Born of Fire Read online

  “I am the one you seek, the man you crave. I am…”

  The words trailed off, only evil laughter remained.

  He pushed harder, moving into the darkness as if surrounded by a barrier. Every limb was shaking, chills sweeping through his body. The laughter continued, drawing him further into the darkness. His heart was racing, sending thudding echoes into his ears. “What do you want?” There was nothing but quiet for several minutes as wind whipped through the bank of trees, sending ominous shadows into the twilight. “Tell me, what do you want?” Hearing a subtle whisper, he turned to his left. The face, the eyes and the blood dripping from the man’s mouth were horrifying enough, but the realization of what he was seeing was much worse.

  “Your very soul…”

  Shaking, Caldre pushed the memory of the brutal dream from his mind. The ugly nightmares had been getting worse over the past several weeks. The visions were always savage and full of blood and gore. The creature was beating him with a whip, the blows forcing him into unconsciousness. “Jesus.” Perhaps the fights had brought this side out of him. No matter. He had work to do. The very thought Michael was haunting him, blaming him for his death was something he’d never be able to get over. Why should he? He could have stopped the madness, maybe gotten Michael help. Instead, he had been so incensed by what oddities Michael had gotten into, he’d shoved the man out of his life. Now he knew Michael had only tried to help, warn him. What the hell was he warning him against? He had a horrible feeling it was from himself and this supposed destiny.

  “Let it go.” His heart racing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Yes, he could let it all go. His life was changing for the better.

  He’d had spent the better part of the day watching film clips of Stash in action as well as reading every article he could find on Sakima. The team was certainly a media darling, at least in the sense Sakima had supporters as well as what could only be considered clear enemies. Perhaps certain hatreds expressed were because Sakima was considered pompous to own the franchise and handle the coaching of the fighters as well. Most owners remained in the background, handling the marketing end and finances only. Sakima seemed to be a superman, doing all the duties with little support.

  Sakima the man was an enigma and he was constantly dogged in the tabloids. The sexy man was even considered a very eligible bachelor. From what he could find, the coach remained in the background, keeping his private life very private indeed and there was an air of mystery surrounding him. In a sport that was brutal and sometimes considered sexy, Sakima remained notably asexual. In all the pictures Caldre could find of moments out of the ring, which admittedly were few and far between, Sakima hadn’t been photographed with a man or a woman by his side. He had the distinct feeling Sakima was gay, given the way the coach had looked at him, but he’d been known to be wrong before. Hell, maybe he was just horny.

  The thought giving him a smile, he clicked off his computer, grabbed the address and his keys and headed out the door. Whatever was going on he wanted to get to know Sakima better, maybe carnally. Jesus. He hadn’t had this kind of reaction since Michael’s death. Maybe this was breathing new life into him.

  Sakima lived in the finest section in Cleveland, an exclusive gated neighborhood where the homes were worth more money than he’d ever make in his life. He was excited about the meeting as well as apprehensive. There were so many thoughts about his future and his desire for the fights and he hadn’t been able to compartmentalize either his need for the sport in conjunction with his day job.

  As he revved the engine, shifting the gears as he rolled down the streets, he envisioned winning the championship. Wouldn’t that be something? He turned up the volume on his radio, indulging in the heady alternative rock station, and sped toward the interstate. Caldre wanted to believe he was ready for everything tonight, no matter what the riveting man had in mind, but he was just as uneasy as he was excited. There was a way about Sakima, as if he could see right through Caldre. Gripping the steering wheel, he fought back his nerves. This was everything he’d wanted, what he’d fantasized about.

  This was his time. Period. He concentrated on his breathing and the music as he drove the rest of the way, lofty thoughts remaining in the forefront of his mind. The man at the guardhouse had been told to expect him, although he studied Caldre’s oversized Dodge Ram with disdain, finally motioning him through with directions to go all the way to the back of the community. As he drove down the lengthy tree-lined street, he envisioned living in such a grand location. The homes had to be worth several million dollars. What little he knew about the mix of homeowners was that they were the upper echelon of Cleveland society—politicians and judges, doctors and engineers. This was the place to live. Which meant Mr. Mato was doing very well.

