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    Elements of Fire Book Two: Elements of Fire, #2
    Elements of Fire Book Two: Elements of Fire, #2
    Elements of Fire Book Two: Elements of Fire, #2
    Ebook172 pages2 hours

    Elements of Fire Book Two: Elements of Fire, #2

    By Odette C. Bell

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    About this ebook

    One fight is over, another's just beginning. Stanley Phillips now knows of Lydia's power, and he will do anything to obtain her.
    When he attempts to kidnap her, Lydia is thrust further into the truly dark world of his twisted magic. He will force her to learn water, or she will never escape.
    She may not have come into her full inherited powers yet, but Lydia will learn to fight without them. For she is special – something Richard Hargrave will learn and will never forget.

    ….

    Elements of Fire follows an inherited witch and her billionaire handler fighting through a broken city to save magic. If you love your urban fantasies with punchy action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab Elements of Fire Book Two today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOdette C. Bell
    Release dateSep 4, 2017
    ISBN9781386550754
    Elements of Fire Book Two: Elements of Fire, #2

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      Book preview

      Elements of Fire Book Two - Odette C. Bell

      1

      Not much has changed. We haven’t had that much time. It’s been all of a week since Richard escaped Stanley’s grasp with my help. And me? I’ve just fallen further down the rabbit hole.

      I’m sitting in front of my dressing table. It’s this beautiful antique French thing. I love it to pieces. I don’t pay attention to it, though. Instead, I stare at my reflection in the mirror behind.

      Nothing has changed with me. My powers have stagnated this last week – ever since… I produced that charge of power and killed that mannequin.

      Just thinking about it makes me clutch the edge of the dressing table even tighter until I almost tear the thing in half. And that’s not entirely overemphasis. The strength I showed during the fight is lingering, even if my magic isn’t.

      I suddenly groan loudly, the sound pitching off the walls of my room. I shudder to my feet and turn. I don’t care as the antique stool I was sitting on top of lurches out from underneath me and strikes the carpet.

      I walk over to the massive set of picturesque windows on the opposite side of the room.

      There’s mid-morning sun streaming in. I can see the tops of the tall buildings, even catch a glimpse of the water beyond.

      It’s a seriously stunning view. And combined with the sunshine, it should be calming.

      The problem is, it’s not. As my eyes scan the city, I forgo the view and instantly find my eyes ticking back and forth along the towers as if I’m trying to figure out how many other magical practitioners are out there. As my gaze darts down the sides of buildings and I can even see one or two pedestrians meandering through the streets below, I wonder just how many of them know about this world. This dark underbelly that sits underneath this city and has been doing so for centuries.

      I bring up a hand. It’s sweating, and I clamp the fingers over my lips as I breathe through them.

      There’s a knock at the door.

      Richard.

      Though mostly his staff come to visit me – and Richard only ever comes when he wants something from me – I know it’s him. And sure enough, as I turn over my shoulder, the sun streaming over the side of my face and catching a few strands of my hair, making them shine like ebony, he walks in.

      He’s in another one of his ill-fitting suits. It may be precisely tailored along his shoulders, and it may sit on his strong arms just right – but the whole thing is still wrong.

      Nothing suits Richard.

      He leans against the doorway, and though, at first, his expression is unreadable, soon enough flashing passion ignites in his eyes.

      Richard is exactly like a many-faceted gem. One with a side for every occasion. Just when you think you’ve got the guy figured, the gem will turn and he’ll show off another side of his personality.

      He clears his throat. What are you doing?

      Staring at the view, I manage, voice blank, as it should be clear what I was doing.

      Slowly, he arches an eyebrow. Lydia, it’s been a week.

      I get a flashback. One that slams into my head. I remember in full detail what I did a week ago when I defeated those two mannequins – that enormous burst of magic that ripped through me like lightning tearing through a sheet of paper.

      The power was….

      He takes a hard step into the room, the sound of his footfall reverberating out on the carpeted floor.

      He has a strong stance today, and there’s something even stronger flickering in his eyes. I can tell he’s here for some specific purpose. He clears his throat. It’s time, he says out of the blue.

      It gets my attention, and I drop my hands. What? I ask.

      For several seconds, he simply stands there, his lips pressed tightly together, tight enough that they’re white and bloodless. He clears his throat. Time to try you out on the other weapons. Time to take training to the next stage.

      Richard has foreshadowed this point ever since what happened last week. But he’s been busy, trying to track down those 20 victims we saw in Stanley’s tower.

      And me?

      I can’t get them out of my head. I swear they’ve infiltrated my dreams at night.

      And every waking moment of the day, if I’m stupid enough to close my eyes for too long, I see them all there in those 20 cages, waiting to be sacrificed.

      I gulp, and Richard’s gaze locks on my throat.

      He finally closes the distance between us in this large room, coming to a stop about a meter in front of me, and he takes another tight breath. It’s time for a training session.

      There’s import behind his words. And the exact way he says them tells me I should be taking this seriously.

      What?

      Lydia, he says, voice low, come with me.

      With the hard pound of his polished shoes on my floor, he leads me out of the room.

      For a second, I don’t follow. I stare at the view again out of the corner of my eye. Then? The questions become too much. The same questions that have been growing ever since the day I met Richard Hargrave and I came into my inheritance. Or should I say, more accurately, the day he came into his inheritance.

      My point is, with every new incident I face in this world, my questions grow until it feels as if they’ll crush me like a rock on my chest.

      So I have no choice, do I?

      I follow Hargrave out of my room to face whatever will come.

      2

      What comes next is more training. Unsurprisingly, considering that’s exactly what he promised.

