Ontarian Chronicles: Taken by the Storm Read online

  Praise for the writing of Cyndi Friberg

  Dream Warriors 1: Gareth

  I found Dream Warriors 1: Gareth to be a thoroughly engaging read, and one that I would recommend to paranormal romance lovers everywhere… Ms. Friberg has written a divinely erotic read that leaves this reviewer with dreams of a wonderful series to come.

  -- Lady Novelistic, Romance Junkies

  Fast paced, with a well-matched hero and heroine and a variety of interesting secondary characters both human and inhuman, Gareth will appeal to fans of paranormal and fantasy romance alike.

  -- Sondrea Cash, Romance Reviews Today

  The story is sexy and sweet. The dream sequences were sensual and passionate. I could not put it down. I will be anxiously awaiting more from the Dream Warrior series.

  -- Carla Vail, Coffee Time Romance

  Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows

  This sensuous tale gives vampire lovers something delightfully different and utterly satisfying. It's highly recommended.

  -- Renee Burnette, The Romance Studio

  Ms. Friberg supplies wonderful details in her scenes and her plotline is refreshing. I would love to read the next book in this series and I hope she does many more.

  -- Kaleen, Enchanted in Romance

  Dream Warriors 1: Gareth and Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows are now available from Loose Id.

  ONTARIAN CHRONICLES 1:

  TAKEN BY THE STORM

  Cyndi Friberg

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book is rated:

  For explicit sexuality and graphic language.

  Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm

  Cyndi Friberg

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © November 2004 by Cyndi Friberg

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 1-59632-021-4

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Angela Knight

  www.loose-id.com

  Prologue

  Ontarian Cycle 1 of the Great Conflict

  E’Lanna dar Aune sank to her knees, a low groan torn from her throat. Her lover’s hands moved to steady her, but E’Lanna allowed nothing to distract her from her purpose. They had so little time. If they were detected, all was lost.

  She fixed her gaze on the babies lying side by side in front of her. Identical in every way, their luminous eyes stared back with trust and adoration. Tears blinded her.

  How would she live without them?

  Stretching out her hands, she scanned the babies meticulously, making sure she had left nothing unbound. There must be no sign of their power, no hint to draw attention to them.

  “It is time, Your Majesty,” her lover, also a Mystic, said and gently squeezed her shoulder.

  She nodded and tried to stand, but her entire body trembled. Oh, no! Her power could not fail her now; she had yet to Summon the Storm. The binding ritual had drained her far more than she realized.

  “Steady,” the Mystic said, helping her to her feet.

  Two couples stepped forward, their costumes appropriate to the separate destinations awaiting them. E’Lanna caught her bottom lip between her teeth, holding back the protests raging within her. This was the only way.

  The Mystic gently picked up her babies and handed them to their guardians.

  E’Lanna wrapped her arms around herself and choked back a sob. She could not let this destroy her. The safety of her daughters must come first.

  Quickly turning to the grassy clearing, she summoned the metaphysical plane. Thunder shook the ground and lightening branched out across the violet sky. She opened a transport conduit and poured energy into the vortex. The grass danced with sizzling vibrations and her robe whipped around her body. Bracing her legs farther apart, she Summoned the Storm.

  In a sudden, violent burst, six bolts of lightning struck the ground simultaneously, creating a visible circle of energy surrounding her. Reaching out through the vastness of space and time, she searched, guiding the conduit until she found the location she desired.

  The Mystic stepped up beside her, his hand gentle at the small of her back. “I will hold the vortex,” he offered.

  He was allowing her time to say goodbye.

  One of the guardians passed the first child to her and E’Lanna drank in the sight of her delicate features, memorized the softness of her skin, her scent. She pressed her lips to the baby’s temple and implanted her image, ensuring that her daughter would remember her face.

  “We will cherish her, Your Majesty, and protect her with our lives,” the guardian assured as E’Lanna returned the baby.

  The tightness in her throat made it impossible to speak, so she nodded and motioned toward the vortex. The couple stepped through and E’Lanna shook with anguish and loss.

  The Mystic wrapped his arms around her, pressing himself against her back, supporting her, offering his energy.

  E’Lanna ignored the tears streaming down her face. Her task was not yet complete. She must protect the other twin. Gathering her power into a more manageable stream, she merged with the Mystic, allowing him to augment her rapidly depleting strength.

  Focusing again on the transport conduit, she accessed the power of the storm, channeling the energy into the vortex and guiding it in a new direction, to a separate destination.

  “Quickly,” she urged, motioning the couple forward. E’Lanna kissed the other baby, quickly implanting the memory. “Go now. I am losing control.”

