Tree branches whipped one way, then the other, generating an eerie whistling. Emma shuddered, then tugged the neckline of her suddenly constricting turtleneck sweater as she turned to explore a staked-out plot of ground. “It looks like this is where they plan to put the statue.”
Her gaze swept along the snow-patched ground, up the broken walkway, to the side of the park where fluorescent-orange construction fencing sectioned off individual trees, marking them for protection. Landscaping equipment near the road formed a neat line, ready to be put to use.
A tiny ping caught in her gut, and her internal compass gravitated to the old oak standing center stage. Its trunk stretched out to the size of a small house, as if several trees had grown together. She frowned as intense golden eyes seemed to peer at her from the grained bark. A figment of her imagination? With her history, it had to be.
When the eyes vanished, she angled her head, unable to shake the weird drag on her heart. As if she should know something important, yet couldn’t bring it forth. The feeling didn’t seem like a remnant of her vision but felt like it originated from an entirely different source. More like an unfathomable power or presence. She scanned the park and rubbed her chilled arms, but she didn’t see a single soul.
* * *
Io slipped behind the downed bulldozer bucket, in predator mode, his eyes fixed on his target: Emma Grant. The machine inched to the side as his back jammed against a metal support. In his eagerness, he hadn’t sufficiently controlled his brute strength. He grumbled at the oversight but kept tuned to the young woman. While in human form, as he was now, his senses were faulty. It was a weak form, practically useless, with few special powers.
He’d known the moment Emma Grant had set foot on Georgia soil.
Not such a difficult task, really. He’d been expecting her.
Now, he was curious about the reason she’d stopped at the park on her way from the airport. Was the Divine Tree’s power already blooming in Emma? Had the old tree spoken to her?
He’d met her quite by accident years ago when she was a little girl of five. They were in an ice cream shop and he’d accidently dropped a handful of coins on the floor–as fine motor skills was another issue he had with the human form. But it turned into a fortunate event for him, really, for Emma gathered the coins up off the floor. And to her great embarrassment, when she handed them back to him the lot was fused together in a solid clump of metal.
He knew then and there that she was gifted. And he made it his business to discover why. Eavesdropping in on her dreams at night gave him the connection to her past. Even over the years after she moved from Tyler, he managed to keep track of her. He was damned proud of himself for discovering the reason behind her metal-altering ability.
Well, it wasn’t precisely his discovery, but he would take credit for it nonetheless.
When he’d killed Emma in her past life and she’d lain on the grassy ground with his arrow jutting out of her chest, her blood had seeped into this magical oak’s roots. Who knew such a simple act would create the catalyst to destroy a Divine Tree? He certainly hadn’t. Not until the High Counsel of Devils had recently congratulated him for it, that is. And he wasn’t disappointed.
That arrow, her blood, and her reincarnation had caused a shift, something even he couldn’t grasp the implications of. It had taken him shitloads of long, painful, boring hours of watching before he discovered how he could use her newborn alchemist powers to his advantage. He deserved this boon, and the recognition from the counsel. He’d show his brother, Seth, that he was equally as favored by his superiors.
Now if only he could overcome the free will part of the equation. He couldn’t force her into using her alchemist powers on the metal as he wanted her to. At least not physically.
But there were other ways to get the results he desired.
With a mental shake, he glared at Emma.
Did she realize the connection she shared with the tree? If so, he’d have to move much quicker than he’d thought. No, no, he wouldn’t allow things to get out of hand. He swiped a restless hand along his jaw.
He tried to quiet the nervous energy that continually tugged him in conflicting directions. One moment he was certain of his mission’s success, the next of its failure. His gaze darted from Emma to Mrs. Busybody, listening intently. He plunged his hands into his pockets, withdrew them, then clasped them behind him.
The best he could determine, Emma was simply cold, not agitated or suspicious.
And Mrs. Grant took credit for arranging the commission of the statue her granddaughter had arrived to install.
