My stars, this is one of the men meant to be my mate?
“No!” She thought of telling a fib but felt the stricture poke her in her conscience. Darn it, that shouldn’t happen yet. The second immutable law that applied when being courted by and then mated to one’s mates was just as important as the first. It made perfect sense that she was forbidden to use magic to influence the men’s attitudes and actions toward her. Just as important, she was forbidden to lie to them. She had been certain that rule didn’t come into play until they were nearly lovers.
No, it came into play the moment you connected—that moment on deck when the power within them recognized the power within you.
Well, that just sucked, as the kids liked to say. So far, she’d been able to manage. Since Tony had asked an extremely jaded and cynical question, she’d been able to answer him honestly in the negative.
Cheri was on this cruise because she’d been guided to be on it by the Concilium. Yes, she was engaged in a quest to encounter her soul mates, and yes, mating for life was the ultimate goal. But Tony hadn’t asked her that. The things he’d mentioned—wealth and being treated like a kept woman—were things so far off her radar she couldn’t imagine why he’d ask such a question in the first place.
He’s been hurt, and hurt badly. That knowledge came not via magic, but from her woman’s intuition. She was sorry if it was so, but by the same token, she didn’t think she deserved being the substitute for whoever the person was who had betrayed his trust.
Recalling the promise she’d made to herself to do nothing to help or hinder the situation, she kept her gaze locked on his. After a full minute of her continued scrutiny, he looked away. Cheri shrugged, picked up her book, and began to read once more.
Sometimes, not answering was the best answer of all.
The tension on their little portion of the pool deck was nearly visceral. Cheri did her best to block out the men on either side of her. She’d nearly succeeded in getting back into her story when she sensed movement on her left.
Tony swung his legs off his chaise to the side and sat up so that he faced her. “I’m sorry. That was rude. You didn’t deserve that.”
She looked up at him. “I accept your apology.” Then she returned her attention back to her book once more.
She was able to keep the two men on the rim of her consciousness and read at the same time. This was the seventh book in a series, and Cheri had already fallen in love with all the characters she’d met.
There was another reason she read romance—or mysteries or any kind of fiction. Those novels were windows into the society from which they’d risen. If one wanted to understand a people, then one needed to know what they ate, what they read, what they thought. Those were words of wisdom her mother had given her before she’d left home.
She was human—as human as anyone else born on earth, as human as anyone else on this ship. But she was different from most in that her DNA had an extra little strand. Her ancestors had walked this planet side by side with everyone else’s ancestors. We still do, just in a different realm.
But back in ancient times, there’d been a separation—the Great Separation—when most of her kind had withdrawn to live in what could best be described as parallel reality, rather than engage in a war that would decimate humanity.
“Maybe we could start over again.”
Cheri closed her book once more. She looked at Tony Delvecchio, and then she looked at Max Tanner. She’d been aware of the fact the two men had been silently communicating with one another. It hadn’t been telepathy at work but rather a sure and certain knowledge born of familiarity, one man with the other.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. Delvecchio, I promise. But if you’ve decided you don’t like me, why would you want to start again?” She looked at Max then back to Tony. “Is this some kind of a vacation lark? Maybe you’ve got a bet going on between you about the outcome of this encounter.” Cheri wasn’t naïve. She knew some men did such things, especially within the easy anonymity afforded at a resort or on a cruise ship.
No, she wasn’t naïve, but she was a realist. There were a lot of things about the people here in this world she liked—and a few things she abhorred.
“No! God, no, we would never do that!” Tony sighed. “But you nailed it, in a way. Something similar happened to us years ago, and I guess I let that one experience sour me—especially when it comes to karmic encounters with beautiful women.”
“You don’t have to say that. You don’t have to tell me I’m beautiful. I know what I look like, and I’m okay with it. But I am also pretty used to the way others aren’t. And to answer your question, yes, we can start again, but only if you really mean it.”
“Thank you.” Max Tanner tilted his head to the side. “It’s after noon hour. If you haven’t eaten, would you please join us for lunch? There’s an outdoor bistro one deck down. Word has it they have a better hamburger than you can get in the city.”
There was no sense in Cheri saying no to lunch. So far, these men had made all the moves. She didn’t know them—not the heart of them, anyway. She didn’t even know what they did for a living.
What she did know for certain was cause enough to accept their invitation. The first, of course, was that they were descendants of the Chosen, those members of her people who’d chosen to stay behind and live among their unpowered brethren at the time of the separation, to protect them.
The second, of course, was the sense that had grown only stronger the longer the three of them were together.
Despite whatever baggage they might have, these two men were meant to be her mates.
I’m not without my own challenges, so maybe it’s time I got with the program.
“Thank you. I am hungry, and it’s been a while since I’ve had a good burger. I’d be delighted to have to lunch with you both.”
The smile Tony offered her looked more heartfelt than the one he’d offered earlier. We’ve gotten off to an unusual beginning. Cheri couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next.
