Chosen by Fate Page 9

  Mahone nodded, understanding in his eyes.

  Caleb continued, “I want the name the instant I get back, whether Wraith stays or not. She’s too—”

  “Yeah, I get it. Whether she stays or not.” Mahone looked over Caleb’s shoulder toward the reception room from which music was still merrily blasting. His gaze clouded. Caleb assumed it was because he’d caught sight of Bianca. Mahone’s jaw firmed as he turned around. Striding toward the entrance, he spoke without turning around. “Get her, O’Flare. And get her to L.A. in the next two days.”

  NINE

  Outside the Devereaux compound, Dex Hunt took a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it out on the rock he was sitting on. He stared at the butt, raised a brow, then stuffed the damn thing into his jacket pocket. Knox would kick his ass for littering, especially on his wedding day. The dharmire was even more fastidious than most vamps, and that was saying something.

  Dex’s eyes narrowed when he saw Lucy Talbot, the Para-Ops team’s mage, slip onto the patio outside the ballroom. He’d seen Wraith’s furious exit. O’Flare had left about twenty minutes ago, followed not long after by a grim-faced Mahone. Having gotten wind of the situation in L.A., it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Wraith was royally pissed and that Mahone had just sent O’Flare to bring her back.

  Snorting, he shook his head. He had to admit, O’Flare had balls. Going after Wraith after what he’d done to her? Well, he for one looked forward to seeing what kind of condition O’Flare returned in.

  Glancing at the heavy steel watch on his wrist, Dex told himself he should’ve driven off hours ago. Hell, he should never have come. He’d known he was never going to make it to the ceremony, let alone the reception. But once he’d gotten here, he’d waited, compelled for some reason to see each of the team members.

  Now that he’d seen Lucy, he knew he should leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he studied her. Seeing her all dolled up in a floaty golden dress and strappy high heels, he imagined he felt the way a big brother would feel seeing his little sister dressed for the prom. Proud. Protective.

  He grinned, thinking it was a good thing Lucy couldn’t hear his thoughts.

  She’d probably be pissed. Insulted. Spout something about being a woman, not a young girl. That’s what she’d been trying to prove when she and Felicia had climbed into that extreme wrestling ring months ago. The fact that she’d stripped off her shirt and worn nothing but jeans and a bra had certainly helped prove her point.

  Leaning against a column, Lucy stared out into the night, her expression almost wistful. He wondered if she was thinking of Knox and Felicia or of Caleb O’Flare. Maybe both. If she was thinking of O’Flare, she was probably thinking of Wraith, too.

  But that was Lucy. Compassionate to a fault. She could consider herself in love with a man and still feel sorry that he wasn’t getting together with the woman he really wanted. In this case, the woman was Wraith.

  Dex cursed when Lucy straightened all of a sudden, her eyes scanning the trees where Dex sat. He knew she couldn’t see him there, but for a half second, he wondered if she sensed him with some of her weird mage powers or something. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He still didn’t know enough about her. Didn’t know enough about any of the Para-Ops team members. But he liked Lucy. Hell, he was beginning to like all of them. Even that cocky human, Caleb O’Flare.

  And that’s why Dex hadn’t gone to Knox and Felicia’s wedding. He knew from experience that the closer you got to others, the more distracted you became. The more vulnerable.

  And he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

  He couldn’t forget that he had his own plan, one he couldn’t waver from, even if it might eventually pit him against the very people he worked with.

  After one final glance in his direction, Lucy turned and strode back toward the house. When she was about five feet from the doors, she faltered and doubled over, causing Dex to curse. He threw his leg over his bike, prepared to haul ass to get to her. But when he glanced at her again, she was slowly straightening and then seemed to take several deep breaths before smoothing out her dress. She walked back inside as if nothing unusual had happened.

  What the hell?

  She’d been in severe pain, but it hadn’t lasted long. Maybe it had been one of those female things? A cramp she wouldn’t take too kindly to him asking about?

