Tempest (Warriors of the Wind Book 1) Page 7

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  Preview: Storm

  (from Storm & Seduction)

  The hunt had begun.

  Dante Venti stood at the top of the Spanish Steps, Rome spread out before him. The wind swirled around his body, carrying the noises and scents of the Eternal City.

  He lifted one hand and waved toward the night-shrouded buildings. The wind hurried to obey his order, searching for any sign of his prey.

  Power pumped through his veins. Like his father and grandfather before him, he was a Warrior of the Wind, one of five brothers gifted with the power of the wind. Since the day he’d inherited his power, he’d been the Warrior of the South Wind.

  His warm breeze brought back the blaring horns of the frantic Rome traffic, the laughter of late night diners, the exclamations of wandering tourists, and the whispers of lovers.

  It also brought him the taint of his foe.

  You’re better than them. The sly, nasty voice slid inside Dante’s head. Why do you waste your time protecting them? Succumb and accept your true power.

  “There you are.” Dante ignored the ugly whispers, but he knew there wasn’t much time. He felt it inside him, each beat of his heart like the ticking of a clock.

  Two weeks ago, the evil Tempest Winds had escaped from their prison warden, Dante’s brother Lorenzo, the Keeper of the Winds. Lorenzo had fought hard but the eruption of the Stromboli volcano had fueled the Tempest Winds.

  Now they were free.

  The news was filled with reports of the havoc the Tempest Winds were spreading. They carried dark vices and they were starting to infect whoever they could. Dante and his brothers were hunting them, had gone without sleep for days, but the fucking Winds were proving to be very cunning.

  But Dante was close to finding his adversary. Somewhere in the twists and turns of Rome’s streets lurked Africus—the Southwest wind and keeper of its dark vice of pride. Dante eyed the group of tourists gathered at the bottom of the steps, eating gelato and snapping photos, unaware of the danger bearing down on them.

  But humans weren’t the only ones susceptible. Dante already felt the pull of pride inside, heard the ugly whispers on the wind. That was the weakness of the Warriors…they were even more susceptible to the vices.

  Starting down the steps, Dante turned his focus to his prey. He would scour Rome until he found Africus and destroyed him. Once all four Tempest Winds were released from their human bodies, the Warriors of the Wind could entrap them again.

  Dante pushed through the throng of tourists.

  So many people with nothing better to do than eat, gawk, and take photographs. They knew nothing of holding power, of keeping others safe.

  Dio. He cut off the thoughts, turning into a busy piazza. It was pride speaking, not him. His hands flexed.

  A fountain bubbled in the center of the cobblestone square and the restaurants lining it were pulsing with diners enjoying their meals, wine, and espressos. The sound of crashing plates and raised voices caught his attention. Across the piazza, he saw two men swinging punches. One tackled another to the ground, a woman screamed.

  Dante’s gaze drifted beyond the fight. In the shadow of the fountain, he saw a tall man with shoulder-length blond hair watching the conflict. Dante stiffened.

  Africus.

  Moving fast, Dante headed for the Tempest Wind. But before he reached him, the brawling men and their onlookers barreled into his path.

  He felt their boiling emotions. Hatred and anger twined with pride. Africus was feeding them, encouraging the fight.

  “I’ll make you wish you hadn’t insulted my country.” A short, stocky man with a heavy British accent swung a fist at a taller Italian man.

  The tall man dodged. “You come here and enjoy our country, then insult our women.” The man dived, taking the other to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.

  The dark energy spilled into Dante, flooding his system.

  Dio. Indecision vibrated through him. He wanted to skirt the fight and attack Africus, but he needed to stop the men.

  The fight escalated, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the square. The others watching started to feel the infection of pride, their shouts growing angry. A darker part of Dante urged him to ignore these small humans who were beneath his notice.

  The smell of blood rose up. No! Dante couldn’t let them kill one another.

  Let them. They deserve it. Dante looked up and his gaze clashed with Africus’. The blond Wind smiled.

  Dammit. He wasn’t like Africus. Dante leaned down and ripped the brawlers apart.

