by Dana Archer
“That’s not true! I know for a fact Royals can be banned from entering the heavens. In those cases, Royals are reborn as humans, and their animals are given to a new Royal.” Ella strains against my hold. “Ilan told me that. Are you going to call him a liar?”
“No, I won’t, because he’s correct. Sometimes a Royal’s soul can be banned from entering the heavens. Sometimes they can also be cast out, their tie to their goddess severed, but I know for a fact Zach’s true mate remains in the heavens. Asa Yuran, the alpha of her family has confirmed it. I asked him a few months ago. He feels her soul with those long gone. She can’t be you.”
The scent of tears reaches me, but Ella doesn’t sob. She holds herself as tall as she had moments ago. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Wetness drips onto my shirt. I rest my cheek against Ella’s forehead. “There are many forms of love. None are any less important.”
“But true mates—”
“Are a gift, a way to make up for the wrong done against shifters. True mates are a balm to our souls, healing us and strengthening us. I won’t lie to you and say that they’re not special or magical or worth giving up everything for. They’re powerful, something to fight for.”
At the first hitch in Ella’s breathing, I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her and offering her a safe place, just as I would for any member of my pride. “But so is love, Ella. Love is powerful, a force to be reckoned with. The love of a mother for a child, the connection between twins, the possessiveness of a shifter for his beloved human, the undeniable bond of pride mates—all these and more are forms of love, and each and every one is to be treasured. Don’t ever lessen the importance of love.”
“Zach doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even want to talk to me, let alone look at me. He—”
“Doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“He has.”
“I know.”
Minutes pass. Finally, the scent of tears lessens, and the tension in Ella’s body eases. She leans into me, finally taking the comfort I’ve cocooned her in. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”
“I know.” Ella extracts herself from my arms and wipes her arm over her face, smearing her makeup. She returns to the desk and pulls out a folder from the stack she’d straightened earlier. “I plan on telling Mira and Josh what Shifter Affairs has come up with to protect them.”
I close the distance between me and Ella, then stop in front of her. “Don’t let anything I said stop you from fighting for what you want. Use the knowledge. Tell Zach you know the truth and still want to be his. The two of you can have eternity. Knowing he’ll never find his true mate, he can mate you, sharing his strength and immortality with you. Love is enough. Don’t let your chance at happiness slip away, Ella. You deserve it. So does Zach. He deserves—”
“Not to settle.” Ella tilts her head. “And you’re right. I deserve the same. Thank you for helping me realize that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of strings to pull in order to bring in enough agents for this weekend.”
“You are enough, Ella.”
“You’re right.” Ella leaves the folder she’d selected on the blotter and moves to the door, opening it wide. “But there comes a time to stop living in fear. To make a stand. And prove to those around you, you’re powerful.” Ella throws my earlier reasoning back at me with cockiness edging her voice and a crazed glint sparking in her eyes. “Right, Kade?”
“Right.” It’s all I can say in the face of Ella’s mockery. “What are you planning, Ella?”
“Revenge.” She smiles almost absently. “I mean, I deserve that, don’t I? Any shifter would seek out the same. If someone hurts them, they make sure that someone regrets it.”
“You want the blood of your rapists.”
Ella shakes her head. “I want their screams.”
And I can’t blame her. Those who hurt her deserve to suffer. “If you need anything, ask.”
“And you’ll give it to me?”
“If I can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ella lets go of the door handle and heads back to her desk without waiting for me to leave. She sits, turns on her computer, and settles into her work, the folder she’d pulled out facedown on the desk.
I study her for a long moment, then walk out, closing the door behind me, and make my way to the elevator. Regret settles over me, along with the pain of knowing I can’t make this better for Ella, but from the remorse comes hope, a spark of optimism I haven’t felt in ages. Despite the challenges to my pride and my ability to protect those I value, a determination builds. I will overcome everything. I don’t know how, but I will succeed, and I know the reason behind the confidence.
And her name is Zoe.
Eighteen
Zoe
Despite GPS insisting I’ve reached my destination, I can’t help but wonder whose morning coffee I’ll be interrupting. The white two-story home listed as Raven and Runes tattoo studio resembles the other homes in this older development. Only the dead tree in the front yard with its committee of vultures surveying the quiet residential district sets it apart. There’s no shop sign, Reserved for Customer parking area, or anything else I’d associate with a business. It resembles someone’s private home, albeit a little neglected.
Had I not been so desperate for answers, I wouldn’t risk disturbing some stranger’s day. This thing with Kade has forced my hand, however. There’s something not quite right about me. I’ve known it since the day I started talking to my crazy side. Jarah knows why.
Giving the birds one last glance, I trek through the overgrown yard following the uneven stone pathway to a wide front porch. All the while, the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as the sensation of dozens of beady eyes seem to follow my trek. Signs of life—the scattering of bird seed on the ground and a fountain gurgling sparkling clean water—soothe the uneasiness of the creepy birds. Vultures have a right to live just like any other animal. It doesn’t mean I can shake the dark imagery associated with them or the sensation of them judging me.
