Fire's Touch (The Enlightened Species Book Three)

by Hales, Wendy S.

  Girsu, with young Shane trailing her every move, had cared for them while Nippur, Gregor, and Conlon stomped and dropped heavy stones on the ground to alert her mother of the situation. The Einars were good people. Cassie’s mother had taken the death of Conlon’s parents hard.

  She missed her mother so much. The reason she'd been cast out so long ago flooded her mind. Thick, perfect waves of chicory-brown hair framed the strong angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Whiskey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, betraying that smiling was something he did often and with his whole face.

  Her mother had been right to expel Cassie for her sin.

  ****

  Fates, Conlon was frustrating and sexy as hell. When he stripped down and took to the air, he looked like a frickin’ Greek god. The delicate membranes of his wings shimmered under the sunrays peeking through the clouds. Stacey practically gave herself whiplash watching him through the windows. Unlike her, he was extremely graceful in flight. She hadn't spent much time getting comfortable with her wings. Then the whole “in your face” chest show when he put his shirt on and covered the defined muscles had been stimulating and irritating. If her body quit contradicting her mind, she could brush him off like white lint on a black shirt.

  With the pilots still on the tarmac after Conlon's mind inspection, she ducked her head into the cockpit in search of … Yes! An edition of Hot Girls of Summer might be the ticket. Conlon didn't even try to hide his attraction to her. It was time to get those kinds of thoughts right out of his head. Maybe she'd convince him that he wasn't her type … or preferred gender. Every time she saw the raw, hungry desire in his eyes, her resolve crumbled a little more. At this rate, there was no way she'd make it through a day, let alone a week being around him without ending up in his arms.

  Her fingers tingled with the urge to touch him. If she didn't know better, she'd almost believe it was the rumored bloodmate attraction. She had felt a similar though weaker draw once before, so it couldn't be that. Bloodmate attraction was supposed to be irresistible and she been resisting … so far. Shutting the door to her private section within the plane, she paced the small space. She should be thinking about the upcoming surprise inspections and meetings instead of the exasperating male the SOSC had saddled her with. Shit, saddled was the wrong term—it just made her want to mount him.

  One problem at a time. She flipped through the skin rag. None of the girls had any curves, and Stacey almost felt sorry for them. Some males thought she was too heavy, but personally she'd always liked her curves. They were even more pronounced now that she'd had Johnny. Her parents had reinforced her comfort in her appearance. “Your appearance should never define your value or self-worth. True beauty comes from confidence and self-assurance, Stacey.” It was a phrase that had been repeated over and over by her mother and father until it became a part of her core beliefs.

  She got to the centerfold. Aquatie. A plan formed in her mind, and all she had to do was wait for someone to need the bathroom. Setting the magazine aside, she pulled out her sketchpad and started drawing. When Mattie knocked, she tossed the pad under the bed, rolled to her side, and flipped open the magazine.

  That hadn’t worked out either. Figures she’d select a female Conlon had slept with. For all she knew, she could throw a coin into a random crowd and hit someone he slept with. Was he a player? Even Cassie thought he was gorgeous.

  Cassie—she turned mourning a lost love into an art form. The girl was pathetic … much like Stacey fantasizing about the arrogant libido-stimulator in the next compartment. What she truly wanted to do was drag him into the room and see if he tasted as good as he looked. With her luck he would, and then she’d end up addicted in a twelve-step AA program called Assholes Anonymous.

  A knuckle rap on her door filled her with fury. “Didn’t any one of you think to go before we left?” she shouted.

  When Conlon slipped in and sat at the end of her bed next to her feet, all the air left her lungs. No no no! He smelled of sandalwood and sin. His presence filled her small space. She could feel his body heat on her toes. Feeling an urge to straighten her legs and place her feet into his lap, she kicked him in the thigh instead. “Off.” She felt her energy try to mingle with his from the simple touch. Her horrible ability crackled along the bottom of her foot, seeking to use his strong psychic energy for its dark purpose.