  He stayed there, undecided, until he felt ridiculous. If she needed help, she had plenty of it inside. She didn’t need him watching over her like an overprotective parent.

  He swung his Harley onto the road that would take him out of the Dome.

  Lucy was fine. He had a few days until he met up with the team in Los Angeles. Until then, he had his own intel to do.

  TEN

  “Saltine?”

  Behind her sunglasses, Wraith squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and struggled to remain completely still. Holding her nonexistent breath, she remained curled into a ball, huddled beneath the layers of her concealing poncho and hood, her body swaying with the twists and turns of the moving bus. After several seconds, she sensed the woman standing in the aisle give up and walk away. Maybe this time, Wraith thought desperately, they’d get the hint and leave her alone.

  For the past half hour, despite her best efforts to feign sleep, someone had been offering her something every five minutes. First it had been a pillow. Then a book to read.

  Then a fucking lollipop.

  Everything but what she wanted.

  Wraith shifted slightly, her weight causing the tattered seat beneath her to squeak. What had the world come to, she thought querulously, when you couldn’t even pick a fight on a Greyhound bus?

  And Essenia knows she’d tried. For all of two minutes.

  After leaving Knox’s reception, she’d been hoping for some relief. But no, she’d boarded the only tin can on wheels that, instead of providing her with the poor, desperate, and depraved, was transporting a group of Goody Two-shoes who looked at her as if she was a bedraggled puppy in need of nurturing.

  That was the last thing she wanted.

  She wanted—no, needed—to let off steam. To release the pent-up frustration and resentment and fury that was threatening to eat her from the inside out. Scream out her fear before it overwhelmed her. Pummel her despair so it remained undetected by those who would capitalize on her weakness. Slam away her thoughts of what and whom she was leaving behind in order to dive headfirst into a wasteland of nothingness—the same nothingness she’d endured for over a decade.

  When she hadn’t gotten the fight she’d wanted, she’d spotted the poncho someone had abandoned on the bus hours earlier and figured she could at least hide herself and get some peace and quiet. Wrong again.

  Swallowing hard, she involuntarily jerked at the feeling of moisture behind her lids. She hated it, but at least Caleb wasn’t here to witness her making a damn fool of herself again.

  Still, she was so disgusted with herself that when she sensed someone else approaching, she bolted upright and jerked her sunglasses off. “Damn it, will you—”

  She stopped at the sight before her. It was a little boy, probably about nine years old, with eyes that reminded her of Caleb’s. She cleared her throat and struggled to appear annoyed. “What?”

  The boy didn’t smile. He continued to look at her solemnly, then held his hand out. Wraith sighed and looked down, expecting to see a piece of gum or a tattered toy. Instead, what she saw made her suck in her breath and instinctively cringe away. It was a kitten. Small. Fragile. Weak-looking. “What . . . ?”

  The boy took a step closer, his hand still outstretched, his near-frantic gaze pleading. Although he remained silent, his breaths heaved in and out of him in panicked bursts, making his hand shake.

  A quick look around told her no one was paying attention to her for once.

  “Please. Take him.”

  She turned back to the boy. His eyes were flooded with tears now, and the sight made her gasp. “Okay, okay.
Take it easy. I’ll . . . I can hold it for a minute.”

  With a trembling hand, she reached out, her hand hovering over the boy’s. She glanced up, confirming he indeed wanted her to take it.

  The boy nodded.

  Wraith gingerly picked up the small kitten that was only slightly bigger than the boy’s palm. She waited for the pain, but none came.

  What a cosmic joke. She hadn’t felt pain when she’d petted Dex in wolf form, either, but it seemed unfair, given her history, that she’d feel no pain when a feline was involved, even one as small and innocent as this one.

  Years ago, Wraith had made a mistake. A huge one. Weary and scared, she’d allowed herself to seek companionship. Friendship. She’d thought she’d found it in the form of a feline female named Maria. She’d known the feline for only a matter of days, but something about her manner had relaxed Wraith’s natural defensiveness. Eventually, Maria had introduced her to a mage, an evil so dark she still felt its looming presence hovering over her at times. She’d spent the next two years imprisoned. In a constant state of pain she’d never experienced before, not even with Ramsey . . .

