by Erin Rhew
“Yes. The queen believed either you or Nash could match the first part of the Prophecy. In case you actually played a role, Cataleen wanted to drive a wedge between you and Layla.” Mia paled and shook her head.
In case you actually played a role . The words tortured him. If he had no place in the fulfillment of the Prophecy, he had no place in Layla’s future.
“And what about Nash? What are her plans for him?” In his mind, his mother’s voice and Mars’ echoed, willing him to control himself though his very core threatened to blow apart.
“I think the queen first took an interest in your brother because she worried that he fulfilled the Prophecy, especially the part about ‘the one with unusual fortitude’ since he’s an Ethereal with Vanguard strength. She wanted to keep Nash and Layla as far apart as possible.”
The gaping hole inside Wil’s heart grew a bit wider. This whole time, the First Ones and their centuries-old decree had pointed to Nash. Wil’s love for Layla blinded him to the truth. What a fool he’d been…what a colossal fool.
“Is my brother alive?”
“As far as I know.”
“But why is she keeping him alive if he poses a threat to her? I’m glad she hasn’t killed him, but I don’t understand.”
Mia cocked her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. She put another leaf into her mouth and chewed it. “I believe she wants to make him her king.”
He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “She wants to marry my brother?”
“Yes.”
The more he replayed the notion, the more preposterous it sounded. Nothing made sense. After all Mia had done to him, he stood before her asking questions and accepting the answers, as if she actually told the truth.
He shook his head. Believing her had altered his life before and had taken him down a path he’d never intended to go. To trust her story now and risk the consequences of her lies defied all common sense.
Wil’s anger returned in a raging flood. His body warmed and burned in a fruitless attempt to hold in the scalding fury. “I don’t believe a word you say.”
“I’m sorry. I had to do what I did. My family…their lives depend on my success.”
When he looked at her, Wil no longer saw a shy, frightened girl. Only her deception stared back at him now. He couldn’t bear her presence for one more second. As he started to leave, she grabbed his arm. He snatched it away so hard she stumbled. The chivalrous side of him, an integral part of his being that he had honed and refined his entire life, balked at his behavior. A bitter taste filled the back of his throat as he caught and righted her.
With as much dignity as he could muster given the war within him, Wil whispered, “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”
Tears poured down her cheeks. A pitiful hiccupping replaced her normal breathing. Unmoved by her display, he brushed past her.
“Please. You have to understand. I love you, Wil. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He whirled around. “Don’t say that. How can you say that after what you’ve done? You took something that can never be replaced. Can’t you see that?”
“I do.” She raced up to him and dropped to her knees at his feet. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make things right.”
“You can never make it right. It will never be right again.” Images from their shared night flooded his mind, assaulting him. Those memories, once precious and monumental, stared back at him with cold, dirty mockery. Hot bile charged up his throat like a cavalry called to arms. Rejecting her once more, he turned toward Iris’ house. The need to see Layla, to gaze into her loyal purple eyes instead of Mia’s lying, deceitful ones, gnawed at him.
Mia’s voice carried across the small distance between them. “I’ll give you something.”
“I don’t want anything from you.” He increased his pace when he heard her trotting up behind him.
“I want you to trust me.”
The absurdity of her statement stopped him in his tracks. He barked out a hard laugh. “Are you serious? I can never trust you.”
His mind told him to keep going, to find Layla, but he faced Mia instead. An obstinate curiosity prevented him from reaching the one person who might help him make sense of this bizarre situation.
Mia closed the space between them, shoveling another marjoram leaf into her mouth. “Once I shift, I remain that way until I wish to change back or until someone calls me by my true name. Outlanders very rarely give out their true names because whoever knows them holds a great power. My real name is Reina. I want you to know it. That way, you can trust that I will never trick you again.”
Never trick you again . Her preposterous statement stomped around his brain, mocking him. Of course she would trick him again. Her very birthright as an Outlander, with queen’s blood no less, demanded it. And yet, he failed to prevent his lips from uttering the strange name she offered.
“Reina.”
She shimmered, much the same way Iris had inside the house. Translucence engulfed her for a moment before she solidified. The black haired, purple-eyed girl he’d grown accustomed to seeing disappeared, replaced by a completely different young woman. He struggled to accept the changes—chocolate brown hair with streaks of red, and bright blue eyes that rivaled his own. She blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground.
He peered at her. “So this is the real you?”
She peeked up at him and nodded. He lifted her chin with his finger to further investigate. How had this girl, this plain girl, shifted into a believable version of Layla? A fresh wave of pain and betrayal began to surge, but the suffering and anguish on Mia’s face froze it.
He sighed. “Does the queen really have your family?”
“Yes.” Her bottom lip quivered. Though he longed to ignore it, the terror in that one small word called to him.
Wil frowned. If his parents or siblings were in danger, he would do almost anything to save them. After all, he’d traveled to the Outlands while still injured for Nash.
Though he may never get over what happened, he couldn’t punish Mia forever, especially now that he knew why she’d done it.
“I’m sorry.” The apology choked him on its way out, but his conscience compelled him to say it.
