Born Into Fire Read online

  Table of Contents

  Born Into Fire

  Copyright

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  PRAISE FOR AUTHORS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press, Inc. publication.

  Born Into Fire

  by

  KyAnn Waters

  &

  Tarah Scott

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Born Into Fire

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by:

  KyAnn Waters & Tarah Scott

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, December 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-804-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction

  acknowledges the following trademarks:

  Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited Corporation

  Ford Mustang: Ford Motor Company Corporation

  PRAISE FOR AUTHORS

  KyAnn Waters & Tarah Scott

  DOUBLE BANG!

  “…this is a spicy, sexy story (m/f/m) with just a hint of danger thrown in. Double Bang! made a perfect bedtime story…”

  ~Vicky, Sizzling Hot Reviews

  “Could she really have all she wants; the fantasy with an option for forever? The sex was smoking, of course, and just that - sex. Once that elephant is escorted from the room we are left with the reality of Devon and Sara having a future together. How great is that? Not to be missed.”

  ~Chris, Night Owl Romance

  “Born into Fire is a faced paced story from beginning to end and leaves the reader looking for more. I am hoping there are future stories that pick up where this one leaves you longing for more!”

  ~Mona, Siren Book Reviews

  Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow.

  —Aesop

  In the Beginning…

  Eons ago, a mighty wizard risked the peril of the void that is Ghen and drew forth the primal elements. He merged element and man to create the Ryalda, champions ordained to guard the world of form. But the emptiness beyond battled back. The warrior heroes fought, but in the end, were consumed by the formless Ghen.

  Now, Shadows bleed into the world.

  And Sentinels watch…to maintain balance…and defend against the Elements.

  Chapter One

  A breeze, that was him, fluttered the ivory curtains. Moonlight streamed through the open window, outlining the sleeping form beneath the sheet covering the queen-size bed. He hovered. Why had he answered the call of her element? He had no right. Anguish wrenched through him. Long ago, he’d answered the call of another Element, and she’d paid with her life. The memory—the pain—didn’t stop the rake of his gaze down the cotton sheet that revealed every lush curve of the sleeping woman’s body. Desire streaked through him. The fabric ruffled in response to his command, then slid downward.

  He sucked in a harsh breath. Softly molded shoulders gave way to rounded breasts tipped with quarter-size areolas then a flat tummy and trim thighs led to long, toned legs. An unexpected vision surfaced of those legs wrapped tight around his waist while he thrust into her. The swirling vortex that was his core leaped into a furious dance.

  Go, his mind commanded.

  Fluid veins of amber light erupted beneath her skin. He stood frozen, her fire a drag on his wind that lay open the ache buried deep within.

  Leave, came a second panicked admonition.

  She inhaled.

  Realization hit. Too late.

  She drew him deep into her lungs. Warmth infused him in a heady rush. He struggled in desperation to escape the current, but each beat of her heart thrummed through him, echoing in his mind in a thunderous rhythm. The flow of blood through her veins washed over him like a thick velvet river.

  And he gave in.

  As if sensing him, she hesitated, then breathed him out on a shaky exhale. He shuddered, the loss tearing a howl of fury from him.

  “More.” She wanted more. He needed more.

  As wind, he lay beyond tangible comprehension, a cool breeze, nothing more. He could take a small piece and not imprint on her. This woman would be born into fire—without him.

  In one decadent breath, he draped himself over her, touched all of her. Her heated skin cooled. No mortal man could experience her as he did. No mortal man could touch her as he could. He chilled the air over her nipples, then watched as they peaked, and felt them pucker. Commanding a gentle breeze, he caressed her contours, fitting his shape to hers.

  She moaned. Excitement rocketed through him, and the current within him swirled. She shivered. He hesitated. Even a second too long would leave her with a sense of familiarity. He must leave or risk revealing himself—or worse, bonding.

  Heat pooled between her legs. Every fiber of his being screamed, go. Yet, as if anchored by unseen chains, he remained motionless, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of energy that built in her erogenous points.

  Only a moment, his heart urged. A mere whisper of her essence to ease the emptiness. Then he would leave.

  He focused hot pressure, the wispy kiss of an Air Element, to her neck. As he trailed the pressure to her nipple, he turned the air icy. She bowed off the bed. He filled the space behind her arched back, curving up toward her neck and down across her rounded buttocks. Her breath came in quick pants, frosting the air—him.

  Frigid pressure tightened her nipples to erect peaks. He swirled air around the tips. She collapsed, thrashing on the pillow, and covered her breasts as if to ease the aching cold he created. Her hands heated until they glowed. The fire within her.

  The glow spread up her arms, radiated out from her torso, and emitted a scorching heat that heightened his frequency to a fevered pitch. Fire. Fiera. His heart constricted. He had no right to name her. He would not be the one to bring her into being. She would seek another. But he would have this memory.

