Destiny’s Wrath
Destiny Series, Book 3
Nancy Straight
Copyright 2012 Nancy Straight
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Printed in paperback February 2012. Available electronically from all major bookstores.
Acknowledgements
Destiny’s Wrath would not have been possible without the support of several incredible people. Rebecca Ufkes’ enthusiasm and insight were invaluable; she provided the encouragement I needed to write the entire series. Linda Brant, my aunt, has painstakingly edited all three books in this Destiny Series; she has polished each one until it shined!
My Beta readers: Charles Young and Melissa Balentine. Your feedback was fabulous and I hope everyone else agrees!
The amazing cover was designed by Danielle Stroube at Dreamscapecovers.com.
I wish there were a way to single out each of the independent authors out there who have helped me along the way, but a thank you to each one would be a book in itself. There is one author that warrants a place on this page: Shelly Crane. Thanks Shelly – your books rock and I cannot thank you enough for all the advice along the way!
Finally, my husband, Toby, has been supportive of my every adventure. Thanks for all the nights you made dinner and did homework so that I could follow my dream!
Thanks to you all!
Chapter 1
Max
I jerked awake, quickly shaking the shivers off and wiping the sweat from my forehead: another “Samael nightmare.” He had been out of my body for six months; why couldn’t I get him out of my head? I looked over at Lauren - sound asleep. I couldn’t help watching her, brushing a stray strand of hair off of her cheek. It feels like my heart has swollen three times its size the last few months. Looking back, it’s been a rocky three years; one of the few images that I’m pleased hasn’t lost any of its luster: memories of our first night together. Not the first night we spent together when I got back from Afghanistan, but that very first night in her hospital room. At the time, I was clueless as to why I felt so strongly for a near stranger. I couldn’t describe it to another if my life depended on it, but I knew that night, the first time she grabbed my hand and squeezed, that my heart was hers for the taking.
I almost lost her three times: the night she was shot by a robber, the night she was attacked at our camp site, and the night I sent her away. She knows that I did it for her safety, and she has long since forgiven me, but the emptiness of losing her the last time nearly shredded me. Never again. No more demons, no more clairvoyants, Councils, Cabinets, or anything else the universe wants to throw our way. I’ll never let her be exposed to that kind of danger again. I’d lay my life down in her place without giving it a second thought. As much as it maddens me, I know she’d do the same for me. These last few months have been incredible, full of more joy than any two people probably deserve.
I’ve savored every moment, but I keep getting this nagging feeling that we haven’t seen the last of Samael. I’ve never wanted to be more wrong about anything in my life. Nothing has been easy since we first found each other. I catch myself getting paranoid, looking around corners and in dark alleys, waiting for Samael to step out and say something like: “Hello, Sport. How’s our Lauren?”
I still have the “Samael nightmares” a couple times a week. When he took up residence inside me, it was a constant barrage of what he wanted to do to Lauren. In one word, he was obsessed. He wanted her, wanted her in a way that terrified me. Lauren and I don’t talk about Samael much; every now and then she’ll ask me a question about him. I learned the hard way never to try to shelter Lauren from anything. If she thinks I’m hiding something from her, regardless of my intentions, she’s like a pit bull - relentless.
Most of her questions have been benign; luckily she hasn’t asked me the one that I really don’t want to answer: Do I think we’ll see Samael again? I think it’s only a matter of time. I don’t know if it’ll be a year, a decade, or a quarter century; the only thing I do know: we’ll see him again. Next time, we’ll be ready. We’ll be together; we’ll be one.
I eased myself off the bed, stole one more glance her way to make sure she was still sound asleep, and crept into my closet. Digging around in an old file cabinet tucked in the corner, I silently slid the files all the way to the front, so I could find the little velvet box tucked in the back. I put it there five years ago, thinking I’d probably never open the little case again.
When two people love each other the way my parents did, I imagine it’s a blessing for both of them to die together. I cannot imagine one surviving the car crash and spending every remaining day mourning the loss of the other. They were a matched set. As I pried the little case open, the hinge on the box was stiff, as if asking if I were really ready to do this. When it finally gave way, I squatted on the floor staring at the two wedding bands gently tucked away. My whole life I never saw my mother take her ring off. I knew I wanted to use the diamond that represented my parents’ promise of forever to give Lauren the same vow.
It felt right, removing my mother’s ring from its resting place next to my father’s in the file cabinet. I tucked the ring into a pocket of a pair of jeans I would put on in the morning. I made one silent vow: I was done looking over my shoulder. Life starts now.
*****
Jewelers can be intimidating. In my mind, it was a simple request: use the diamond from my mother’s ring and put it in a new setting. It turns out there are literally thousands of potential settings. The only thing I knew going into the store was I wanted the setting to be done in platinum. It took several weeks, but was completely worth the wait. I sat in the parking lot outside the store, visualizing Lauren’s face: her expression and no doubt her surprise. We’d talked about nearly every topic under the sun, but rarely did the subject of marriage come up.
