Mated in Flames: An Australian Ranch Shifter Paranormal Romance (Burnt Skies Book 1) Read online

  Mated in Flames

  Jade Alters

  © Copyright 2020 Untamed Love Romance LLC - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Luciana

  Trees flashed past, dirt and debris being kicked into the air around me as I run. I long to stop for a moment, to grab my water canister and take a large swig, but there’s no time for that. The emergency call had come in only ten minutes ago, and our response could mean the difference between life and death.

  Somewhere further, I can hear the sounds of shouts, and the rising spoke over the tree tops tell me that there’s a fire in that direction. We’ll likely need to head that way, once the conflict is over, but, for now, I need to follow the trail my fellow doctors have left for us and save the lives I can do something about.

  And pray that our camp was far enough away that we wouldn’t be in any danger.

  “Up there,” my partner, Alice Lee pants out.

  We toil up the hill, and I try not to think how heavy my emergency kit is as we scramble up over rocks and upturned soil. From the way grass and bushes have been uprooted, it’s clear that there was definitely some sort of conflict in that direction.

  It shouldn’t surprise me. Here in Burkina Faso, where we’re currently stationed, there are conflicts everywhere.

  As we reach the top of the hill, I hear the sounds of pained gasps and murmured consolation. Two people are on the ground; the dark-skinned man is unconscious and the woman, her clothes torn, is bleeding and crying.

  Sitting beside them is another of my crew, Alex Ponds, his voice soothing as he speaks quietly to the hysterical woman, who is saying something in another language. As we get closer, I can hear her speaking frantically in Bissa, and I know enough to pick up that she is worried about her companion and that she’s in pain.

  Alex looks up at our approach.

  “Oh good, you’re here,” he said. “We need to provide emergency field treatment and then get these guys back to the hospital. The man has taken a hard hit to the head and is unresponsive, and his heart rate is sluggish. The woman is panicked, and I fear she’s going into shock. Her main wound is to her arm.”

  As he spoke, Alice and I were already unpacking the things we would need, more than prepared. The woman quietened as we worked on the two of them quickly; starting to calm as Alex directed his attention back to her. The wound on her shoulder was deep and would require stitches but, for now, we can bind it so that she can move around safely.

  The man was more of a concern. We would need to transport him, and there was no way to do that safely out here. Leaving the woman to Alice, I turned to look at him.

  And was hit with a dizzying wave of déjà vu.

  I knew, in coming out to Burkina Faso, that I would have to deal with the memories of David, my boyfriend. The two of us had entered Doctors Without Borders five years ago, and we had grown close right from the start. Seven months ago, he went missing here in this region while I was on a mission to help a flood affected area in Japan. There has been no sign of him, and many of our colleagues have taken him for dead.

  But not me. He has to be out there. Somewhere.

  “Luciana?”

  The sound of Alex’s voice brings me back to the present and I look around to see him staring up at me, his face twisting in concern.

  “Are you alright?” he asks in a low voice.

  I open my mouth to reply, but a flash in the trees catches my attention. A light brown, the exact same color of David’s favorite jacket.

  “Sorry, I have to go,” I say, and dash before either Alex or Alice can reply.

  In the back of my mind, I know I’ll be in trouble for this. I’m abandoning my mission, and leaving my colleagues behind. But all that has flown from my mind. None of it matters.

  David matters.

  My heart in my throat, I push through the bush, following the rustle of leaves. If I was in my right mind, I would probably have wondered why David appears to be running from me. But I’ve spent so long looking for some sign of David being alive that all rationality has flown out the window.

  I just need to know that he’s okay.

  I burst into a clearing. The sound of wooded life is all around me and, nearby, I can hear a bubbling stream. Across the clearing, a gazelle leaps away from me, sending me a frightened look, and disappears into the bush on the other side.

  A gazelle. I was following a gazelle.

  A short burst of hysterical laughter escapes me. I’ve really done it this time. My superiors have been worried about me for weeks, urging me to take some time off, but I’ve refused. Maybe I should have listened. Then I wouldn’t be chasing gazelles through the warzone of Burkina Faso.

  I run a hand down my face. Time to go back and face the music.

  Alex and Alice are two of my closest friends here. But there was no way, upon their return to camp, that they could hide my abandonment, especially since I had left them alone with two injured locals. As I return, everyone looks toward me. I can see a range of pity and irritation on several faces, and I know I deserve it.

  David’s loss hit me hard. But I thought I could function through it.

  Obviously, I thought wrong.

  “Martinez.”

  I straighten unconsciously and look toward the stern woman that’s approaching me. Her eyes are narrowed on my face. I normally get along very well with Yasmin Lopez, the senior supervisor for our area, but I doubt she wants to see me for a chat this time.

  “Come with me,” she said shortly.

