Catherine Spangler - [Sentinel 02] - Touched By Fire (v5.0) (html)

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF CATHERINE SPANGLER

“Dark, edgy, and incredibly sensual,
Touched by Darkness
is a spellbinding contemporary fantasy thriller . . . A unique and enthralling series debut that is not to be missed!”
—ParaNormal Romance Reviews

 

“I loved the entire concept . . . and give this author high marks for originality and creativity. Fans of Spangler’s sci-fi fantasy are going to be mesmerized by this sensual new series.”
—The Best Reviews

 

“The talented [Catherine] Spangler returns in a complex and intriguing new series about the Sentinels.”

—
Romantic Times
(four stars)

 

THE SHIELDER SERIES

“Her creative and innovative world-building makes for an unrivaled adventurous read. Highly recommended!”

 

“Ms. Spangler has humor, a great plot, sensuous romance, [and] riveting characters that give her romances lots of sparkle. Put these on your ‘must-read’ list now.”

 

“Some of the best romantic science fiction on the market today . . . Catherine Spangler spangles once again with this superb, stellar story.”
—The Best Reviews

 

“In this twist on
Beauty and the Beast
, Spangler imagines a well-drawn futuristic world.”
—Booklist

 

“Ms. Spangler shines, her talent wonderfully evident as she takes us on a journey across galaxies [and] cultures, and brings us to a perfect understanding of her characters, their motivation, and their very personalities. I am looking forward to future novels by one of romance’s brightest stars.”
—Sensual Romance Reviews

Acknowledgments

Writing may be a solitary endeavor, but the creation of a book for publication requires the efforts of many people. As always, I had to turn to others for accurate, expert information, as well as feedback and encouragement. I couldn’t possibly have pulled off the creation of
Touched by Fire
without the help of these people who gave so generously of their time:

Sergeant Frank McElligott, who always directs me to the people I need.

Officer Mike Letzelter, for his general and technical information on bombs (without giving me
too
much information!).

My friend Henry, for his military knowledge and expertise.

The staff of the Houston Police Department public information office, who made sure I got the details right.

Janet Underwood, for her medical expertise.

Angelica Blocker, Robyn Delozier, Beth Gonzales, and Carole Turner for reading and kibitzing and keeping me sane (sort of).

James, Deborah, Jim, Linda, and Jennifer, for their ongoing support and love.

Roberta Brown, for being . . . Roberta.

Cindy Hwang, editor extraordinaire, and Leis Pederson, editorial assistant extraordinaire. You two are the best!

Thank you all. Walk in Light.

Glossary of Terms

Atlantis
—A mystical, magical culture that some believe actually existed in the North Atlantic Ocean, bordering parts of what is now the eastern U.S. coast. It is also believed that Atlantis had an extremely advanced culture, and destroyed itself through civil war and the misuse of its great Tuaoi stone.

Belial
—The cunning, evil leader of a rebel Atlantian faction, Belial advocated human slavery, human sacrifices, and the dark side of magic. His group gained control of the Tuaoi stone and orchestrated the destruction of Atlantis.

Belian
—A follower of Belial (also known as the Sons of Belial). Adhering to their leader’s original dark practices, Belians are now reincarnating in human form on Earth, and wreaking violence and havoc on its inhabitants. They thrive on chaos and terror and blood offerings to Belial. Although they occupy mortal bodies, they have superhuman abilities. They operate from the four lower spiritual chakras, and can shield their presence from Sentinels.

Belian Crime Scene (BCS)
—The scene of a Belian crime. A Sentinel investigates the scene, absorbing the psychic energies left behind by the Belian, in order to track it down.

Belian Expulsion (BE)
—A forced exile of a Belian soul to Saturn for spiritual rehabilitation. It requires the joint efforts of a Sentinel and the High Sanctioned.

Chakras
—The seven spiritual centers of the human body, starting in the lower abdomen and moving upward. Each corresponds to a physical part of the body, and also to a specific color. The first four are the lower chakras and are grounded to the Earth. The last three are the higher chakras and are linked to the Creator and the spiritual realm.

Conduction
—The process in which a Sentinel and a conductor link spiritually through the seven chakras; most specifically, the sixth chakra and third eye. This amplifies the psychic energy the Sentinel has absorbed from a Belian crime scene and helps to identify the Belian. The process also raises powerful sexual energies and has a physical component—sexual intercourse—which further enhances the psychic energies. Often several conductions are required before the Belian’s shields are breached.