Chapter 4
Roman Fortuna wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. Whenever his father called for a family conclave, it was never a good thing.
He was the youngest of seven—all his siblings were male—and he tried, very hard, not to think too much about all that seventh son of a seventh son bullshit his father had been banking on when he’d been born. Gregor Fortuna wasted no opportunity to let it be known how disappointed he was in Roman because, whatever it was the man had been expecting with his youngest son, Roman sure as hell wasn’t it.
It took every bit of will he possessed to ease the tension that had begun to seize his shoulders. He relaxed his spine and commanded his muscles to chill. Whatever dire circumstance lay behind this latest family meeting—read crisis—Roman felt reasonably certain that he’d have no part to play in the proceedings.
It would be reasonable to wonder why he would even be called if he was to be a mere spectator. The answer, of course, lay in his brothers’ and his father’s personalities and their bent toward the petty. Roman was considered “mortal,” which was a misnomer if ever he’d heard one. What was meant by that implied insult was that Roman was without magical ability or power. Father had obviously watched too many Bewitched reruns. The truth was they were all mortal.
Roman loved his father and his brothers, of course, as one ought to love family.
But he sure as hell didn’t like them much.
The Fortuna men had several characteristics in common. Dark hair, dark eyes, and—according to one former girlfriend of his oldest brother, Vincent—beauty befitting a demon angel. When it came to appearances, Roman was a Fortuna through and through.
Hell, even our family name was chosen for effect. Fortuna was a family name taken up generations ago. A bit crass, but the name reflected the aim of every head of the family since. That aim was to amass as much money and power as possible. The family didn’t limit itself in the former and had more t
han one kind of the latter.
Power could be political, but it could also be supernatural—as in magic.
The men of the Fortuna family called themselves warlocks. Well, all except Roman, of course. Yes, his father had been very disappointed that, on his tenth birthday, his seventh son of a seventh son didn’t seem to have any great teeming reserves of magic inside him, bubbling forth.
Roman reined in his thoughts. He needed to ensure all his barriers were in place before entering into the lion’s den, or even drawing close enough for his family to “see” him. He was thirty-two years old and had been successful, so far, in keeping himself removed from the family business, and the family cesspool.
He’d also been successful in keeping his true nature blocked from his family. He wasn’t the man they thought they knew at all.
He pulled his car to the side of the road, five miles from his family estate, and took a few moments to meditate, to ensure everything within him was contained. He began by giving thanks, as he always did, that his father had sent him away to boarding school at the age of eleven. It had been intended as a punishment, of course, for the eruption of power that occurred with his brothers at an age one year younger had never happened to him.
Roman believed if it wasn’t for his father’s desire to keep him around as a tool to use later in life—or a threat of some kind over his siblings—he’d be long dead. He wasn’t dead, of course, just considered “other.” That was more than fine as far as he was concerned.
That he’d been allowed to grow and develop for the years from eleven to adulthood without his father’s influence had been fortuitous indeed.
Roman frowned. He knew the day was coming when the need for this subterfuge would be no more. He looked forward to that day because he hated living a lie. But for now, that lie was the only thing that protected him and would allow him to fulfill his destiny.
In control, Roman pulled his Jaguar back onto the country road and headed toward his destination.
Two miles out, he felt the probing and filled his mind with minutia so they wouldn’t know he felt them. By the time he parked the car in the circular driveway in front of his father’s mansion, he was comfortable inside his own head and inside the cloak he’d drawn around himself.
He got out of the car, nodded to the servant who stood by to park his vehicle in the garage with all the others, and headed for the stairs.
His brothers, when they visited, had no need of anyone opening the door for them. They simply waved their hand and it opened.
He guessed whatever had his family so occupied was sufficient for them not to play their usual games with him. They generally could be counted on to do their best to keep him out, just long enough for him to get “upset.”
Roman never, in truth, allowed himself to get upset—but he was very good at portraying whatever emotion he needed to show.
Hollister, a man who’d been in his family’s employ for decades, opened the door for him on cue.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Roman. The family is gathered in the conference room.”
“Thank you, Hollister.”
The butler nodded and then went his own way. Roman pasted a practiced smile on his face and headed toward the conference room.
“Ah, there you are at last.” Vincent frowned and gave him a once-over that was completely dismissive. “Father insisted we wait for you.” He turned his attention then to the man sitting on his right. Vincent’s twin, Emilio, didn’t even look at Roman.
He knew that brother meant to insult him. It just amazed him that Roman’s lack of reaction didn’t even register with any of his brothers, ever.
He turned his attention to the older man at the head of the table. “Father. You’re looking well.”
Usually Gregor didn’t do more than give a slight nod of acknowledgment to him. This time, however, he actually spoke to him.
“Roman. Take your seat, and we’ll begin.”
Roman sat at the end of the table, a fair distance away from everyone else. His brothers—three sets of twins—were clustered as close to the old man as they could get. They vied for his attentions and favors the way a pack of dogs vied for the beef bone their master held out to them.