  Damn. The two of us disappear into her office, a tent that was set up nearby so she could keep track of everything that happens here until we’re extracted.

  “Why, Martinez,” Lopez asked the moment the flap is down. “Surely you remember what you were told last month?”

  I wince at the reminder of defying a direct order in order to comb through reports on David’s incident, getting a very stern warning from senior managers.

  “Luciana, I had to report this,” Lopez says tiredly.

  “I know,” I say; I’d expected nothing less.

  “And action has been taken,” Lopez continues. She lifts her chin and I know, in this moment, that she’s talking to me as my supervisor, not my friend. “You’ve been suspended. You need to take some time off, and now you’re being forced to. We’ll review your circumstances in a month to ensure that you are not going to put yourself and your entire team at risk.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “What?” I exclaim. “Lopez, can’t you…”

  “I can’t,” Lopez says, holding up a hand. “The decision has been made.” Then her face softened. “Take the time, Luciana. You’ll feel better for it. You’re one of our best doctors, and your expertise in toxicology makes you invaluable. But we can’t have you getting yourself killed because you’re not thinking straight.

  She’s right. Deep down, I know it, even if I don’t want to admit it. But I also know that it will be futile to argue. The decision had been made in my absence before I could be present to defend myself and hopefull
y score another chance.

  “Why don’t you go home?” Lopez suggests. “It’s summer in Brazil, surely it will be lovely at this time of year.”

  I’m sure it would be. But there’s a reason I don’t go home much. There is nothing there for me, not since David went missing.

  “I’ll leave you to think about it,” Lopez says with a sigh. “Also, this arrived for you today.”

  She hands over a white envelope. It isn’t in the best condition, but it’s still sealed. Lopez claps me on the shoulder and then leaves the tent, giving me a moment to process.

  But I don’t want a moment to process. I want to do my job. It’s all I’ve got left in this world, and I know I’ll go insane without it. Needing to think of anything else, I tear open the envelope, allowing two folded pieces of paper to fall out. One is neat and crisply white. The only is a little torn and yellowed.

  Odd. I open the white letter first.

  Dear Ms. Martinez,

  It is with great sorrow that I write to inform you of the passing of Lucas Martinez on the 6th of August, 2019 in Mundaring, Western Australia.

  In accordance with his will, you have been bequeathed his property and all entitlements. On receipt of your acceptance, ownership will be transferred.

  If you have any questions, please contact…

  The letter falls from my numb hands. Well. This was just the icing on the cake.

  It has been a long time since I saw my father. We’ve been estranged since I was a young, and I didn’t spend much time thinking of him. But finding out about his sudden death suddenly makes it hard to breath. I try to remember the last conversation I had with him, but I honestly can’t. At most, we sent each other friendly cards on our birthdays, the kind you might send to a distant acquaintance because you were forced to, but that was it.

  And now he’s gone.

  I sit heavily on the chair in front of Lopez’s desk. And then, remembering that there was another letter, I slowly open it. It’s written in my father’s hand.

  Luciana

  There is much I wish to tell you and very little time to do it in. I have left you everything in my possession, and I hope it serves you well.

  Find my journal. It will tell you all you need to know.

  Remember the story of the girl who drank the poisoned iced tea.

  Dad

  I stare at this incredulously. I haven’t spoken to him in years, and this is what he leaves me? A property in Australia, a cryptic note and a riddle?

  I’m half tempted to rip it up and chuck the whole thing in the bin.

  But…

  The timing couldn’t be better, I have to admit. I need somewhere to go, and I don’t want to return to Brazil right now. I need to get away from everything; from my home, from my job, from memories of David. Maybe taking a look at this property and focusing on that would be a welcome distraction.

  I look down at the letter again. Mundaring, huh? I remember when my father moved out there and forwarded his address to me. But I’ve never seen the place. I know he has a few acres and a farm. At the very least, preparing his property for sale will give me something to do.

  I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  Looks like I’m off to Australia.

  It takes several days for me to organize travel. My superiors extract me from Burkina Faso as quickly as possible, and I rattle around my empty home, packing and booking tickets, and speaking to the solicitors of my father’s will.

  Yet it feels like no time at all before my car pulls up at a small gate. Further ahead on the property, I can see a large, darkened house. So this is my inheritance.

  “Thanks,” I say, paying the cab driver.

  “No problem,” the man says with a grin. “Look after yourself out here.”

  Slightly bemused, I help him unload my things and watch him leave. Then I look around.

  It’s not much, I have to admit, but I knew it was a small town. There’s currently only around three thousand people here, and most of the area is surrounded by bush and creek. I just hadn’t been prepared for how quiet it was at six in the evening. It’s certainly different from Manaus, where David and I lived together.

  I load up with all my bags, staggering under the weight but unwilling to make two trips considering how long the driveway is, and make my way. Over the road, I can see lights on at the house, and I wonder who my neighbors are.