Yes, it was better that Emma thought her grandmother was the instigator. Better she not discover the significance of the invitation to the installation ceremony. At least not until the ruination of the tree was complete or Emma and the Guardian were dead. Either outcome would give him great pleasure.
After all, he’d discovered firsthand that the best way to make someone suffer was to destroy the one thing that someone most loved. Yes, revenge would be his. About time.
Seth, Mr. Goodie-Goodie, would soon have his world turned upside down. And Venn and the Divine Tree along with him. He could barely contain his excitement. Three for the price of one. Brilliant.
Excited and restless, Io tugged on his shirt sleeve, then sought focus by touching the picture of a burned tree he kept tucked in his pocket. It represented his brother’s failure. His channeled hatred grew and his smokescreen, the shield he’d put in place so the tree wouldn’t detect his presence, disintegrated. Damn.
The stupid dog in the old ladies arms barked and growled.
* * *
A deep moan resounded within the catacomb. Custos? Venn straightened from his relaxed position. Immediately, his attention shot upward—above him, outside—and he stood.
What was that?
An irresistible tug made him palm his chest. He proceeded through the cavern entrance, back up the knotted stairs and angled tunnel, the pull intensifying with each step. If he were human, he’d be wondering if he were having a heart attack.
He hadn’t felt this collision of energy in two centuries.
Inside the sprawling tree, he climbed rough-hewn stairs to the watch room at ground level. He ignored the enormous circular space and its new modular furnishings as he fixed his attention on the highly polished wooden wall, where the force ran strongest. The bark itself had sight, a transparency by which he could see through the layers of wood to the world beyond, at will. He looked out, as he had done so many thousands of times in the past.
Outside, two females engaged in conversation. He immediately recognized Claire Grant. The old lady had been bragging everywhere she went about how her granddaughter, Emma, had designed a sculpture for Tyler’s historic town square and oldest park.
Venn’s park, not the town’s.
But he’d lost that battle a long time ago, and until recently, he had managed to direct the city officials’ attentions elsewhere. Damn their renewed interest. The tree had been marked for preservation purposes, which was a good thing, yet it also attracted unwanted attention. There were others who had an inclination of the riches the tree held, not in monetary value but in what they could do with the knowledge contained within.
The presumed granddaughter turned.
Venn advanced to the barrier, curious. He wanted to be closer to her, wanted nothing between them, not this tree, not this space. With his extraordinary sight and hearing, he could make her out perfectly, but it wasn’t enough. There was something about her…yet he couldn’t fathom why he’d be drawn Claire Grant’s granddaughter. How odd.
With a sweeping glance, the young woman arched her brows and strolled toward the tree. She seemed to stare right at him. Thick auburn hair draped over her shoulders, and she tilted her head, his equilibrium shattering. A roar took up residence inside his skull. Thunder vibrated through his chest, and explosive desire made him hard and ready.
His breath hitched. His inner beasts stirr
ed without the customary summons, fighting each other, wolf and hawk vying for a glimpse of her.
She inched forward.
Yes, move closer.
She spoke, and he vaguely caught her whispered French phrase. “Coeur de mon coeur.”
Heart of my heart.
He swallowed, hard.
She placed a delicate palm on the trunk, and Venn growled as a surge of energy–her very essence–flowed into the tree, filled him as much as earthy air filled his lungs.
“I…feel something,” Emma said with opened-mouth awe. “The oak has been here for hundreds of years.”
When recognition hit Venn, it was with the force of an 18-wheeler rear-ending a car waiting at a traffic light. Every muscle in his body tensed as he saw flashes of her in a past life, of their limbs entwined, of her lips warm on his, of her vibrant laugh…of her dying.
Could it truly be Amelia? Had she returned to him in this woman, this Emma Grant?
Venn closed his eyes and summoned energy in all its manifested forms–heat, light, sound, magnetism, gravity, and all of life’s functions–reaching out to her, touching deep into her soul to test the theory. Her initial response was a lazy yawn, but then her mystical imprint danced, the spirit unique to her, proclaimed, Yes!
