by Dee, Bonnie
Finally Justin gave up. He rolled Elyse carefully off him and rose from the bed. Her eyes were closed and her lips sweetly slack in sleep. He leaned and kissed them before slipping on a robe and walking out onto the balcony to watch the dawn of a new day.
Sitting at the patio table, he wished he had a cup of coffee but was too lazy to go to the kitchen and make a pot. He watched the gray haze blocking his view of the ocean turn pearly white, then rose pink, before evaporating completely to reveal the shore and the waves. It would have been nice to face the Atlantic and see the sun rise from the water, but he was stuck with a back-end view of each day—sunset over the Pacific. Still, he could hardly complain when many people had no ocean view at all.
He thought about Brody’s fall to death and wondered at a father who could so casually eradicate a son who had crossed him. Watching a jogger move along the edge of the breaking waves, Justin thought about what kind of disciplinary action he could expect from KOTE. He had no idea what his deceitful act of stealing the box—even though it had turned out to be harmless—would do to his relationship with the organization, but there had to be some fallout from his treason.
As the jogger rounded a ridge of rock, disappearing from view, Justin thought about Trina, wondered if she’d stay home for a while or go straight back to school. She’d probably have to take an incomplete on most of her classes. It would be better if she started fresh next semester. But if she lived at home for a while, how much would she clash with Elyse?
Elyse. Inevitably, his thoughts focused on the woman sleeping in his bed. A week ago, he never would have believed he would forgive her, let alone surrender his will enough to make love to her again. And what they had just done was making love in the purest sense of the word, not simply primal fucking. She was under his skin. He couldn’t get rid of her any more than a person could erase a tattoo by scrubbing at it with steel wool. Well, perhaps you could scrub away enough layers of skin to delete a tat, but it would take a lot of scraping and hurt like hell.
“What are you thinking about?” Elyse’s voice from behind him startled him.
Justin glanced over his shoulder.
She was dressed in one of his white terrycloth robes. Pushing the French door closed with her hip, she walked toward him, hands laden with two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I wanted,” he said as she set one before him on the glass-topped table.
Elyse sat in the other patio chair, pulling it closely beside his. Her legs stretched out in front of her. The robe parted to reveal most of their shapely length. She blew on her coffee, then took a sip. “Beautiful view. This place is amazing.” She nodded toward another jogger making her way along the beach. “Maybe we could go on a run later.”
“I’d like that.” Justin remembered all the activities they’d done together before.
She set her cup down on the table and leaned forward in her chair, her expression as serious as he’d ever seen it. “I want to … do something to prove to you beyond any doubt you can trust me again. What can I do to earn your faith?”
He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you, Elyse. It’s going to take time, that’s all.” He set the cup down and took her hand. He thought how soft it was for a fist that could deliver such a solid punch. “Time and patience.”
“Patience. Not my forte.” She smiled and squeezed his fingers. “But persistence is. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust.”
Justin smiled, not sure what to say. He returned her squeeze then released her hand and sat back in his chair.
Together they turned to gaze at the ocean, watching in companionable silence as white foam broke along the shore and white gulls swooped over the turbulent water. The birds skimmed so close to the surface it seemed a wave would crash over them, dragging them under, but they always rose again to ascend upward to the clear blue sky.
Epilogue
The electromagnetic current pulsed through the superconductor, emitting a low vibration too subtle to hear but which Algernon could feel in his bones.
“You’re sure it’s safe to be so close to the machine while it’s in operation?” His aide, Darren Schmidt, leaned closely and spoke loudly, although there was really no audible noise to speak over.
He shot the man a hard look and Schmidt subsided, chastened. Algernon gazed for a moment at the almost simple-looking device filling the bed of the truck that had carried it to the triggering point in southeastern Illinois, then glanced at the engineer on his left. The man’s arms were crossed over his chest and the only sign of tension he displayed was a ticking muscle in his clenched jaw. A test run of the machine must be nerve-wracking for its creators, especially with their employer looking on.
