by Claire Davon
The rifle would do nicely. It was the perfect size—big enough to get the job done, but not enough to raise eyebrows. The weapon would be suitable after he had modified it and added a scope. He would need ammo, grenades, bomb supplies and other instruments of death as well. There were ways to get those things.
It would be perfect for the assassination. Killing someone could change the world. As he checked the sights, he tried to remember the name of the man whose death had caused World War I. He had been some dull piece of European royalty or petty tyrant, a nobody who meant nothing—until he died. Then his death pulled the major countries into a war that swept over the world and took decades to overcome.
Ron nodded his approval at the weapon and followed the clerk to begin the registration process. Registration wouldn’t be an issue for Ron Davies.
That was the nature of things. You needed to know the right string to pull, with so many interlocked. The wrong one and your assassination would hit a dead end. The right one and the world would explode.
If what he had been shown was true, it would explode in fire.
He liked fire, but he liked killing more. The events he was going to set in motion might end in flames and destruction, and that would be fun to see. But it was the killing he would enjoy the most. He hoped his client would let him kill more when his task was done.
Once his mission was completed, Ron exited the store and headed for BART. A little sightseeing was in order. Fisherman’s Wharf to start, and then Coit Tower and the Transamerica Pyramid. He was new in town, and San Francisco was a pretty city. He would explore it now, before he turned it into a battleground. Before he became that guy. The one who started World War III.
* * * * *
Rachel was still sleeping in his bed when Phoenix rose from the sofa. He glanced toward the bedroom with its shut door, missing the expanse of his king-size bed. Then he shook his head. It had been centuries, but there had been many times in his short human life when he’d been grateful for anything other than hard ground to sleep on.
The enigma of the woman in his bed tugged at him. It was crucial they quickly find out what supernatural blood flowed through her veins. Something in her spoke to the fire in his blood, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Fire calls to fire, he thought and shook his head. That had been disproven a long time ago. He had almost died because of his belief in that silly prophecy. If she was fire, he should run hard and fast.
Griff’s call last night reminded him of what they were facing. Challenge. Iceland’s volcanoes were rumbling and his enemy had put in an appearance. Phoenix had yet to see Haures, his fire Demonos foe, but it wouldn’t be long. He would need to call Sphynx and Ondine later, check in on their status.
Walking over to the computer, he jostled the mouse so the screen came up, cursor flashing on the password box. Time had been when all their answers had to come from educated guesswork and signs put in their paths. The modern age made it so much easier.
There was a plaintive meow from the bathroom.
Despite the animal’s apparent dislike for him, Phoenix turned to the kitchen. No being went hungry in his house. After preparing some leftover steak and chicken he found in the refrigerator, Phoenix opened the bathroom door. The cat snuffled the air. Unlike before, he was quiet.
“Here you go, cat. Your mistress will be awake soon.”
Phoenix put the plate down, and after a sniff, JT deigned to eat a bite, and then another. Satisfied that his task was done, Phoenix closed the door and returned to his computer.
He had learned over the centuries that there was rarely such a thing as coincidence in his world. He’d been idling around, making nowhere in particular his home until San Francisco. An Elemental house, one of many owned by their company, had been where he’d ended up. In this day and age, even supernatural beings had an LLC.
He had not expected his Challenge to include an unawakened woman who had no idea of who she really was. Whether she was intended to help or hinder his Challenge remained unknown.
The local news talked of many routine things. Earthquake preparedness. The San Francisco 49ers. Tourist traffic. The mayor of Chicago was visiting the San Francisco mayor, an old friend. Originally from Croatia, she was a popular mayor. It was a routine visit. Her closeness to the president and the always-unsettled nature of the former Yugoslavia were the only things that made the news interesting.
National and international news also didn’t offer up any obvious clues. It was still the same wars, the same destruction. He was going to have to dig, checking gray-area sites and conspiracy theories, and many of the outwardly crazier ideas that so many paranoid folks had.
They weren’t always paranoid. Sometimes they were the very few who had been born with the ability to see, and, like Cassandra, they were cursed with not being believed.
The Challenge could only be fire related. Until Rachel turned up, he had intended to join Griff in Iceland, to spend some time with his friend before it all began again.
He itched to do something. Sparring in the boxing ring and long-distance running only went so far. Better to fulfill his role and fight.
His Skype beeped. The young image of Ondine, their water Elemental, appeared on his screen. Appearing to be in her midtwenties, Ondine was already ten years beyond that. Her age had been permanently fixed at the time of her assuming the mantle of water Elemental. Having a female to contend with as an equal was new to Phoenix.
As usual, her short, dark hair was damp. Whatever the criteria was for the choice for a new Elemental when an old one died, the chosen person always fit the station. In this case, Ondine had been associated with the water as a human, but he didn’t remember the details.
“Just checking in,” she said when he answered. “The dolphins and whales are agitated. Do I need to be worried? I haven’t been through one of these. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I feel something strange, though.”
“Keep vigilant,” he said, knowing nothing he could give her would be reassuring. “There is no mistaking it. It is early, but it is the time of Challenge.”