  Without a word, Conlon caught her foot and pulled it into his lap. Stacey gasped and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead in her effort to contain her psyche’s reaction to touch. Then his thumbs massaged gently into the arch, making her incapable of withdrawing it from him. Here eyes fluttered closed and she moaned in spite of herself. That feels soo good. She couldn’t remember the last time she got a foot rub that wasn’t part of a pedicure she paid for. Even that had been in another life. Just a few more minutes and I’ll stop him; if he gets hurt, it’s his own damn fault, she thought as her head sunk into the pillow. Stacey couldn’t remember a time when she was more relaxed.

  “Take off your shirt and turn over.” The husky rasp in his voice sent a shiver through her.

  Stacey opened her eyes to see his gaze firmly staring at her foot in his grasp. His hands didn’t look too red. “Why?”

  He glanced at her let out a frustrated sigh. “Because you are a tightly wound pain in the ass. I doubt a massage will improve the latter, but it might unwind the knots.”

  She stopped sweating. And she no longer felt emotionally instable. Conlon hadn’t pulled away in pain. Maybe she had it under control. She flipped onto her belly as Conlon rose from her feet and sat at her side on the edge of the bed. “I’m not taking off my shirt. Just so you know, I don’t like you, and a massage isn’t going to change that.”

  “I’m not sure if I like you either. However, I’ve decided to reserve judgment for now where you have already determined yours. You want to keep your shirt on … your loss.” His statement was simple, non-sugar-coated, straight-up and true, dammit.

  Stacey narrowed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him, then wiggled out of her shirt without lifting from the mattress. She wanted a massage, not to give him a peep show. His warm hands against her naked skin felt decadent. Heat raced through her. Crackling energy sprung into her from his hands, pooling in her womb. Moisture flooded her core. Please don’t let me hurt him, she silently prayed. Shoving her desire into the corner of her mind, she tried to relax. Envisioning a waterfall, she used deep, calming breaths to cool her inside.

  His fingers traced the edge of her tattoo visible above the waistline of her skirt at the curve of her right hip, though he never said a word. Thankfully. As he worked the knots from her lower back to her shoulders and neck, she slipped into a blissful, quiet sleep. She was completely unaware when he finished, covered her with a blanket, and silently slipped out of the compartment. If anyone accessed the restroom, she hadn’t been disturbed. She only awoke when the plane touched down on her private runway at the Amsterdam Airport in Schiphol and rolled to a stop in the hangar next to the corporate jet used by her upper management.

  She heard the door of the plane open and felt the plane bounce as her guards exited to secure the area. Time to get to work. She stared into the mirror with a smile at the tiny pillow crease line along her cheek—a reminder of the best sleep she’d ever had. Thanks to Conlon. The bastard. She refused to be grateful!

  Steeling her resolve, she showered and dressed for the day in a business dress and heels, pinning her hair into a stylish bun and used a wide fabric band to hide the musculature of her ears. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she saw the woman she portrayed for every Skype meeting and personal appearance she had made for the last three years. Conlon’s face flashed through her mind. Tugging out the pins she let her soft, natural black waves fall to her middle back. The last time she wore her hair loose in public had been the day she’d been captured.

  From the bottom steps of the plane, she heard Conlon’s swift intake of breath when she disemb
arked. Though pleased with his reaction, she schooled her features for indifference and ignored him, heading for the waiting limo with a slightly exaggerated sway in her hips made more dramatic by the six-inch heels she’d selected. Height brought respect in her experience. At six-four in heels, she made most of her CEOs look up at her—a simple, powerful presentation her father had taught her that served her well. The flare of desire in Conlon’s eyes was just an added bonus. Unlike with many people, she doubted her height or anything else would easily intimidate him. A slow grin crept to her lips.

  Chapter Six

  “You think you can hide from me? I will kill you slowly, my son.” Osiris sent the telepathic message through the paternal bond to Ten. His traitorous offspring would know pain intimately if it was the last thing Osiris did.

  Osiris’s fingers tapped out a rhythm only he could hear on his desktop. The simpering staff servant he’d spontaneously recruited to play the part of an oracle huddled wide-eyed on the chair before him while they waited for the arrival of Dr. Huey Fennell. Grunting and scuffling preceded the door swinging wide, and then the bright red hair of the healer crossed the threshold, followed by two of Osiris’s sons.