Conductor
—A regular human who is psychically wired to link with some Sentinels, and to magnify and enhance the Sentinel’s psychic tracking abilities. Conductors are relatively rare, and a good conductor/Sentinel match is even rarer. A matched conductor is always the opposite sex of the Sentinel, and there’s a powerful sexual attraction between them.

Crystal Pendant
—A pink quartz crystal edged in silver, it’s worn by many Sentinels. Attuned to the great Tuaoi stone, and to the Sentinel’s personal energy, it helps to focus and magnify psychic energies, and helps with shielding.

High Sanctioned
—Those entities (souls) that were the high priests of the temple of The One on Atlantis. Generally, they don’t occupy physical bodies, but act more as spirit guides for Sentinels. They assist with Belian expulsions.

Initiate
—A fledgling, a young Sentinel who is still learning how to shield energies and use the Sentinel powers.

Law of One
—The spiritual law and belief followed by most Atlantians, it acknowledged a higher Supreme Being and placed the focus on the Light and positive energies.

Psychic Signature (PS)
—The energy patterns left behind by a Belian, more pronounced if a violent crime has occurred. A Sentinel collects and absorbs these energies, and pieces together clues and mental pictures to help identify the Belian.

Sanctioned
—Spiritually advanced Atlantian entities who served the high priests in the temple of The One. They occupy human bodies and are the overseers and the decision makers in the day-to-day Sentinel operations on Earth.

Saturn (Burning/Experience)
—Saturn, the “grim reaper,” rules the moral and karmic lessons souls must experience and overcome. Also called the “karmic initiator,” Saturn is where Belian souls are sent until they learn their spiritual lessons. It is not a pleasant experience—more like purgatory.

Sentinel
—An Atlantian soul reincarnating into a human body to track down Belians and dispense karmic justice. Like Belians, Sentinels are mortal, but possess superhuman powers. They operate out of the three higher chakras, making it difficult for Belians to sense their presence. They often use conductors to help them identify Belians.

Sexual Surge
—The raw, powerful surge of sexual energy that occurs at the beginning of a conduction, when the lower chakras open and pull in Earth-based energies—which most resemble the vibratory levels of Belians. This surge helps the Sentinel get a better fix on the Belian.

Shielding
—Using psychic energies to create a spiritual shield that blocks the presence of either a Sentinel or a Belian.

The One
—The Atlantian term for God/Supreme Being.

Third Eye
—A spiritual center which is linked to the sixth chakra and the pineal gland, and represented by the color indigo, the third eye enhances “seeing” and “hearing” on an ethereal level. A Sentinel, often with the aid of a conductor, works through the third eye to track Belians.

Tuaoi Stone (The Great Crystal)
—A huge spear of solid, multifaceted quartz crystal, the Tuaoi stone was housed in a special temple on Atlantis. It provided all power, as well as a means of communicating with The One, and was ultimately used to destroy Atlantis. It now lies at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, its power undiminished.

White Brotherhood
—(Does not refer to race or gender.) This was the Atlantian priesthood established for the perpetuation of the Law of One. They had the ability to transport themselves in thought or body wherever desired. Many of them have incarnated as Sentinels, the Sanctioned, and the High Sanctioned.

PRELUDE, BOOK 2

 

THE end is near. Even as I write, violent tremors shake my chamber. Very soon, Atlantis will be no more. Our beautiful cities—Amaki, Achaei, Poseidia—all will be lost. Already, the Temple of the Sun, and with it, the great Tuaoi stone, have plunged into the depths of the sea.

Nothing can halt this destruction set in motion by the Sons of Belial. The Belians display no remorse for their sins, no repentance for their misuse of the Tuaoi stone, which has caused this great catastrophe. Even now they refuse to turn from their evil ways and their blood sacrifices, and continue to worship their gods of darkness, forsaking The One.

I have foreseen that these souls will one day return to Earth, given another chance at redemption, but I fear they will not veer from the dark path. There is hope, however. The souls of the Children of One will also return as Sentinels of the Earth, the balance of Light against darkness. The eternal battle of good versus evil will resume.

May the Light prevail.

 

There was another Belian incident today, and twenty-three innocent lives—all of them but one were children—were lost from Earth. The implement of destruction was a bomb; my meditative vision showed it was a sophisticated device.