She. Was. His.
A heaviness slammed against his chest, followed by whiplash, pain, confusion. He’d been robbed of time, his woman, his love.
Ah, Amelia. Brought back to him after so long.
A spark flared in his chest, and his pulse sped up. Unwilling to move lest this sudden feel-good moment disappeared, he held his breath.
She glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother. “I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu.”
Overwhelmed, he wished he could vault through the barrier and take her in his arms. Instead, he braced both hands on thick chair arms as he slowly lowered himself into the seat, not taking his eyes off the woman with fiery hair and golden skin. Every fiber in his body stretched out to embrace her. She was his.
They’d been lovers in 1809. Companions. Promised journey mates. A favor from God.
His throat tightened at the memory, and he tried to drink in the air. She was the one woman gifted with the powers to complement his. He hadn’t known until too late how much he needed to share his life with someone. And his enemy had murdered her.
She must be the reason the tree summoned him.
He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the grounds for yet another assassin. But the only ones there were the Grants.
Uncertain what to expect, he watched, fisting his hand with a vow.
This time he would protect her. This time he would fulfill the promise of a lifetime mate. This time she would be his. Forever.
Emma’s brow furrowed as her hand swept along the bark of the tree. His tree. “Did I come here as a girl?” she asked. “I seem to know this place.”
“I don’t think so, child. Your father didn’t wander much south of the ravine. Claimed he got bad vibes here. Always afraid, that boy. Not enough faith. Of course, there were all kinds of stories bantered about back then. Some about a man being killed out here, tales about witches and ghosts, you name it. The place became run-down. But with the city rejuvenation and cleanup, well… As you can see, things are different now.”
Indeed, things had changed, Venn mused. His mansion lay south of the park, far enough away so as to not attract visitors. A strategic plan he’d sanctioned to assure his privacy. Back in the day, he’d met with wealthy plantation owners and connected politicians on his own terms. Otherwise, he’d avoided them. As time passed and with the never-ending urbanization, he didn’t care for the coziness.
When Emma pulled her hand away from the bark, it was like part of him flickered, then snuffed out. He got a mild case of shakes, and his temperature plummeted.
“It’s getting late, you must be tired,” Mrs. Grant said.
“Nah. I’m a night person, remember? How about if we stop by Aunt Fay’s Coffee Shop on the way home? I’ve been dreaming about one of her famous cinnamon buns all the way here.”
“Okay. You drive.” She hitched the small dog she held higher under her arm.
They were leaving. With a leap, Venn stood, banging his knee on the side table. He winced and beat back a wave of anxiety. He’d been given a second chance and he’d be damned if he’d let her out of his sight this time. At least, not for long.
Keenly aware that she wouldn’t know him in this life, he needed to initiate a meeting. This minute. However, walking up out of nowhere in a shabby park might scare her.
He wished they could simply pick up where they’d left off.
He envisioned her smiling at him with recognition and running into his opened arms.
But as she got closer to the car and farther from him, the vision scattered.
Aunt Fay’s. That was it.
He could use a jolt of caffeine.
* * *
As Venn pelted across Aunt Fay’s parking lot, loose pebbles crunching beneath his feet. The Tyler streets were fairly deserted, with most people in bed by nine on a workday like today.
He paused to watch Emma through the store window, noting that Mrs. Grant had chosen to wait in the car with her dog. His anticipation mounted.
When he entered the shop, her scent grabbed him—plumeria and cinnamon—an instant turn on. Even the heady aroma of coffee couldn’t rob him of her sweet, luscious fragrance, a perfume he’d profoundly missed. He drew a deep breath as he stepped behind her in line and enjoyed the sound of her voice while she spoke into a cell phone.
Instantly, she seemed to sense him as she stopped mid-sentence and turned.
He smiled and couldn’t help but flirt with her. “Something with whipped cream?”