For a brief moment as the machine powered up, Algernon thought about Raymond and regretted his death. He would have been proud to stand here with his son at his side watching their illustrious future unfold, but Raymond had proved as weak as his father had always suspected him to be. Raymond had failed in so many ways; interfering with Algernon’s men in the field by sending his own people to the same location, exposing his organization’s secrets to the public, and worst of all, making his own bid for the presidency. There’d simply been no way Raymond could be allowed to live. He’d been a disaster.
The low, steady pulse of the machine—not a hum precisely but a vibration on a molecular level—seemed to fill the air and throb in Algernon’s very marrow. The hair stood up on his head and a prickling feeling shimmered throughout his body as the waves of undiluted energy were emitted.
Algernon felt another sort of shiver pass through him, an erotic pulse of delight at the joy of destruction. He pictured the utter chaos the machine would produce, the heaving earth, destroyed lands, ruined cities, shattered lives. His cock stiffened. A smile curved his lips.
This was only the beginning, a trial run to shake things up a bit and get the humans’ attention. When Algernon Brody was the only person with a solution to the natural disasters suddenly erupting all over the planet, the people would clamor for him to become their president. And from President of the United States, it would be a trivial step to creating a world government with him at its head.
He closed his eyes as the power pulsed through him and smiled.
About a hundred miles away in southern Indiana, the earth began to shake.
The End
About the Author
Whether you're a fan of contemporary, paranormal, or historical romance, you'll find something to enjoy. My style is very personal and my characters will feel like well-known friends by the time you've finished reading. I'm interested in flawed, often damaged, people who find the fulfillment they seek in one another.
Visit my website at: www.bonniedee.com
The Shimmering Flame
Jeanne Barrack
First Published 2008
ISBN 978-1-59578-417-9
Blurb
Brigid Kawsantower is a Terran Water and Fire Keeper and the daughter of Dagda, a powerful Water Keeper and one time Terran leader of ancient Eire. Retreating before invading forces, Dagda veiled Brigid's spirit to keep it safe. Her powers would be essential to defeat Nimhnach, a maniacal Destroyer, who sought eternal life and world domination.
Brigid travels to Ireland with her husband, Gabe, a Terran Protector with a secret. Once they arrive at the little town of Carrigclarseach, the true reason for the trip, and her rightful title, is revealed. She learns of her position as a Terran, a clandestine group of supernatural beings who struggle to keep the Earth in balance.
Irish archeologist Ethan Clark is a Terran Singer and Air Keeper. Ages ago he was Dagda's harper and right hand man. And even more important, Ethan was Brigid's lover.
Gabe, Brigid, and Ethan must come together, in desire and in power, and Gabe must work with Ethan, his rival, to protect Brigid from Nimhnach. He must be vanquished before he unleashes a terror that will enslave the world and destr
oy Brigid's loves—past, present … and future.
Dedication
Beir beannacht o m' chroí go tír na hÉireann bán chnoic Éirinn—Take a blessing from my heart to the land of Éire, to the fair hills of Éire
And to my husband, Steve, who shared in the inspiration.
Prologue
Ireland—1268 B.C.E.
“Are you sure they’re dead?”
Torc Flatnose’s whisper echoed in Cull’s ear. He scratched his dirty, bird’s nest of a beard and replied, his voice hushed, “How should I know? There’s been no sound from where they are supposed to rest. Why don’t you go see?”
“Who, me? I’m not going. Last time I played scout I led us into an ambush that cost me this.” He jabbed his thumb at his distorted face where his ripped off nose once held prominence. “You go.”
The sound of scuffling feet put a halt to their words as Ma’an joined them in the cave mouth. He crouched next to Torc and tapped him on the shoulder. “Did you find them?”
“Quiet! We’re not sure. ‘Tis rumored that they’re quartered inside the cave, but we’ve not heard a sound since we arrived.”