  “So good to see you again, Huey.” Osiris rose in greeting, and the healer’s eyes flashed fear at the sound of his voice in person. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated the chair beside the simpering false oracle.

  Eyes flashing around the room like a caged animal, Dr. Fennell grudgingly found the seat he’d been directed to. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Osiris?”

  Osiris waved away the healer’s indignation. “I invited you here to give you a virtual tour of the facility that will be put at your disposal … once you finally agree to embrace the many opportunities and resources I have to offer.”

  The wall behind him slid to the side, revealing wall-to-wall monitors tuned to one of his many extensive research labs. The healer had told him he wouldn’t join Osiris in the pursuit of a cure for the problems facing the male Hulven, and Osiris needed to see for himself that Huey was sincere in that. He needed someone to infiltrate the SOSC headquarters, and Huey was the perfect candidate.

  The young, talented healer stood transfixed, staring at the monitors, and then walked closer to them, his eyes hungry for the lab equipment displayed and the dedicated staff obviously working diligently in real time. The front of Huey’s slacks lifted in his excitement. Only a true lab geek would get a hard-on from looking at a fully equipped, functioning lab full of more geeks.

  “Where is this place?” Huey asked in a hushed, reverent whisper more befitting a church.

  Osiris sent the burst of kinetic energy to activate the closure of the wall that would cover the monitors. A conquering smile lit his face as Huey leaned to catch a last glimpse of the lab before it fully disappeared. Now that he’d whetted the healer’s appetite for something Huey would covet, Osiris was one step closer in generating his loyalty.

  Osiris waited for the glassy-eyed healer to resume his seat before answering his question. “That particular site is in the U.S., though I have others if you would prefer to be abroad.” It never hurt to give an informant a false sense of importance. “I believe you will head up the department dedicated to Hulven sterility wonderfully.”

  Huey’s excited gaze clashed fully with his. “Head up? You mean to put me in charge of my own lab? Why?”

  The loyalty noose was created, now all Osiris needed to do was pull the slipknot tight. He pointed to the false oracle seated beside Huey. The healer turned and startled like he’d actually forgotten the chair had been occupied. Oh, yeah, Osiris had the healer right where he wanted him.

  “Dr. Fennell, I’d like you to meet Jefferson.” The two shook hands. “Jefferson is an Oracle, and according to him, you are a critical link in finding this cure, and you will do it while working for me.” Not exactly what his true oracle had predicted, but this version suited Osiris’s plan better, plus it would remove any lingering reservations Huey might have about betraying his colleagues and calling.

  Huey looked between Osiris and Jefferson, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally he heard what he needed to hear and confirmed what he’d suspected. “Osiris, I didn’t believe your intentions of finding a solution or gaining me as an ally were sincere. I didn’t know you were following a divine path mapped by the Fates themselves.” Huey bowed slightly in deference to “Jefferson,” who gaped and blinked in response but wisely kept his trap shut.

  Oh, his old friend Shakespeare would have been proud of the performance Osiris played. Osiris quickly jumped from his chair to pace in contemplation behind his desk, leaving Huey to stew with his regrets for not believing in him as the wonderful and magnificent hope for his kind. Osiris willed his expressions to shift between sorrow and acceptance to make Huey believe he was the hurt soul who had believed in Huey only to be repeatedly rejected by him.

  He returned to his seat with a long, mournful sigh. “I will have my sons escort you back to your house. I wished things had worked out differently between us, Dr. Fennell. I want nothing more than to have grandchildren.”

  Watching through hooded eyes, he saw Huey look back at his Hulven sons guarding the door in sympathy and apology. Both his boys kept their faces neutral and stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the healer’s eyes. Osiris kept his sons on a much tighter leash since his son Ten had turned against him and aligned with the SOSC—a slight he hoped to rectify.

  Huey’s distress could be felt across the room; Osiris squelched his grin. It wouldn’t be easy to convince the healer to get the records he wanted, yet Osiris felt confident he would have Huey’s full complicity before this meeting ended.