She narrowed her eyes and angled her cell away from her ear with an incredulous nod. “Excuse me?”
“To drink.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Yes. Umm, and your recommendation is?” She cleared her throat, her eyes now glinting with pale fire, and then her brows pinched as if she were trying to recall something.
Was it possible she recalled him? That would make things so much easier. He was already finding it difficult to behave as though he didn’t know her.
“Anything with chocolate,” he answered as his lupine senses went into overdrive. Her fragrance intensified, warmed, indicating to him that her body knew what her mind did not.
Her subconscious recognized him.
She gave her head a shake, confusion painted on her face. “Sorry. I…” She paused a beat, steeling her features, and then pointed to her phone.
Her voice drove him to the brink of desperation. He wanted to get her alone. He needed her to remember what they’d shared.
And his beasts concurred with a beat of wings and hammer of paws.
“Miss. What would you like?” the clerk behind the counter asked.
She faced forward again, leaving him to stare at her long, sleek, shimmering hair. He’d kill to slide his fingers through those rich strands.
“For some reason I’m craving something I haven’t had before.” Her voice was soft and sweet. “A mocha latte. And forget the calories. Add on some extra whipped cream. Also a cinnamon bun, to go.”
He swallowed. He had cravings, too, ones he hadn’t given in to for a very long time. “Good choice,” he said to her back.
Now to convince her of a few other things…
Hell, she’d fallen for him before, she would again.
Remarkably, she seemed eerily the same as the woman he’d known all too briefly. Just modernize the setting and dress—her red-tinted hair, the perfect, to-his-shoulder height, her lovely mouth. He wondered if she’d see the resemblance given the chance.
With the briefest glance at him, Emma stepped to the pick-up line. Venn swiftly placed his order, telling the clerk he’d have the same.
As he came up behind her again, she broke off her phone conversation. “Todd, sorry, I’ll call
you back. I have to get my order.”
Todd? Jealousy surged through his inner wolf, the idea of her even chatting with another male unbearable. His hawk flexed and curled his sharp talons. Fighting to keep control of his body, Venn rolled his shoulders.
While he got it together, the all too efficient waiter handed over Emma’s drink and to-go bag. She removed the lid, dropped it in the trash, and sampled the fluffy white cream. A died-and-gone-to-heaven expression lit her face.
Venn suppressed a groan. Then the sway of her hips as she walked toward the door came, nearly driving him wild.
Oh hell. This wasn’t going as he’d imagined.
He stepped out of line. “Excuse me! Emma?” he called after her.
She paused and glanced back.
“Sir, wait. Your drink,” the man behind the counter said.
Venn could care less about the joe, but he grabbed his order, thanking the guy, and caught up to her.
Her brows pushed together harder. “Do I know you?”
“No. But I know you. You’re the sculptor.” He smiled at her, trying to put her at ease.
“Yes,” she said, pride resonating from the single word.
Aw, that voice. The glue that held him together melted as if put to a blowtorch. A long-ago picture of her naked, full body pressed against him flickered through his mind. The temperature in the room spiked. The latte she held frothed and boiled over.
“My God,” she gasped.
Her exclamation hit a tripwire that made him regain focus. He grabbed the cup from her hand, noting in his peripheral vision that the other patrons were experiencing identical problems.
“I’ve heard of this. A sudden rise in barometric pressure,” he lied, knowing full well exactly why the tables closest to him encountered the worst of the damage. The means of discharging excess energy that has built up inside of him just from being near her, then it explosively discharges.
Surprise lit her face. “How did you…? Man, you moved fast.”
He shrugged. Hell, being near her messed with his powers and made them hard to control.
Steam rose from the coffee cup, and he swirled the remaining liquid, then set his drink aside. He snatched a napkin from a table nearby and dried the outside of hers. “Here,” he said, handing it back. “This should be fine now. Maybe a bit hotter, so take care.”
The Shaman Charms the Shifter Page 10