Born of Fire Read online

  Little was really known about Stash other than he was bloodthirsty, choosing moves hand selected for his opponents and to date, he’d never lost. In addition, ten fighters had ended up on the disabled list for extensive periods of time. He was the man to beat and there was no one rated in his league, or so the tabloids made certain and exploited as often as possible. The legend came with a bigger than life persona and from what Caldre had heard, Stash was dangerous in real life. Caldre had a feeling the rough-hewn man was hiding behind a mask. They all were.

  Shuddering, he kept his eyes pinned on the fighter as he grabbed a bottle of water and walked closer. He knew Sakima was Stash’s coach and the very notion further fueled the celebrity for both men. From what he knew, the two were an explosive combination. And dear God, he wanted desperately to be the fighter standing in the wings, the one who was going to be beat Stash and become noteworthy, someone to admire. He was willing to do just about anything to achieve his lofty goals. No matter the wins Stash had under his belt, as soon as the fighter approached Coach Mato, the fighter was reduced to a nobody.

  As he stood watching Sakima berating his own fighter, he suddenly had the feeling Sakima had noticed his possible intrusion. When Sakima pushed the man aside roughly and cursed, Caldre should have moved. Instead, he kept his ground, staring at the rough-hewn man, a wild myriad of thoughts and questions racing into the back of his mind. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Stash gave Sakima the finger, then spit before walking away. Some match the man was going to have. Maybe the fire burning within the incredible fighter was nothing more than the kicking he received from his coach.

  Slowly Sakima turned his head and while the distance was a solid two hundred yards, Caldre had no doubt the man was looking at him, concentrating on his actions. For a minute, he could swear the man was reading his mind. He swallowed hard and nodded in reverence. The grin crossing Sakima’s face was ominous. “Whew.” Formidable wasn’t the word.

  Sakima seemed to be studying Caldre, as if sizing him up. Before turning away, Sakima’s eyes flashed. Caldre turned to look at the clock. He was now very ready to fight.

  Two hours later he was on the mat, holding his own.

  “Go on, get him in a submission hold!” David screamed from the sidelines.

  “Go. Go!” The audience cheered.

  Caldre jerked to his feet, pushing hard against his opponent. Raper was damn good, much better than he’d anticipated. Sucking in his breath, he turned in a full circle and kicked out, using both feet. As his opponent toppled to the ground, Caldre knew he had one chance for the grapple, possibly pinning Raper, but securing the move was going to take everything he had. Using the strength of his legs, he pushed off the mat and fell, smack on top of the fighter, instantly jerking both an arm and a leg into a tight hold and twisting.

  “Ggggrrrr!” Raper screeched through clenched teeth.

  “That’s it! You got it!” David encouraged from the sidelines as he pumped his fist and crawled forward on the floor, getting as close to the mat as he was allowed. “Take him down. You can do it!”

  Closing his eyes, Caldre shifted and twisted again, tugging back on the man’s arm. Sucking in his breath, he held the stance, carefully grinding Raper’s arms back and forth. This time he heard a loud ‘pop’ then a sharp yelp.

  “Yes!” David pumped his fist. “Way to fucking go!”

  “Fuck!” Raper screamed out, his arm flailing.

  The audience went nuts, half of them rising to their feet.

  Cringing, Caldre rolled off Raper, panting and staring at the ceiling. He knew what had happened. Raper wouldn’t be fighting for a couple of months. As he rolled over, he blinked several times, wiping the beads of sweat before they fell into his eyes, and glanced into the audience. Instantly the look Sakima was giving him sent shivers racing down this back. The look wasn’t as much about fighting as the sensuous vibe was about raging hunger.

  Sakima Mato had watched the stunning blond fight on three occasions, never learning his name or giving a shit until now. He’d also seen him at the warehouse earlier in the day. The man was a firefighter. Interesting. Fire. Such a fascinating killer. There was a connection between them, one he wasn’t certain of yet. He had a sixth sense about him and as the opponent, one who’d bested several of his top men, fell to the ground in agony, he was more than just intrigued.