  They did not hesitate. Lightning punctuated their departure and the conduit closed behind them.

  E’Lanna collapsed into her lover’s arms, releasing the shuddering sobs she could no longer contain. He held her tightly, rocking gently and whispering against her hair.

  Crushing the fabric of his robe in her fists, E’Lanna looked up at him, her expression fierce. “You must promise me, no matter what happens, you will protect them.”

  “With my life,” he said emphatically.

  “You must trust no one. No one. Do you understand? I am torn asunder by my responsibilities, but you can offer your allegiance to them alone.”

  “I offer it freely.”

  Burying her face against the warmth of his throat, she clutched him tightly and abandoned herself to grief. She must be strong. So many depended on her.

  She would be strong again tomorrow -- but for now, she would mourn all that this conflict had cost her.

  Chapter One

  Ontariese

  Ontarian Cycle 89 of the Great
Conflict

  “I am not looking forward to this,” Tal muttered as he joined his brother in the vestibule of the Traditionalist Sect Council’s headquarters.

  Trey chuckled. He sprawled in a chair, one brawny leg hooked over its arm, swinging negligently. He always appeared carefree and comfortable, but Tal knew better. Shrewd intelligence lurked just beneath his reckless façade, and his intense amber gaze missed nothing.

  “If it were up to you, little brother, you’d never leave the Conservatory.” Trey chided. “The TSC wants a quick report and then you can zap yourself back to your safe little fortress and practice your spells.”

  Ignoring the semi-playful jibe, Tal folded his arms across his chest and tightened his hair until it lay in a neat, black coil down the center of his back. “We have nothing to report, so why are they wasting our time?”

  “Vee still can’t figure out where Joon went?”

  “We know when the portal opened and an approximate destination, but …” Tal’s words trailed off as an argument broke out on the other side of the closed chamber door. “The TSC sounds as productive as ever.”

  “You’d better change your clothes. If you stroll into the esteemed council chambers in the simple robes of a Mystic, Prefect Aune will not be pleased.”

  There were so many things that displeased their father. Tal had long since abandoned his efforts to remember them all. But he didn’t argue; he visualized a formal Ontarian uniform and felt the Shift ripple across the surface of his body. Glancing down, he inspected the result. Crisp, pleated trousers and a form-fitting jacket. A row of bright gold buttons and a wide belt, the only decorations distracting from the austere black fabric.

  Trey stood and smacked him in the middle of the back. “You look damn good in black.” He laughed. “Good thing you don’t wear it more often.”

  A similar black uniform offset Trey’s vivid coloring. He had tucked his multi-colored hair behind his ears, but refused to bind the bright red, gold, and orange strands at the nape of his neck, as was proper. Mischief danced in Trey’s amber gaze, and Tal smiled despite the tension wrapped around him like a rope. It was hard to remain somber around Trey.

  The chamber doors flew open, demanding the attention of both men. Tal could see into the room. He hated the pomp and formality in which the TSC reveled, so as his brother said, he generally stayed away.

  A massive U-shaped table dominated the room. Any person wishing to make a presentation to the TSC was forced to stand in the middle, surrounded by the council’s haughty stares and aloof expressions.

  The man standing there now did not appear cowed by their arrogance. Vee. Tal smiled. His mentor and closest friend, Vee refused to bow to the dictates of any man, society, or government. His flowing, dove-gray robes intentionally flouted convention and proclaimed his standing as a Master-level Mage, a designation Tal had only recently achieved.

  Without turning from his face-off with the TSC, Vee motioned them forward. Tal glanced at Trey, who was grinning from ear to ear. No one stood near the doors, so Vee must have thrown them open with the power of his mind.

  “I was not ready for their reports, Vee,” Roe Aune thundered, rising out of his chair, his palms flat on the table.

  “Ye shall address me with proper respect if ye expect the same from me, Roe Aune,” Vee said in a cold, clipped tone.

  Tal watched his father struggle for composure. Only those who knew him well understood the effort needed to restrain his temper. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, his lips compressed until they were invisible, but he managed to regain control and sit.

  “Point taken, Master Vee. I was not yet ready for Commander Aune and Master Aune to join our assembly,” the prefect muttered.

  “I have already explained all there is to know. We have exhausted our discourse,” Vee dismissed impatiently. “With each moment you spend berating our efforts, Dez dar Joon slips further away.”

  “How can it be that with all of the technology of our military, and the combined power of the Mystics, we cannot find one man?”

  “Enough!” Vee’s voice rattled the intricately etched windows set at regular intervals within the sculpted walls of the chamber. It was not the volume, but the intensity of his tone, that vibrated the entire room. “I have explained our plan. If you have no further questions, we shall proceed.”