  Tossing the local to the side, Dante waved a hand and barked in Italian. Then he gripped the smaller tourist by the scruff of his shirt, dangling his feet an inch off the ground. The man’s right eye was swelling closed and his split lips were bleeding.

  “I suggest you get your wife and leave.” Dante thrust the man toward a woman wringing her hands under the awning of a restaurant.

  The man scowled and opened his mouth.

  Dante straightened to his full six feet two inches. “Go.”

  The man swallowed, then grabbed his weeping wife and left. The crowd dissipated.

  The situation diffused, Dante swung back to the fountain. Africus was gone.

  Cazzo. Dante’s jaw throbbed from clenching his teeth. He sent out the wind, hoping his enemy hadn’t gone far. But the wind brought him back multiple trails.

  Africus was getting smarter. He was leaving false trails for Dante all over the city. Jaw tight, Dante headed through the square and into a narrow alley. He had to find his prey’s true trail.

  Suddenly, a cold wind swirled up around him, ruffling his hair. He paused and watched a darkness appear in front of him. It coalesced into the tall, broad form of a man.

  “Mio fratello,” Dante said, so damn glad to see his older brother.

  Luca pulled him in for a quick hug. “I sensed a spike in your power.”

  Dante pulled in a deep breath. “Africus was here. He got away.”

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “I know,” Dante replied. “I’ll find him.”

  Dante looked at his brother. They could have been twins with their big muscled builds and dark curly hair. But Luca was the oldest Venti brother, and he had a far quicker temper than Dante. Clothed in his designer suit, a white shirt stark against his bronze skin, and cufflinks winking at his wrists, Luca looked like the billionaire CEO he was…until you looked into his hard face and blue eyes. Then you could see the Warrior of the North Wind.

  “Caecius has left Rome and gone north.” Luca turned, his blue eyes ice cold. “I’ll follow him, find the bastardo, and end him.”

  Caecius was the Northeast wind and keeper of anger. Dante studied his brother. Luca looked calm and controlled, until you looked at his hands. They were clenched into fists, his knuckles white.

  Luca would never succumb to anger. Dante knew his brother was as stubborn as he was strong. Dante wanted to share that he could feel the pride building in him, filling him with thoughts that horrified him…but he wouldn’t burden Luca.

  Dante clasped his brother’s shoulder. “And I’ll beat Africus. How are Antonio and Soren going with the hunt?”

  “Antonio knows his quarry is in Florence. He’s trying to flush him out.” A muscle in Luca’s jaw clenched. “Soren’s gone north to Como on the trail of his wind.”

  “The Tempest Winds have never hidden like this before.” Worry nipped at Dante with sharp teeth. He carried the memories of his Warrior of the Wind ancestors. He remembered all the times over the centuries their foe had escaped. They usually hit hard, spreading their vices as hard and fast as they could. “It feels like Africus is toying with me, taunting me.”

  Luca’s frown
deepened. “Brute force didn’t work for them in the past. I think this time they’re being more cunning.”

  “I spoke with Lorenzo today,” Dante said.

  Luca made a noise. “So he wasn’t busy kissing my horse trainer?”

  Dante smiled. “You’re just mad he stole your American horse trainer and now you have to hire a replacement.”

  “And no one is as good with horses as Riley. Still, I’m glad Lorenzo found love.” Luca shook his head. “It isn’t for me, but I can see that Riley has soothed some of Lorenzo’s sharp, brooding edges.”

  “He told me he thinks Riley has Aurae blood.”

  “What?” Luca’s head whipped around. “All my evidence points to the keepers of the seasonal breezes being extinct.”

  In the past, the Warriors of the Wind had an advantage—the Aurae. Warrior women who controlled the seasonal breezes, and who were potential mates.

  “He’s not sure, but he thinks that mixed with her other supernatural heritage is Aurae blood. That’s why they were so drawn to each other. She is his true mate.”

  Luca sucked in a breath. “I have no desire for a mate, but if there are still Aurae in existence, they could help us in this battle.”