Ma’an shook his head in disgust. “Let me light a torch and let’s see if they’ve left or await us. We can’t remain here with our thumbs up our arse!”
He drew out a short, rough wooden stake from his pouch and carefully wrapped a greased rag around one end. “Here. Cull, hold it steady while I light the flame.” Taking his precious fire starter from its holder, he struck the two stones together until a spark sprang to life, catching onto the soaked rag. “There. Now, follow me and keep your swords drawn.”
He led them farther into the cave. Their soft, leather shoes made little noise on the dusty cave floor. They held their breath as they turned corner after corner, going deeper within the earth. One last turn led them straight to their goal. Shadows gathered in the corners of the rocky chamber as though ready to pounce on the intruders. On the ground before them lay twelve warriors, stretched out on their sides on their bleached woolen cloaks. They formed an unmoving circle.
“By the teats of the Morrigan, they’re here!” Cull’s outcry pierced the silence.
Torc’s hand shot up, covering Cull’s mouth. “Lugh’s balls, man, do you wish to wake them?”
Ma’an shook his head and shoved the torch into a crevice in the roughhewn chamber. “There’s no noise loud enough to wake this bunch. They’re dead.” He paused. “I wonder who did our job for us?” He shrugged. “No matter, as long as Nimhnach believes we did the deed.”
Cull looked around the chamber. “Where’s Dagda?”
“Not here fortunately.” Ma’an took another step into the chamber until he stood in the center of the circle. “Listen carefully. Nimhnach said we are to sever their hands from their bodies and bring them back with us.”
“What, their hands?” Torc scratched his head in confusion. “Why not their heads?”
Ma’an spat into the dust of the cave and sighed, raising his eyes. “Do you regularly risk your life by questioning the druid’s commands?”
“Even one as strange as this?”
“Strange or not, ‘tis what we were commanded to do and so it shall be done.”
“We’ll need more light,” Cull said and grabbed the torch from the rocky wall. “Here, I’ll hold it while you and Torc…”
Ma’an squared his shoulders. “Do what must be done to save our families from the druid’s wrath.”
* * * *
Ireland—The present
1st April
“They’re dead, aren’t they, Sean?”
“What do you think this is, man, some bloody American horror flick?”
Sean’s powerful flashlight cast a harsh beam on the terrible scene before them. Eerie shadows danced on the cave walls revealing twelve mummified bodies. The naked corpses lay on their sides in a precise circle, their heads pointed toward the center, their legs bent.
Liam’s voice quivered with fear.
“If this isn’t a horror movie, then where the hell are their damn hands?”
Chapter One
Present Day Ireland
28th April—Late afternoon
“In other news this weekend, the mummified corpses discovered in a cave in County Donegal have been dubbed the ‘Twelve Warriors.’ Ethan Clark, a noted archeologist, calls this one of the greatest finds of the last seventy-five years and expects the examination of the Warrior Cave site to draw some of the world’s most noted anthropologists and archeologists. And now for today’s weather report…”
The portly innkeeper flicked off the small TV perched behind the registration desk and turned to the American couple waiting to get their keys. “Mummies. The TV people took up every spare room in town. Thanks be to God, they didn’t mention Carrigclarseach, else we’d have every loony in the country descending on us. Praise be, they packed up their bags and moved out the other day. ‘Tis lucky you are anyway to get Thorn Cottage. Professor Clooney fell and broke her hip, poor woman, and had to cancel her regular stay with us. She would have loved getting her hands on those corpses.”
A giggle escaped the young woman. “I thought they only had mummies in Egypt.”
“Nay, Dublin, too. ‘Tis crawling with ‘em.”
“Crawling, eh?” The man smiled briefly at the loquacious fellow. “I guess we’re lucky they’re not crawling around here.”
Connelly nodded. “Aye. Lucky, indeed.”
