Page 3 of Enchanted Hero (The Secret Enchanters #1)

His features softened, and, for a moment, he appeared genuine, kind even. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’m trying to help you.”

She jerked her head from side to side. The man was planning to steal her company. “You only want to seize control. It’s not going to work. You’re not getting either of us.” With a final glare, she pivoted toward the exit and escape.

And hesitated only briefly when he responded, “Next time you visit, use the door. Security will admit you.”

She had no intention of ever returning, as she traversed the room and entered the spacious hallway.

Unlike earlier, multiple security guards patrolled the area, large, powerful and armed .

Had they been hiding, observing her as Alexander Stone had?

One heavily muscled man even opened the door for her as she reentered the ballroom.

A hundred conversations swirled, many regarding the powerful, rich and all things wonderful Alexander Stone.

A gaggle of giggling socialites debated whether he was as solid as he looked. She could answer that question.

Yes.

She retrieved her checked coat, a quick endeavor since she was the only one leaving at such an early hour.

Somehow the party was even more crowded, with thousands of people spread between the enormous ballroom and accompanying rooms. Finally, she reached the grand entrance, where two impeccably dressed butlers opened the massive Mahogany double doors…

To a raging tempest.

“Did he plan this, too?” If the world obeyed Stone’s every command, why wouldn’t Mother Nature?

The storm rushed inside, blowing her hair into her eyes and pressing her clothing flush against her.

The scent of rain swirled as it poured vertically, horizontally and diagonally, carried by the furious wind.

Thunder rumbled and then roared, set to brilliant flashes of light.

“Would you like to wait out the storm, miss?”

Everleigh shook her head at the crisp doorman. “If it’s still bad when I reach the car, I’ll wait until it passes.” Even in its glory, the tempest couldn’t compare to the force that was Alexander Stone.

“Are you sure?” Concern etched his kind features. “I’m sure Mr. Stone wouldn’t want any of his guests taking risks. Shall I call him?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He’d barely allowed her to escape the first time – who knew whether he would allow it a second? She stepped toward the threshold.

“Hold on a minute.” The butler put a hand to a tiny speaker in his ear. “Mr. Stone says you are not to leave. He’ll be here in a minute.”

He was forbidding her to leave? He might think he could command the world, and the world might agree with him, but he didn’t command her.

She stood tall before the sheets of rain, the trees bending and twisting like reeds of wheat.

No man ruled her, especially not Alexander Stone.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the storm.

It was a mistake .

This was apparent the instant she entered the storm, as powerful forces attacked her – the whipping wind, stinging rain, hail shooting like tiny rockets.

She should have immediately turned back, yet instead she ran, away from the mansion, away from Alexander Stone’s gilded world.

Rain pelted her arms, each droplet like a wasp’s sting, as the wind yanked at her, pushing and pulling as it threatened to blow her off her feet.

Thunder roared overhead, never-ending booms that shook the ground, as rain poured so thick it seemed one straight curtain.

Twigs swirled, leaves and debris that battered and bruised tender skin.

She sprinted faster, yet her heels sank into the soggy mud as she lunged through puddles and hurdled over fallen branches. A tree stump caught her shoe, and suddenly she was tumbling, tumbling, tumbling, until she grasped a branch, just avoiding splashing into the water-logged ground.

She had to turn back. No matter the peril of Alexander Stone’s lair, this tempest was far too dangerous. She pivoted, yet the storm wielded destruction like an invading army. The next time lightning flashed, she froze.

Whoa.

Directly in front of her, a tornado spun, sucking up everything in its path.

Her heart slammed against her chest, breaths coming fast and shallow, as she slid on the muddy ground.

Yet it was too slick, the wind too powerful, as she lurched forward like an out-of-control ice skater.

This time nothing saved her as she slammed against the hard ground, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Jagged rocks scraped her palms as she scrambled up, remaining upright a sliver of a second before another gust of wind slammed her down again.

The twister raged closer, eating up the ground on a path directly at her.

She fought to rise, but the wind flattened her against the rocky terrain.

Freezing cold iced her veins as the twister delved closer, closer, closer, grasping her with its violent clutches. She squeezed her eyes shut.

A second passed, then another and another, yet somehow the wind seemed no greater. She opened her eyes.

The tornado still loomed feet away, blowing and churning and twisting in nature’s fury, towering like a harbinger of destruction. Yet its forward progress had halted, and it wobbled back and forth, almost as if something held it. No, not something.

Someone.

It couldn’t be, and yet it was unmistakable.

A man stood in the twister, completely still, untouched by the fierce wind.

Covered from head to toe in black, a concealing mask hid his features.

He waved his arms, and the tornado followed his direction, like a conductor leading nature’s orchestra.

Suddenly, an explosion roared, as loud as a hundred thunderbolts, as bright as a thousand lightning strikes.

Everleigh jerked away, shielding her eyes as she curled away from the distortion of nature.

Without sight, other sensations bombarded her – the heavy scent of rain, the endless drumbeat of droplets, the water lapping at her as the rain turned the ground into a shallow sea.

Yet the precipitation wasn’t quite so torrential anymore. Ever-so-slowly, she opened her eyes.

The tornado was gone . Not weaker, not moving away, but utterly, completely vanished, as if it simply popped out of existence. She rose on shaky legs, her feet slipping in the wet puddles. What just happened? Where did it go? How could a tornado just disappear?

Screams and shouts pierced the air, as people huddled by the door to the mansion. Emergency sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. As the storm rapidly weakened into a drizzle, one thing became explicitly clear.

It was time to leave.

Now people poured out of the home, smartphone cameras poised and ready.

If she didn’t want to end up on the news or worse, she needed to get away now.

There was nothing more she could do – the man was nowhere to be seen, and the professionals would undoubtedly search the property.

They’d think she was insane if she claimed a man controlled the tornado.

As she sprinted away, a single question emerged:

Who was that man?