Her mouth dropped open. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
“You were protecting your family. I understand that. But what happened between us...” He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to continue.
“Okay. I’ll give you time and space, whatever you need. I do care for you, Wil. I wish you could believe that.”
She stared back at him. He read the pleading in her blue eyes—those strange, blue eyes he’d not yet grown accustomed to. His mind rebelled, flipping back and forth between the “old” Mia and the “new” Mia. This Outlander power proved more dangerous than he’d anticipated, and he’d not yet come to terms with their abilities or the consequences of them.
He eyed her. “You promise you’ll do whatever I need?”
“Of course.”
“Then help me.”
“Help you what?”
“Help me kill your queen.”
Layla
Layla paced inside the cottage as she awaited Wil’s return. He’d been gone for so long. A pang of jealousy pierced her. Mia had gone after him. Why would he talk to an Outlander spy and not her?
“You do understand that this rescue mission for Nash is just a trap, right?” Iris said, appearing by Layla’s side. “The queen wants you dead.”
Layla glanced at her half-sister. “I know. I’m not afraid of her though.”
“You should be,” Jule said from across the room, stirring a pot of marjoram over a small fireplace. “When you think you have the upper hand, you don’t. I’m so afraid for you. One queen took your mother. I can’t allow another to take you too.” She put down the spoon, wiped her hands on her dress, crossed the room, and placed one hand on Iris’ cheek and the other on Layla’s. “You girls are all I have left of Daria.”
/> A thin smile brushed Layla’s lips. “Wait, I thought you wanted me to fight against the queen.”
“I do, but I can worry too, right?” Jule winked.
Layla placed a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “I’ll be careful.”
The front door burst open, and Wil staggered through. Layla ran to him. His tortured, bloodshot eyes met hers, and her heartbeat doubled. His shoulders drooped in defeat. He looked undone, so broken. Like his mother, Wil almost always held himself together and kept his emotions in check. Layla had only seen him this way twice, and both times, she’d been the cause.
“Wil.” She grabbed his arm, pulled him to the side, and lowered her voice. “What’s going on?”
He glanced around the room, shaking his head when Vespa started toward him. “Come with me, Layla.”
She followed him outside. Once in the sunlight, she looked around for Mia but didn’t see her.
“Here.” Wil handed her a marjoram leaf. “Eat this to be safe.”
She took the leaf and put it in her mouth. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head before releasing a slow, heavy sigh. “I just want to hold you one more time.”
“What do you mean?” Her breath caught. Wil kept such a tight rein on himself. To see him so distraught frightened her more than all of Iris and Jule’s warnings about the Outlander queen.
“Remember the tent?” His voice hitched.
Layla buried her head against his chest and closed her eyes. He must have figured out the truth. If she had given herself to him and had no memory of it…Heat flooded her face and set her ears on fire.
She nodded against his shirt. “Yes.”
“It was Mia.”
Her body jerked. She stumbled backward. “What?”
“She shifted into you. I thought it was you…” He raked his hands through his hair until the blond tips stood on end.
Everything around her slowed. Something inside her, something essential and tangible, broke. “Mia? Mia ?”
“I thought it was you! I wanted it to be you.” He sank to his knees before her and reached for her hand, but he dropped his just as their fingers brushed one another.
Spots dotted her vision. The sun, which had moments before shone with a shimmering brilliance, dulled to a muted glow. She clenched her teeth. The tightness extended up her jaw and into her ears.
Mia had touched him. She’d kiss him, and he’d kissed her back. Fiery fingers crept from Layla’s stomach to her chest. Her mind created image after image, violating her sensibilities.
The logical side of her shouted that she had no reason to be jealous. Though the Prophecy foretold of a marriage between them, she and Wil had no real claim on one another. But the Vanguard side of her roared like a caged beast. Instinct and anger drove her to find this enemy, the source of Wil’s pain, and annihilate her. Only the relentless series of questions demanding answers inside her held Layla in place. But the growing furor within required an outlet. She curled her fingers into balls by her sides, yet her hands still shook.
“How could you make that mistake?” Like her hands, her voice trembled.
Wil sat back against his heels. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. When he finally spoke, she had to strain to hear. “Have you ever been with anyone?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even Nash?”
“Of course not.” Layla’s face burned at the mere suggestion, but her answer brought a small smile to Wil’s lips. “I want to only be with the person I marry.”
His grin vanished, and he dropped his head. “So did I.”
“Then what happened?”
“I thought she was you. I asked over and over if you were sure, and you said yes. So, I just gave into my passions. I believed that we would marry very soon anyway. I should have insisted we wait. If I had, none of this would have happened.” He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered a litany of nonsensical self-loathing. Twice, Layla raised her hand to touch him and offer some measure of comfort, but her own hurt and anger stopped her.
Instead of soothing him, she stepped back to allow more space between them. “But it wasn’t me, Wil.”
A large vein in his neck bulged, straining against his skin. “I know.” His anguished blue eyes met hers for a moment before they slid away.
“But you didn’t know then?”
