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  Master of the Elements

  An eRed Sage Publication • All Rights Reserved • Copyright © 2007

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  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Master of the Elements © 2007 By Alice Gaines

  Cover © 2007 by Rae Monet, Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

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  Master of the Elements

  * * *

  by Alice Gaines

  To My Reader:

  When I saw the picture of the neo-Gothic castle on the Black Sea, I knew I had to set a story there. When I thought up the idea of an immortal Master of the Elements, I knew I’d have to give him a woman brave enough to stand up to him.

  Luckily, Elsbeth volunteered.

  Master of the Elements: Chapter 1

  As Elsbeth said goodbye to her father at the foot of the forbidden mountain, he placed a bride’s garland on her head although they both knew she’d never wed.

  Today she’d learn her fate, for good or ill.

  He stepped back to stare at her, and she held herself still under his scrutiny. His eyes grew moist.

  Oh, no. He’ll make me cry, too.

  But then he set his chin in that way the whole family knew and she found courage in his stubbornness.

  “No. I won’t leave you.” He pointed upward to the castle at the top of the long, stone staircase. “Not to what lives up there.”

  The dour elder standing beside her father bristled. “You have no choice, man.

  The master needs his tribute.”

  “None of the virgins who go up there ever come back,” her father answered. “He could eat Elsbeth alive, for all we know.”

  “That’s a superstition, Papa,” she said. But, she couldn’t know that, not really.

  Whatever waited for her up there might well kill her. She’d face that if she had to.

  Too many lives depended on her.

  The elder bowed to her. “We honor you for your sacrifice.”

  “Well you might, Garth,” her father said. “Your daughter’s safe enough at home.

  Give mine a chance at life.”

  Something solid hit the dock beside her, and she flinched. One of the townsmen straightened from where he’d set her trunk next to the supplies they’d brought for the master.

  “That’s the lot of it, then,” he said. “Someone’ll come and take it all up.”

  “I’ll carry my own trunk.”

  “’Tis too heavy, child,” her father said.

  “I’m not a child.”

  “No, you’re a fully-grown woman. You’d have a husband and children of your own if it wasn’t for—” He stared up at the castle. “—this.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “It’s my calling.”

  “Calling, bah.”

  “Besides, I’m too plain. None of the men would want me.”

  “That’s not true, Betta. If you got your nose out of the books, you’d make some lad a fine wife.”

  “The books are my life,” And, indeed, they had been since the day the sisters had taught her to read. She’d been studying one when the entire purpose of her exis-

  tence had flashed over her, stealing her breath. Her mother had borne her at the exact time for her to fulfill the prophecy. From that day on, none of the teasing from the other children, none of the slights from the prettier girls or the looks of pity from the adults had mattered. She had a destiny beyond theirs. She’d save them and their descendants for generations.

  “I should never have let you go to that school,” her father said. “Gave you ideas, it did. I don’t understand half of what you say.”

  “A girl without looks needs to make a life for herself somehow.”

  “By being a sacrifice?” He gestured upward to the castle. “To the likes of what lives up there?

  “It’s necessary for our people’s sake,” the elder said.

  A cold wind picked up, whipping strands of her hair and ruffling the hem of her cloak. She turned to look out over the inland sea. Clouds had gathered.

  “The storm’ll hit soon,” she said. “Best you go home, Papa.”

  Moisture filled his eyes again. This time, it might have been a reaction to the wind. “I won’t leave you here.”

  “On the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year,” the elder recited.

  “Damn you, Garth, I know the verse. Once every hundred-year he demands an innocent, but why my girl?”

  “I’ve thought and thought on it,” Elsbeth said. “With no man to love me, I’d leave nothing behind in this world. By submitting to the master, I give everyone life.”

  He took her chin in his hand and turned her so she had to look into his eyes.

  “Tell me true, Elsbeth. No man has ever touched you?”

  She gazed back evenly. “None.”

  “At your age, all women have had some taste of—you know.”

  She shook her head against his palm. Even if some man had tried to steal a kiss, she would have refused. With her looks, none had.

  “Because if you have, wouldn’t be no use leaving you here,” he went on. “I could take you home again.”

  “I’m pure,” she answered.

  He dropped her chin and looked around, as if searching for some reason she couldn’t stay. “’Tain’t fair.”

  “The master’s power has grown weak over the years. Already, we’re losing his protection,” the elder said.

  “I don’t care,” her father answered.

  She rested her arm on his sleeve. “The storms, the heat in summer. Ruined crops,

  fishermen drowning. Think of all the deaths if I don’t go to him.”