  He parked in the driveway and stood outside his truck for a solid five minutes before walking toward the door. Before he had a chance to knock, the door was opened. The man standing in the doorway was dark skinned and handsome, a knowing look on his face. Standing at least six foot four, he was muscular yet well-toned. He reminded Caldre of a fighter. “I’m Caldre Parker and…”

  “Yes, of course. The Master is expecting you. Please come in.”

  The Master? The revered term surprised the hell out of him, especially given the look of the man. “Master?”

  “Yes.” He shot a look in Caldre’s direction as he closed the door behind him. “I apologize. Where are my manners? You don’t know him in that manner yet. I’m Tor. I’ve been working for Mr. Mato for years, catering to his needs. I’ve come to see his ways as quite honorable so I call him Master.” Holding out his hand he smiled, his eyes twinkling.

  “Good to meet you.”

  “And you as well.”

  Caldre felt an instant trustworthiness in Tor, his gut telling him there was a quiet reverence in whatever relationship he had with Sakima. His curiosity grew. This must be Sakima’s chef.

  “Please come in. The Master has asked that I make certain you’re comfortable. He’s finishing a business call and will be joining you in just a few moments.”

  Caldre trailed behind the larger man and admired the hallways full of what he knew to be expensive paintings adorning the walls. The splash of vivid color was undeniably potent, the subjects provocative and seductive in a dark-hued fashion. As he passed by first one and another picture, the very realization he was looking at varied views of death, all ominous and well crafted, was haunting. There were richly developed stories in the well-crafted pieces. Stopping in front of an oversized painting, the reds and shocking blues splashed across the entire canvas were powerful and so very sensuous.

  “Stunning, yes?”

  “Yes. Mr. Mato has some very unusual tastes.”

  Tor nodded. “Much more than you know. He has a way of finding some of the most incredible new talent in the art world and commissioning pieces for his private collection. These are very tame in comparison to some of the ones located in his bed chambers.”

  He turned his head and seeing the way Tor’s eyes flashed was very telling. Swallowing hard, he studied the face of the man in the picture and for a few seconds was so drawn to the terrified face, the disturbed eyes of the subject that he was barely able to breathe. He felt he could hear the gasps erupting from the young blonde’s mouth. As he studied the background of the painting, he could easily tell there were men on horseback chasing the boy deeper into the woods and he knew into his death. Dear God, the look on the man’s face was a reminder of the man in his dreams. He looked away, calming his nerves. This couldn’t be. He glanced again and was instantly pulled into the horror, the wretched feelings of terror and anguish the man was experiencing. The man in the picture was holding out his hands, as if begging someone to help him, release him from Hell.

  You’re a monster…

  No! He refused to do this. Shivering, he held his arms and could hear a slight gasp slipping past his lips. So much about the picture was utterly terrifying and his
heart was racing, sending a series of dull echoes into his ears. Caldre was taken aback as the clip clop of the horse’s hooves, the call of the stranger floated in the air. He shivered and forced himself to look away.

  “Quite a reaction,” Tor said quietly. “You’re an Empath.”

  Caldre narrowed his eyes. No one knew of his ability. No one. Maybe his empathic abilities were dragging him into the private world of the model in the picture. Maybe he’d been drawn to this and his nightmares wrapped around a lost soul. Then again, maybe he was losing his mind. He swallowed hard and clenched his fist. “Not practiced and only sometimes do I truly hone in on my feelings. How did you know?”

  Tor simply smiled as he glanced at the painting. “I know. I could sense such foreboding in you, as if you were in the story. Come. Let’s get you a drink.” Opening a set of double doors, he swept his arm out. “Bourbon?”

  Cold chills slithered down his spine. Tor knew far too much about him. Granted, Sakima had certainly told Caldre he’d done his homework, finding out details about him, yet there was more to Tor’s knowledge.