  Today the young man seemed to be burning with a fire in his belly. For a moment he closed his eyes, able to envision the fighter clearly. For a brief period, he was floating above the crowd, his inner eagle soaring. Seconds later he shook his head, wishing he was back in the days when his tribe and family were the only things he had to worry about. That had been two centuries before, when he believed in their culture, the way of the Indian. The way of our people. The thought may be truth, but he’d fought too long to become more white than red to turn back. Owning several businesses, including this one, meant more to him than anyone could understand. Turning back toward the fight, he smiled, thinking how he and his brothers used to fight in a similar fashion, all hell bent on winning. Now the brutal fighting was a sport.

  He knew raw talent easily, having been in the business of Mixed Martial Arts for over six years. Even before that, his work with boxers and other athletes allowed him a keen insight into those who were winners and those who should simply find something else to do with their time. There was a growing pool of men and women who were good, but the majority would burn out quickly from either injuries or the very concept of just how brutal the sport truly was. While he accepted few into his fold that he was willing to train, he had a waiting list several months long.

  He was proud of the fighters in his stable, as he enjoyed calling the group he trained and nurtured, but few had a true spark. Even Stash was getting too popular, too hyped up on his own image, choosing to frequent bars and sex shops for a bigger high. From the tabloids beginning to surface, the man was becoming a liability. He needed to find a new prize, one that might be able to keep his Board of Directors as well as the men supplying a significant portion of cash happy. There was no doubt in Sakima’s mind Stash was going to burn out soon. Neither his bank account nor the promises made to his investors could afford to lose the national champion, no matter what he had to do. The thought had been keeping him on the fringe, pushing Stash to the breaking point. And he didn’t give a shit.

  Seeing the golden-haired boy brought him a delicious thought, a glimmer of the future. He closed his eyes, a vivid image filling his mind. Whether he was truly seeing into the future or hoping this fighter would further his growing stable, he wasn’t certain, but he was going to pay close attention to the fighter’s abilities. There was something else, a moment catching him off guard. A swift vision from his distant past stopped him cold. He breathed in and the chill from his own breath was enough to make him rake his nails down the length of his arm. There was something wrong.

  Sakima was pulled into a vacuum and as memories flooded him he heard the creaking of his bones, the rush of what fluid remained in his body. Not now. This couldn’t happen now. The ancients’ prophesies and the curse had to be a myth told around campfires. He refused to believe the damning could be reality. Soon he would have to face facts. The Elders never lied. American Indians had fought the white and lost. Now they were fighting their ultimate demise, evil, those bent on stealing their very souls. Why was he thinking of this now?

  For a few seconds, the utter crushing sounds of every human’s heartbeat pounded into his ears. He resisted pressing his hands over his ears to calm the quiet torture. Instead, he looked down at his hand, half expecting the blasphemy of transformation to be happening now, in front of unsuspecting humans. There was no change, merely a shaking hand, bluish colored skin. Unfortunately, he was going to have to feed soon and the match wouldn’t be over for at least two hours. This was odd and hadn’t happened since…

  “Go! Fight!”

  Sakima snapped his head up as the pounding stopped, replaced
by screams from the audience. He’d worked too long and hard to become tops in a field that would allow him to be the man, the monster he really was. He certainly wasn’t going to fuck it up because of some curse. The thought made him chuckle. Every one of his kind feared finding the one, the very person they were most connected to and the single entity in which they had two choices to make, kill or be killed. He refused to take part in bullshit. Concentrate on your work. “Yes.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he homed in on the fighter and could taste the raw emotions erupting from every pore in the man. My God, the young man was attractive and there was an increasing connection growing between them. He had such an intense feeling of knowing. Had they met before? No, that he would know. The blond was also fighting very well. Moving closer to the mat, he rubbed his finger back and forth across his mouth, his hunger growing. As the blond moved, felling his opponent in a surprising submission hold, he was mildly impressed. Raw talent was there, but unchained. Captivating.

