Free Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) by Heather Killough-Walden

The outer edges of the flame were red and yellow. The center of the flame was white – and blue. “The hottest fire is blue,” she’d told them. “That’s why you can’t cook over barbeque coals that are still blue. You need to wait until they die down and the fire turns red or you’ll burn everything to a crisp.”
    In the limousine’s driver’s seat, Frank smiled and shook his head. “No need to apologize, Miss Dante. You’ve had an eventful night.”
    Rhiannon returned his smile, but it was admittedly a tired smile. He was putting it mildly. The encounter with the stranger had brought out the most dangerous aspects of Rhiannon, things she thought she’d l earned to control years ago. Though they could have been much worse, the consequences were still dire.
    Tens of thousands of dollars worth of damage had been done to the equipment and property at the cathedral. Fortunately, her employer could afford it, especially if Samuel Lambent didn’t pull his funding – and Rhiannon prayed like mad that he didn’t.
    She wanted nothing more than for Mr. Verdigri to have the money he needed to make the world at least a little more like he thought the world should be. He was a good man. Power in good hands was a good thing. The problem was, he never spared any expense. It wasn’t in his nature. He loved extravagance and cut no corners. “Life is too short,” he would tell her. He would know. “And sparkly things are so very sparkly.”
    So , he was always fundraising.
    What she would n’t give to see him in a situation where he would never have to worry about finagling money again.
    Not a single person had been harmed in the fires or mini-explosions caused by the lightning’s strikes, but noise and eruptions had placed people in a state of discord.
    When Mr. Verdigri found Rhiannon at the center of the confused crowd and pulled her aside to make certain she was okay, he couldn’t help but also ask her if she had any idea what had happened. He was well aware of her ability to control weather – and there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when the gala began that night.
    She’d come clean immediately, admitting that she may have lost control for a moment or two. With a surprised expression, he asked what had brought it on, and she found that was where her ability to be straight forward with him came to an end.
    Rather than tell him the whole truth, she’d simply shaken her head helplessly. “I really don’t know how it happened, Mr. Verdigri. I haven’t lost control in years.” It was part of the truth. She should have been stronger than this, able to weather any kind of seduction, magical or not. She should have had a fist-hold on her abilities. She was flummoxed.
    His gaze had narrowed thoughtfully, and he nodded in acceptance. He knew it had been a very long while since she’d lost control.
    “I know,” he said calmly. But there was a turbulent sea of questions behind that calm.
    They’d been joined at that time, by Samuel Lambent, who in the ensuing madness, had removed his mask.
    That was where the night became a ter rible blur for Rhiannon. Lambent was not only as handsome as his tabloid pictures made him out to be, he was painfully beautiful, from his voice to his dark, tumultuous gaze, which all but reflected the hurricane of emotions going through Rhiannon that night.
    The man was the very tower of grace, too. When Rhiannon’s nervous employer had begun apol ogizing profusely to him, no doubt hoping he wouldn’t pull his promised funding, Lambent had waved his hand dismissively, and said, “Mr. Verdigri, nature is the wild, redheaded step child of the Cosmos; she’s unpredictable at the best of times, and deadly at the worst.” Then he’d chuckled and added, “Besides, if these are the kinds of effects you can provide for my programs, then you’re delivering on your promises already, and I’m impressed.”
    Smooth , Rhiannon thought now as she looked back on the evening and the limousine