  “Caldre, bourbon. Correct?”

  “Yes. I… yes.” Smiling, he shook off the eerie feeling as he looked around the room. Even the expansive space was beautiful with a seductive flair. The plush black leather sofa and the incredible stone fireplace were a reflection of the man himself. He was becoming more intrigued with Sakima and his heightened level of prowess. He studied Tor as the man made a drink, becoming almost certain he could detect an extreme closeness to Sakima. Were they lovers or more? While he couldn’t tell, he gathered a sense of protection.

  “Here you are. Please make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be served in about an hour.” As he continued to study Caldre, Tor handed him the glass, his gaze never leaving Caldre’s face.

  “You’re his personal chef as well?”

  “I’m many things, Mr. Parker including a chef by trade. Does that surprise you?”

  The words gave him pause, the meaning mixed. “I admit, I wouldn’t have guessed. I look forward to enjoying your cuisine.”

  Nodding, Tor moved toward the door. He turned before leaving, a mischievous grin on his face. “Things are not always as they seem. Remember that.”

  “True. Very true.” After Tor left, he took a sip of his drink, and found himself walking back to the pictures. Why did they bother him so much? While the memories of his nightmares certainly remained haunting, the same way the pictures were having an effect, his discomfort was increasing. He had a terrible feeling he was looking at the future. His or someone else? The very thought terrified him.

  He stood swirling the drink in his glass as he looked back and forth from picture to picture, until he forced himself to look away. An eerie sensation washed over him and Caldre sensed a presence. Tipping his head, he locked eyes with Sakima and could swear his eyes were changing colors, the warm glow illuminated in the dim lighting. Sucking in his breath, he pressed the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “Stunning and provocative. I found these pieces a perfect representation of my tastes. I can tell you’re very intrigued, moved by them.”

  “They are very disturbing.”

  “Yes, they tell a story about a man’s torture, his hidden identity trying desperately to break through.”

  Caldre swallowed hard, the sensuous and yet almost dangerous tone of the man sending trickles down his back. “An interesting way of summarizing the painting. As if he’s hiding from the world, fearful to allow anyone to see the real man behind the mask.”

  “Very well said and we all hide behind who we think we have to be. Don’t we, Mr. Parker?”

  Caldre turned to face him. Seeing Sakima in a more relaxed atmosphere was certainly much more enticing. Dressed in all black, the look was formidable and yet seductive at the same time. The form fitting linen pants and silk shirt gave him an air of quiet authority, commanding and very powerful. “Yes, I suppose we do, Mr. Mato. The paintings are also very sad, the horror of whatever is happening chilling.”

  “Yes, and Sakima please. They are that as well. That’s why I’m drawn to them so much I suppose. I tend to see the darker sides of things in life.” He walked toward the small bar, preparing a drink as he gazed at the closest piece. “I very much enjoy old-world style art versus the modern pieces. I find them richly involving. Thank you for coming. I hope that Tor has made you comfortable?”

  “Caldre and yes. Tor is a fascinating man.” He had to move past the paintings, the nightmares.

  “Caldre it is. Tor is many things including being an incredible chef and perhaps the only man who understands my needs. Very trustworthy, which is something I value highly. For a man to betray me is worse than anything in my book.”

  There seemed to be a hidden meaning in the words, as if he’d been betrayed on so many levels. “I certainly understand.”

  “Tor is also the nutritionist for my fighters. I take all aspects of training very serious.” Taking several steps toward Caldre, he glanced down the length of Caldre’s body, moving back up to gaze into his eyes in a nonchalant manner. “And you’re wondering if we’re lovers, Master to submissive, protégé to a man in charge. Yes?”

  As heat rose across his face, he laughed nervously. “I’m that transparent?”

  “Very much so, and to answer your question, yes, we have been, but we are no longer. I try and not mix business with my intense taste in all things pleasurable. Besides, Tor prefers being my friend and I his mentor, versus the particular brand of needs I have.” Taking a swill of his drink, his eyes narrowed.