“I can’t wait.” Sarcasm.
“Where are you?”
Her shoulders moved in a shrug. “The yacht. I’ve got a couple of shifters with me who say they want to help. We’re going to Europe to meet up with Griffin. After that depends on Challenge. Anything I should know?”
Phoenix shook his head. “Not yet. Stay in touch.”
“I will,” she said and cut the connection.
A frustrated sigh accompanied his lurch out of his desk chair, sending the chair spinning.
Ondine was too damned young. He needed Trevor’s insight. The old Hippocampus had a way of sorting through possibilities when Challenges came, coming up with the only possible one. It had helped mitigate the damage one of the times they had been Challenged, a time that had ended in Elemental failure. Plague had been their price of defeat, the Demonos’s chosen cause of human death. The Black Death had killed more than one-third of Europe, Asia and the Middle East’s population in less than ten years. At least seventy-five million people had died, a staggering number for that time period. While other plagues hit the continents in the next centuries, only that one had been caused by the Elementals’ failure. Their fault, their price for losing their Challenge.
The bathroom faucet turned on and the toilet flushed. Rachel. The urge to peek into her mind was an almost overwhelming compulsion.
Rude, Phoenix.
What was it about her? Perhaps it was the fire he sensed in her, although he had not dealt with many other fire beings since his disastrous encounter those centuries ago. He pictured Rachel, dewy and slack-jawed, in his California king bed, her trim body under his thick black comforter. His body stirred even now at the remembered image, hardening against the snug jeans. He contracted with the Dhampirs when he needed a woman, but it had been�
�months since he had bothered. It had been decades since he’d been with a mortal. He left the womanizing to Griff, who wore the crown proudly. Griff played in the safe zone, among supernatural beings and minor deities. Among the nonhumans, being with an Elemental often earned the partner bragging rights.
Phoenix stayed out of danger. The Dhampir clans served his needs when the desire for skin contact became too great. His body itched right now, wanting the feel of her against him. He heard her pleasant voice cooing to the cat. He could get used to that voice moaning softly under him. Phoenix shook his head. Enough of that. He had a job to do.
* * * * *
Rachel entered the kitchen to find Phoenix dressed in jeans and a shirt that, judging by the quality of the cloth and the tailoring, had not come from a department store.
He was even more handsome in daylight than he was at night, wreathed in moonbeams and shadow. Dark blond pieces of his predominantly brown hair caught the light, shimmering on his head. His arms were dusted with hair, covering the strong muscles of his forearms and scattering along powerful biceps. His face wasn’t perfect—his nose was a little too large and his lips were too full for a man—but his face would seem unbalanced without them. Conventionally handsome men were boring, anyway.
As they had the night before, her palms heated and she resisted an urge to rub them together, creating friction. So strange. Memories of past instances when she’d woken up with the smell of burned matches and the feeling she’d been singed. The sickness inside her she had put down to aftereffects of the fugue. So far nothing had linked her to the burns, but she had been the only one around at those times.
Her hands tingled, the redness moving up her arms in a slow crawl. Rachel’s heart began beating fast. She caught a whiff of sulfur warring with her perfume.
She was in the same clothes from the night before but had put on a light coat of makeup before facing the man whose house she had landed in. She hadn’t wanted to rise from the very comfortable, huge bed, but eventually hunger and curiosity had gotten her up. There was a day ahead of her, questions to answer. Danger to confront.
A memory surfaced of a hushed, urgent voice. One she’d only ever heard in her mind.
“Get out, Rachel. I will protect you.”
“Rachel?”
Phoenix’s eyes were narrowed, and he was following the path of red up her arms. He stepped closer and took a deep breath, looking at that moment like the bird that was his namesake. There was an overlay of a beak before it faded.
“Fire calls to fire,” he muttered to himself.
Rachel’s brow creased. It sounded like a chant, a benediction and also a curse, but it meant nothing to her.
“Who are your parents?” He asked it with a fierce tone, something underlying the words, but she couldn’t pick anything out of his mind. He had walled his thoughts off to her with a skill she yearned to possess.
She sipped her coffee, holding on to the cup like a lifeline. “Just people. Harley and Jane Quinn.”
“Not people. There is no chance at least one of them isn’t something different.”
She tried to smile. “I don’t like those odds.”
“You weren’t meant to. Where are they now?”
Her shrug was careful and slow. The redness continued but she didn’t feel faint, nor did she feel any sign of a fugue coming on. It was more like swallowing an energy drink, her body charging with power.
“Dead,” he said finally. “It fits. You’re alone. Why now? Why is it happening now?” He gripped her forearms and turned them over, seeming to note the red streaks with interest. “You smell of fire. You are more than you seem. How is this possible?”
The view out the kitchen window was an uninteresting one of the hillside and neighboring houses, but it was better than his questioning eyes.
“I don’t know, Phoenix. I was leading a normal life, sort of. I was having fugue states and the doctors couldn’t figure out why, but there was nothing special about me. Then the wolves and shadow people yesterday. I don’t know how to answer you.”