The Belians reincarnating on Earth are coming in stronger, smarter, and more malevolent than even those during the prohibition of the last century and World War II. They’re playing larger roles in the darkness rising from the Middle East, in the increasing violence in our cities.

They’re also coming in at a faster rate. Perhaps it’s because the technology now rivals what they knew on Atlantis; or perhaps it’s the prejudice and hatred escalating in every society, or the waning faith of all religions, that’s drawing them. Whatever it is, Earth is in crisis.

The Sentinels are not coming in as rapidly. Our numbers are dwindling, as some are killed, and others lead a life of solitude, choosing not to take mates and have families. The battle against the Belians has become more arduous and more dangerous. Yet the Light is bright, the Sentinel souls pure and dedicated.

My visions have shown changes coming, many in my region. More conductors will be discovered and will provide aid for the tracking. More Sentinels will take mates, Damien Morgan being the most recent. I’ve also seen new Sentinel souls awaiting a channel to be born into the Earth. There is hope.

I don’t know the specific details; I’ve only been shown the Universe facilitating the energies to create the potential reality. I can only wait for further guidance.

Every meditation, I visualize the Earth being touched by the fire of divine love. I believe that one day, all will walk in Light.

Those who worship Belial will not win.

The Sentinels will prevail.

ONE

(Edgar Cayce Reading 1538-1)

 

 

 

 

 

SEX. Desire
, fueled by lust and pheromones. They coiled through the atmosphere of the Red Lion Pub, edged by forced gaiety, quiet desperation, drunkenness, and cigarette smoke. It was relatively early in the evening—six o’clock—but happy hour was in full swing, and the bar was packed with business professionals eager to celebrate the arrival of Friday night.

Some simply wanted to unwind from the week; some—the extroverts—to recharge their psyches. But many, like Marla’s friend Rebecca, wanted to roll the dice on the possibility of finding someone to scratch a sensual itch, to stave off the loneliness, and maybe extend that companionship through the weekend, or even longer.

Marla was: D)
None of the above
, but she was also Rebecca’s ride home, and had been unable to refuse her request for a happy hour stop. Rebecca was lonely and searching for a masculine fix, and it wasn’t Marla’s place to point out that no one could make you happy; that particular commodity had to come from within.

Like Marla was the poster girl for good mental health. She had her own personal demons, but at least she understood the source and was working on it. She should be able to pick up men in bars in, say . . . ten years or so.

With a sigh, she surveyed the smoky room. She wasn’t surprised that Rebecca, a Brit, had chosen a pub for her trolling. The Red Lion had beautiful, classy décor—dark wood and red leather upholstery on booths and bar stools, and even a fireplace. The television discreetly placed in one corner was turned off, thank God.

If Marla saw one more news report on the tragic school bus explosion and ensuing fire that had taken the lives of twenty-two children, she was going to be sick. She’d already grieved her heart out for those children and their families. A good reason, in her opinion, why it was a bad idea to watch the news—too damned depressing. In lieu of television, there was background music playing in the pub, but it was low enough that it didn’t hinder conversation.

Rebecca was already across the crowded room, sliding into a booth with three guys, plying them with her British charm and knockout body. Resigned to the fact that it might be awhile, Marla made her way to the bar. No one gave her a second glance, which wasn’t surprising. She knew she was dowdy, slightly plump, with unruly hair and eyeglasses—although they were Vera Wang designer frames—and in her conservative cocoa-hued suit. Like the rest of the country, Houston business dress leaned toward a more casual look, but Marla had had a meeting with her company’s CFO earlier in the day, and had wanted to look professional.

She hitched herself onto a bar stool at the very end, sliding her purse into her lap. A burst of energy, like electricity, shot through her, and she jerked her hand from the counter. Strange . . . must have been static electricity, but the surface appeared to be laminated wood. And the electricity was still tingling through her. Baffled, she looked at the man to her left, just as he glanced at her.

He gave a brief, polite nod, looked away, then stiffened and snapped back around. His eyes widened, fixed on her face. He appeared to be studying her. “Well,” he said in a deep, rich voice. “Hello.”

She twisted to look behind her and see who he was talking to in such a sensual come-on tone. No one was there. She turned back around, saw he was still staring at her. “Are you talking to
me
?”

