Chapter Two
With Club Mastodon’s back door closed behind her, Maven Triessa Gray dropped her veil. Disgust at having to put up with these lesser things, these mewling beasts, curled her lip. She was sick of hiding behind a mask of humanity.
And for what? To skim some small measure of life from these creatures?
Flawless alabaster skin tightened around her cold black eyes. We are no more than dirty beggars scratching in the filth for a copper. Maven Triessa Gray, granddaughter to the Gray Lord himself, had never felt so useless.
Tonight, that will change.
She stormed to the security alcove in the adjacent tent. With a flick of her wrist, she slammed the door open on a blast of frigid air. She blew in after it and scanned a bank of monitors atop a thin, metal desk. The largest one in the center, the only one with a color display, showed a live feed of the containment area below the main tent’s grated floor. An expanding pile of black globes, shadow orbs, lit by erratic green and blue streaks filled the screen. Static danced across the image as the life force leached from the unsuspecting patrons interfered with the signal.
She spared a quick glance at the orbs before searching the other monitors for her opportunity. At the far end of the small room, the head of security shivered from the intense cold that radiated from the Maven’s dead body.
“Where?” Her voice was hard and brittle.
The security officer pointed a trembling finger to the monitor on the far right. “There, Maven Triessa.” A large, muscular man waved to the camera.
“Confirmation?”
“Yes, Maven Triessa. The report from the Yukon outpost names him Develor Quinteele, the fourteenth Knight of Flame of the Knights Elementalis.”
Triessa cracked a jagged smile, shadow-fueled eyes riveted on the elemental knight.
The officer continued. “Headquarters has been notified and Alexander Gray is on his way. ETA twenty minutes. Orders are not to move on the Knight until the Master arrives.”
“Orders?” She turned her head. Long, fine white hair fell over half her face. Capturing his attention with one fierce eye, she noted his sharp spike of wonderful fear. The smell of desperation awoke her desire. To taste, to touch, to … His temperature rose as the blood zoomed through his veins. In the cold silence of the room, she heard the desperate beating of his heart.
Slowly, deliberately, she placed her fingers on the naked skin of his neck. He flinched at her subzero touch, icy fingertips searing into unprotected flesh.
“You shouldn’t have made that call. The Knight is mine.”
The terrified officer’s life throbbed beneath her fingers. She wanted it. She stole it. With less effort than it took to blink her eyes, she drew out his life force and bolstered her already formidable power.
The head of security slumped to the floor, skin gray and lifeless.
Triessa Gray, Maven of Shadow, granddaughter to the Gray Lord Bestok Molan, gazed back at the oaf grinning at her through the camera.
I’m coming for you, elemental warrior.
O O O
Club Mastodon’s wooden doors burst open and a gaggle of Tampa’s young elite, decked out in their silk suits, barely-there dresses and killer heels, staggered out to the Industrial barrage of Rammstein. Dev watched them lurch toward the valet podium. Exotic, citrusy scents trailed in their wake. The girls’ short skirts flipped up with each awkward step. He tried to look away, but stood mesmerized by the brief glimpses of bare, tanned flesh and alluring curves until they disappeared into the back of a limo.
“You finished drooling now?” Wren asked.
“Hold on.” Dev watched them drive away. “Now I’m done.”
Wren sighed.
Two couples waited in line ahead of them to get in. A short, wiry man with greasy blond hair bounced around the first couple. He waved a security wand in his right hand and passed it over the gentleman first. When he ran it over the woman’s purse, it buzzed. With a triumphant smile, the little man yanked the bag off her arm and tossed it into the bin behind him.
“No phones. You pick up later, lady.”
The next couple stepped forward.
“Dev,” Wren spoke out of the side of her mouth. “They have metal detectors.”
“Yep. Hey, doesn’t that little guy look like a monkey waving a banana?”
“You didn’t bring the …” Wren flicked a glance toward his back, “… you know.”