I knew, without a doubt, the answer would be “yes,” well, pretty sure. I wanted to ask her in a way that she wouldn’t expect, where she wouldn’t see it coming. Definitely not over dinner or on a romantic weekend - that would be too much of a giveaway. I wanted to catch her by surprise, on a normal day, when we were both just doing normal stuff.
I eyed the engagement ring, but nothing but sappy phrases came to mind, things I knew I’d never be able to say with a straight face. She’d had me wrapped around her little finger for years; I guess this ring will know exactly how I feel soon!
When I got home, I saw her weeding outside the house. She’s the only woman I’ve ever known who could look incredible doing the most mundane things. I sat in the truck watching her a few seconds longer than I probably needed to. Cringing at the thought of all the sweet ways I’d thought to propose, I decided I’d put it off for a couple days. Maybe set up something with a Mariachi Band or teach her Doberman Pincher, Peanut, to carry the box to her, or, knowing Lauren – make a scavenger hunt. I didn’t want to shove the jeweler’s box in my pants; it would be a little too obvious. Instead I withdrew the ring from the box, stuffed the box in a pocket behind the sea
t, and shoved the ring in my pocket.
As I approached, she gave me that look, the one that has made me blind to all other women. I knew in that moment exactly how to ask her, exactly the right words. I walked up to her and took her by the hand, without a word, leading her to the house and down the hallway to our bedroom.
I undressed her, not in a frenzy, but slowly; the way you do when you know this is the person you want to look at, to be with, and to please for the next fifty years. As I saw her in front of me, she nearly took my breath away. I could feel the smile creeping into my voice when I said, “Something’s missing.”
“All my clothes, Smart Ass. Are you planning to join me?”
I shook my head, as if seriously pondering something, “It’s not the clothes. Something isn’t right.” I waited a few breaths, seeing concern shining through her eyes. “I know what it is.” After reaching into my pocket, I slid the platinum band onto her ring finger and confessed, “Don’t move. This is the image that I want of you. I think of you all the time, but when I’m at work, this is the vision I want stuck in my head of who is waiting for me at home: you, wearing nothing but my ring on your finger.”
She was speechless; I had definitely hit my mark. I went down on one knee. “You already know I would do anything you asked me to. I guess it’s your turn. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t make me wait; she wasn’t her typical sarcastic self. She simply said, “Yes.”
As we lay together in our own private celebration the rest of the day, I felt nothing but bliss. For the first time since my reunion with a conscious Lauren, I wasn’t thinking about Samael.
There must have been some foreshadowing power in the universe to keep me from procrastinating, to make me propose when I did. For some reason, I knew that was the moment. The morning after, all hell broke loose. I had been right all along. It was only a matter of time before we would need to face Samael again. I couldn’t have guessed it would be this soon.
Chapter 2
Two days earlier, 5 p.m.
Abigail didn’t care for the friend Noah had brought home from school.
Jimmy was outwardly respectful, but shifty. Abigail had always welcomed children of all ages into her home, but there was something different about this one. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she didn’t like him. He wore black motorcycle boots, tattered blue jeans and a faded t-shirt. The clothing didn’t bother Abigail – she had long ago learned not to judge somebody by the clothes they wore.
His over-politeness felt fake. He seemed to be intelligent for his age, but there was just something about him that Abigail didn’t trust. This mistrust kept her from leaving the two boys alone in a room together; wherever they were, she found a reason to be in the same vicinity.
Noah announced, “Granny, we’re going down to the park to shoot some hoops.” Abigail nodded, but Jimmy cut in.
“Noah, I think you shouldn’t lie to the woman who took care a’ you since you was little. I think you should tell her the truth.” He said it with a smirk on his face as if daring Noah to let Abigail in on their secret.
“Come on, Jimmy.” Noah was walking to the door and didn’t dare look up to catch Abigail’s glare.
“Jimmy, so tell me, what is the big secret that Noah is keeping from me?” She feigned mild curiosity, but was dying to know what the two boys were planning.
Jimmy looked to Noah, who glared back at him and said, “I’ve got the ball. Let’s go, Jimmy.” That look could not have been a more clear warning to leave now.
“Noah’s going to help me figure out how much fertilizer I need for the bomb. You know he’s as smart as they come. I think I need twenty-two bags. If I try to buy that many, ATF will be breathin’ down my neck in five minutes. Noah says he’d take a look at my numbers. I might only need fourteen bags.” Jimmy had said all this matter-of-factly. Chills shot down Abigail’s spine.
Jimmy watched Abigail to see the reaction. She nodded empathetically, as if someone had just shared that he needed help studying for his Algebra exam. Abigail didn’t shriek or raise her voice, she didn’t forbid them from walking out the door; she gingerly stepped past him, giving Jimmy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she crossed the room.
Of all the reactions Jimmy had contemplated, hers was not one he had expected. Abigail calmly made her way to the other side of the room, picked up the telephone and dialed a number just as casually as if she were picking up a remote control for the television.