He arched dark blond brows. “To the best of my knowledge.” He extended his hand. “I’m Luke Paxton.” It could have been just a friendly introduction, but the intense, predatory look in his deep-sea eyes warned her otherwise.

Disbelief and confusion rolled through her. This striking male specimen couldn’t possibly be coming on to
her
. He had a strong, interesting face with sensual lips that practically moaned
I’m a great kisser
, those incredible eyes, and thick sun-streaked hair that swept back past his shoulders—very broad shoulders attached to a large, well-muscled body. He wore a black long-sleeved pullover, jeans, and boots; a black leather jacket was slung over the back of his chair. Everything about him screamed
sexy
—and
dangerous
. No way was he interested in her. She was obviously delusional.

“Uh . . .” Ingrained southern manners insisted she respond civilly. She placed her hand in his. “I’m Marla Rey—” She didn’t get any further, because another jolt of electricity shot up her arm. She instinctively jerked back, but he wrapped his long fingers around her hand.

“Oh. Sorry I shocked you.” She stared at her trapped hand, wondering how to retrieve it gracefully. Unfortunately, her skills at verbally sparring with sophisticated, gorgeous men were abysmal. “I seem to have a buildup of static electricity.”

A smile teased his sensuous mouth. “I like being shocked. Especially by an attractive woman.”

Now she
knew
he was giving her a line. Great. Why not pick on any number of females in the Red Lion—women who were not only willing, but
really
were attractive?

She wormed her hand free. “That’s very nice of you to say, Mr. Paxton, but—”

“Luke. Mr. Paxton sounds old and decrepit, and hopefully, I’m not over the hill yet.”

Oh, man, he was anything but. Suddenly warm, Marla wished someone would turn up the air-conditioning a few notches. There were too many bodies in here. And way too many pheromones, because her own body was tingling with energy, and there was an ache between her legs.

For the past eleven years, she’d been unusually sensitive to the emotions of people around her. Apparently the combined barrage of the guys with wet-dream mentalities and the women with desperate sexual appetites was strongly affecting her tonight. She wasn’t sure she could handle much more of it.

“Luke,” she conceded, grasping her purse. “Very nice talking to you, but I’ve got to go.”

“Meeting someone?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“Stay. Have a drink with me.” When she just sat there, too surprised to react, he added, “Please.”

His steady gaze was as alluring as his dark magic voice. Disconcerted, she felt as if she were falling into those Caribbean eyes. “Well, I don’t know.”

“Just one drink. You sat at the bar, and you’re not meeting anyone, so I have to assume you were planning to have . . . something.”

The way he said
something
sent the words,
hot sex
,
tangled sheets
, ricocheting through her mind.
Whoa! Down, girl
. What was the matter with her? She hadn’t been interested in men since . . . that night. She shoved back the memories before they could surface and ruin the evening, and possibly the weekend. Obviously, it was time to get new batteries for her trusty bedside companion.

“What do you want?” he asked.

That was a loaded question. She struggled to force her thoughts back to something—anything—away from disturbing memories. “What do I want?” she parroted, still trying to get her brain back in gear.

Humor and sensual knowledge gleamed in his eyes. “To drink. What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, I—”
Am an idiot.
She realized the bartender was standing there expectantly, a knowing smirk on her twenty-something face. “A glass of merlot, please,” she told the young woman.

Luke tapped his mug. “Another beer.”

The woman nodded and left. Marla drew a deep breath, still feeling the strange energy in the air, despite her attempts to ignore it. “Well,” she said lamely.

“You didn’t finish telling me your name,” he prompted.

“I didn’t, did I?” She managed a shaky smile. “Maybe we should try this without the handshake. I think one shock is enough, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” He rested one arm indolently on the bar, turning his body toward her. His full, charismatic attention was focused on her. “Some shocks are very . . . stimulating.”

This guy was definitely out of her league. Where the hell was Rebecca? Marla cast a quick glance to the corner, and saw Rebecca practically wrapped around the man next to her, laughing at something he was saying. Maybe she’d decide to go home with him, and then Marla could leave. The sooner, the better.

Luke’s gaze followed hers to the corner booth. “Someone you know?”

“The blonde in the red. Her car’s in the shop—again—and she’s riding with me.”

“So you’re only here because of her.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.

“Well . . . yes.”

“Then her mechanical misfortune is my gain.” He was giving her that look again—pure, masculine appreciation.