      He takes me back to the dojo. I’ve been learning more about this space. And note how I said space, not place. You see, it has special magical characteristics. It doesn’t just feel like it’s on the foothills of Mount Fuji; it really is. It’s this special pocket of magical space-time Richard has created. And technically, no other magical practitioner can enter without his permission.

      It’s a safe haven for Richard. But here’s the thing. For the past several weeks, it’s been a safe haven for me, too. Though Richard hasn’t let me out of the building since the incident with Stanley Rogers, it has allowed me to train. In fact, I have full access to the dojo even when he’s not around. So I train diligently, several times a day. When I take my shoes and socks off and my feet trundle across the mats, everything makes sense. All the confusion is swept away and replaced instead with a sense that no matter what happens, I’ll face it head-on.

      I diligently take my shoes off and line them up neatly on the step that leads up to the mats. I keep watching Richard out of the corner of my eye.

      There’s no denying that he has a certain sense about him. The problem is he still hasn’t told me what’s going on.

      He still doesn’t breathe a word as he takes off his jacket, folds it neatly and places it next to his shoes.

      He shows his lithe ability as he jumps onto the mat. He turns his head over his shoulder and nods at me.

      I follow. Though my stomach is kicking with the kind of nerves that could turn into a cascade of anticipation or fear without any warning.

      I say fear, but ever since the incident with Stanley Rogers, the questions I’ve had about Richard have been downplayed.

      The first time I met Stanley I wondered whether it would be different if I’d been inherited by Stanley rather than Richard. Yeah, that’s been answered. It would be different – very different. Stanley would use me and my ability to access the seventh element to drain as much dark power as he could.

      There is no question in my mind that Stanley Phillips is just as evil as Richard warned me of…. And yet, as I come to that conclusion, I can’t deny one thing. This tingle of something that rushes down my back and sinks into my stomach. I know what it feels like; it feels like a trickle of water. Just a gentle splash in my face, with droplets that trickle down, collect over my collarbone, and dash down my chest.

      Suffice to say, it distracts me.

      Before I can be drawn too far into it, Richard clears his throat. Come along, he says as he waves a hand forward.

      Though I’ve explored the dojo – including the armory – I’ve never opened the doors on the side of the room. In my head, I’ve always had the fancy that they lead out to a Japanese garden.

      Well right now, I find out. Because Richard strides across the room, heading for them. He reaches them and spreads his hands out wide, his fingers held at very specific angles as he half closes his eyes and starts to chant under his breath.

      I now know more than enough not to interrupt him. Heck, I don’t even make a sound. I’m as quiet as a mouse as Richard goes through the process.

      Even though this dojo is technically a sacred space, it’s a testament to how paranoid Richard is that he’s still locked all of his stuff with the most sophisticated magical locks he can manage. Sorry, did I say paranoid? That’s the wrong word. He’s justifiably security conscious.

      With dark arts practitioners like Stanley Phillips trying to tear him down every day, Richard Hargrave has to take precautions.

      I’m aware of the fact that it’s taking longer to open this magical lock than it does with the one on the armory.

      After several more mutters, I finally hear a click. The next thing I know, the doors open.

      I’m treated to exactly what I imagined.

      Despite the fact this dojo is technically inside an office block, within a city on the opposite side of the world, it feels as if I’ve been transported straight to the Japanese countryside.

      A delicate path leads down from the open doors to a water feature that twists through a garden. A huge, stunning garden. There are Japanese maples losing their leaves, and yet, there are also cherry blossoms. There are magnolias, all of them in flower, from pale pink to beautiful fuchsia.

      It doesn’t make sense – as Japanese Maples don’t lose their leaves at the same time as cherry blossoms come out. But hey, that’s magic.

      It looks as if a master craftsman has designed this place.

      There’s so much detail that the eye is captivated with every glance. At the same time, the place is full of perfect calm.

      I have no problem showing my appreciation as I press my hand over my lips. It’s stunning, I say genuinely.

      Out of the corner of my eye, I see Richard smiling. Immediately I dart my gaze over to get a better look. I know from experience that every time I catch Richard grinning, he stops immediately, wiping said grin off his mouth as if it’s unwanted food caking his lips.

      But this one lasts.

      Eventually he clears his throat. After you, he says, for the first time being a gentleman as he waves his arm forward.

      Ah, what exactly is this place? And more to the point, how exactly is it possible?

      Richard nods firmly. Like I’ve already told you before, this dojo occupies a special magical space time. You don’t have to worry, he adds, my trepidation clearly obvious. It’s not dangerous. But it is… nice, he adds.

      It’s obvious Richard is proud of the space, almost as if he wants to share it with me like a three-year-old giving you a drawing he’s just made.

      With a slow smile, I finally take a step down from the dojo.

      Sunshine filters down from above, and I hear the gentle breeze brushing through the red Japanese maple leaves. I even catch the scent of various flowers.

      The garden is perfect in every detail.

      I can tell Richard is still staring, and this time I turn around and look at him deliberately in the eye. This is amazing, I say, not holding back.

      Ever since our fight with Stanley, my relationship with Richard has changed. It’s grown deeper.… As if we now have the understanding that we need each other. But that doesn’t mean I like the way he treats me. Nor does that mean I’m now comfortable with what’s happening – that he inherited me like some windfall.

      It does mean, however, that I’m more inclined to show him what I’m truly feeling and tell him what I’m actually thinking.

      He smiles. Right in front of me. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide it. He also takes a breath.

      Richard always holds tension in his body. Call it a physical reaction to the stress he’s been under since the day he was born.

      No matter where he is or what he’s doing – or how far away he is from potential attack – Richard is always prepared. But right now? Just for a second, the tension drops, and he seems to put all his effort into his smile.

      He also brings up a hand and brushes it through his short hair. "Thank you. It’s been

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