Hidden Fire Read online

  Hidden Fire

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Hidden Fire

  Alexis Fleming

  An Australian-set paranormal drawing on the Aboriginal Dreamtime in a hot, suspenseful series debut.

  Gili Adams is willing to do anything to protect her parents, even travel to Australia in search of the mythical opal, the Dreamtime Fire. But her resolve is tested when she has to enlist the help of anthropologist Morgan Hunt, the Guardian of the opal and the man who once accused her of using her feminine wiles to steal a priceless artefact.

  She’s faced with an impossible choice: lie to the man she never wanted to lose or risk her parents’ lives.

  Nothing can be allowed to stand in her way... not even her own heart.

  About the Author

  Multi-published author Alexis Fleming’s first book was a bedtime story for her children called Sammy the Snail, written and illustrated totally in crayon. She hooked her children in and created a new career for herself, a career that gives her immense satisfaction and a lot of fun. She now writes her own bedtime stories, but be warned — these are strictly adults only!

  Alexis’ first love has always been romance, whether on this world or the next. Hot, sizzling relationships with a dash of comedy and a few trials and tribulations thrown in to test her characters. Alexis writes sassy, fun erotic contemporaries, as well as paranormals and fantasies where you’ll find yourself coming face to face with anything from sexy shifters to beings from other planets.

  When she isn’t tied to her computer, Alexis walks the beautiful beaches of Hervey Bay, or watches the farmer across from her house bring his cattle out to graze. The best of both worlds. What more could any writer ask for?

  Alexis believes you can never have too many friends and loves to hear from her readers. You can visit with Alexis at www.alexisfleming.net, email her at [email protected], or join her newsletter group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/AlexisFlemingandFriends. You’ll also find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/alexisfleming.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to my awesome daughter, writer Kelly Ethan, for being my sounding-board and brainstorming partner. You rock, kiddo. Your insights make my stories so much better.

  To Sunny, the best kickass critique buddy out there. You don’t pull your punches, but hey, that works for me.

  To Valkyrie and the Bats. Without you guys I would have folded up my tent and slunk off into the sunset ages ago.

  And last but not least, those wonderful readers out there who read my stories and actually like them. I’m humbled.

  For my own hero Brian Rowland (1944-2011)

  This one is for you, love. You never lost faith in me and my wild imaginings. I miss you as much today as I did the day you had to go. I hope you know that I’m finally doing what you told me to: getting my ass into gear and getting back to my writing. Thank you for those thirty-nine years together.

  Ancient Persia 520 BC

  “Aesma Daeva, the one true god, will crucify you all.”

  Merikh coughed, silently cursing the lack of force in his voice. The sand of the Kavir Desert coated his face. He winced when his dry lips cracked.

  Damn these soldiers. A sip of water wouldn’t have killed them. Sadly, it wouldn’t kill him either. The Royal Guard had other plans for that.

  Someone shoved him hard in the center of the back. With his arms looped over a pole and bound behind him, he couldn’t protect himself. He hit the loose scree at the foot of the landslide. Pebbles abraded his cheek. More sand found its way into his mouth and he fought not to gag. He bit back a groan as one of the soldiers kicked him in the side before yanking him to his feet.

  “Hah, some god.” The soldier spat on the ground in front of Merikh. “Aesma Daeva is nothing but a demon and you’re a fool for following him.”

  “I am the Lord’s priest, his loyal disciple, here to do his will.” His voice cracked with strain as the men dragged him up the rocky incline.

  The soldier on his left shoved him towards the opening that showed dark in the middle of the cliff. “You’re a thug. If the people don’t believe in your demon, you kill them. Aesma Daeva is nothing but a false god.”

  Merikh twisted his shoulders, aiming the pole under his arms at the face of the warrior, hoping to catch him unawares.

  The man angled the wicker shield he carried to deflect the blow. Face contorted, he glared at the prisoner. His eyes beneath the fluted headdress glittered black as he poked the javelin he held into Merikh’s side. “Keep it up and I’ll skewer you.”

  Far better to die this way than what they have planned for me.

  He pushed against the shiny spearhead until he felt it penetrate the double thickness of robe and undershirt. Pain sliced deep and lodged in his stomach. He wanted to pull away, but he wasn’t done yet. He needed a quicker death than a slow bleed from a gut wound.

  “Enough.” Bahram, Captain of the Immortals, the Royal Guard, raced across to the opening of the cave and dragged the prisoner off the lethal javelin before lowering him to the ground. “You kill him out here and the king will have all our heads. He’s to be executed the old way, not run through the side with a spear. Now get him up and into the tomb.”

  The two men dragged him to the cave. Others had gone before, lighting the way with burning torches. Shadows flickered on the sandstone walls as the flames flared, a cast of caricature puppets who would see him to his death.

  Despair filled him, overriding the pain inside and making him want to empty the contents of his stomach onto the gritty sand underfoot. Where was his god?

  “Hah, not so high and mighty now, are you?” The guard holding his left arm smirked at him. “Look at the coward quaking in his boots, men.”

