Taming the Storm (Crimson Storm Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  This is work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright© Yumoyori Wilson, 2018

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Cover Design by Crimson Phoenix Creations

  Editing by Rachel Mowry & Elizabeth A Lance

  Format: Gina Wynn

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  Japanese Glossary

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Coming Soon

  Reflections of You - Sneak Peek

  Reflections of You

  Reflections of You

  About Yumoyori Wilson

  Books by Yumoyori Wilson

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for purchasing TAMNG THE STORM

  Thank you to all my amazing supporters for being awesome and encouraging me to write every day.

  Special thanks to Tamara White, Elle Cross, C.M Stunich, Tate James and Aspen Winters for being such amazing friends and motivators (literally my daily sprint buddies haha xoxo).

  Thank you to my amazing BETA team for so being so epic and lively. You make this journey A LOT easier and I’m grateful to have all of you in my life. Thank you for working extra hard this release and dealing with the schedule change.

  Special thanks to my amazing editors Elizabeth and Rachel. You continue to work marvellously together and I couldn’t be more grateful to have you on my publishing team.

  Special thanks to my amazing Mom for blessing me with the gift to write and supporting me in all aspects. I pray to continue making you proud as I strive towards success.

  Finally, I thank God for giving me the strength to achieve my goals. Without Him, I would be nothing.

  YUMOYORI WILSON

  Blurb

  A mysterious pocket watch, six mage shifters, and one deceased lover...

  My name is Crimson Arashi and I'm your typical twenty-two-year-old, finishing my Bachelors of Arts degree. Sadly, my father insists I become a doctor, claiming he’d supported my attempts to be an artist for way too long.

  In this world full of magic and shifters, it sucks that I am the only child of a powerful warlock — my father, and a Kitsune shifter — my mother. I'd disappointed them from birth because I was born a human — neither shifter nor mage. I’d be lucky to be able to light a candle with the snap of my fingers.

  After one night of drinking to drown my sorrows of being a disgrace to my family, I crash into a thief on the run with six men in pursuit. None of them notice the pocket watch that escapes their grasp, falling to the cold, wet ground. I didn't think opening it would grant me all the power and strength of the previous owner.

  I also didn't think it would belong to Storm Yuna, the strongest female magician known in our world. Too bad she had been murdered. Now, I'd inherited not only her powers, but her feelings too. Yeah...feelings.

  It will take all my strength to navigate the storm of power and feelings swirling inside of me.

  I just hope I can survive the trials that await me.

  Japanese Glossary

  ⎫HAI – Yes

  ⎫SENPAI – Teacher

  ⎫HACHIMITSU – Honey

  ⎫URUFU – Wolf

  ⎫ARIGATO – Thanks

  ⎫ARIGATO GOZAIMASHITU – Thank You

  ⎫YAMERU – Stop

  ⎫YAMATO KOTOBA – words inherited from Old Japanese

  ⎫TATAMI MAT – Traditional Japanese furnishing/accessories

  ⎫WATASHI NO AI – My Love

  ⎫WATASHI WA ANATO O YURUSU – I Forgive You

  ⎫USOTUSKI – Liar

  ⎫NANI – What

  ⎫BAKA – Stupid

  ⎫KUTABARE – Go To Hell

  ⎫CHOTTO – A Little

  ⎫KUSOKURAE – Fuck You

  ⎫GOMENNASAI – Sorry

  ⎫KATANA — Sword

  ⎫SHAZAI ITASIMASU — You’re Welcome

  ⎫OKAERINASAI — Welcome Home

  Green eyes.

  Beautiful gems that glittered under the lamp post at the other end of the alley. They widened, fear taking over them; his body jolted forward into a sprint.

  I watched as if in slow motion as he made his way toward me; the dark gloomy alleyway looked twice as long now. I could see the desperation in his eyes. His orange-gold strands of hair were bound together by a black gold ribbon decorated with ancient text that began to glow— the sensation of magic in the air evident.

  But it didn't matter. Something told me my fate had been set in stone and there was nothing I could do to change it.

  Maybe it was the five magical creatures that burst out of the opened pocket watch that made my hand tremble, making the small piece of machinery feel triple the weight it normally should be.

  I could see the other five men come into view— all of them sprinting in slow motion to reach me. My eyes looked up at the five magical beings above me as they danced in celebration. Or were they somehow mocking me for setting them free?

