Chosen: Book 1 in the Ancients of Light series (47 page)

Her indignation only brought forth the full
force of his laughter. When Lorcan finally settled himself, he
smiled warmly at her, “The Seer magic does overtake you. That is
why you do not know what you know or why you know it Kaitriana. We
will work to get it more under your control.”

She loved this teasing nature of his, even
when it was at her expense. Kaitriana could hold no grudge and
returned an equally warm smile to him, “You are horrid…but thank
you for making me aware of what is happening. It is nice to know
that there is a reason for my awareness of the Queens.”

Kaitriana winked at him before turning back
towards the bath, sassing as she sauntered away, “If you are
dissatisfied with my limited knowledge of the Queens, perhaps you
should tap into your own Seer magic and see if your visions are
better than mine. I think you should also know that your eyes are
veiled in the most beautiful
sparkling
shade of blue when your magic rises.” The door closed behind her.
The last of her taunt was delivered from behind the safety of the
locked door, “Yes Vampire…that is what I said…you
sparkle
.”

Lorcan was left to shake his head at his
impertinent little witch and ponder the significance of her
confirmation that the Queens were returning to the Realm and the
fact that his magic apparently had the same ability to rise to the
level of hers.

A short time later, he took his beauty below.
By the time Kaitriana had finished reassuring the Witch of her well
being, the sun had set and the hall had been overrun with his Coven
members. The heads of the allied Covens arrived as well, though the
leaders that had comprised the remainder of the Vampire Council
were still conspicuously absent. None allowed that fact to darken
their moods or interfere with their delayed celebration over the
victory at Darkenword.

Kaitriana was surprised by Sayer and his
affectionate hug. Lorcan was on the far side of the room engaged in
a heated debate with Kendrick when the younger brother presented
himself, “I must apologize for leaving you. It is my fault that you
suffered such injury and nearly died. I could not forgive myself if
you had been lost to Lorcan.”

Kaitriana gave him a tender smile and then
waved off his apology, “Sayer, had you not been defending against
Nicholas, we all might well have been blindsided by his attack. In
truth, I would have found a way to enter the castle whether you
were at my side the entire time or not. I am woefully stubborn, if
you had not yet noticed.”

Her teasing laughter raised his, though she
could see that his eyes remained shadowed. His words confirmed it,
“I did not abandon you because of Nicholas.” At her probing look,
he only gave her a nod of farewell, “I am glad you are well,
sister.” Sayer left her abruptly; she could only stare after his
retreating form.

A few seconds later Lorcan’s arm encircled
her waist and tugged her back to him, while he dropped his head to
whisper in her ear, “Kendrick is a moron.”

Her laughter bubbled up. She turned in his
arms and offered a chiding look, “You are a horrid vampire, Lorcan.
Shame on you.”

Lorcan easily nodded his agreement to that
assessment, but his gaze had too been drawn by the withdrawing
Sayer, “He feels badly for your injury and blames himself for
leaving you. I explained that he was not at fault, that the threat
from Nicholas would have caused any other warrior to do the same
and rightfully so. He has yet to forgive himself; he is in a dark
place.”

The worry in Lorcan’s tone had her frowning
in response and her gaze flitted between the two brothers before
she offered softly, “I do not think that is what is weighing on
him, Lorcan. He knows he made the correct decision in defending us.
There is another cause.”

Her words caused Lorcan to take another look
at his brother and she could see the questions growing within him.
Kaitriana answered them the only way she could, “He will seek your
counsel when he is ready.” When his gaze came down to hers and it
looked as though he might argue, she added, “There was a
dark-haired female with Nicholas. Sayer recognized her...called her
by name. Do you know who she might have been?”

Lorcan shook his head and gave his brother a
final perusal before looking back down at his female, “No, but I
will find out. Sayer will come to me when he is ready, you are
correct. You are very smart…for a witch.” He grinned wickedly,
tossing in, “Unlike Kendrick, who
is
a
moron.”

Kaitriana had not the time to express her
opposition to the outrageous statement before he was sweeping her
tightly against him. His gaze was full of laughter but beginning to
flicker darkly, “It is time for you to go to bed, Witch.” She
immediately took his meaning and enthusiastically nodded her
agreement. Lorcan shadowed her to their chambers and dropped her
into the bed, her laughter still ringing.

The sun had peaked in the sky when Lorcan
finally had his fill of his mate and he let her find sleep curled
against him. Much had yet to be revealed in the Realm but he looked
forward to fulfilling the Prophecy with the little witch at his
side.

###

ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

Thank you for joining me on the journey into
the Realm with the debut book in the
Ancients of Light
series. I hope you enjoyed Kaitriana and Lorcan as much as I loved
writing about them. They will continue to fulfill their roles as
the series moves forward through the remaining stories that will
ultimately determine the outcome of Myrrdyn’s Prophecy.

I hope you will join us for the rest of the
adventure.

Heather

Connect with me online:
Visit
AncientsofLight.com
to
learn more about the series.
Twitter:
Heather
Fleener
Facebook:
Ancients Of
Light

Goodreads:
Heather
Fleener

FORSAKEN

Loving thy enemy is not always as hard as it
seems…

Turn the page for a sneak peek at Forsaken,
Ancients of Light #2, the story of Nicholas, the Warrior of Dark
and one fiery witch.

On sale January 2013

CHAPTER 1

Her apartment was brightly lit against the
oncoming evening, one of the few extravagances Ella allowed
herself. The advent of night had made her anxious as long as she
could remember; every light was always on by dusk and remained so
until she went to bed. One stayed lit on her bedside table
throughout the night.