“Yep. Never leave home without it.”
“What the—are you crazy?” Her eyes bulged.
“Relax. It’s diamond. No worries.” He hoped his nonchalance would calm her down, but she looked jumpier than ever.
The next couple passed without incident and the monkey man called Dev forward. Up close, the man with the wand scanner smelled like old cheese and freshly turned dirt.
“Name?” he asked.
“Rock. Party of two,” Dev said.
The man nodded once and ran the wand over Dev first. No reaction. He scanned Wren, traced the wand slowly over her breasts in an electronic caress that clearly violated her personal space and broke several ethical codes.
“Watch it, monkey boy.” Dev loomed over the little man. The dirt-ball backed off and waved them through with a last slimy leer at Wren. She took it all in stride, too focused on the imposing doors ahead.
“Almost there.” Wren bobbed up and down and clasped Dev’s hand in both of hers.
The huge doors opened to a wall of sound, smoke, and light. No sooner had they cleared the entrance than the doors slammed shut behind them.
“Annnd, we’re in. Great,” Dev said.
“Hush.” Wren dragged a reluctant Dev up the metal stairs and into the club. “This place is amazing.” She twirled in place, taking everything in. “Look at that bar.”
Dev had to admit the interior impressed him. Far bigger than he expected, the vast open space belied the tent’s external dimensions. Lit only by firelight, the back end was lost in shadows. An enormous bonfire roared in the center, encircled by a black granite shelf that served as the bar. Smoke drifted up and escaped through a hole cut into the roof.
This is my kind of place.
More Conan extras, at least twenty of them, mixed and served drinks poured from assorted neon-colored bottles.
“Is that real?” Wren gaped at the mastodon skeleton. “What’s holding him up, do you think?” Hind legs mounted on the bar, it reared up to the top of the tent some twenty-five feet high. She stared straight up through the massive ribcage to the back of the beast’s skull. “I don’t see any wires.”
“Me neither.” Dev examined the skull. Just the head of the beast seemed larger than his whole body. Two long, curved tusks stretched to the ceiling, forming one of the tent’s three peaks. He spied two other skeletons mounted in similar positions cutting the bar into three equal sections. “Nah … it can’t be real. Big though, and solid. Must weigh a ton.” Rapping his knuckle against the massive, bone construct, a shock jolted his hand. He snatched it away and rubbed his tingling fingers. “They better check the wiring. Watch, in ten minutes it’ll probably come to animatronic life and dip its head or something equally tacky.”
A wry smile crossed his lips.
“What?”
“I knew there’d be elephants.”
She punched him in the arm.
“Time for a drink.” Dev waved the bartender over.
“Not for me, thanks.” Wren said.
“What? You have to have one, at least, to toast the evening.”
“Dev …”
“Have you ever even had a drink?”
“Of cour—, oh alright, just one.”
“Thatta girl. What’ll you have?”
The bartender waited patiently, his long Conan wig brushing the top of the bar. The left side of his mouth twitched, and his eyes sparkled at their exchange.
Wren leaned over and raised her voice to be heard above the pulsing beat of the music. “What’s the specialty of the house?”
“We call it Primal Fire.” The bartender said.
Dev raised an eyebrow at the name.
“Ooh. Sounds exotic.” Wren said. “What’s in it?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you the exact ingredients, but it’s a complex recipe combining the perfect blend of ten top-shelf liquors. I serve it on fire. When mixed correctly, the flame burns a pure white.”
Dev scoffed. “A pure flame is a myth. It’s impossible.”
“Sir, I can—”
“Sounds too strong for me.” Wren interrupted. “I’ll have a lemon drop.”
“A lemon drop? Isn’t that some kind of candy?” Dev asked. “Order a real drink, something that’ll put hair on your chest.”
Wren crinkled her nose. “No, thanks. I’ll stick with the lemon drop.”
The bartender looked expectantly at Dev.