  The magic that surrounded me was suffocating, and I struggled to breathe, leaving me frozen in crippling fear at the overflow of magical essence. It could potentially kill me— the level of energy stronger than that of my mother or father, who were the most powerful shifters I'd ever known.

  The creatures crashed into one another mid-air — creating a spinning wheel of color: red, white, blue, gold, and pink.

  I watched in awe; my eyes grew wide as the spinning bundle of color shot forward —straight into my body.

  The impact threw me off my feet, the force of magic surging through my body as my legs and hands flailed uselessly as I fell.

  I couldn't distinguish what drew my attention more — the unbearable pain that coursed through my veins or the stunned and fearful expressions of the men approaching me as I made my slow descent to the ground.

  Before I hit the wet pavement, I opened my eyes to stare at the six men. But something had changed.

  My fear didn't linger on the feeling of impending doom as the power I once feared thrummed through my veins, but focused instead on the fear of leaving these men — the ones I loved, again.

  As my conscious wavered, flickers of emotions and memories flashed through my m
ind, before leaving just as quickly. Then dark spots filled my vision.

  I finally hit the ground; my body bounced from the heavy impact and the energy my body struggled to contain. It felt like trying to close a container with too much fluid — the excess trying to forcefully escape.

  My head hit the ground first, falling back until all I could see was an upside down image of the way I'd come from.

  The one time I hadn't listened to James, it led to my death. A tear rolled down my cheek and I struggled to breathe through my nostrils - blood already began to pool within them and trail down my esophagus.

  I wanted to gag or turn my head to the side to let the metallic tasting liquid have a way to escape, but I was nothing but a broken rag doll, paralyzed on the cold wet ground.

  The last thing I saw was my best friend — those ruby red eyes that I'd loved and the soft, light pink lips I had kissed every time he craved my touch.

  I thought if I died, I would at least have a sense of fulfillment for living a decent life. But as my eyes began to close, my best friend ran forward and I regretted not telling him how I truly felt. I wished I had told him how much I yearned for us to be a couple and not just a fling based on emotions and alcohol.

  I loved him…yet, I also somehow loved the six men who were nothing but a group of strangers to me. Somehow, I knew they had loved and cherished me till my very last breaths.

  As my consciousness finally began to fade, my body started to fail one organ at a time. In that moment, I knew I'd died before. I'd lived, enjoyed the joys of love and fame, and had died a horrible death— a demise I hadn’t deserved.

  As I took my final breath, my lungs unable to spare any more energy to function, I made a silent plea.

  If I survived this, I would conquer my fears. I would not be afraid to speak my mind and admit what troubled my heart.

  I would cherish each breath I took and strive toward achieving my dreams.

  Most importantly, I would love. Love without boundaries and follow my heart.

  The last thing I heard was my name; a part of me remembered the way it rolled off James’ tongue whereas the new part of me didn't recognize the foreign voice.

  "CRIMSON!"

  Crimson...or Storm.

  Which one am I?

  Does it matter?

  I think not.

  Because without some type of miracle, I will become nothing but a memory.

  And that is my biggest regret of all.

  "Sweet Crimson, you should be sleeping."

  I pulled my eyes away from my canvas, my thin paintbrush inches away from adding the finishing touches to yet another masterpiece. I turned to meet the ruby-eyed gaze of my best friend, James Hamilton.

  His built, 6'3” frame stood in the doorway, a seductive smile on those smooth pink lips of his. He had dark red hair with hints of black at the tips which was currently spiked to complement his punk style. His black leather jacket, red dress shirt and black jeans that sported metallic red and black chains gave off bad boy vibes, and only served to make him more strikingly delicious to stare at.

  He closed the door, locking it, before setting the keys to our shared flat on the black counter top of the kitchen island. He waltzed over to me and from the way his body swayed, I knew he had been drinking. It wasn't surprising behavior since we did love to drink and party, but I was more of an emotional drinker unlike James, who went out whenever he got a chance.

  "I got inspiration and wanted to draw a little bit." I gave him a small smile and my heart skipped a beat.

  He reached my side and before I could say anything more, his lips smashed against mine. His hands landed on my hips, and I suddenly remembered I was still holding my palette of paint in one hand and my brush in the other.

  I'd learned enough times to not get lost in James' play, but his lips were like an addiction — a drug I couldn't give up just yet, even if it pained my heart every time.

