Forbidden Instinct

by Cassandra Chandler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Forbidden Pleasure

  Look for More Titles by Cassandra Chandler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Forbidden Pleasure

  Look for More Titles by Cassandra Chandler

  Forbidden Instinct

  Forbidden Knights

  Book One

  Cassandra Chandler

  Copyright Page

  You are a good person! You know that stealing is wrong. Remember, eBooks can’t be shared or given away. It’s against copyright law. So don’t download books you haven’t paid for or upload books in ways other people can access for free. That would be stealing.

  And you’re better than that.

  This book is pure fiction. All characters, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination or used solely in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any people, places, things, or events that have ever existed or will ever exist is entirely coincidental.

  Forbidden Instinct

  Forbidden Knights, Book One

  Copyright © 2017 by Cassandra Chandler

  ISBN: 978-1-945702-70-9

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used, transmitted, or reproduced in any manner or form without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews.

  First eBook edition: October 2017

  cassandra-chandler.com

  P.O. Box 91

  Mission, Kansas 66201

  Dedication

  For my mom—who saw the future.

  Chapter One

  June 15 — 2:44 PM

  In five minutes, Miranda’s car would be a crumpled wreck. She checked her seatbelt with a shaking hand—again—to make sure it was fastened tight, then gripped the wheel hard enough to make her knuckles turn white.

  A familiar silver minivan came into view ahead. She hadn’t met the driver, but recognized the soccer-mom’s short bobbed haircut. Miranda would never forget the woman’s face—or the faces of the three children inside. Two of them were on the passenger’s side. One of those was an infant.

  The SUV is going to hit them from that side.

  Her vision had been absolutely certain on that point. She glanced at the clock, then stepped on the gas.

  2:46 PM. She had three minutes to get in front of them and slow them down. Three minutes to beat them to the intersection and be the one in front of the SUV that was about to speed through a red light. If she did everything right, the accident would only take out her car.

  Her heart pounded in her throat, making it hard to swallow. She couldn’t let herself panic. She knew she would make it through this. She’d seen it.

  How did mom do this, knowing she wouldn’t make it out?

  Miranda couldn’t think about the past. If she started to cry, it would blur her vision, dull her reflexes, and facilitate a family reunion she wasn’t ready for. The present—and the specific future she was trying to create—needed her full attention.

  Her ancient car struggled to catch up as the minivan accelerated. She managed to get behind it, then swerved into the left lane, crossing the double lines. She jerked the wheel back to the right just in time to avoid a head-on collision with a blue pick-up truck.

  “Beeeep! Beep-beep!” She sang along with the pick-up’s horn, knowing precisely how it would sound. Other cars joined the chorus.

  “Everybody’s a critic,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m trying to save lives here.”

  She slowed, herding the soccer-mom behind her. The minivan’s horn persisted.

  “Yes, I know. I’m being an ass.” She glanced into her rear-view mirror, taking in the angry expression of the woman behind her. “But I’m also saving yours.”

  Almost time…

  She knew she had to steer away from the SUV right before it crashed into her. Maybe that act was going to offset the force of its impact or something. If she didn’t time it right…

  She would time it right.

  A dark shape loomed in her peripheral vision and she jerked the wheel hard to the left. The first crash of metal hit her ears as she was hit. The second followed a split-second later—the minivan plowing into the back end of the SUV that had struck Miranda’s car.

  The world was set to tumble-dry as the street rolled around and around through the front windshield. Her car balanced on two tires for a last moment of teetering suspense before finishing its final roll and falling to the ground, upside-down. The roof crunched ominously, several inches closer to her head than it used to be—or maybe it was that she was hanging from the driver’s seat, her seatbelt the only thing that kept her in place.

  Probably both.

  Tires screeched. People screamed. Horns kept blaring.

  She laughed. It sounded hysterical, even to her. Tears ran over her temples and into her hair. Her eyes burned. She wanted to unbuckle her seatbelt, but couldn’t will herself to let go of the steering wheel. She felt oddly disconnected from her body.

  Is this what shock feels like?

  It didn’t matter that she’d known she would walk away from the accident. She’d dreamt this version of the future over and over before waking. But the primal part of her brain had basically seen her chewed up and spit out by a saber-toothed tiger. It was still processing the events.

  She hadn’t bothered to count all the iterations of what could be. In the end, there was only one possibility that didn’t end in death. Miranda had to be in that intersection at the exact moment of the accident. It had to be her.