  Suddenly Dante felt a ripple of something in the air. He narrowed his gaze. “Africus is causing trouble again. I have to go.”

  “Be careful, Dante.”

  “You too, mio fratello.” He clasped Luca’s arm. “Good hunting.”

  With a nod, Luca turned away and summoned his power. Dante felt the icy prickle of the cold North Wind. He watched his brother’s big body dissolve, turning into the wind itself. Then Luca was gone.

  As Dante moved deeper through the back alleys of Rome, the whispers in his head grew.

  You’re better, stronger, more powerful. Humans are ants beneath your feet. Embrace your power and do as you please.

  He gritted his teeth and kept moving. Dio, he wished he was in his office in the shipyard at Naples. Or better yet, out on the deck of one of his container ships, supervising the loading, the salty sea air in his face. He much preferred the challenge of his job at Venti Shipping to the bustle of Rome.

  Do as you please. Take what you want. You deserve it.

  Dio, he was tempted. Just walk away and go back to his ships and his weekends spent out on his yacht.

  Fuck. In an empty alleyway, he pressed his back against the brick wall of a building. It was the pride talking. He would remain in control. Scraping a hand over his face, he closed his eyes. Tiredness rode him hard. He hadn’t slept in three days.

  He had to stop Africus before pride drove him mad.

  Stalking down the darkened street, he moved farther from the crowds. The quiet helped soothe his ragged nerves. His wind came back to him, carrying Africus’ stench. His shoulders tensed and he followed, turning through the maze of city streets. It wasn’t long before he realized his wind had led him to the Forum.

  Once the heart of the Roman Empire, it was now an amazing collection of ruined temples and buildings. In his mind, he recalled the memory of a previous Warrior of the Wind, and saw what it had looked like in its heyday. Exquisite temples with rows of columns, travertine paving and crowds jostling to greet their emperor.

  In modern times, it still bustled with crowds, but tour groups instead of citizens. At this time of night, it was empty and dark.

  He moved with silent steps, not wanting to alert his target. His warm southern wind brushed over him, and warned him that someone lurked in the shadows.

  Dante paused. It wasn’t the Tempest Wind. It was someone else.

  He tensed and waited. Seconds turned to minutes. Nothing.

  The sense of danger melted away. With a frown, Dante moved forward. Who would be stalking him other than his enemy?

  He continued deeper into the Forum.

  Afraid of the shadows, Warrior? Why should you, someone so powerful, be afraid?

  Dante ignored the voice drifting on the wind. Ahead, he saw a flicker of movement in the darkness. For a second, he spotted a lithe figure moving in the shadows. When he looked again, he saw nothing.

  But someone or something was watching him.

  He called the wind. It grew up around him, hot and scorching, carrying a hint of far-off deserts. It ruffled his hair and caught at his clothes.

  Then a body came out of nowhere and leaped at him.

  Dante didn’t have time to react. His attacker slammed into his chest and the momentum took him down. Dante’s back hit the dirt, the air rushing out of him. A long, slim figure pressed two knees into his chest.

  He felt the sting of cool metal against his throat.

  Preview: Seduction

  (from Storm & Seduction)

  He was naked and chained to a wall.

  Antonio Favonius Venti shook off the fog clouding his head and yanked on his arms. Cazzo. Where the hell was he? The silver chains wrapped around his wrists rattled, but held him firm.

  Dio. The restraints had been designed for a supernatural being with superior strength. And that included him.

  He shook his aching head, trying to remember what had happened. He’d left a party at the museum, and then headed out to hunt his enemy. He lifted his head and eyed his prison. It was a damn elegant one. The bedroom was decorated in an ornate style—silver and black wallpaper and an elaborate four-poster bed with red covers.

  Memories poured in. Chasing Corus through the twisting streets of Florence. The Northwest wind was a cunning bastardo. For the last few weeks, he’d eluded Antonio while infecting the people of Florence with the vice of lust.

  Antonio sagged in the chains, his chin touching his chest. The rise in sexual assaults alone… His throat tightened. He had to stop Corus. It was his duty as a Warrior of the Wind.