  We broke apart, our soft exhales a reminder of our steamy kiss. I loved the way the haunting rays of the moon glistened against his red eyes which stared at me with adoration and devotion; a look he only gave me when he’d had a little too much whiskey.

  "Come sleep with me," he whispered.

  I gave him a flirtatious smile, leaning forward to kiss him again. "I need to finish this. Go freshen up and relax. I'll join you after."

  His swollen lips brushed against mine. "Okay, Crimson. Just don't be too long. I missed you." He gave me a look of pure desire.

  "I missed you too, James. I'll be there soon," I reassured him. As much as my body craved to give in and share a lust-filled night with him, I knew I'd only be setting myself up for disappointment and heartache. I'd learned many times in the past three years of our on-and-off drunken flings that he and I would never become a real 'thing.’

  I'd met James when I was nineteen at a family gathering; both our families were high ranking in our community. We'd hit it off right away, having the same interests, similar artistic hobbies, and coming from a familiar upbringing helped us relate to one another.

  Aside from James being Chinese whereas I was Japanese, I once thought we were so alike and meant to be. But, once we started dating and I noticed his family’s expectations of me were just like everyone else’s, I realized I would never be able to be by his side.

  See, their expectations of me were non-existent, because I was nothing but a human. I was born into a family with my father, a powerful warlock and my mother, a Kitsune shifter. Our family, and community had already planned for me to do great things before I was even born.

  But the disappointment started there — a baby girl born with no magic and was human. A baby named Crimson Arashi.

  From then onward, my life was never easy. I was the little girl no one wanted to play with, the girl alone in the corner of the room at every family gathering until I was old enough to stay home instead.

  I'd always thought maybe my power would unlock later in life, but as I got older and wiser, I realized I was just unlucky. I was my parents’ one and only child. It wasn’t like they didn't try to have another one, but before long, they stopped entirely.

  I suspected it was because they didn't want to take a chance of having a second human child and the shame it would bring to our family name. I had caused more than enough collateral damage already.

  I'd accepted the fact I would never meet my father's expectations. My mother wanted the best for me, but my father never made things easy for either of us. He was a strict man, more concerned with saving his image and position in the Magic Political Council for Magicians and Shifters than taking care of his family.

  He had to work twice as hard to obtain the position, again because of me, and now he'd do anything to protect it. I was just thankful he hadn't discarded me, which was common when a child didn't meet their family’s expectations. Cruel, yes, but our culture cared about status and power — potential I didn't have and my status was only due to my last name.

  I could go on and on about our culture and politics, focusing on where we lived in Nokamato, a large urban city in our country, Homatomashi, but the discussion would just lead me down into a depression spiral. My family issues were one of the reasons why I drank to begin with, and I lived with James to get away from the family shrine.

  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and trying to regain focus. Art was my escape. It was where I could let my energy, emotions, and talent flow. I loved the sense of peace it gave me when I was lost in the world of acrylic paint.

  I didn't have to meet anyone's expectations when I painted. I could be true to myself and enjoy the rewarding feeling of being good at something. Of course, my father disapproved of my dreams of becoming an artist. He would rather I do what other successful human adults did at my age: go to medical school and become a doctor.

  I'd easily finished my Bachelor of Arts degree and had enough of a following and savings to do whatever I wanted with my life, but my father wanted me to do this for them. He thought at least
if I was a doctor, it wouldn't be as ‘shameful.’

  I finished my masterpiece, needing to zone out to rid my thoughts of the dread of my family shit that already began to try and taunt me. It was two in the morning and all the bars around this area would be closed by now.

  I did have plenty of wine and vodka, but something about being in the small, dimly lit bar helped sooth the growing depression I continued to fight on a daily basis.

  Any form of exercise did wonders for my emotions too, whether it was running in the calm early hours of the morning, blasting my music and tuning out the rest of the world, or my sword dancing class which combined the art of moving your body and mastering swordplay. It was a fun hobby to have and because I'd begun sword dancing when I was only ten years old, I now received advanced one-on-one training from my Master, Hakua.

  She'd become a dear friend to me, only sixteen when her father and mother began to teach her the art and how to instruct others in it. Now she was my best friend and my senpai. I truly did need at least one person who simply loved me for who I was and wouldn’t judge me on my list of achievements.