“Scotch.”
“Any specific brand, sir?”
“Dalmore. Selene.”
The bartender punched a few keys on the wait station to his left. “Fine, sir, but I’ll have to get it from the back.”
Dev nodded and turned his back on the retreating bartender, leaned against the bar and watched the tide of people surge with the music. Club Mastodon was an odd place. He’d expected a cheesy disco ball, lasers, colored lights, a cordoned off dance floor and an obnoxious DJ, but there were none of those circa-nineteen eighties trappings here.
Open. Effective. Mysterious. The central pyre and large torches placed atop columns set around the perimeter walls and throughout the open spaces provided the only light. Shadows danced at the edges of the flickering firelight and distorted the patron’s faces, adding to the atmosphere of anonymity.
Nice. Dev recognized the lure of a place like this for those in the public eye. It’s the perfect escape.
He shielded a yawn.
While loud and driving, the music didn’t grate on his nerves. He expected to have a splitting headache within the first two minutes, but found himself nodding to the beat.
With a half embarrassed grin, Wren excused herself, dancing her way through the throng in the direction of the ladies’ room.
Dev heard the footsteps behind him and turned as the waiter delivered their drinks. Closing his eyes, he swirled the glass and savored the unique scent of fine scotch. It jumped up and tickled the hair in his nose.
“A votre santé!” He inclined his head to the server and swigged down half. The first taste of the amber liquid burned, but tasted so good. He took another swallow to chase the napalm trail down his throat.
“Another, sir?”
“Hit me.”
The bartender produced the bottle from under the bar and poured a double. Dev nodded and started in.
He felt warm. No, hot. He felt hot, delightfully so, and fuzzy. Yeah, hot and fuzzy. The liquid heat seeped into his bones. Hey, where’s, um, where’s … Wren? Yeah, Wren.
The second glass went down quicker than the first. Within seconds he found it full again, but dealt with the situation.
I feel good.
He hadn’t had more than one drink in years and knew he should stop, but by some strange alcoholic magic, his octagonal glass never emptied.
A sign. He sucked back another. People and objects around him fuzzed into blobs of muted, swirling color. The music distorted, attacked his equilibrium until the room spun, and he grabbed hold of the bar to keep from falling over.
Where is that girl?
He was alone, as usual. Has to be that way. She’s not safe with me. No one is. Had he known the price of becoming an elemental warrior, he might have chosen differently. Perhaps death would have been better than living through the centuries without …
He took another drink, but the miracle glass had run dry. Rage erupted. At the empty glass, at the bartender, at the club, at the world.
The flames popped and hissed at him. He jerked his head up, away from his baleful stare at the offending glass, to the central fire. It crackled and whispered in his ears, singing its siren song to his troubled spirit.
Yes, my old friend, I hear you.
Fire. To combat the fire-eaten holes in his memories and the infernal beast deep inside him, he needed warmth. He called to the flames. They flickered in response, leaned toward him. Nothing else existed for Dev, only he and the element that was as much a part of him as his own flesh.
He drew it into him, pulled a trickle from the inferno and absorbed it into his chest.
More.
The trickle grew to a steady flow.
More.
The heat intensified and roiled inside him. He had gone too long without the intimate kiss of the flame and he yearned for more. There was no pain, never any pain within his element, only … completion, fulfillment, but he still wanted more.
With a simple act of will, he opened himself fully to the conflagration. An invisible torrent of fire bored into him, melded his spirit with the pure essence of the flame and ignited his blood. It raged and screamed through his system.
I AM FIRE.
Dev held something in his hand. The glass. Oh, yes, the empty glass. He dipped his head, lips parted in a grimace. He channeled the heat and energy into his hands, to his fingertips. At first, the hard surface maintained its shape, but soon wavered under the blistering onslaught. The double-thick walls folded in on themselves in a smoking heap.
“You’re going to pay for that.” An icy voice blew apart his fiery communion.