The young woman smiled. “That’s for sure.”
Connelly was dazzled. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Hair as gold as the sun and eyes gray-blue like the heavens on a soft day when a fine mist silvers the sky. Her husband looked to be a bit older, but quite distinguished looking. “And what brings you to our town?”
“It was a last minute decision on my part.” He glanced at his young companion with a fond look. “I wanted to give her a surprise belated birthday gift.”
“Well, ‘tis a wonderful gift then and welcome, cead mile failte and may your stay with us be a happy one.”
He presented the guest book and they signed their names. He checked them against their registration. Kawsantower, that was a right queer name, but Brigid, now, that was a fine Irish one. He handed over the old-fashioned keys with a flourish. “Mr. and Mrs. Kawsantower, you’ll find cheese and tomato sandwiches in your fridge with some pop. The missus thought you might be hungry after your drive from the airport. Will you be needing help with your luggage?”
Brigid shook her head. “No thanks. We packed light and the larger suitcases can be wheeled.”
“And please, it’s Brigid and Gabe. C’mon, Bridge. Let’s unpack. I could use a hot shower after driving all the way from Shannon.”
Connelly heard Brigid’s laughter drifting back through the front door as it slowly swung shut.
“You just want to have your wicked way with me, you greedy thing.”
He grinned. If he were Gabe Kawsantower he’d want his way with that one.
* * * *
“Oh, Gabe, it’s charming!”
The little thatched cottage was like something from another time. From the outside it looked like a centuries-old dwelling. Brigid knew it came with all the modern conveniences—the printout from the Irish tourist board website listed them with pride—yet the thought that came to her when she looked at the white-washed walls was to wonder if her great, great, great, grandmother had lived in one like it. She had no idea. Her grandmother had never spoken much about the town; there was an odd reluctance to even mention its name. When she was little she’d badgered her for tales of the old country, but she’d purse her lips and shoo her away. Then she died, leaving her alone until Gabe came into her life. Even Gabe claimed he didn’t know anything about Brigid’s ancestors. Whatever she knew about Ireland she learned on her own. Truth to tell, she found that she had the same unwillingness to delve too deeply. If Gabe hadn’t tricked her, she never would have thought to come this way.
But here they were and she was determined to enjoy herself.
“I knew you’d like this place.” Gabe smiled. “I’ll bring in the bags. Aren’t you glad I insisted we come?”
“Don’t break your arm patting your back. I expected to be sunning myself in Cancun, not a town in the back of beyond.”
“Well, I felt it was more than time to find out about your roots.”
“I guess you’re right. I wonder if anyone’s left who knew my people?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
They entered the cottage and stowed the bags in the bedroom. The queen-sized bed sported a rainbow-colored handmade quilt. Further exploration revealed a remodeled kitchen and a cozy breakfast nook that looked out onto a flowering garden. The parlor’s polished wood table was draped with lacy, fairy-web doilies, and an immense fireplace filled one entire wall. As Brigid admired the room, she heard Gabe’s voice through the open bedroom door. “The john’s tiny, but adequate.”
“Let me see.” Brigid re-entered the bedroom and peeked into the bathroom. “Yep, we’ll have to share the shower.” She yawned and flung herself onto one of the beds. “Damn, I’m beat. The time change must’ve gotten to me.”
“I know what you mean. Let’s turn in early. We’ll do some exploring tomorrow.”
“I’ll get those sandwiches Connelly mentioned.” She kicked off her sandals and strolled barefoot into the kitchen.
“Great, I’m starved.” Gabe slipped off his loafers, taking a moment to wiggle his toes in the plush rug lying on top of the shiny oak floor. “Let me help. I’ll set the table.”
Brigid laughed. “This I have to see.”
They gobbled up the sandwiches as if they hadn’t eaten for days. “I’m so full I can’t move.” Brigid licked the last crumb from the side of her mouth and heaved a contented sigh.