  No! Wraith gritted her teeth, chased the ghosts away, and forced herself back to the present. To the feline that she held in the palm of her hand. The one that couldn’t hurt her.

  It took her several moments, but she finally managed it. Vaguely, she stared at the creature, grateful she hadn’t inadvertently crushed it during her brief but troubled trip into the past.

  The kitten was a newborn, probably a week old since its eyes were open, blinking owlishly up at her. Its body shivered, its fur barely providing any protection for its fragile bones. The boy studied them—her and the damn cat—for a few seconds, then smiled.

  His smile was almost enough to knock her back. She instinctively looked away.

  So much innocence. So much goodness and purity in that one gaze. She couldn’t remember seeing it before, and seeing it now was almost painful.

  She’d been innocent once. Scared. Wanting desperately to trust another. What had it gotten her? Nothing but pain and betrayal. First, the twisted relief of sexual pain with Ramsey, her first lover as a wraith. Then, betrayal by Maria. Then . . .

  Tentatively, she lifted a hand to touch the scars on her neck.

  Torture, she thought. An endless amount of time and pain. Of knowing she was alone. That no one cared. And that she couldn’t die. No matter how much she begged and pleaded, she couldn’t die. She—

  Movement caught her eye as the boy moved away from her, jolting her out of her tormented memories and back to the present in which she still held the kitten. “Wait—”

  The boy ignored her and returned to his seat at the front of the bus.

  What was his deal? Did he really expect her to babysit while he . . . while he . . .

  With a sigh of surrender, Wraith sat down, jerking when the kitten mewled and latched on to her thumb, sucking it softly before quieting. She cleared her throat and hesitantly lifted her other hand. With one finger, she rubbed the kitten’s soft head. To her amazement, it began to purr, its soft rumble vibrating against her skin so that for the slightest second, she felt warm.

  She stared at the kitten for over an hour, well after it closed its eyes and fell asleep. Then, even though there was no reason to do so, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, as well. The rhythmic sway of the bus seemed to put her into a trance until its sudden absence made her eyes fly open.

  The sun was bright and intense, indicating it was likely late afternoon.

  Several seats were empty. Vacated.

  Jerking up, she whipped her head around. The bus was parked in a terminal and was nearly empty. The kitten’s owner was gone.

  She’d been so zoned out, so thrown off by the kitten in her hand that she’d left herself open to anything and anyone.

  Idiot.

  Cradling the kitten, she jumped to the window across the aisle and immediately spotted the boy in a crowd. “Hey, kid!” she shouted, causing the boy to look up. Wraith held out the kitten but the boy shook his head.

  Within seconds, the bus started up again. Through the back window, Wraith watched the group around the boy disperse. People melted away until the boy stood out like a beacon, alone. Wraith’s gaze traveled the crowd, searching for the boy’s mother or aunt or family friend. No one appeared.

  The bus started moving.

  The boy’s figure got smaller.

  The cat in her palm mewled and licked her thumb. Then something even more disturbing happened. A man, beefy and angry-looking, strode up to the boy and grabbed hold of his arm.

  The boy winced in obvious pain.

  Wraith shook her head. “Shit.”

  She turned to the driver and yelled. “Stop.”

  The driver ignored her, even though she repeated the command several times.

  Walking quickly toward the front of the bus, she shifted the kitten to her other hand and whipped her pistol out from the back of her pants.

  She pointed the gun at the driver’s temple. “I said to stop the fucking bus. Now.”

  ELEVEN

  As she stepped off the bus, Wraith was once more hit with a blast of warmth; however, unlike the soothing sensation she’d experienced in the Devereaux garden, this warmth felt muggy. Stifling. For a moment she felt dizzy, but she shook her head, willing the feeling away as she strode toward the man who was now shaking the boy. His words were clipped and angry. “. . . ever do something so stupid again, do you hear me, Foster! I can’t believe you—”

  Wraith gripped the man’s arm and whirled him around so suddenly that he automatically released his hold on the child. She had the barrel of her gun resting in between his eyes before his words fully faded away.