  He’d cornered Corus in the Piazza della Signoria. The Tempest Wind had been raping a woman. Oh, she’d appeared to be enjoying it, but Corus had the power to make people want things they didn’t truly desire. Antonio’s fingers curled into fists. He knew that all too well.

  He’d ripped Corus off the woman, but high on lust, Corus had caught Antonio with a huge gust of wind and knocked him out.

  Now Antonio was trapped.

  But not for much longer, dammit. He summoned his wind.

  Air swirled around him, the West Wind filling the room. It was familiar, carrying the brisk scent of ocean from the Atlantic, and the warmth and promise of the spring.

  Like his brothers, like their father and grandfather before them, he was a Warrior of the Wind and he existed to hunt the evil Tempest Winds.

  The chains rattled and Antonio pushed with all his strength. His power swelled inside him and he felt the metal give. An inch. Two. He thrust with everything he had.

  Nothing. They wouldn’t budge any farther. Cursing, he cut his power and the wind died away.

  Before he could regroup, the door opened.

  The man who stepped inside gave Antonio the eerie feeling of staring in the mirror. Strong jaw, straight nose, and a muscled frame. But his dark, curly hair was longer than Antonio’s, and instead of green eyes, this man’s were black, soulless pits.

  As the man stepped forward, the atmosphere in the room grew warmer. A lazy push of air curled around Antonio, carrying the scent of sex. Two women stepped in behind the man. They wore very little—only wispy scraps of black lace. The blonde had a long winsome body with slim legs and small, high breasts. The redhead had the lush curves of an artist’s muse. Antonio smelled warm female flesh and arousal.

  He swallowed hard and spat out the man’s name. “Corus.”

  Corus smiled, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. “Such venom, Antonio. You should think of me as a friend. We’re the same, you and I.”

  “We’re nothing alike.” Antonio jerked against his bindings. It was the truth. He had to believe it.

  Corus stalked closer. “Our winds both carry lust. I embrace it.” He reached for the blonde and cupped one of her breasts. She arched into him w
ith a purr. “And you want to embrace it.”

  Antonio’s chest heaved. Since the Tempest Winds had escaped from his brother, Lorenzo, the Keeper of the Winds, they’d started spreading their vices. Antonio had been inundated with the heat of lust. His wind carried the promise of new life, and that made him more susceptible to Corus.

  For almost three weeks, his skin had been tight and hot, his gut churning with the need for release, his cock semi hard all day long. He was balanced on the edge of giving into the seductive vice. “I fight it. I’ll always fight it.”

  “Why not give in?” Corus ran a finger over Antonio’s shoulder. “It’ll make you stronger. You won’t have the agony of battling your desires. Slake the lust, Antonio. It feels so good.”

  Antonio tore his gaze away from the Tempest Wind. He stared at the silver swirls on the wallpaper, but Corus’ words dug under his skin. Antonio wanted, he craved. He yearned for sweet, feminine skin. To press his lips between a woman’s fragrant thighs and feast. To bury his cock in tight, wet warmth.

  Dammit, control yourself. Air sawed in and out of his lungs. He heard the taunting whispers in his ear, carried by Corus’ wind. Every hour of every day since the Tempest Winds had escaped, those whispers had been tormenting him.

  And if he gave in…then Corus won. Antonio would turn as rotten as Corus and lust would infect Florence, then Italy, then Europe. The tourists would carry it around the world like a virus and the entire planet would descend into lust-fueled chaos.

  The redhead slinked closer, like a hungry lioness, her green gaze locked on him. He tensed.

  She ran a long red nail down the center of his bare chest.

  “Why not let them take care of you?” Corus’ tone lowered. “Katya has a mouth from heaven and Nadine loves to fuck. Any hole, any position, any time.”

  Antonio gritted his teeth. The woman fingered the hard ridges of his stomach and dammit, her touch felt good.

  He couldn’t succumb. Not for an all-too-brief moment of pleasure. “Africus has already been defeated in Rome.” Antonio pulled strength from the fact his brother, Dante, had already defeated his Tempest Wind. “I will banish you. I swear.”