  Not that it should matter, I remind myself. I won’t be here long enough to care, if I can help it.

  The house is impressively large, especially considering my father lived here alone. But that isn’t my focus. I’ve spent the entire journey trying to puzzle out my father’s riddle, and a memory had finally hit me as I was on the plane.

  I remember sitting beside my father, leaning on his knee, listening to him tell me the story of two girls, who drank from the same pitcher of iced tea, yet one had died of poison and the other had not. I couldn’t figure out the answer, and my father had laughed at my frustration.

  “What does ice do, Luciana?” he had asked gently.

  “It melts,” I had answered promptly, fascinated.

  “Exactly,” he had replied warmly. “So, if the poison was in the ice…”

  “The poison would get in the drink!” I had cheered.

  “Exactly. That’s the thing with poisons, Luciana. Mysterious and deadly, they often hide in plain sight, waiting for someone to shine light on them so that a cure can be made. A poison is like hiding a tree in a forest or a book in a library…”

  Shaking the memory away, unwilling to dwell on my shared love of poisons with my father, I stride through the house. Eventually, I find what I’m looking for, a large bookshelf filled to the brim with books on all sorts of creatures, oddly enough. It’s easy to spot the journal, since it’s sticking out, almost as though it was waiting for me.

  These are the last words my father will give me. I hesitate for a moment and then grasp it, pulling it free, and flip to the first page, a scribbled note addressed to me.

  Luciana,

  I hope you will understand. Read carefully and take heart in your own strength, my daughter. I love you.

  Look after the animals. They are all very special.

  Dad

  I stare at the page blankly. Animals? There are animals here? I close my eyes.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have come, after all.

  Warwick

  The sun beats down harshly on my back and I stretch, wiping sweat from my brow. Beside me, Dane huffs a laugh.

  “Too hot for you?” he teases.

  I laugh, too. Since coming to Australia a few years ago, Dane and I had fallen in love with the small town of Mundaring, and our carefully cultivated farm. It was peaceful out here, somewhere that the rest of the world couldn’t touch us.

  The summers, though, were brutally hot. It was perfect. Despite what Dane and I pretended, we both knew that the heat didn’t really touch either of us. In fact, we thrived in this sort of weather, though the effort of physical exertion in this sort of heat was nothing to scoff at.

  “You’re the one who took your shirt off,” I say, nudging him. “Looks like you’re the one who can’t handle the heat.”

  “No, I can’t handle the sweat,” Dane says, wrinkling his nose. “It smells.”

  That, I can definitely agree with. Our bodies still sweat, and the smell of it soaking into the material of our clothes was unpleasant to our sensitive noses.

  I relax my back and lean down to pick up the bundle of hay that I had been carrying with me. The sun has gotten to its highest point in the sky, and there’s still so much work to be done on the farm.

  It’s as I’m moving across the front yard that I notice movement across the road. This automatically crosses my attention; it hadn’t been so long ago that the place was crowded with ambulances and police for a day or two before the old man that lived there had disappeared. In the days since, someone had turned up in the morning every day to look after the animals
there before leaving it empty once more.

  Today, though, it’s different. It’s mid-afternoon and someone is still there; I can see them weaving among the crops and hauling a large bucket. Curious, I creep forward and head to the front gate.

  It’s a woman, her face twisting in concentration and her hat jammed low on her head to try and keep out of the sun. Unlike Dane and I, it’s clear that the hot weather does not entirely agree with her, and her face is flushed red. Strands of long dark hair, escaping the ponytail sitting low on her neck, escaped from beneath the hat.

  Then she turned, scowling down at something on the ground. Her green eyes were bright and snapping with her anger and I can’t help but stare, caught by their emerald gleam.

  She turned around again and I shook my head, blinking.

  If she’s here, then maybe she’s taken over the farm now? It would definitely make more sense for someone to live there personally. Since I’m certain my original neighbour has passed away, maybe this woman is a relative that inherited the property.

  Though, she definitely isn’t someone I’ve seen before. In a matter of security for Dane and I, we’ve kept a close eye on our neighbour over the years, and this woman hasn’t visited him in all that time.

  I watched her disappear around the side of the house and then turned away too, making my way back to where Dane was mucking out the pig sty.

  “Hey, I think we’ve got a new neighbour,” I say.

  “What?” Dane asks sharply, standing straight. “How do you know?”

  “There’s someone over there, a woman,” I reply.

  “I’d hoped the place would stay empty,” Dane mutters. “That would be so much easier for us.”

  “Dane, if we want to blend here, we need to stop being so wary of everyone,” I tell him. “Yesterday, I overheard the grocery store owner talking about us; it’s actually more suspicious that we keep to ourselves like we do.”

  “You go play nice with the locals if you want to,” Dane snorts. “I’m perfectly happy staying away.”