  “I said enough.” Captain Bahram shook his head and gestured to a smaller opening at the back of the cave. “Get him inside and strip his clothes off. Let’s get this over and done with. I’d like to make it back to the palace tonight, not tomorrow.”

  Aesma Daeva, they’re really going to do this. Save me, your most faithful disciple.

  The words went unspoken. There was no point. His god could not hear him and the soldiers wouldn’t listen. They were bent on carrying out the king’s orders.

  Heat flashed through his mind. It twisted his thoughts. Gave him solace from the biting agony in his side. Anger erupted, filling his head with hate and retribution. He would not let this be the end.

  When the guard had loosed his bonds and stripped him of his baggy trousers and outer garments, they lifted him onto a stone altar in the center of the tomb. No point fighting; they held him with hands of iron. He felt the warmth of his blood on his bare skin. Smelt the coppery trace in the air. Which would kill him first? The wound? Or would he suffocate to death?

  The captain stepped up beside him and unrolled a parchment, signalling for silence among his men. Shoulders back, he puffed out his chest and began the proclamation.

  “I, Cyrus the Great, ruler of all that is Persia, do hereby proclaim the religion of Zoroaster to be the one true religion of the empire. Those who choose to continue to follow false gods will be removed from this earth.”

  The soldiers straightened his legs and bound them together with torn strips of swaddling cloth. Round and round, until the white bandages almost reached his hips…

  “Merikh, follower of Aesma Daeva, you have been condemned to die because of your god, and because you choose not to follow the orders of your king. You will be encased in mummy wrappings and sealed within this tomb for life eternal. And may the true god have mercy on your soul.”

  Captain Bahram handed the parchment to one of the soldiers, then nodded at the men surrounding the altar. “Continue. And best make it quick before he dies of blood lo
ss.”

  Eyes wide, Merikh watched as the captain moved closer to the opening. Terror rose. His heart, icy with dread, pounded so hard the beat resounded in his head. He struggled against those who held him, twisting in their grip, but no use.

  My God, my God, why?

  Rage gathered. How could they dare do this? He would make them pay. There must be a way. The anger drove out the ice inside his body. His mind raced and joy flooded his system when the soldiers pulled his left arm down beside his body and a hand brushed against the ring he wore. Here was his answer.

  The seal ring, normally a family signet ring carved with the family coat of arms. But in his case, it was the image of Aesma Daeva emblazoned on the red carnelian set into the gold band. It was his salvation.

  “Oh, one thing,” Captain Bahram interrupted. “Take that ring off him. The palace priest believes if it’s in proximity to his body when he dies, his spirit will go into the ring. Who knows? He just might be able to reincarnate himself somewhere in the future. Hang it on the outside of the tomb once it’s sealed. Let it be a warning to anyone who might find this cur’s resting place.”

  The rhythmic thud of Merikh’s heart faltered, slowing down as the soldiers wrenched the ring from his finger. Cold invaded his soul, freezing him from the inside. The men continued the wrapping, twisting and twining the bandages tight about his body. Moments before they covered his mouth, he lifted his head and stared across at the leader of this band of Immortals.

  “Remember me, Captain. This will not be my end. My god has given me a way back. My spirit will live to find the lost gems that will return life to me.”

  Bahram frowned at the ring one of the men had placed in his palm. Then he raised his head and stared across at Merikh.

  “Dead is dead, cur. Your name will be forgotten by the time we walk away from here.”

  Merikh managed a smile, although he knew it was more of a grimace. His teeth clacked together in response to the deadly cold invading his entire being.

  “You will remember me, Captain. Your ancestors…your sons’ ancestors… All will remember me. The elementals will give me back life and then I will wreak havoc on mankind for this atrocity.”

  As the bandages rose higher and finally covered his face, one thought filled his head.

  You will remember me…

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Also Available from Escape Publishing…

  Chapter One

  “Dad, what the hell happened?”

  Gillian Adams skidded to a stop moments before she careened into the side of the bed. The breath rasped in her throat from running flat-out through the hospital corridors to get to her father. “What—”

  Joshua Adams held up his hand. “I’m okay, Gili girl. Just a little accident.”

  “Acc—accident?” the older woman on the other side of the bed spluttered. “You’re calling this an accident? Joshua, you would’ve been killed if the driver hadn’t been so quick on the brake. And I told you I saw—”

  “Enough of that,” Gili’s father interrupted. “We don’t know for certain.”

  Jan Adams planted clenched fists on her hips and faced her husband down. “You may not be certain. I am.”

  Gili felt as if she had whiplash. She couldn’t keep up with her parents. And she still didn’t know what had happened.

  “Okay, okay, enough already.” Gili knew she was screeching, but it was the only way she could be heard over her folks. Her parents immediately stopped speaking and stared at her.

  “Mom, sit. Dad, stop squirming around. You’ll hurt that leg.” She eyed the complicated contraption of pulleys and ropes that suspended her dad’s right leg above the bed.