  “I don’t know how to begin making amends for refusing you for so long, Osiris. I will happily offer you a blood bond if that helps to prove that I have learned the error of my thinking.” Huey was almost groveling, close to being right where Osiris wanted. He just needed a few more pushes.

  Osiris dramatically dropped his face into his hands, a model of a male facing personal defeat. “I have a difficult enough time dealing with the SOSC without having an ally on the inside who isn’t fully committed to my organization and goals. The thing you may not realize is the SOSC and High Ones have veered away from helping the Hulven for eons. Granted, the Elven population seems to be making an effort to bridge the gap now with the Hulven, but that is by design. They treat me as a rogue, someone evil, someone to be feared and hunted. The truth is I’ve been striving to aid Hulven since well before the Elven, willing to utter the term in mixed company and long before the Symbiosis of Species Council began formation. They hunt me because I know the truth and I aspire to eventually reveal that truth, a truth the SOSC and especially the Elven do not want known.”

  Huey had leaned in while Osiris spun his tale of being the victim, castigated and misunderstood, swallowing the line of rubbish hook, line, and sinker. “What is this truth?” Osiris shook his head, denying the healer the information to make him hungrier for it. “Please, I must know.”

  Laying it on thick, Osiris slumped his shoulders. “If I tell you and you reveal my words to the SOSC, they will kill you, my friend. You are too valuable to risk; you are the only chance male Hulven have for a future. The only chance my sons will ever have to become fathers. I can’t.”

  “I will never tell. You have my word of honor as a male and as a healer that it will never pass my lips.” Huey’s desperation seeped into his voice. “As a Hulven male, don’t I have a right to know?”

  Osiris dropped his hands from his face, meeting the healer’s eyes for the first time since he’d dismissed him earlier. “I suppose you do.” Sighing with surrender, he continued. “Elven are dinosaurs living on borrowed time before extinction. The only thing holding the Hulven race back is the male’s inability to procreate, which is why the Elven put so much into barring any efforts at remedying it.” If Huey bought this, Osiris planned to sell him ocean-side property in Idaho next. />
  Osiris watched as Huey digested the information, reconciling in his sharp, scientific mind the possibility Osiris posed. The frown on Huey’s face showed that he wanted to believe, but the explanation still seemed too far-fetched. Osiris hammered the final nail into Dr. Fennell’s mental coffin of loyalty. “Have you never wondered why there are Hulven warriors, healers, agriculturist, tradesmen, etc., yet very few if any true Hulven scientists like yourself? Why you have felt compelled to keep your research a secret? Why there are no Hulven Oracles … none? It is because they are put to death if discovered, as you will be. Somewhere inside, you must have known that your studies threatened your life, even if you didn’t fully know the reason. The true rogues are the Elven race of Volaticus society and, by association, the SOSC.”

  Firm, outraged determination set in Huey’s eyes … finally. Osiris had given the good healer a cause to believe in and the paradise of a lab to look forward too. Now he needed to put his redheaded new tool to use.

  “What would you have me do?”

  Osiris shrugged. “I need some records from the main Hospe in Greenland. After that I want you to tie up any loose ends you have in your current life and join the life you were meant for.” He indicated the wall behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  Prince Hansi Alba stared at the text Mattie had just sent him: “Cassie’s in Seattle” and an address. His mind churned and he nearly forgot where he was. After giving the report for his last mission to the SOSC leaders in Greenland, he had returned to Mesa to see his friend Umbrae and her quadruplets. He enjoyed the warm welcome he got from each of her children. The quads could lighten any situation. Umbrae and Enlil had bestowed each child a godparent and a namesake. The baby girls had been named after their namesakes. Jestyl was named after Jess Einar and had the warrior Irsu Einar as her godmother. Tana, named for Enlil’s deceased bloodedmate Etana, had the Aquatie warrior Greyton as her godfather. The third baby girl, Erisa, was named for Umbrae’s father Eros and had Greycia, Greyton’s paired sibling, as her godmother. Hans was the godfather of the only boy, Harmen, who was named for the healer Herme. Protected by members of the three species and adored by the entire SOSC, the quadruplets never lacked for attention and visitors.