  As the match concluded, he raised his eyebrows and grew more curious regarding the identity of the fighter. Only the major players were given the accolades, either in or out of the ring. He glanced at the man’s coach and hissed under his breath. The jerk wasn’t what the blond needed. Not by a long shot. Exhaling, he walked toward the white board containing all the fights and the player’s names. Caldre Parker. Interesting the fighter had no handle yet. The very concept seemed to be important to Americans.

  He walked closer to the mat and inhaled deeply. Caldre’s scent was rich in testosterone and excitement, as well as fear, and Sakima couldn’t help but smile. Caldre was inexperienced and still very eager. As he studied him, watching the way his body moved, he couldn’t help but desire to meet the young man who certainly had an intriguing vibe. The second he moved forward there was a wash of discernment sliding down the length of his body. The one. There was no way. This couldn’t be the case. Yet as he sniffed again, the rich scent was telling no lies. They were meant to be together.

  Sakima rubbed his eyes and he stretched out his hand, curling his fingers. This was completely unexpected. He knew instinctively the young man had been fighting his true destiny his entire life, but something had happened to change the outcome of his very future. Something he was unable to pick up on. As the blond stepped off the mat, bowing to his opponent as well as the cheering audience, Sakima eased into the background, content to watch the way Caldre moved in real life. The mystery made him curious but there wasn’t any doubt their meeting was, in a sense, planned. Nothing happened in the world of his kind without reason and a sinful kind of Karma, one he’d fought for eons.

  Sakima often told recruiters as well as fighters who were conflicted about their moves in the ring to be more concerned with every day, from their walk to their breathing. Few followed his directions, which led to so many of his fighters being fired after the first month. Smiling, he had a feeling about Caldre, a burning deep in his belly. The man could be a star. He was almost never wrong. Almost.

  As Caldre walked to the back of the gym, grabbing a cup of water, he followed behind. No one congratulated him or even bothered to toss him a towel. Caldre was still a nobody. When he was barely six inches from the man, he finally spoke, every word calculated. “Your form is very good. Your stance is horrible. Your submission moves wretched. However, you do have talent but you have the wrong coach. The man has no clue.”

  Caldre narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you the expert?”

  “A few years of fighting in my own arena,” Sakima said quietly. Yes, he certainly had the young man thinking. “I used to fight with my brothers. They were much more unyielding than any man who’ll ever challenge you.”

  “All right. I’m listening.”

  “I’m not into poaching, but I can tell you that Coach Reynolds doesn’t have your best interests at heart and how do I know that? Because he only carries the top three fighters to playoffs and the rest he discards early on. If you’re simply in the sport for unrefined glory, perhaps showing off for family and friends, then by all means stay with the coach you have. If you’re looking to do something with the sport, perhaps actually rank for a year or two, then you’re going to need someone who can take you to new heights. You’re also going to require someone who doesn’t feed you lines of bullshit. Only you know what you need.”

  “You think I’m worth the time?”

  “You have some talent and I have an innate ability to weed out the best from a sea of mediocrity. You wouldn’t mind being the caliber of Stash, now would you?”

  “If that’s possible. Yes, that’s an accomplishment I would relish in and work hard to achieve.”

  He kept his eyes locked on Caldre’s for a full minute before handing him a business card. Yes, he was right that Caldre was searching to find the real man, one secured behind a creation that started long before Caldre had even been born. If he were right with his suspicions then Caldre would need his help soon enough. He would only know the truth after a physical connection was made. It was time to find out what he was dealing with. “Hard work is what you’d have to do, becoming completely committed to training. If you’re unable to do so, then this sport isn’t for you. You have to have heart and soul, as well an understanding of how much work it’s going to take.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope you really do.” The instant their fingers touched Sakima was taken aback. Dear God, he’d been right. No, the ugly truth was the Elders had seen the future, laying down their lives so the future warriors could live. Dreams of the Eagles can’t be denied. The saying was taught to him as a young boy, long before his village was destroyed by fire, his brothers slaughtered and his sister raped at the hands of the white man. He doubted his Elders would understand his growing need for blood. No. He fought to control his raging libido and had to take a step back, biting back a deep growl. This never happened. This connection was too damn strong. There was more to this story.

