Her angry tone told him he’d received all the assistance he was going to get, no matter how much he cajoled. “You have met the enemy’s right hand. Now you must guide the Amazons to destroy that instrument of evil.”

  The subject was officially closed. Looking at his hands, thinking about the protection the goddess and Apollo had given him, Johann realized there was one other hurdle to his connecting with Megan. “Freya, may I ask one more question?”

  “Aye. You want to know where you shall love Megan. You do not wish to destroy her home.”

  He hated it when the goddesses read his mind, but he supposed it was the next logical thing to be concerned about. “Yes, m’lady. I might not catch fire, but a bed? If she erupts into flames, we’ll burn the building down.”

  “Just call out to me.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Just call to me when the moment arrives. I will hear and I shall send you to Folkvang, to my home. There, you shall be safe. Fare thee well, Sentinel.”

  In a vivid flash of light, Freya disappeared.

  Needing some normalcy to stop his spinning thoughts, Johann stripped to get ready for bed. Popping off his cufflinks, he dropped them on the dresser next to the candles. Freya had tossed a scary riddle his way. Who was the villain? And who was the villain’s right hand the goddess said they’d already met?

  Maksim Popov was that right hand. It was clear the singer had caused the death of those girls.

  Time to do more research.

  * * *

  “Nothing?” Megan asked. “Not even a driver’s license?”

  “Nada,” Johann replied from where he sat at the table, fiddling with his laptop. “Far as I can tell, this guy didn’t exist before a year ago.”

  “No medical records? No marriage license? No school transcripts? No—”

  “Are you telling me how to do my job?” he snapped.

  She whirled to face the stove, trying to channel her anger the way he’d been teaching her. While cooking had never been something she’d considered, preferring to grab fast food or hit a restaurant, Johann insisted on showing her a few things about eating properly. After one try at creating a healthy meal, she was hooked.

  Slicing the vegetables. Pounding the meat. Using spices. She loved all of it. Going through the motions of preparing food gave her time to think and gather some calm. And judging from his vehement compliments every time Johann ate something she’d created, she was good at it.

  Chef Megan Feurer. Maybe I’ll get my own TV show.

  She snorted.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No, Joeman. I was just thinking how funny it is that I’m cooking. Rebecca would be laughing her ass off. I’ll have to cook for everyone next time I’m in Avalon.”

  “You’re welcome.” He shot her a smile, the first genuine one since the night she burned him. Maybe he’d forgiven her.

  Her first inclination was to send a biting remark his way, but she remembered her manners. Johann deserved no less respect and appreciation than her sisters or Artair. “Thank you for teaching me to cook.”

  They’d yet to talk about the night of the dance. She’d been amazed that his hands had healed so rapidly, but for all she knew, he might have called on Rhiannon and asked for help.

  The kiss they’d shared popped into her thoughts a hundred times a day, but he acted as though nothing had happened. Sure, he frowned all the time. But that was Johann’s “normal.” No way she’d let him know how hurt she was that their kiss meant nothing to him.

  Johann leaned back in his chair, a frown back on his face. “Well, I finally found Maksim Popov.”

  “I knew you could do it! What’s the scoop?”

  “Creepy eyes. Knack for hypnosis. Involved in the Russian government.”

  “Seriously? What’s a singer doing in government?”

  “Doesn’t say anything about him being a singer.”

  She glanced up and caught the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “What does it say?”

  “He died in 1916.”

  She tossed a slice of mushroom at him.

  “It’s a shame,” he said.

  “What’s a shame?”

  “The Maksim Popov who died was an interesting bastard. He was a follower of Rasputin and got to spend a lot of time with the royal family.”

  Megan wished she’d paid more attention in world history class. “I know Rasputin’s name, but can’t remember what he did.”

  “He was a monk who weaseled his way into the court of the Tsar and Tsarina. Their only son—the heir to the throne—was a hemophiliac. Evidently, Rasputin could calm the boy so he’d stop bleeding. Probably used hypnosis.” Johann chuckled. “As old as the new Max looked, he could still be our guy.”

  She ground some pepper over her mixture of stir-fried vegetables. “Old? Hardly.” For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Johann was jealous of the dance she’d shared with Max. “Just how old do you think he is?”

  “Forty-five, maybe? Nah, more like fifty?”

  “You’ve gotta be way off. More like thirty-five.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Megan. The guy’s got gray hair.”

  “My Aunt Tasha started going gray at thirty. Lots of people do. His face didn’t have a bunch of wrinkles. No laugh lines. I’d go with thirty-five.”

  “The guy’s a minimum of forty.” His fingers moved over his keyboard. “Not like either of us can win this argument. I can’t find shit about his life before he suddenly started topping the charts.”

  “Then it looks like we’ll just have to get our hands dirty and dig a little deeper.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A voice called to Megan from a distance, muffled and not quite intelligible. Just a warm and calming voice.

  A shape took form, but not the shape she longed to see. Not the masculine body she wanted to run her hands over, exploring every hard plane and tight muscle. Johann Herrmann didn’t call to her in this dream.

  The deep voice grew louder. “Come to me, dorogoy. Follow me. You
are mine now.”

  Maksim Popov smiled and crooked his finger, drawing her to him.

  She wanted to fight the pull, to stop the way he dragged her away from her own will and her own desire. But she was helpless. He was irresistible, and she followed no matter how hard she fought the invisible bonds he sank into her mind.

  “Come to me, dorogoy. You are mine. You are mine.” A chant. A promise. A prophecy.

  She reached her hand out to him as he wrapped reptilian fingers around hers. She didn’t want to get any closer, not wishing to be near the man at all. He tugged her into his arms. His embrace was as icy as his eyes and his skin. Cold as death.

  “You are meant for me. From the time you were created, you were meant for me. My own goddess.” His chilly mouth brushed a kiss across her cheek, sending shivers of fear along her skin. “You will restore me to what I was. You will be my new life. You will belong to me, body and soul. Forever. Come to me. You are mine.” An icy tongue ran around her ear, then teeth tugged on the lobe. A hand covered her breast.

  Just as in their dance, Megan felt used. Violated. She tried to scream.

  Leave me alone! Let me go!

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  She wanted to call to Johann. He was her Sentinel. He was her savior. He would help her. Johann’d rescued her once, he would save her again. But as her mouth opened, she couldn’t speak.

  Johann! Please, Johann! Help me!

  “A kiss,” Max whispered. “A kiss to make you mine forever. In this world and the next.”

  As his lips covered hers, Megan finally found her voice and screamed against Max’s mouth.

  * * *

  Johann awoke to Megan’s terrified shouts, his heart hammering. In his sleep-hazed mind, he fumbled for his sword. He jumped from his bed and ran to her room, weapon at ready. The smell of smoke was heavy in the hall. When he reached her bedroom, he tried the knob. Relieved it wasn’t locked against him, he hurried inside.

  She thrashed around on the middle of the bed. The wall behind her bed was badly scorched by the periodic streams of fire blazing from her head.