  “One soul per hundred-year is little enough for him to ask,” the elder said.

  Her father clenched his jaw, but his chin trembled, anyway.

  “Think of mama and Jerrod and his family,” Elsbeth said. “You don’t want them to suffer and die.”

  “We’ll muddle through,” her father said. “Come back home.”

  She pointed toward the boat. “Look at them, Papa. They’re not going to let me leave here.”

  Her father turned and stared at the men in the fishing boat. Five of them, tall and strapping and with utter determination in their eyes. They knew she had to stay here, and they’d see that she did.

  The elder put his hand on her father’s shoulder. More of a command than an at-tempt to comfort. “Come away, now. The storm builds, and as fierce as the weather’s become, we’d best run for home before it hits.”

  Her father clenched his teeth again and nodded. He shook off the elder’s hand and clutched her to him. She hugged him back for a moment and then steeled herself to move our of his protective embrace. “Go home, Papa.”

  After taking her face between his hands, he kissed her forehead and then turned.

  Without even looking back, he followed the elder onto the fishing boat. The men set the sail and pushed off.

  Elsbeth watched the boat grow smaller with distance, until she could no longer pick out her father’s form. She trembled. The chill of the wind, no more. She would not fear what waited for her at the castle, no matter what it might be.

  Leave those things and come to me. The voice came from nowhere, a command on the rising wind. Her new master. He could make the elements speak.

  “The storm. Everything will get wet,” she answered.

  Leave the things.

  She turned and headed toward the steps. When she reached her trunk, she hesi-tated. A hard rain would ruin her books. They weighed too much for her to take them all up the steep stairs, and the master had told her not to bring them. But she couldn’t leave them to destruction, either. She bent, undid the latch, and searched quickly through all her volumes. When she found the most precious one, she removed it. Then she secured the trunk as best she could and walked to the stairs.

  The castle grew as she climbed, the gray stones glowering down at her. Large, empty windows stood black in the walls on either side of the massive wooden door.

  Her skirts tangled around her with each gust, but she went carefully, still clutching her book to her chest. With each step, a sense of rightness fell over he
r. No matter

  what or who she found here, she’d been born for this. She wouldn’t falter.

  Finally, she reached the top and could study her new home from close up.

  It was a towering structure with turrets at each corner. The stones looked old, worn smooth by wind and rain. When it had been new, the castle must have been truly opulent. It still retained its grandeur despite the ravages of time.

  She lifted her hand to try the huge knocker, but the door swung open at her touch. As though it had been waiting for her. The master had ordered her to come for him. She needed no more invitation but stepped inside.

  “Close the door and come here,” a voice said. This time, it sounded human.

  Clamping down firmly on any flutters of nerves, she shut the door and let her vision adjust to the dimmer light. She stood in a huge anteroom, cloaked in shad-ows. A flickering came from an archway at the end of the room, so she walked in that direction. It revealed a long dining hall with a few torches high up in the walls.

  That and the fading daylight from the windows overlooking the sea provided the only illumination.

  The huge fireplace on the opposite wall stood empty. Only by squinting could she make out that a supper had been laid out at one end of the table. At the other end sat a man. Or at least, the silhouette of a man. He seemed no more than long robes and a mask covering his face. Only his hair was clearly visible. Falling just past his shoulders, it glowed a ghostly white.

  In all, he made a fierce impression—not a monster, but not human, either.

  “You disobeyed me,” he said.

  “My lord?”

  “I told you to leave the things on the dock.”

  She held up her book. “I only brought this. I didn’t want it ruined in the storm.”

  “I control the elements,” He moved his hand, and the torchlight caught a blood red stone on one of his fingers. “I don’t destroy my own supplies.”

  Of course not. Stupid of her, and yet if she lost her beloved book, she’d have nothing to comfort her in her exile here.

  “Don’t disobey me again,” he said.

  She bowed her head and curtseyed.

  He sighed. A deep, almost sorrowful sound. “Sit and eat.”

  She set the book beside the meal, removed her cloak and draped it over a nearby chair. The air held enough of a chill to make her wish she’d left it on, but that didn’t seem polite. She’d already offended him once. Who knew what another of-fense would buy her? Finally, she sat and cut into the roasted bird on her plate.

  It was nicely cooked with a crisp skin and a sauce of wine and herbs. Normally,

  she would have enjoyed it. Under these circumstances, she could scarcely choke it down. Perhaps Papa had taken her courage back with him. She broke off a chunk of bread and chewed it, washing it down with some ale from the tankard at her elbow.

  “What’s your name?” the master asked.

  “Elsbeth.”

  “You came of your own will?”