“No. I couldn’t see past my own joy…I thought you had chosen me. I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted me.” His hands, which had been animated, froze midair then dropped down beside him.
The urge to scream and pound something—or better yet, some one —welled up inside her. An ache she had no right to feel, but felt anyway, radiated to every extremity. Rooted in place by the discord within her, she didn’t resist when Wil rose and reached out to her. He drew her into his embrace—once a place of warmth and refuge, but now a barren wasteland. Loneliness infiltrated her broken heart, coursing through her body until it grew cold and frigid. She shoved Wil’s arms away and walked off without looking back.
Chapter Three
Layla
Layla finished adjusting the saddle on her horse in preparation for a ride to the Outlander castle. She fumbled with the task—one she usually completed without difficulty. But Wil’s revelation, Nash’s imprisonment, and the Outlander queen’s personal vendetta caused her fingers to tangle inside the straps. Wil and Mia . Their names marched through her mind like merciless soldiers bent on shredding the inner landscape of her soul. She had no real right to be upset. Yet jealousy curled up in her stomach like a viper waiting to strike.
“Are you almost ready?” Vespa’s cheery greeting contradicted Layla’s morose thoughts.
“Yes, but can you help me with something?”
“Sure.” Vespa placed some food and several marjoram leaves in Layla’s saddle bag. “What do you need?”
“Remember when Iris mentioned that everyone born with queen’s blood has a mark?”
Vespa nodded. “Yes.”
“Could you check to see if I have one?” Layla motioned to her right shoulder.
A teasing smile played at the princess’ lips. “You don’t know whether or not you have a birthmark?”
“Well, it’s not like I can see my own shoulder.”
Vespa laughed then grew serious. “If I check, will you tell me what’s going on with you and my brother?”
Layla sighed and averted her gaze. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” Vespa turned Layla around and lifted the fabric off her shoulder. “No birthmark.”
As Layla covered her exposed skin, she caught Wil’s gaze. He stood in the entrance to Iris’ house, holding supplies and staring at her. The skin on her cheeks warmed.
In that moment, Mia stepped out of the shadows. Layla’s body shook as her Vanguard fury surged. As she glared at the Outlander spy, Layla imagined how Wil had kissed Mia, touched her, made love to her. This girl, whom Wil had protected and defended, had repaid him with deception. Wil—who always looked out for others, who always bore everyone’s burdens.
Incensed, Layla charged. Mia’s face drained of color. Her mouth hung slack. Layla expected the other girl to move or run, but she stayed in place. Layla crashed into her, grabbed her around the neck, and shoved her to the ground. The Vanguard part of Layla took pleasure in listening to the air whoosh out of Mia’s lungs as she crashed into the dirt.
“Layla!” Vespa and Wil both called her name, but she ignored them.
She wrapped her other hand around Mia’s neck. The girl remained motionless.
“How could you?” Layla’s grip tightened. Mia’s eyes bulged, but her hands remained limp by her sides, like she’d given up. Her eyelids fluttered like a frenetic bird’s wings.
Layla hated Mia’s fake face—hated the purple eyes, the black hair—hated everything about the Outlander girl that had duped Wil. She raised her fist to beat that offen
ding face into the ground, but Samson grabbed her hand. He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her off.
Though Layla flailed, Samson forced her onto the ground and sat on top of her. A triumphant grin ghosted his lips. With a roar, she bucked him off balance. He fell back, landing near her feet. She wiggled one of her legs free and kicked him in the chest. Groaning, he sailed through the air and slammed into a nearby tree.
Her brother patted the back of his head and checked his hand for blood. “Who taught you that move?”
“Your mother.” Layla scrambled to stand, prepared for his retaliation.
“Well, I hate it.” Samson pulled himself onto all fours before rising to his feet.
Layla crouched, ready to pounce on him again, but Wil’s arms slid around her. “Please stop.” His breath tickled her ear.
Though she possessed the superior strength and could have easily thrown Wil off, she leaned into him. His warm embrace melted her anger. The tension in her shoulders relaxed, and her fists unclenched. She kept a trained eye on Samson, but he made no motion to come at her. He ran to help Mia instead. The girl lay gasping in the dirt, though Layla failed to summon up any guilt over it.
She turned around and gazed up at Wil. “She betrayed us. I hate her for what she did.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She didn’t recognize the gruff sound of his voice.
“I’ll always worry about you.”
“Don’t.”
He let go and stepped back, but his gaze stayed on her, his heartache evident. With his retreat, she grew cold inside and out. The emotional distance between them expanded with every physical step he took away from her.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Vespa frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “Someone tell me right now.”
Samson helped Mia to her feet. The Outlander rubbed her neck. “I pretended to be Layla.” She coughed, the sound sharp and hoarse—no doubt a result of Layla’s unyielding grip upon her throat earlier.
“And…” Vespa raised her eyebrows.
“And I went into his tent…” Mia averted her gaze and bit her bottom lip.
“No.” Vespa gasped. “Why you little…” She stepped toward Mia, her fists clenched, but Grant grabbed her. Though Vespa twisted and turned to free herself, she proved no match for Grant’s Vanguard strength.