A crooked white sign hangs on the porch pillar, with the tattoo shop’s name written sloppily in marker. Frowning, I glance from the sign proving my phone’s GPS was indeed correct to the massive front door just in time to hear the click of the sliding window in the door. Clanking of locks being undone precede the creaking of the hinges.
The woman in a pair of fuzzy sleep pants with cartoon images of Cupid and arrow-pierced hearts brings a steaming mug to her lips. Dark tattoos peek out from the sleeves of her gray long-sleeved shirt, and more ink just visible in the scoop of her neckline hints at a large piece across her chest. Judging by the intricate designs, whoever tattooed her was good, really good.
“Is Jarah here?”
“I haven’t seen him yet.”
I take in her carpenter boots, black fingerless gloves, and the flush to her cheeks as if she’d recently come in from the cold and cross my arms, tucking my icy fingers into the sleeves of the sweatshirt from the Black Widow I’ve claimed. “Are you expecting him?”
“He lives here, so yeah. He might even be lurking around but I’m not about to go upstairs looking for him. Jarah, naked, is not a sight I want to see. It’d scar me, sorta like catching a glimpse of your dad’s sausage while he’s taking a piss.”
An instant fondness for this stranger bubbles over in a laugh that has me smiling. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your therapy sessions, but I do need to talk to Jarah. He was expecting me to stop on Tuesday afternoon, but I was hoping to see him earlier. This is important.”
“You’re Zoe.”
“Yes.” Although not posed as a question, I answer anyway.
The woman steps to the side, leaving an opening in the doorway. “Come on in, then. If he’s here, he’ll be down to talk. If not, you can hang out with me until my first client arrives.”
“Thanks.” I step into an inviting waiting room with hand-drawn tattoo design
s and photos of clients’ newly inked masterpieces. Every one is a piece of art. I scan the walls, taking in the different styles. “Your work is beautiful.”
“Thanks, but most of those are Jarah’s pieces. My stuff hangs back there.” The woman gestures with her mug to a room off the side of the waiting area, where rows of colored ink bottles are visible. “But I ink the designs he draws for some of the special clientele that stops by.”
Shifters, probably. I can’t imagine who else Jarah would bother drawing up tattoos for. “I didn’t realize Jarah was a tattoo artist.”
The woman laughs so hard, she holds her mug away from her, anticipating the hot liquid sloshing over. “You’re in for a rude awakening, then. Jarah told me you were going to be working for him. Answering his, um, business phone calls and stuff. You might want to have him explain exactly what kind of calls he gets before you start dealing with his, ah, business.”
“Zoe’s not a stranger to the shifter world, Nadia.” Wearing only a pair of gray sweats, Jarah fills the hallway leading deeper into the house. His every bulging muscle is a testament of his primal side. As the oldest assassin alive, the display of raw strength doesn’t surprise me. Power is everything in the shifter world.
Nadia groans and shields her eyes with her mug. “Jeez, come on, Jarah. Put on some clothes or something.”
“This is my home. You’re lucky I’m wearing pants.”
“But my eyes, Jarah. My eyes!”
“Then go back to your old shop. Everything is exactly as you left it.” Jarah chuckles. “Minus the blood coating the floor and walls.”
Nadia lowers her mug and glowers at Jarah. “You know why I don’t want to work out of there anymore.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have betrayed my son and allowed him to be tortured. Had you not sold him out, guilt wouldn’t be choking you.”
I glance between the two, questions building around the conversation. Instead of butting in, I keep my mouth shut and listen.
Nadia turns pleading eyes on Jarah. “I didn’t know they were going to skin Daegan! You know that, and I know you believe me. If you doubted me, I’d be dead.”
“Do you expect my forgiveness? Or my son’s?”
“Forgiveness is a cop-out, a consolation prize for screwing up at life.” I grin as both Jarah and Nadia jerk their heads to look at me wearing the same expression of annoyance for interrupting them. “Sorry, I was thinking out loud, I guess.”
“That’s a very shifter way of looking at things.” Jarah smirks. “And I agree. Forgiveness is a human virtue, something handed out to ease other people’s guilt. It doesn’t erase the memory of whatever it is you’re being forgiven for, and it certainly doesn’t make things right.”
“Which is why you have to earn back people’s trust.” Too bad I didn’t think this way years ago. Things might’ve turned out differently. As Jarah said, though, forgiveness is a human tradition. It’s expected, demanded even, by humans. If you don’t forgive, you’re this nasty person who hangs on to the hurts of the past. The past doesn’t go away, however. It’s a part of us, just as our future is.
After a moment, Jarah nods. “Again, you are correct…at least from a shifter’s perspective. It’s almost as if you’ve been a part of our world your entire life.”
“Unknowingly, I suppose.” Vince was in my friend group since elementary school. He lived a couple of houses down too. Heck, I spent more time at his place than my own.
Without taking his attention off me, Jarah addresses Nadia. “Return Daegan’s call and set up an appointment to begin work on re-inking him. He’s got a clean canvas just waiting for you to work your magic on.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I—”
“You should take Zoe’s advice, little one. If you’re sincere about never having wanted Daegan hurt, you’ll earn back his trust. And mine.”
