Hanna Martine - Drowning in Fire

Thank you to Cyndi Culhane, Lynne Hartzer, and Erica O’Rourke for writerly help in the developmental stages; and to Eliza Evans for her ever-insightful input on the completed manuscript.

Also, thank you to my husband, who really took one for the team and made a brave, brave sacrifice when he brought me to the Big Island of Hawaii for “research.”

Three years ago

KEKO

“I’m not a damn babysitter.”

Keko stomped after the Chimeran ali’i , her bare feet kicking aside old, brown leaves and crunching through patches of crispy April mountain snow. This was a shit assignment, one far below her well-deserved and hard-won position, and she’d growl at the retreating bare back of her uncle until he realized that.

“Chief, wait.”

He finally stopped, one big hand on the flap of his tent, his dusky shoulders sloping under the weight of a sigh. Slowly he turned around to face her, his black eyebrows, dusted with silver, rising with growing impatience. At least he wasn’t deaf. There was still a chance.

“Send Bane,” Keko demanded, moving as close to the ali’i as was allowed by clan law. “Or Makaha. I’m the general, for fuck’s sake.”

Someday, after she threw down the challenge and wrested the position of ali’i away from her uncle, she would delegate assignments appropriate to a Chimeran’s worthiness. Until that moment arrived, she would forever argue to get her way.

A gust of frigid Utah wind swept down the mountain and raced through the leafless spikes of the tightly packed stand of trees. Keko mentally reached deep inside her body, touching the heart of her fire magic, and turned up her inner heat. The ali’i did so as well, and wispy layers of steam lifted off the exposed skin of their torsos like wings.

“You’re impertinent is what you are,” he replied. He wasn’t that much taller than her, but there was a reason why he’d been ali’i for nearly two decades. The way he commanded respect with a simple stare was unmatched. She consistently tried to emulate it.

“And difficult,” he added. “But you’re also my second and you’re the most capable, the most skilled.”

Damn straight she was. “So—”

Chief lifted a hand, his palm a paler shade than the native Hawaiian tint to his skin. “The Senatus deliberated for a hell of a long time before finally agreeing to grant the new Ofarian leader an audience. There are reasons we’ve kept our distance from the water elementals, not the least of which being they are historically greedy, pompous, and want to control everything. There’s no one we trust more than you to shadow him his entire time here, make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds.”

The flame inside her flared in frustration. “That’s babysitting.”

“It’s guarding,” he snapped, and she was forced to take a step back. Only for him would she do that. Chief drew himself up. “You will bring him to and from Senatus gatherings. You will explain to him the group’s procedures and history, what we do and don’t cover. You will keep him within range at all times and monitor any communications he has with his people.”

Yes, sir was on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn’t bring it out.

“And you will report back to us everything he says or asks, and your answers. Tell us how he is different away from the meetings, if there are any contradictions to his behavior. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. This is an evaluation period for him and his people before we consider giving them a seat around the bonfire.”

“Do I have permission to kick his ass if he falls out of line?”

Chief gave her a rare grin, one that pulled at the deep lines around his eyes. “And that’s exactly why we chose you to do this, Keko.”

She ran a hand up and down her bare arm, dragging little orange sparks in its wake. The mid-day sky looked heavy with snow. “What’s he like? What do you already know about him?”

Chief shifted, his big feet making new prints in the old snow. “A limited amount. He is new to the leadership, having been part of an overthrow of the Ofarian government two years ago. Only after he took over did he learn his former leaders had been hiding knowledge of other elementals’ existence.” Chief let out a huff of breath, bathing her in a wave of Chimeran heat. “He’s been pursuing contact with the Senatus for over a year. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Determined. Very serious.”

“Great.” Keko rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a blast.” She waved a hand in the direction of the large olive-green tent she, her brother Bane, and the warrior Makaha shared. “So are we all supposed to cuddle up with this Ofarian at night and make him feel warm and snuggly so he spills his secrets?”

Chief snorted. “He’s Ofarian, which means he’s spoiled and arrogant. He’s taken a hotel room in town at the base of the mountain. You’ll be staying in a room next to his.”

“What?” She would miss sleeping in the night air, no matter how cold it was. Temperature didn’t mean much to her kind.

“I’m done arguing. It’s an order.” Stern brown eyes, the nearly black shade all Chimerans shared, nailed her in place. “Now go pick up Griffin Aames from the airport, get him to his hotel, and bring him to the gathering tonight.”

Chief disappeared into his tent, the flap snapping closed behind him.

Keko marched to her tent, grabbed her small, threadbare duffel of clothes and things, and started on the two-mile hike down to where they’d parked the car. Despite her reluctance over the assignment, at least she got to drive. There were only a few vehicles in the entire Chimeran valley back home and very little need for them, but she loved getting behind the wheel. It felt so free. So very modern. So outside her own culture.

Icy wind swirled through the open car windows as she sped for Salt Lake City. She’d tied her hair back, but long, black strands still whipped at her face. This was when she loved to leave Hawaii, to feel cold new climates like this. To strengthen her magic by having to use it at all times to keep warm.

The designated meeting spot, she’d been told, was a corner of the day-use parking garage under the light pole labeled 2E. She found it, swung into a parking place, and sat. When her knee started to bounce with impatience and her belly rumbled with hunger, she jumped out of the car to head over to the vending machines perched near the elevators. Another incredible thing her people didn’t have: food and drink at the drop of a coin.

A few steps away from the car she remembered the biggest rule about being seen outside of the Chimeran valley, especially in colder areas where Primaries lived: clothes.

With a growl she went back to the car and pulled out a pair of flimsy sandals with an uncomfortable strap between the toes and the lone sweatshirt she owned: a pilled gray zippered thing with “Minnesota Gophers” in cracked red and gold print across the front. At least she still had on the holey jeans with the frayed, wet hems, and one of the white tank tops she favored. Putting clothing on Chimeran skin was like scraping nails over silk. Not that she’d ever worn silk, but she’d seen pictures and had read descriptions of it in the old, dog-eared magazines that sometimes made it to the valley. The things she did for Primary comfort and Secondary secrecy . . .

Leaving the sweatshirt unzipped, she went to the vending machines and popped change into the slots, pulling out a bottle of Coke and potato chips. She’d eaten half the bag when a deep voice sounded behind her.