  Pulling a chair up to the bed, she perched on the edge. “Dad, tell me exactly what happened. Mom, you’ll get your turn in a moment.”

  “We were at the local mall. You know, the one just down from our place.” He flicked a glance at his wife. “What’s the name of that one, dear?”

  “Not important, Dad,” Gili interrupted before her mother could respond. “Go on with your story.”

  “We walked along that concrete path from the car park. There were lots of people going into the mall. I got jostled, fell into the roadway and got clipped by a car. Damn clumsy of me, even if I do say so myself.”

  Her mother opened her mouth to say something and Gili let her go.

  “He didn’t just get jostled, as he calls it. Someone pushed him in the middle of the back. And I keep telling him I saw Whitey standing behind him. But in the panic after the car hit your father, he disappeared.”

  “Now, dear, we can’t be certain it was him.”

  “I’m telling you, Joshua, it was him. He’s lucky he didn’t kill you. It was a message from Jeremy. As it is, you have to go through surgery to have the leg pinned and stabilized, and then you’ll be in plaster for the next three months.”

  Gili closed her eyes a moment. Jeremy Grissom. She should have known he’d be behind this.

  Things had been different when Jeremy’s father, Gerald, was alive. Gili had gone to work for him as assistant curator of the Grissom Museum straight out of college. Gerald had been a kind, adventurous sort whose heart was in the right place. He’d commissioned her father and mother, both trained anthropologists, to recover unusual ‘lost’ gems for his museum collection. When Gerald died, Jeremy, along with his son, Whitey, had taken over the running of the museum.

  “When I quit six years ago, you two said you’d finish up your contract and tell Jeremy to take a hike.”

  “This is the final job. Then we’ll be free of him.” Her father grimaced. “I’m getting too old for this lark, love. I missed something important. He paid us double for the last job. I didn’t question it, just assumed it was a bonus. Now he tells us he paid for the recovery of some Australian opal as well.”

  “So why the hell hurt you?” Gili gestured to her father’s leg. “You can’t do anything with that.”

  “I told him we weren’t doing it,” her mother interrupted, “and this is his response. If we hadn’t spent the money doing up the house, I’d give it back and tell him to shove it. Then, while we’re in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, we get this.”

  Gili took the mobile phone from her mother and read the last text message: Three choices. Get me the gem. Return the money. Or more of the same.

  Well, that answered that question. Definitely Jeremy and his scummy son. Gili dragged in a shaky breath. Jeremy had always been an obnoxious bastard who’d betray his best friend if it meant he could get his own way, but even he had gone too far this time.

  She stood and moved the chair back to the side wall. “I’m going to have a little talk with Jeremy.”

  “No, love, stay away from him.” Her father strained at the pulley restraints that held him captive.

  Her mom tried to stop her from leaving the room. “Don’t do this. That man is evil. We’ll work it out.”

  Gili continued towards the door. “You look after Dad. I’ll see to Jeremy.”

  Once out of the hospital, it didn’t take Gili long to collect her vehicle and head to the museum. Traffic was light and ten minutes later she’d pulled into the back parking lot. Relieved Jeremy hadn’t changed the access code, she let herself into the building and headed for the offices on the lower level.

  After managing to avoid seeing either Jeremy or Whitey over the past six years, now her gut churned and her hands trembled. The nausea swirling through her stomach threatened to overwh
elm her. Then she straightened her spine and continued on past the immense vault situated beside what had become Jeremy’s office.

  She frowned as she noticed the open door. There’s no way that should have been left open. Talk about a breach of security. In her day—

  No, this wasn’t about her. This was about getting her parents off the hook and giving Jeremy a piece of her mind.

  Focused on Jeremy’s office, she tried to ignore the vault, until a cold voice brought her back to the opening.

  “Wondered how long it would take you to get here.”

  Jeremy.

  Her old boss was seated at a table on one side of the cavernous room, his polished black boots propped up on the timber surface. His thick white hair flopped over the front of his wrinkled face. He flicked it back and gave her a smile. Quite innocent and benign—unless you noticed the malicious glitter in the blue depths of his eyes.

  “What made you think I’d come looking for you?” She curled her lip and gave back smile for smile.

  He casually brushed aside the semi-precious gems cluttering up the table, unconcerned when they tumbled to the floor. Dragging his feet down, he pushed himself upright and stalked across to Gili. One hand he kept tucked deep in his trouser pocket, the other he waved in an expansive manner. “Oh, come on, girly, don’t play stupid. The quickest way to bring you to heel was to threaten your old man.”

  “So it was you. Or at least Whitey, following your orders. Damn it, you could have killed him. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Jeremy grabbed her arm and twisted. “Don’t you talk to me that way, girl. You walked away and now your father thinks he can do the same? Like hell. I want that opal.”

  Gili wrenched her arm out of Jeremy’s grip and stepped farther away from him. “My parents’ contract was finished. You conned them. And why hurt him? That won’t get you any closer to what you want.”

  Jeremy giggled. “Oh, yes, it will…and it has. It brought me you. You’ll go after this Dreamtime Fire.”