  Caldre could easily tell he was being sized up, a determination as to just how dark and formidable Sakima could be—or perhaps merely how direct. “And just what are those needs?”

  “Are you certain you want to know?”

  “Very much so.”

  Sakima took a step back. “I demand complete devotion as well as total submission. I refuse to accept anything less.” His eyes showing arrogance, he took another step toward Caldre.

  “In work as well as play?”

  “I assure you, I never play. What I enjoy means very much to me and I work at all aspects of my life very diligently, preferring men who see my desires as similar to their own. You see, I hunger for the right partner, one who truly understands what I am and what I can offer.”

  The way he said the phrasing, using ‘what’ instead of ‘who’ wasn’t lost on him. Caldre had the feeling he was being tested in several ways. “You’ve never found the right partner?”

  “I’ve come close, very close to perfection of a species, but it seems as soon as I allow my guard down, a moment of pure trust, I am betrayed overtly. I can no longer risk trusting but so much.”

  “Because of your business, your wealth?” A species? Sakima’s words continued to intrigue him.

  Sakima smiled. “That’s a small part of my concern. I am a man of many layers and sharing them takes time.”

  “As with all good things.” A shiver trickled down his spine. He gathered a sense that Sakima was hiding his past, a period of his life he preferred not discussing. Didn’t they all have a portion of a past life that was best left in the past?

  “Yes, very good point. Come, Caldre. Allow me to show you the rest of the house. Then we’ll sit and talk before dinner. After that, I would like to spend some time evaluating whether or not you’d make a good team member.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “Discussion first. You need to understand what I’m asking of you and I need to determine whether you have what it takes to be a champion. I only take men and women who work hard for this, refusing to be second in any aspect. Is that clear?” Sakima gave him a commanding look.

  “Very.”

  “Is this an attribute you long for, refusing to accept second?”

  Caldre sighed as he sucked in his breath. There was no hesitation in his needs, his wants. God, he was so ready. “More than anything.”

  “Good. We’re g
oing to see. Now, allow us to enjoy getting to know each other. I’ve been doing this for a very long time and the best partnerships are those who are truly much more like a relationship. I need to understand what makes my fighters tick. I want to know every aspect of what they desire and need, what they fear and what they can’t tolerate. I’m going to push and push hard, but I make certain my fighters are at least understanding of my requirements. Make no bones about the fact I require my fighters to be focused and I will not accept any bullshit. Period.”

  “Understood.”

  “Excellent,” Sakima said simply. “Bring your drink.”

  Caldre trailed behind Sakima as the man showed off his extensive collection of rare and beautiful works of art. The entire group had to be worth a significant amount of money. They were haunted but incredibly beautiful, extremely awe inspiring and the works certainly highlighted Sakima’s American Indian heritage. He was honored being allowed to share in such treasures.

  As they moved up a long flight of stairs and down a wide hallway, he sensed this was a location of reverence for Sakima. His entire demeanor changed, his body being rigid, his face filled with admiration. “You’re very spiritual.”

  “Not as much as I used to be.”

  “From the little I understand about your culture, the notion of spirituality is far removed from this world, a soaring of Eagles to a higher plane.” He thought he’d insulted the man but when Sakima stopped and turned, he could see surprise in his eyes.

  “Yes. For some of us we’ve faltered, forgotten our ancient teachings. This is blasphemy to our kind.”

  Using the word ‘kind’ was interesting. Caldre studied Sakima’s eyes for a few seconds. “The truth behind a good man lies in his soul and my beliefs are that no creature can take away true beliefs. You simply have to push past the bullshit.” He thought he’d crossed some invisible line until Sakima nodded, a serene looking replacing the tense one.

  “You speak as if you are religious.”

  “Not even remotely so,” Caldre said, hating to admit. “Not after my parents were killed in a traffic accident. The drunk driver hit them head on doing over ninety. They never knew what hit them. The accident occurred on Sunday morning as my parents were going to church.”