  “Has the Symposium provided you with nothing useful?” Prefect Aune asked.

  “The Symposium is still searching the Wisdom of the Ages for anything that might shed light on Joon’s motivation. I expect another transmission as soon as I return to the Conservatory.”

  “Then go. Do whatever you must to capture Dez dar Joon. We have enjoyed a lull, an intermission in the hostilities, for nearly ten Ontarian cycles. The House of Joon cannot be allowed to escalate this war again.”

  Vee’s only response was a stiff nod. He turned abruptly, his robes flaring out behind him, and strode from the council chambers. Tal and Trey fell in behind, and the massive doors slammed shut the moment they cleared the threshold.

  “If that man were my sire, I would have strangled him in his sleep. How hast thou endured the exasperation?” Vee’s angry stride kept him half a step ahead of the other two men.

  “I came to the Conservatory when I was a child,” Tal reminded him.

  “Boarding school,” Trey put in, and they all laughed.

  Vee opened a transport conduit and took them to the wide, covered gallery surrounding the Conservatory. Trey stumbled as they exited the vortex, but the two Mystics didn’t miss a beat.

  “You mentioned a plan,” Tal said.

  Heaving a long, ragged breath, Vee explained, “We shall Summon the Storm and follow Dez dar Joon in Trey’s ship.”

  Tal skittered to a halt and stared at Vee. “Has a ship ever been transported through the vortex before?”

  “None of which I am aware,” Vee admitted.

  Trey laughed. “This is precious. Why don’t you two just zap through the vortex and bring him back?”

  “Since Dez dar Joon has begun emulating my energy pattern, I am no longer able to detect him,” Vee confessed. “Traditional scanners might be more effective, especially given this planet’s relatively primitive state.”

  “Fine by me, but can you two do it?” Trey asked.

  “I shall guide the ship from within; Tal shall stabilize the vortex from without.”

  “That sounds easy enough.”

  Tal glared at his brother. This was no time for Trey’s sarcasm.

  “We’ll want a small ship, minimal crew. Something undetectable to their technology.” Trey grinned again. “When do we leave?”

  “Make whatever preparations ye find necessary. We shall join ye as soon as I have heard from the Symposium.”

  Trey nodded and Vee sent him back through the vortex.

  “He hates that, you know,” Tal said.

  “Transporting?”

  “Not so much utilizing the vortex, as being tossed through space like a leaf on the wind.”

  Some of the tension eased from Vee’s expression. “I shall offer my apologies when next we meet.”

  “Has the Symposium made any progress?” Tal changed the subject.

  “I was in the midst of a link when thy father summoned me like a disobedient child.”

  Tal managed not to laugh at the obvious affront in Vee’s tone, but a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. It was not often that anything could rile Vee, but Prefect Aune had certainly done so today.

  They went to one of the meditation chambers. When the Symposium sent him massive amounts of information in a short period of time, it was necessary for Vee to cast himself into a nearly catatonic trance.

  Tal stood by silently as Vee arranged himself comfortably upon the padded floor. “I should not be long.”

  With a shake of his head, Vee emerged a few moments later. “We were unable to pinpoint his destination, but we have successfully narrowed the search area to a manageable field.”

/>   Never one to mince words, Vee continued without giving Tal the opportunity to question his decisions.

  “I will infuse you with the needed languages and background information before we begin. The Symposium has given me the image of a woman. We believe she is involved, but we are not sure how. The other Mystics will supplement the Storm. This has never been attempted before.”

  “I am aware of that,” Tal said. He felt his senses stir with an uncomfortable combination of excitement and foreboding. He didn’t fear Dez dar Joon, but each time they chased after him, Tal couldn’t help but feel that Joon was in control.

  Vee glanced at him, apparently sensing the surge of emotions within him. Tal looked away. Vee knew all of the reasons pursued Dez dar Joon. Perhaps this time, it would finally end.

  “Well, that settles it, then,” Vee concluded. “Let the adventure commence.”

  Chapter Two

  Aspen, Colorado

  Present Day

  Holidays were hell for Charlotte Layton, and New Year’s Eve was the worst of all. She was twenty-nine years old, financially secure, physically attractive -- and utterly alone.

  Knowing this night would hit hard, she’d retreated to her cabin near Aspen. Hidden in the majestic tranquility of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, this was the only place on Earth where she could find anything resembling peace.

  After several hours of staring at the television in a sightless stupor, she decided to make a list. Lists helped her organize her thoughts and set priorities. She divided the notepad down the center and labeled the columns “pros” and “cons.”