  Mom would be so proud…

  Her tears came harder.

  Why couldn’t people believe? Miranda wished she could tell people about her visions and let them make their own decisions. She should be able to walk away. Maybe actually have a life of her own, find someone who could understand and support her.

  Darren’s face popped into her mind’s eye.

  If only…

  Sweet, smart, gorgeous Darren—with his jet black hair and steel gray eyes—who laughed at her jokes, even if he didn’t make many of his own.

  Getting to know him had made her happy, which was terrifying. She never knew when her visions would call for a sa
crifice, and he somehow seemed the type who would throw himself on a grenade for others. She didn’t think she was strong enough to endure another vision that sent someone she cared about to their death.

  She shouldn’t let him get too close. But she couldn’t stay away.

  No one at the accident scene was having trouble staying away from her car. They probably thought she was dead, and no one wanted to be the one to find her gruesome remains. If she hadn’t known to turn her wheel just before the moment of impact, they would have been right.

  The surreal cast to her perception started to fade. Her skin tingled and her heart kept pounding in her throat. Each beat sent a spike of pain through her head. She needed to get out of her car.

  All she could see through the cracked glass of the front windshield were people’s feet as they hurried around the intersection. She noticed a pair heading straight toward her. Black dress shoes polished to a high sheen and nice slacks.

  The man stopped just outside her door, probably bracing himself for the worst. She considered making a funny face to lighten the mood, and let out another semi-hysterical sounding laugh. She cut it short as he knelt next to her open window.

  Oh, wow…

  Steel gray eyes bored through her, surrounded by thick dark lashes. The man’s hair was raven-black, skin tanned to a deep bronze, jaw strong, features flawless. She had memorized his face weeks ago.

  His eyes widened as he recognized her, too.

  “Miranda?” he said.

  “Hi, Darren. I’d offer to take your order, but I’m a little hung up right now.”

  She laughed, but her eyes had filled with tears again. He didn’t laugh at her joke this time. She wished he would at least smile. Seeing his dimples always made her feel better. She wanted—needed—something that at least gave her the illusion of normalcy.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he said.

  She already knew that. Still, his seriousness brought home what she had risked. It made everything feel more real. She’d liked it better when her perception had that lingering sense of dreaming.

  “Can you assess yourself?” he asked. “Do you know if you hit your head?”

  “I didn’t. I mean, my head hurts, but I think it’s from the adrenaline.”

  He didn’t look at all relieved. His eyes flicked to the ground, then back to hers.

  “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he said. “We can’t wait for the EMTs to arrive to check you out. We need to get you out of the car. Now.”

  Her visions tended to jump around, leaving large swaths of time unseen. The universe didn’t seem to want to spoil all of her surprises. Miranda took in the grim expression on Darren’s face and figured this wasn’t a good one. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and finally registered what was making him look so worried.

  Gasoline was spreading onto the street from underneath the roof of the car. Her heart started to pound again.

  She had seen herself on the other side of this. Walking stiffly among the tables and booths at the diner, holding a carafe of coffee. She was not going to burn to death.

  Please, don’t let me burn to death…

  “Stay calm,” he said. “I’m right here with you. I won’t leave.”

  She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, then let it out. She believed him. It made her less afraid, but also brought home the sharp sting of her loneliness. She was usually better at keeping it at bay. It had been a long time since someone had helped her through the aftermath of a vision. A long time since she hadn’t felt completely alone.

  She opened her eyes as he stood. He tried the door handle a few times, but the metal frame was mangled. The world seemed to spin as fumes burned her lungs.

  She wondered briefly why Darren didn’t just rip the door off her car, then remembered he couldn’t do that yet. No, that was wrong—people couldn’t do things like that at all. Reality was warping—memory, dream, and vision bleeding together.

  She heard fabric rustling, then Darren squatted next to her again. He’d taken off his jacket and wadded it into a ball that he placed under her head. Brown leather straps hugged his broad shoulders—and held a handgun in a holster. He’d never mentioned being a cop. All she knew about his job was that he kept late hours.

  He squeezed as much of himself into the car as he could fit. He was kneeling in gasoline. “Let go of the steering wheel and put your hands on the roof of the car.”

  She knew that she would be okay and was still panicking. He had no assurances of safety and was trying to help her anyway. He was risking himself for her. Her eyes filled with tears again.