  Air spun around her body. Faster, hotter. The friction against her skin hardened him. His core grew heavier. “Spread your legs.” The unbidden words echoed in his mind, but the unspoken command carried on the current of his breath and caressed her ear. She pulled her legs up and, knees bent, opened wide for him. He glided downward until his breath disturbed the auburn curls covering her mound.

  The scent of her arousal penetrated his core. A need to shift into human form and taste her sweet nectar pooled energy into his center. He moved upward, concentrating until he held
the gossamer form of a man, and settled vaporous hips between her thighs. In air form, he couldn’t slip his tongue into the sweet recesses of her mouth, couldn’t spread her damp folds, or plunge his rigid cock into her forbidden depths. But he could feel the heat.

  “Open for me,” he coaxed.

  Fiera moaned and reached between her legs. With a delicate stroke, she traced the seam of her pussy. He vibrated the air over her clit. A soft smile tilted her lips. Satisfaction rippled through him. She wanted more.

  In a cyclone of current, he swirled around her. Strands of her flaming red hair danced in the static-filled air. Her peach-hued nipples puckered, her chest rose and fell with each deep breath she took.

  More energy. Faster wind. Yes. Her hips rose off the bed, and she plunged a finger inside her channel. When she fit a second finger into her drenched opening and thrust deep, energy shot in a jagged pattern from his core to her channel. She cried out. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t wake.

  With her free hand, she touched her clit and thrust her hips wildly against an unseen force. Him. Gyrating her hips, bucking and arching, she fucked him, but used her own fingers. His mind whirled with her energy. It was as if she swirled around him.

  The other female Air Element, the one who now haunted him, had engulfed him as Fiera did. He forced the anguished recollection into the fury of energy. Fiera convulsed in pleasure. He envisioned thrusting his solid cock into her channel, her sheathing him with breath-stealing strength. He clenched against the intensifying need to shift into human form, centered his energy on the torrential wave of her release, and absorbed the fragrance of her cream as she cried out.

  Chapter Two

  Kenna Lang jackknifed upright in bed. Wind blasted over her fevered flesh. Her pussy pulsed with sudden emptiness, and she dragged in breath with a final wave of orgasm. Holy shit. A dream.

  She jammed her eyes shut and mentally clutched at the receding edges of the erotic vision. A barely distinguishable whirlpooling shadow moved against the darkness within her mind, then evaporated. An answering echo of pleasure clenched her pussy.

  Wind fluttered over her, cooling the sweat-dampened hair at her temples, soothing her rampant heartbeat. She opened her eyes and stood. The room seemed to shift. She grabbed the edge of her grandmother’s armoire and inhaled a steadying breath. Curtains billowed at the window opposite the bed, then stilled. Rain and wooded scents lingered in the air…as did the heavy aroma of sex.

  She took two steps, scooped up the robe that had fallen from the bed, and slipped her arms inside the long sleeves as she crossed to the window. Cool air washed over her heated skin when she drew near, and she let the robe fall open. Goose bumps chased across her arms. Despite the chill—needing the chill—she leaned into the brisk air and gazed heavenward. Stars sparkled in the cloudless night sky over Lakewood, Colorado. A hawk screeched in the distance. A storm had blown straight through while she slept.

  Kenna faced the bed. The sheet lay in a tangled mess across the mattress. She’d flung her pillow clear to the door. The chaos explained the uneasy feeling in her belly. She’d obviously had a fitful night. But the dream, the sexual energy, had been so real. Given the hard orgasm that woke her, she should be feeling ready to take on the world. Yet sexual tension still hummed through her like a live wire. Another wave of shivers raced across her flesh. She’d come, but the experience had been unlike any she’d ever dreamed—or imagined. She hadn’t been that aroused…ever.

  She grimaced. The pent-up anxiety over her upcoming show must have channeled into emotional chaos. Just thinking about the show started the gnawing in her stomach that had begun when Michael Laird first contacted her three months ago. This was her first major glass art exhibit—and it was now only two weeks away. Half a dozen crates had been shipped to the gallery. Several in-progress pieces lined a shelf in her workshop, but it was the special not-yet-started project that had her nervous. As a child, she’d envisioned the piece and, good or bad, the dragons she called Drakaura would define her as an artist.

  A nervous quiver radiated through her. Marshall Thomas would be attending the show. She hadn’t seen her mentor since showing him her first attempt at Drakaura two years ago. He’d accused her of copying William Gudentrath, and she’d walked out without a word.

  She understood the risk of blowing dragons in glass. William’s dragon glass goblets were world renowned. But he worked in muted copper, dark wine, ivory, and soft green, whereas her Drakaura was vivid greens, reds, and oranges. Still, Marshall’s accusation had played into the very fear that her critics fueled: the hidden passion within the glass was missing. What would they think of her dragon theme? What would Marshal think of it?