“Hello, this is Abigail Camden. Is the sheriff in?” There was a momentary pause as the person on the other end of the phone spoke to Abigail. “That’ll be fine. I’ll hold.”
Those were the last words Abigail ever spoke. She watched Jimmy run across the room. She saw the knife coming out of his pocket as if it were in slow motion. Abigail did not watch the boy plunge the knife into her abdomen and then her heart; instead, she looked across the room to where Noah stood with a look of horror on his face.
Noah stood frozen in place as he saw Abigail’s body slump to the floor. Jimmy immediately hung up the phone, grabbed her ankles, and moved her to the wall of the living room, half tucked behind a sofa. Without missing a beat, Jimmy asked Noah, “So, you can look at them numbers now? I think I’ve got the right formula; jus’ need you to double check the numbers for me.”
Noah had never seen someone die. He had never seen a dead body, and he never imagined he would ever see someone murdered right in front of him. Abigail had been the only caregiver he had ever really known. He loved her, and, in that instant, she was gone.
Chapter 3
Noah stood watching the blood pool around her. He thought back to the day when he and Jessie had come to live with her.
Abigail Camden had been everyone’s favorite “Kool-Aid Mom.” Her children were long gone; her grandchildren were beginning families of their own. Abigail had been a homemaker her whole life. After her husband passed away, everyone just assumed she would go on cruises, vacation in exotic places, meet friends on the internet, whatever people did when their life emptied in front of them. She and her husband had been married for thirty-seven years when he had a massive heart attack at work and never came home.
When she realized she had done all she could do for her family, and was more of a holiday novelty than a pillar in their lives, she began to feel sorry for herself. This is pretty common for women of Abigail’s age, but rather than slumping into a depression that she would just have to climb out of – she did the unthinkable. She started all over again, this time by herself.
She lived alone in a five bedroom house, and the emptiness began to envelope her. One evening she watched a news program about a shortage of foster families. She made up her mind before the news segment was over that she would be a foster mom.
Abigail started with two siblings, Jessie and Noah. The day they came, Jessie was six, with cute pigtails, a little shy but as bright a child as Abigail had ever known. Noah was Jessie’s older, protective brother, who was eight. The two had been in and out of foster homes for over two years before they came to Abigail’s home. They shared the same mother, and, every now and again, their mother would get sober enough to get custody back, but her latest arrest included prison time, so the children were again wards of the state.
When the two came to Abigail’s house, they were a bit stoic, “seasoned” their case worker called them. They knew not to trust adults. They knew not to get too comfortable because this home would be like so many before – only temporary. Abigail didn’t have a degree in psychology; truth be told she had never visited a therapist her whole life. She worried that she had become a foster parent for the wrong reason – sheer loneliness.
Jessie and Noah’s case worker was Miss Bryant, and in spite of the reputation social workers have for being too overworked to check on their assignments, Miss Bryant didn’t ever think of any child as just a number. She knew each child, knew their favorite colors, their favorite activities, things they were scared of, and, somehow, she
always knew exactly what to say to make them feel at ease. Miss Bryant was a person whose very nature inspired trust in those she looked after. Though Jessie and Noah had never fully trusted anyone up to this point in their lives, there was something about Miss Bryant. They believed her when she said things were going to be okay.
Miss Bryant arrived outside Abigail’s home at 3 p.m. Both children had their worldly belongings stuffed into two plastic grocery bags. Miss Bryant stopped on the porch, kneeled down to eye level of both of the children and said, “I know you’re scared. Do you two trust me?”
Jessie nodded immediately; Noah was slower to agree, but he, too, trusted Miss Bryant. “You know that I would never take you somewhere that wasn’t safe, right?” Again both children nodded their agreement. “Miss Abigail is a very nice lady; she wants you to live with her. Now, she hasn’t had children in her home in a really long time, so she is just as scared as you are. But I know you both will take good care of her, won’t you?” Jessie and Noah looked at each other quickly, then both silently agreed.
Miss Bryant stood back up, straightened her jacket, and rang the doorbell. Abigail opened the door and saw the two children standing in front of her holding their grocery bags stuffed with clothes. She could see Jessie had a blanket and a stuffed bear peeking out of the top of hers. Noah’s pants were too short, his shirt was clean but stained, and he wouldn’t look her in the eye. He stood close and slightly in front of his sister. He didn’t consciously think that Miss Abigail was a threat, but he had grown accustomed to being Jessie’s protector, so this was the position he always took.
Abigail was so excited to have children in her home again she could barely contain herself. Abigail held out her hand to Noah, “Good afternoon, Noah. My name is Abigail. You can call me Granny or Miss Abbey, whichever you prefer.” He nodded but said nothing. Abigail turned her attention to Jessie, “And you must be Jessie?” She held out her hand to Jessie, but Jessie looked to Noah instead of the outstretched hand. Noah gave a short nod and Jessie put her little hand inside of Abigail’s outstretched fingers.
Destiny's Wrath (Destiny Series - Book 3) Page 1