Ella was rushing around the tiny bedroom that
her small space afforded her. Small was an exaggerated description
of her flat on the outer edges of Chicago. Early spring had come to
the city, which always fostered an itch in Ella and her circle of
friends to spend a night at the clubs. Tonight was special though.
She had submitted the final draft of her dissertation, effectively
completing her PhD program in sociology at the University. Her
friends were treating her tonight, in celebration of her
accomplishment, by taking her to all of their favorite haunts.

Snagging sparkling baubles from her dresser
to accessorize her ears and wrist, she idly mused that it was a
good thing she was the guest of honor tonight. The last month at
her waitressing gig had been slow - abysmal if she were honest.
Spring had been rung in by a hellacious winter storm that caused
everyone to cower in the warmth of their homes rather than enjoy
the nightlife of the city. She was scraping to make her outrageous
rent.

Not for the first time since she had decided
to make this city her home, Ella wished that her powers had been
less of the Fire variety and more of the Spell Casting sort. There
were no rules in the Witch world that prohibited using one’s powers
for personal benefit; however, since she was gifted only with the
magic from that single Caste, the best she could have done was
spark a bonfire to reduce her heat bill.

With a sigh, Ella snapped the clasp on her
bracelet. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to struggling - it had
been the way of existence for her and her mother. Her mother had
taken leave of the Realm when Ella was but a few years of age. Fire
Makers were a rigidly pious sort, moreso than the other Castes.
Rules were strictly adhered to, the appearance of propriety always
maintained. Her mother’s unplanned pregnancy, coupled with her
unwillingness to disclose the name of the father, had left them
both subject to scorn and censure by the group.

Like any mother, wanting the best for her
daughter and not finding it within her own Caste, Seve had chosen
to leave the Realm. Being a single mother in an unfamiliar city
with an ingrained reluctance to engage with mortals had caused them
to live a life of isolation and hardship. Nothing had been taken
for granted in their home nestled in one of the dilapidated suburbs
of Chicago.

Ella had a near worshipful love of her mother
though and that had been enough. She had always been aware of the
truth of her lineage and the powers that likely dwelled within her.
At the age of six her magic had begun to emerge and it had been a
struggle as a small child to rein it in completely. She and her
mother had remained in the world of the humans until Ella’s powers
grew too great. Her tenth birthday present had been a return trip
to the Realm courtesy of the Ancient Sorcerer, Myrrdyn. With the
Realm once more as their home, Ella had a safe haven where she had
gained control over her gifts.

Seve had died eight years later, slain by one
of their own kind that had joined the Darks. It was during that
time of devastating loss that Ella had set herself apart from her
Faction entirely. She had never felt true kinship in her supposed
Witch family and she had not felt the loss of their company greatly
when she left the Realm for the last time and settled back in
Chicago.

Ella had built a life, earning both her
undergraduate degree and continuing on to complete her PhD in that
short span of time. Her friends lauded her as brilliant, but she
humbly ascribed her accomplishments to sheer will and unbreakable
determination to establish a meaningful existence. She refused to
live a life where she was defined by the number of Darks she
returned to Hell.

None of her acquaintances were ever the wiser
that Ella was of the immortal Fire Caste of Witch and she had
encountered few immortals in her blissful time free of the drama
and strife that remained behind in the Realm. Once she had been
shocked to happen upon a lone vampire roaming an alley in search of
a human snack, but he had quickly shadowed off upon recognizing her
Witch nature. To date no Witch had bothered her, with the exception
of her visits from Myrrdyn.

The Ancient’s appearances were always
unexpected but always well received. Myrrdyn had been a favorite in
her youth, a solid figure that had always provided just the right
word of wisdom or sweet treat when needed. He had not been of her
Caste, did not deign to associate himself with any single Caste
actually. Perhaps that was the reason that he was so accepting of
her and her mother.

Pursing her lips, Ella gazed judgmentally at
her reflection in the bedroom mirror. After smoothing the black
pencil skirt over her hips she smiled, her eyes warming with the
recollection of the wizened old Sorcerer. In her youth she had been
shocked to realize that others of her kind regarded him in fear and
awe. He had always been her friend.

Pulling herself free of her reverie - her
friends would soon arrive to collect her - she covered the few
steps to her bathroom to fluff her hair and put the final touches
on her makeup. Ella added a light sweep of blush to her high
cheekbones. The creamy peach coloring of her skin was warm and a
perfect complement to her thick, titian-hued tresses. Ending just
below her shoulder blades, there was just enough wave to cause the
mass to hang in beautiful fullness without actually curling at the
ends.

She pushed a few errant strands back from her
vision and added a hint more mascara to the long lashes that framed
her emerald eyes. The color was mesmerizing…her mother had
possessed the very same eyes and Ella had gazed into them with
adoration the first eighteen years of her life. Finished with her
primping, she tugged one more stray lock into place. The fiery
color was definitely
not
from her mother, Ella was most
certain of that, since Seve had stick-straight chocolaty
tresses.

Neither did she get her towering height and
strong build from her petite mother. Ella was only a couple of
inches short of six feet and her frame was accented by lean
muscles. That had served her well during their time in the Realm.
Though they were not of the Warrior Caste, Ella had been drawn to
that group when they had returned. Much begging and pleading had
finally convinced her mother to allow her to participate in
training with those that learned weaponry. While the strength and
fighting talent of the Warrior Caste was not innate to all in the
Witch breed, any witch willing to learn was trained to wield
weapons of war.