Roman didn’t care much for beef bones.
“I’ll get right to the point. The time of the first prophecy has arrived. This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve been planning for. It is time for you to show me your loyalty as my sons.”
“Surely you don’t believe those old wives tales, Father.” Mario, the third son, shook his head. “It’s all just fairy tales. If there were magic bimbos hiding in some other realm, we’d know that by now don’t you think? It’s all just legend and folklore.”
Gregor raised one eyebrow, his empirical look, one he’d mastered through the years. “You have magic within you—you all do, except, of course, for Roman. As I have. As your grandfather, and his father before him had. And you can scoff at the prophecy?”
“We’ve never seen evidence that there are any witches beyond the few we’ve encountered—harmless Wiccans who deal with herbs and snake oil.” Mario’s twin, Pietro, sounded as derisive as his brother.
“None of us have encountered a woman of power,” Ricardo, the oldest of the youngest twins, said.
“It is what it is.” Eduardo, Ricardo’s womb-mate nodded. “We know only what we see and feel. I, too, agree with the others. If there ever had been female witches, we would know it.”
“You’ve heard the stories all your lives, you’ve been blessed with magic all your lives, and this is how you react?”
“It’s hard for us to react any other way, Father.” Vincent sounded as if he was the adult in the room talking to a senile old man.
How could his brothers not see what was right before their very eyes? Roman had heard the stories from the time he could discern speech until he’d been sent to boarding school. He could recall them even today. True, the stories his father had handed down differed considerably from the truth—but truth lay at the heart of them. There was magic, there was destiny, and yes, the time was drawing near. Roman had known the first prophecy was about to unfold. He closed off his thoughts and waited for his father’s reaction.
“Look around you. We have everything we need or want. These times are far removed from the fabled past, when there were dragons and wizards and witches, when fairies danced naked and nubile in the night.”
The scoffing tone made Roman hang on tight to the arms of his chair. His father looked at the six sons closest to him. Roman didn’t know why his brothers were behaving like complete jackasses. Oh, wait. They are complete jackasses.
“Very well.” Gregor Fortuna nodded. Then he raised both hands, and his voice. “Ignis et sulphuris! In speluncam antique!”
Roman’s mind had translated the first sentence, fire and brimstone, as the words fell from his father’s lips. The explosion of sound and flash of light shocked them all. The ground seemed to drop away from under him and rise up again to grab him from midair.
Instead of his father’s conference room, Roman found himself in a cave, sitting not on a plush, padded chair, but on a round boulder, one of eight round boulders set around a fire.
The cave was dark and dank. The scent of decay lay thick as mud all around. Roman hoped that, wherever the hell their father had brought them, he knew the way home again. Gregor’s magic could be spotty.
“Now that I have your attention.”
Gregor’s voice echoed loudly in the cave. Was it a trick of the stone walls, or had something previously hidden within the old man come to the fore?
The Cave of the Ancients. The name had echoed from Gregor’s thoughts. Roman felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up. He had an idea where they were. He wondered if his father understood how dangerous this truly was. There was magic in here, magic best left undisturbed.
Roman couldn’t help but notice that his brothers were completely cowed. It had been a very long time since Father had us
ed his power in such an obvious way. His brothers, he knew, couldn’t match the strength of their father’s magic, just as Gregor’s abilities were pale in the face of his own father’s capabilities.
Roman had to work harder at containing his own power. Likely, if they were anyplace else, one of them would have noticed. But his brothers were focused on Gregor Fortuna and likely attributed the sense of any extra power vibes they felt to their sire. Roman clamped down and put his attention on his father, too.
“Our ancestors wrought the Great Separation and managed to cut off the others, those who stood in our way, inside another reality. But even as they did so, they had to make a concession. The separation wouldn’t be forever unless our kind defeated the others, and that defeat was only possible once the time of the first prophecy was nigh. That time is now. Three women of power have already come into this world, in search of their mates. Each woman is to mate with two men of latent power, and the children born of this union will be as powerful as those who began it all. If this is allowed to happen, it will destroy us, and all we hold dear, and they will rule this world forever.”
Roman held his silence. Here in this ancient, powered place, he had to work very hard at keeping his own true nature concealed.
The words his father had recited were exactly as the old man had been taught, as it had been handed down, father to son, since the beginning—but they were wrong.
He’d long suspected the telling was tainted by bias and fear. The shimmering within him, the voices from centuries past that echoed in the deepest chamber of his heart now in this sacred place, proved that as true.
Gregor looked at his first born, Vincent. “You and your twin will go immediately and will do that which is necessary to prevent this mating. You will have all the power you need to accomplish this.”
“Of course, Father. But first…” Vincent looked around the dark cave, lit only by the glowing stones in the center of their circle. Roman’s oldest brother tried very hard to look tough, but Roman could feel the fear rolling off him.
The Gifted 1: Passions Awakening (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 4