Nadia huffs, then heads toward the room where her artwork is hidden from view. She closes the door, cutting my view of the ink bottles and leaving me alone with Jarah.
“What’s so important you came out here without sleeping?”
“You can tell?”
“Exhaustion has a certain taste, and your scent is tainted by it.”
“True. I am tired.” The few hours of tossing and turning while worry over what Stan knows about Josh’s family wasn’t conducive to getting my beauty sleep. “There’s a nap calling my name later today.”
“But first you need to talk to me.”
“Yes.” I study the closed door separating us from Nadia. “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”
Jarah inclines his head and heads back the way he came. I follow him through the kitchen to a warm sunroom, where exotic flowers and bizarrely shaped mushrooms—some I’ve never seen before—flourish. Jarah takes a seat at a stone table, the edges worn down.
Sitting on the hard stool opposite him, I get to the point of my visit. “You have answers about me. I want them.”
After a long moment where Jarah’s unblinking gaze holds mine, he nods. “Are you ready to pay my price for them?”
“Sure, but I don’t have a lot of money. How much do you want?”
“Money is the means of exchange for goods or services in this age, nothing more, and it isn’t important to me.”
“What is?”
“Strength.”
With a sweep of my hands, I motion to myself. “Have you taken a good look at me? This bony, short frame is part shitty genetics, part no money for food. You probably have more strength in your little pinkie than I have in my entire body.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Zoe Conway. I can taste your power on my tongue as easily as I can your exhaustion.”
“That’s not power. That’s stubbornness. It’s a Conway trait.”
“There is truth in that. Power such as you hold only shows up in family lines, sometimes skipping several generations and sometimes manifesting itself more strongly in one sibling than the other. It’s nature’s way of protecting the bloodline, you see. In ages past, men of my profession would sacrifice entire families like yours in order to stop people like you from being born.”
“People like me?”
“Witches who have the potential to become the most powerful, dangerous beings walking this earth.”
I give a nervous laugh but Jarah’s unwavering stare never falters. “I am not a witch, and I’m not dangerous. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“Technically, you’re right. You’ve evolved beyond the gentle scope of witchcraft where true witches or warlocks develop their innocuous skills within a coven under the watchful, guiding eye of a high priestess or priest. You, Zoe Jane Conway, are a shaman without the knowledge of how to temper your abilities or contain what lives inside you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice is small. It’s all I can manage with the chill spreading through me.
“Witches are generally harmless. They rely on the power contained within the world around them.” Jarah waves a hand to encompass the plants and racks of mushrooms. “Their resources are behind me—nature, the elements, and each other.”
“And I’m more.”
“You are more. So am I. So is Nadia. We have developed our abilities until we not only control nature, but bend it to our will.”
“That doesn’t sound horrible or dangerous. Assertive maybe, but is that such a bad thing?”
“We can steal free will, forcing wildlife to be our eyes or other people to do our bidding. We can make someone kill for us or die for us.”
“I haven’t done any of that.” I shake my head, maybe a little more violently than this moment calls for, but what Jarah describes goes beyond dangerous. Way beyond dangerous.
“Then what did you demand?”
Strands of my hair cut across my vision. I brush back the wisps stuck to my lip with the side of my hand. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whether you remember or not doesn’t change the past. The proof is here.” Jarah thumps a fist to my upper chest, the hollow sound reverberating in my jaw. “And the demand you once made left you in debt to that which you called forth.”
“Called forth? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You might not know why, but you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Jarah lowers his voice. “What’s living in your soul, Zoe Jane?”
“Kade.” I raise my head higher. “He gave me a piece of his soul.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m not. Kade’s a part of me. Says I’m his true mate and doesn’t want me to lose him.”
“But aren’t you the one who’s claimed your dead baby’s father is your soul mate? That BJ is your one true love, and that nobody else will ever replace him in your heart and soul?” Jarah mocks me with a raised brow and a quivering lip. “So how does Kade fit into all this? Is he your new once-in-a-lifetime soul mate too?”
On a curse, I shove away from the table. Jarah grabs my hand, firming his hold with a jerk on my arm and demanding I look at him. The flames are back in his eyes, a black fire that grabs my attention and keeps my gaze locked to his despite the urgency to escape.
“Answer me.”
“Love comes in many forms.” I repeat Kade’s words, only now understanding the depth of them and wishing he was here to share this revelation.
Jarah’s mouth curves, not quite a smile but the pleased connotation is hard to miss. “Yes, it does, and the richest of us have experienced many forms, from the love of friends and family to first love, second loves, and all those we meet along the way, but only one has the power to chase back your own personal demon.”
A chill spreads across my skin, radiating from where Jarah’s long fingers are wrapped around my hand to my head, feet, and everything in between. I shake my arm but can’t dislodge Jarah’s hold. Instead, I glare at him. “Everyone carries their own personal demon—something horrible, something they hide from the world. That doesn’t make mine any worse than anyone else’s. And I don’t need Kade to save me from a little sadness. I’m dealing with it just fine on my own.”