  He had read about her upcoming show. His congratulations had included an offer to fly in from Texas and help out. Sadness tugged at her. She missed him, the way he brought the art to life for her, his patient teaching. But was she ready to see him?

  Kenna shrugged off the anxiety, changed into faded jeans and a T-shirt, then started down the stairs of the two-story Colonial that had once been her grandmother’s home. The third step creaked. Kenna smiled. The seventh step would grumble next, then the eighth, and lastly, the twelfth. Many found the groans of an old house creepy, but she knew the sounds began and ended with the wind.

  Ten minutes later, a hot cup of coffee in hand, Kenna walked the few feet from the house to her garage turned workshop. She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. A breeze wafted past as she entered.

  Her heart always jump-started at the sight of the three glassblowing furnaces that dominated the workshop. A massive five-by-six freestanding crucible furnace to melt the glass sat near the farthest right-hand corner. To its right, along the garage doors, a six-by-four front-loading annealing oven used to slowly cool the glass sat on steel legs, while a pipe-shaped insulated firebrick glory hole furnace used to reheat the glass lay beside it. Five years of eating alphabet soup, bread, and skim milk had been worth it.

  Nearer the middle of the room sat the marver, the steel table where she worked the glass. Two parallel rails held the pipe while she worked with the glass to form the skin. Blown glass filled the shelves lining all four walls.

  Kenna closed and locked the door, then crossed to the workbench and set her coffee and keys on the tabletop. After lighting the glory hole furnace, she stood, her gaze on the far shelf where she’d tucked away the piece she’d named Twilight Glide: a solid fire-colored base with a translucent yellow half-moon in the middle. A swirling crimson stem rose from the moon, and a sleek dragon, its dark green wings spread, soared above. Not quite Drakaura, but nothing like Gudentrath. This new piece was to follow the others already shipped to the Michael Laird Gallery for the Emergence of the Dragon exhibit.

  The yet uncreated centerpiece rose in memory as if stepping from the furnace fully formed. A tremor of familiar excitement fluttered her heart. Dreams as a child had conjured feathered dragons that guarded her in the deepest part of the night. Their memory outlived even Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and metamorphosed into the Drakaura, sensual creatures that flowed in harmony with the glass. A soft breeze skimmed across her arms. Kenna smiled.

  Today was the day.

  ****

  At the sound of a hard rap on the door, Kenna sloshed coffee onto her fingers. “Shit.”

  She set the cup on the table and shook her hand. Another knock, this one louder. She stood, wiping her hand on her jeans. Who in their right mind would be at her house at three-thirty in the morning? She hurried to the door, reached for the lock, then paused. A psychopath probably wouldn’t knock, but sane people didn’t pay social calls at this hour either. She rose up on tiptoes and peered out the peephole.

  Aiden Stiles. Kenna ducked. What did he want? Aiden was a collector—a very handsome, rich collector—she’d met him two weeks ago at a small but prestigious local gallery that had included a few pieces of her work in a show.

  Aiden knocked again. “Kenna?”

 
Aiden’s interest in her work had thrilled her. His interest in her was startling. With platinum blond hair, broad shoulders, and striking blue eyes, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous.

  He knocked harder. “Kenna.”

  Shit. She twisted the lock and opened the door.

  He grinned. “What’s up?”

  She stepped aside as he entered. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  “I saw the fire and thought you might like company.”

  “Nice try. I just fired the furnace. It couldn’t possibly be hot enough to be seen from the street yet.” Not to mention, the fire would be damn hard to see from the exclusive new townhomes on the hills ten miles out of town.

  He smiled. “No?”

  The nonchalant answer, along with the fact he prowled like a panther, irritated her. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Aiden stopped at her bench and picked up an amber rod. “What are you making this morning? Another dragon?”

  Kenna hurried to him, snatched the rod from his hand, and set it back down. “Yes, more dragons.”

  He fingered the emerald green rod that sat alongside the burnt orange. “Even more unique color choices.”

  Kenna thought of the personal collection shelved in her house. Unlike those here, her private dragons deviated from the typical earth tones but still weren’t the real Drakaura of her dreams. Suddenly, Kenna was glad she hadn’t shared them with Aiden.

  She maneuvered between him and the table. “You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

  A gust of wind howled through the rafters. Shivers raced over her flesh. “Is another storm rolling in?” She rubbed her upper arms.

  “Are you alone, Kenna?”

  She stilled. “Of course.” Kenna narrowed her eyes. “Until you showed up. Do you usually make social calls in the middle of the night?”

  “You’re special.” Aiden sauntered to a shelf and trailed his finger over a blue and orange fairy in repose. “You have a unique gift.”

  Unique? Some critics claimed she showed potential, but was no Chihuly. One reviewer said her work lacked the fire and movement of the master blower. She told herself the fact they compared her to a master like Chihuly was what counted, but she was blowing smoke up her own ass and knew it.