  “Do. Not. Touch. Him.” Wraith ground the words out, telling herself not to blow the man’s brains out in front of the child. Not unless she had to.

  Eyes wide, the man nearly swallowed his tongue. His gaze skittered from Wraith to the little boy.

  Foster.

  She said his name and the boy nodded.

  “Who’s meeting you here?” she asked.

  “I’m—” the man began. Wraith pushed the barrel of her gun even harder into his skin.

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “I don’t want you saying one word, do you understand?”

  Pressing his lips tightly together, he nodded.

  She felt a tug on her poncho and looked down.

  “He’s my dad,” Foster said, face calm and eyes dry.

  “He was hurting you,” she said.

  The boy just shrugged. “He’s mad at me. I ran away.”

  She looked at the father again. “Maybe you had good reason to,” she purred threateningly.

  Again, the man’s eyes widened as his fear increased. Wraith sniffed, but there were no sickly fumes coming from him. No hint of disease or death. He was as healthy and strong as he looked, perfectly capable of overpowering and abusing someone as small and weak as the boy next to her.

  “I did,” the boy confirmed. “He was going to kill my kitten. He said it wasn’t going to make it past the night, but it did. He’s made it three nights. The three nights I’ve been gone. I showed him,” the young boy said proudly.

  “Good for you,” Wraith said, although she eased off on the gun a little. Never taking her eyes off of the man in front of her, she said, “Foster, has your father hurt you? Do you want to leave with me?”

  “No, wait—” the man began, and Wraith shook her head, cutting him off.

  “Foster?” she said when he didn’t answer.

  She looked down and was shocked to see him smiling at her, his eyes slightly glassy now. “I knew,” he whispered. “I knew when I saw you that you were the one that would take care of him. I knew I couldn’t keep him. Not now. But you’ll take care of him for me, won’t you?”

  She sighed and lowered her arm, holstering her gun. With a warning glance at the man, Wraith kneeled down in front of Foster. “Your father loves
you, doesn’t he, Foster?”

  The boy nodded.

  “And you love him? You want to stay with him?”

  Again, the boy confirmed that he was, indeed, happy to be returning home.

  She pretended to consider the matter for several minutes, then nodded. Standing, she held out her hand, bracing herself for the moment when the boy’s touch would cause pain to zing up her arm. It was there, but faint. Barely anything given what she was used to. Animals. Kids. Apparently she could touch them without it hurting so much. Why?

  But she didn’t have time to dwell on that right now.

  “Then I’ll find a home for your kitten. Because I travel a lot, and my job, well, it’s a little dangerous, so I think the kitten would be better off with someone else. Is that okay?”

  Foster hesitated, twitched his mouth back and forth as he thought, then nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “But first you have to promise—no more running away. You talk things out with your parents when you need to. Got me?”

  Foster wiped at his eyes, then ran to hug his father and nodded. “Okay.”

  His father watched her warily as he returned his son’s hug.

  Wraith pressed her lips together and jerked her chin toward the parking lot. “Go on. Get out of here. And remember, don’t hurt the boy. Ever. Or you will see me again.”

  It took Caleb almost twenty-four hours to catch up with Wraith. When he did, it was early evening and she was sitting alone on an outdoor bench at the Rock Springs, Wyoming, Greyhound Station. She was staring at something in her cupped hands before she tucked it into the front pocket of an unfamiliar-looking poncho. It was black, of course, but looked more like wool than Wraith’s standard leather. Something so insignificant, but it made her look softer. The impression of softness was magnified when, wearily, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

  Her weariness echoed his own.

  It reminded him that, despite her appearance and nonexistent vital signs, Wraith was more like him than she wanted to admit. True, she was far more stubborn than him, but today he was going to outlast her if it killed him.