  “I did, sir,” she answered.

  “You won’t be going home again.”

  “I know that.”

  He leaned forward. That gave her a better view of his mask, but as it covered all of his face save his eyes and mouth, she still had no way of knowing what he looked like. Pray heaven he didn’t look hideous.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Two-and-twenty.”

  “And still an innocent?”

  She raised her chin. “I am.”

  “Why?”

  Because no man would want me. She wouldn’t say that, though. She’d surrender her innocence and maybe her life to protect the rest of the village. She wouldn’t surrender what little dignity she had.

  “I felt it was my life’s goal to come to you,” she said. “You would only take a virgin.”

  “You saved yourself for me?”

  “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  He laughed, but the sound held no mirth. “Foolish child.”

  “I’m not a fool, my lord.”

  “Nor a child,” He made a gesture, and his ring danced in the torchlight again.

  “What are you then?”

  She glanced at her book. She’d searched there long enough for some clue to her existence. The history of Shandikar charmed everyone who read it, but she’d found personal meaning in it. Not valued by the people of her village, she’d imagined herself a member of Shandikar’s scholarly class. The sort of woman who stood beside her husband, an equal in his teaching. Ridiculous fantasies. She’d never see Shandikar or even her own home again.

  “I’m yours,” she said simply.

  He scrutinized her from behind the mask. “Many women have been here. None wanted me. Do you?”

  “I imagine I’ll find out.”

  He rested back against his seat, submerging himself in darkness again. “You’re not eating.”

  “It’s very good,” She set aside her knife. “But I don’t have much appetite.”

  He crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

  Her innards turned to water. Now she’d discover what he meant for her. He always demanded virgins. Would he take what a husband took? Or, did he crave the blood of innocents? Surely, he wouldn’t have bothered to feed her dinner before killing her. No matter which, may the saints make it quick.

  The chair scraped against the floor as she rose. Her knees went weak, but they held her well enough as she took a few steps in his direction.

  “Do not try to look at my face,” he said.

  That stopped her for a moment. Could he really be that ugly? Who or what had she pledged herself to?

  “Come along,” he said.

  She lowered her gaze and walked the rest of the way across the floor. His hand rested on the table, and she stared at it. The skin showed some age. In truth, the master could hardly have been young. But, his fingers looked strong and smooth.

  Elegant. The huge ruby belonged on that hand.

  He turned in his chair and patted his knee. “Sit.”

  She didn’t dare look up at his face. “My lord?”

  “Don’t question me. Do it.”

  She nodded and obeyed. How odd to sit on the lap of someone who might end her life. She’d crawled into her father’s lap as a child, and now she sat on the knee of a man who seemed no more than a mask, robes, and a hand. The hand in question poured some liquid from a pitcher into a tiny glass and handed it to her.

  “Drink this.”

  She tasted it and found it sweet. Some sort of fortified wine with the scent of flowers. She drank the rest and handed him the glass. As he set it aside, a rush of warmth coursed through her. Pleasant, it made her limbs feel heavy. Her vision blurred but her other senses came to life. The smell of the oil burning in the torches, the distant sound of waves crashing outside. Even the master’s breathing, which had become labored. Her own heart hammered in her chest and her skin tingled.

  Especially at her breasts and the spot between her legs. Her body craved something. It grew restless and hot. But for what?

  When his hand slipped beneath her skirts and found the skin of her calf, she had her answer. She needed his touch. His fingers could make her complete. She sighed

  and closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the feel of his hand against her skin.

  Slowly, he moved higher up her leg to her knee and above. When the stone of his ring grazed the other thigh, she let her legs fall apart. At home, she’d never have allowed a touch so intimate. Such a caress would have mortified her. The heat that now burned her cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment. It took her back to dreams she’d forgotten, images she hadn’t understood. Dark and sinful and delicious. And always accompanied by an ache between her legs.

  She throbbed now. He must have drugged the wine, and she ought to be frightened. Instead, every bit of her mind and body focused on the path of fire he was laying now over her upper thigh. Close. So close.

  When he finally touched her, she gasped with shock and pleasure. Her hips jerked, pressing her harder against his hand.

  “Hot,” he murmured in a husky voice.

  Strange, but somehow touching her had moved him as well. His breath came faster, as did hers. Somehow they’d formed a connection, and he’d caught her fever.

  With no suitors, she’d never learned much about what went on between men and women. Some part of a man’s body would get hard, and then he’d put it inside his wife. Would the master do that with her now? He had the right.

  He continued stroking her, and the heat spiraled in a fog around her brain. She rested her head on his shoulder and surrendered to him.