She didn’t understand it. But then his gaze swept down her legs. Her awkward position on the stool had forced her skirt to ride up, and a generous expanse of thigh was exposed. Ah. He was a leg man, which might explain some of the attraction. Her legs were her best physical feature.

All the Reynolds women had great legs, which was a good thing, since they tended to be plain and brainy otherwise. Plus Marla had on her bronze Prada pumps, which she’d gotten in a great closeout deal because they were from last season. They extended the leg line nicely.

With apparent reluctance, Luke returned his gaze to her face. “Nice shoes.”

Yeah, right.
“Thank you.”

The bartender returned with their drinks, and she fumbled in her purse for money to pay for her wine.

“I’ve got it.” Luke handed the young woman a credit card and she whisked it away.

“Thank you again.” Bemused, Marla picked up her wine and took a healthy sip. She wished this damned energy buzzing around and setting her nerves on edge would ease off. If this was the usual ethereal pattern at the Red Lion Pub, she wasn’t coming back, no matter how much Rebecca tried to strong arm her into it.

“So back to your name,” Luke said.

“Oh, I guess I never got to that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m Marla Reynolds.” She felt foolish, as if she were introducing herself at a self-help conference.

“Pleased to meet you, Marla Reynolds.” His hand slid over to cover hers, sending another jolt through her.

“What is it with this place?” she muttered. “They need to invest in some serious antistatic measures.”

He murmured something, but she barely heard him. Her attention was on the acute awareness of the fact he was touching her, and the incredible warmth of his hand over hers. Not to mention the sexual energy that swirled between them, causing her nipples to pucker and the ensuing dampness between her legs. Pure, raw chemistry. She’d heard of it happening, but had never experienced it. This guy was potent, especially since he appeared capable of stirring to life her sexual desires, which up until now, had been nonexistent around men.

She gently extricated her hand, pretended she needed it to straighten her napkin beneath her wineglass. “What do you do for a living, Luke?”

Those blue eyes watched her with an intensity that was both flattering and unnerving. “I’m a private investigator. How about you?”

That explained the aura of power and danger he exuded. She’d be willing to bet he was ex-military or ex-police. “Nothing even remotely exciting. I’m the head accountant for a large manufacturing firm. Very ordinary.”

He actually looked interested. “What does your company manufacture?”

“Building tools and equipment. Hydraulic shearing machines for metal roofing and siding, power saws, that sort of thing.”

“Accounting, huh?” He smiled, and she felt the force of his charm all the way down to her toes.

She willed her racing heart to slow. “Guilty.”

“I like smart women. Especially when they’re also pretty.”

She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder again. Maybe he just needed eyeglasses. Or maybe he was desperate, but she simply couldn’t imagine a man who looked like he did having difficulty getting any woman he wanted. She took another sip of wine. “How do you like being a private investigator?”

He shrugged, turning toward the bar to drink his beer. Muscles rippled beneath his shirt, and she inwardly sighed. He was definitely built. “I like the independence and flexibility, being able to pick and choose my jobs, set my own hours. But man, I see some nasty stuff. People can be so . . .” He paused, shook his head.

“Inhuman?” she supplied. A chill went through her, as the nightmare memories that were rarely far away finally succeeded in sliding into her mind.

She must have shivered outwardly, because he leaned close, putting his arm around her. “Hey, you okay?”

His scent drifted to her, woodsy, like sandalwood, and clean, primal male. Another jolt of electricity went through her. His hand rested lightly over the nape of her neck, a possessive gesture dating back to prehistoric man. She couldn’t find the strength to protest. Her senses seemed heightened, excruciatingly aware of this man on a visceral level; every look, every touch, every nuance.

“You okay?” he repeated, concern in his voice.

She gave herself a mental shake, managed a smile. “Oh, I’m fine,” she lied. “I just drank my wine too fast. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. A really cheap date.”
What on earth had possessed her to say that?

He laughed, the sound low and sexy. “Really? In that case, how about having dinner with me tomorrow night?” He massaged her neck gently, persuasively, and tingling sparks jumped down her spine.

This whole thing was surreal, and his touch, not to mention the uncomfortable energy throbbing through the pub, was making it hard for her to think straight. Even so, she was certain there could be no legitimate reason for this Chippendales candidate to be interested in
her
. It just didn’t make any sense. Unless, of course, he was one of those men who thrived on challenge, and was able to ferret out the women who just weren’t interested. How insulting that would be.