He kept one hand on her forearm and used the other to turn her face up to his. “We will have to investigate the fugues. And the way you smell of fire. As for the others…the wolves are a good place to start.”
Easier than the shadow people, she supposed.
* * * * *
It might have been a state park, but the air of menace made it feel like something out of a bad movie. Maybe it was knowing there were werewolves somewhere in and under the park that gave it its ominous feel. Rachel had never felt this shiver of dread when seeing its name before.
The trees were close together and their leaves rustled in a melancholy tone of warning. The grass and bushes along the ground swayed and also seemed to be scornful of her. Rachel, they called, you’re a fool to come here.
The parking lot was nearly deserted. There were only a handful of cars decorating the lot. Did any of the cars belong to the werewolves? They must assume human form to be able to move in the world, so presumably they could get driver’s licenses and other human necessities, just like Phoenix had.
Without warning, Phoenix put his hands under her armpits and lifted her into his arms. Their forms were wedged together in the driver’s seat of his car, chest to chest. He stirred against her. He rubbed her body over his in a back-and-forth motion, and then he kissed her boldly, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as if he owned it.
Rachel surrendered herself to the hard feel of him and the intimate pillage of his tongue. His thrust became gentler, teasing, using the tip of his tongue to touch hers before tracing the inside edge of her lips with it.
Finally he raised his head. His breathing was rapid and shallow.
“What did you do that for?” she asked and was annoyed at how breathlessly the question came out.
Phoenix’s eyes were fixed on her breasts. Her nipples pebbled at the continued intimate rubbing, and he gently drew his thumb across first one and then the other.
The sensation was so fierce Rachel gasped. “Phoenix,” she protested. “I barely know you.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, he raised her and placed her back in the passenger seat. “You’re weaker than they are. They are wolves. They will smell you on me and assume we are together. It will make things…easier.”
“Easier for who?” she asked shakily, looking at his crotch, his penis pressing against the zipper of his faded jeans.
Phoenix’s lips turned up and his eyes shone with amusement. “Not easier for me, that’s for damned sure. You make me hot. Come.” He climbed out of the SUV and shut and locked the doors.
Phoenix took her hand and folded his around it. “We’re together, Rachel, as far as the wolves are concerned. It could save your life.”
Her heart was beating so fast, all she could do was nod. She should have been scared, but all she could think about was this gorgeous, sexy…
“Three blind mice, see how they run…” Rachel walked hand in hand with him into the woods. The trees seemed to close around them, and Rachel shivered. If it weren’t for the warmth of Phoenix’s hand, she wasn’t sure she would have the courage to go forward. She felt a low burn in her chest and let it expand outward. Phoenix gave her a sharp look, sniffing the air.
He seemed about to say something when rustling distracted them. First it came from behind and then in front of them. Then it was all around them, directionless. A whisper started telling of horrible things. The words were one shade too low to understand, but the meaning was clear. The whispering grew, speaking of rending and tearing. Blood and guts spilled on the ground. Feasting on the remains while they were still warm.
Her shivers increased, and Phoenix put his arms around her, drawing her against him. She was hot, internally and externally. A deep shudder ripped through her, and she leaned into him, holding him close. Their bodies melded together, heat rippling
between them. There was a rightness about being in his arms that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It spoke to her in some primal part, reaching down into her core. Sweat broke along her skin as if the heat was going to radiate out and set the trees on fire. Phoenix shimmered.
“I am the fire Elemental,” he said in a low whisper, and small flames danced along his fingertips. “What are you?”
The sounds grew louder, pulling their attention away from each other. Rachel wanted to clap her hands over her ears to block them out. Phoenix pressed his head against hers so his hair draped over one ear. The flame subsided, but his heat reached something in her, something familiar. She was not scared of the flame; it was oddly compelling.
Phoenix’s gaze was fixed on the shaded woods. His muscles under her hands were tense and coiled.
She turned to look at the places Phoenix was examining. Slowly she discovered she could pick out spots of brown in the green and yellow density. The brown intensified, first dappled and then coming into focus. Brown fur tipped with black. Large, shaggy wolves with pointed ears and lolling tongues.
They moved into the clearing with graceful, easy lopes. There was a leashed quality to their movements, as if they were controlling a more basic desire. She smelled damp fur and dirt mixed with the forest.
Phoenix subtly shifted to a fighting stance.
“Don’t show fear.” Phoenix squeezed her fingers. “They can sense it. Don’t let them see it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
A wolf, more than half again bigger than the others, separated from the circle surrounding them and rushed toward Phoenix and Rachel. Phoenix watched the wolf steadily as it approached, his face giving away nothing.
Two feet from them, the wolf abruptly stopped, as if hitting a wall. One moment he was in motion and the next it was as if he had landed on an unseen marker. Without breaking eye contact with Phoenix, he reared up on his hind legs. Bones shifted and crunched. Fur fell away as arms and legs transformed from pelt to skin. His—there was no doubt it was male—torso transformed from the extremities in, creeping up his neck until the head underwent its change. The elongated nose shrank and the eyes changed from yellow to blue, shifting on his face from wolf to human location.