  “It’s okay.” He placed his hand on hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She let him gently peel her fingers off of the wheel, grateful that the adrenaline flooding her system seemed to be blocking her ability to read futures through touch. His hands were warm, his skin smooth. He pressed her hands firmly on the roof of the car, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.

  “I can’t reach the seatbelt release, so I’m going to cut it,” he said. “When I do, you’ll fall.” He put one arm across her chest. “I’ll slow your descent as best I can, but will need your help to make sure you don’t get hurt, okay?”

  She nodded, bracing herself. His knife cut the seatbelt easily and gravity took over. She’d barely touched the floor before he was pulling her into his arms. She grabbed his jacket as she passed by, clinging to it. Darren tucked her against his chest and started running away from the car.

  “There’s gas over here,” he shouted. “Everyone needs to stay clear.”

  A few bystanders glanced over, their jaws dropping open. The soccer-mom was among them, holding her baby while her other kids clung to her legs. Her gaze met Miranda’s briefly, and the mix of horror and gratitude etched into her eyes was one Miranda didn’t think she’d ever forget. Whatever happened next—whatever Miranda had to deal with after this—it had been worth it.

  She turned into Darren’s chest, letting it block out the rest of the world for a moment. Either the fumes, his proximity, or the adrenaline firing through her system was messing with her sense of reality again. Nestling in his arms, she felt like she was remembering something that hadn’t happened yet.

  A normal person could write it off as déjà vu. For her, it held more significance and a hope she shouldn’t let herself feel.

  He was going to hold her in his arms again.

  Chapter Two

  Gasoline soaked through Darren’s clothes. The fumes stung his nose and lungs as he ran from Miranda’s car—what was left of it, anyway. He hadn’t recognized it when he’d approached the scene of the accident. It looked like a soda can that had been repeatedly stepped on.

  He couldn’t believe she had survived. She didn’t even seem to be hurt—just understandably shaken. His skin tingled as he kept watch for any sign of a spark. He needed to get out of his clothes as soon as possible. And to take about a dozen showers.

  Miranda was gripping the front of his shirt, pressing her body against his. He’d imagined holding her so many times during their chats at the diner. His daydreams were never like this.

  He slowed when he thought they were far enough away from her car to be safe if it exploded, then glanced back at it. He’d been so sure the driver would be dead. He’d braced himself for the worst before looking into the crumpled wreck.

  And then he’d seen Miranda smiling at him, her brown eyes wide as saucers and her dark hair dangling from her ponytail toward the ceiling. She had even made that joke, though it was obvious that she was utterly terrified.

  People died every day. He was very aware of that working in private security. But it had been a long time since that danger had hit so close to home.

  “It looks a lot worse from out here,” she said.

  “Try not to think about it.”

  The wail of sirens grew louder. He turned so that she wouldn’t be able to see what was left of her car.

&
nbsp; “I didn’t know you’re a cop,” she said.

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a gun in that holster.” She cast another pained smile at him. “Unless you’re just happy to see me.”

  He couldn’t believe she’d made another joke. But that was Miranda. Always trying to make other people feel better. He held her tighter against his chest.

  “Hey, Darren. You okay, man?” Scott came running up to them, which meant he had left their car behind—and the package they were supposed to be guarding.

  “I’m fine.” Darren felt the muscles in his jaw tense. He tried to keep his tone calm. “You were supposed to stay with the car.”

  Scott shrugged. “You said the accident sounded pretty bad. I thought you might need some help.”

  “What I needed was for you to stay with the car, like we agreed,” Darren said.

  “Don’t worry about it. The coins are safe.”

  Darren glanced around to make sure no one besides Miranda was in earshot. It was easier for Scott to not worry about massively screwing up the job. His mom ran Ford Security, and was unlikely to fire Scott since he was due to take over the company in a few years probably. Darren didn’t have that safety net.

  “Let’s maybe not talk about that right now,” Darren said.

  Scott cast one of his patented charming smiles at Miranda. “I’m sure we can trust this lovely damsel in distress to keep our secret.”

  Darren bristled. Scott loved to flirt with every woman he met, and normally Darren couldn’t care less. But Miranda… She was off-limits.

  Before Darren could stalk off with her, she cast a cold glare at Scott.

  “I’m not a damsel in distress,” she said. “I was a damsel in a predicament.”

  Scott looked over Darren’s shoulder at the crushed remains of her car. “Looks to me like you were a damsel in a pancake.”

  “Better than a pickle,” she said.