  He could tell instantly Caldre sensed the odd tethering but to the man’s credit, Caldre remained steady, giving Sakima a curious look. Yet Sakima could read his mind, tell what he was thinking. Another wave of cold chills washed over him as thoughts about his past seemed to be right there, a terrible reminder of what he was and what he had been. He’d never had to fight for his sanity since leaving the old country. America was filled with promise, and not just for humans. Now this. Caldre seemed to have no idea who or what he was. Karma had intervened after all and Sakima was lost to the growing need. Suddenly, his head was aching. He needed blood soon—another bad sign.

  “Since I have no friends or family that I would share my involvement in the sport, I must be in this for more than my fifteen minutes of fame. Tell me, what makes me think you might be able to help me succeed?”

  Sakima was never challenged and for a few seconds he considered retorting. Instead, he smiled. “Because I’ve taken twelve men and three women to the National Mixed Martial Art Championships. Stash may be a rare breed, but I’m hungry for more. Very hungry. I daresay your coach has yet to take one. This is your choice. As I said, I refuse to poach. But…” He held up his finger. “If you do decide to come talk with me, come prepared. I am known as a savage monster.”

  A smile curled on Caldre’s mouth. “Duly noted.”

  “Good. Then we have an understanding. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As Sakima moved back into the shadows, he could hear what Caldre was thinking. The realization the fighter was interested in more than just becoming a top seed was fascinating indeed. Sakima would need some relief tonight as well as food.

  Less than an hour later he was in his car, barely ten minutes from his estate. He’d called the only man he trusted and knew Tor would provide what he required without question. He remained on edge, angry at what was happening. Why now? Because of the timing or simply a course of finding the man that could be his mate? Yes, he was enraged, but as the Elders of his kind always reminded the younger vampires, creatures couldn’t run from dest
iny. Sakima laughed and slapped his hand on top of the steering wheel. Those who believed in creatures of the night thought them to be immortal. Sadly, Sakima knew better.

  As he drove through the darkened night, his hunger sliding off the charts, he continued to think about Caldre and about the current coursing between then. He was unable to pull away from the need. Stepping on the gas pedal, he snarled and fisted his mouth, his eyes flashing in the darkness. This wasn’t to be expected, nor an occurrence that had happened to him in so many years. Years? He snorted as he jerked the steering wheel, savoring the screeching sound the tires made on the pavement. He was going to have to face the inevitable but not tonight.

  Sakima shook his head and forced back the vivid images of Caldre, naked and tied to his bed, ready to do his bidding, ready to succumb. They were scintillating thoughts indeed, but not necessarily anything that could happen, at least during the beginning stages. Pushing his foot down on the pedal, he was shoved back hard into his seat. For so many years he’d fought to thwart his heritage, his spirituality, yet his visions were suddenly enthralling, enticing in a manner they hadn’t been in decades. The rush of adrenaline given his increasing speed had a calming effect. There was nothing like the power of his beloved Ferrari. He roared past the guardhouse, not bothering to look or wave at the guards.

  Pulling down his street, he clicked the control panel located on the dashboard of his car and smiled as the heavy iron gates swung open. He raced the car inside, hitting the button again, and screeched up the long driveway. When he pulled into the garage and killed the engine, he sat quietly for a full minute before climbing out of the car. A single sniff told him his trusted minion had secured food and sex for the night. Thank God, for a decent friend he could trust implicitly.

  He jerked off his gloves, tossing them into the car, and slammed the door. The moment he advanced toward the door, he licked his lips, dragging the tip across his gums. Almost instantly his canines began to erupt from the deep recesses of his tissue. Storming through the house, he didn’t need to be told where he was going. His playroom was the single location in his house he accepted men for his needs and the preparations were almost always the same.