The Wolf of the Prophecy

by Victoria Jayne

  Dropping her hands and taking a deep breath, she shook the thoughts from her mind—no time for self-pity. Divina had decisions to make away from the manipulation of others. Since Rori came into her life, she’d been controlled from one decision to another; the time had come for her to take control. She was her own woman, and this was her life. She would live it how she wanted. The emptiness she’d felt morphed into heated anger, and her body flushed as it spread.

  Fuck Rori and fuck his prophecy. Fuck the Ember Witches and their coven. Fuck Aric, too. He thought he could come into her life and bite her so she’d fall all over him? Well, he had another thing coming.

  The ache in Divina’s chest throbbed, and she rubbed her sternum. The nagging pain had taunted her since leaving Aric’s trailer. The persistence of it allowed her to tell herself, attempt to fool herself, into believing it was heartburn.

  If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that the ache was something deeper. That it felt as though a piece of her had been ripped from her chest and replaced with a void she couldn’t describe. No, it had to be heartburn or something else. She had enough on her plate, no capacity left to cope with something other than that.

  Divina stared at the menu. Attempting to apply logic to her chest pain, she reviewed the previous day’s events. She hadn’t exerted herself in any way she had known, unless it was a sex injury. She had screwed quite a bit recently, and one of her partners was not a gentle fuck. She snorted at herself and a half-smile spread on her lips at the memory.

  A tingle tickled her fingers, the sensation trickling upward over her arms. Divina furrowed her brow and looked at her hands expecting to see something. Growing heat followed the prickles as they crawled toward her chest.

  She’d felt this before when she approached the convent and the Ember Witches for the first time. Although, this feeling wasn’t as intense as it had been when the witches had called to her. Her familiarity with the sensation did not breed comfort.

  Nervously, Divina’s gaze darted around the diner. The speed of her heart picked up, threatening to burst from her chest as the prickles increased. The Ember Witches—were they there?

  Spotting a woman with silver-streaked brown hair tossed in a sloppy ponytail, Divina’s guard rose. Her. She was the source of the tingles. The woman’s brown eyes focused on the small pad she wrote on as she approached the table. She shuffled a few feet from Divina and met her gaze.

  Her heart in her throat, Divina tensed. Recognition flashed in the waitress’s eyes, and she smiled—a witch. Divina had fled them, goddamnit. Now here she was face-to-face with another one, and they both knew it. Divina scooted to the edge of the booth, ready to leave.

  The woman hurried toward her. “Easy, darling,” she warned, blocking Divina’s path.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” Divina asserted in a sharp whisper, feeling caged. She attempted to stand, her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Darting her eyes left and right, she scanned the diner. The waitress stood between her and the main door. There needed to be another way out. The woman remained in her way, blocking any escape route.

  “What?” the woman asked. “I was just gonna read you the specials.” Her Southern drawl mocked Divina.

  She glared. “Like hell you were,” she accused. “It’s coming off you.”

  “Same here, sweetness,” the woman crooned. Her eyes narrowed. “You need to rein it in, baby, ’cause if I can feel it, they can, too, and it’ll only be a matter of time before they find you.”

  With her mouth open, Divina paused. Caught off guard by the comment, she regarded the woman with further suspicion. There was no rational way the waitress could know Divina or her situation, unless she was an Ember Witch. Divina’s icy blue eyes darted from person to person within the diner. How many of them were actual people? How many of them knew? Could they all feel it, too? She spiraled into a panic, breathing in short gasps. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with the feeling that walls were closing in on her. She couldn’t hide from the prophecy, or from the Ember Witches, no matter what she tried. She didn’t want to be a part of the prophecy, she never had. Didn’t that matter?

  Self-consciously, Divina rubbed her chest again. “I don’t want any of it,” she repeated. The urge to get out, get away, filled her. Muscles twitching, she implored the woman to move aside with her eyes.

  The waitress regarded her. “Breathe,” she prompted.

  Obeying, Divina inhaled deeply, slowing her breathing. She let it out gradually and repeated. The tension in her body dissipated with each exhale.

  The woman scribbled on her pad and placed a sheet on the table in front of Divina. “Repeat these words,” the woman instructed before producing some sprigs of herbs from her pocket. Emptying the sugar holder, she placed the sprigs inside, took out a lighter, and burned them until smoke rose. Using her body, the server blocked what they were doing from the view of others. Anyone looking might assume it was cigarette smoke. She blew out the flame and took Divina’s hands. Divina attempted to pull away, but one sharp look from the older woman had her shrinking back into submission.

  While she demonstrated how Divina was to wave her hands above the blackened sprigs, she said nothing. When released, Divina rolled her wrists in the smoke before she whispered the Romanian words. “Protejați-mă de detectare. Maschează puterea mea. Ascunde-mi puterea.”

  Energy wriggled beneath her skin, and she scrunched her face at the feeling. Tendrils of electricity spiraled around her bones, stemming from her ribs. It felt as though the energy traveled outward exiting through the tips of her fingers. This was unlike any spell she had cast before.

  With her eyes closed, the older woman nodded along with Divina. After several repetitions, the waitress’s hand came down over Divina’s, pushing them over the sugar holder. Divina’s hand waving stopped, and the energy dissipated and left her body. She peered up with curiosity at the woman who had just helped her cast.

  Without a word, the woman lifted the sugar holder and mumbled something Divina couldn’t hear or understand. The ache in her chest stabbed at her unexpectedly. She bent over the table, her hand splayed on her sternum.

  “What just happened?” she asked, gesturing to the sugar holder. She twitched as the pain intensified, only to dull seconds later. She took a relieved breath.

  The woman regarded Divina with narrowed eyes. “They can’t feel you anymore,” she declared.

  Divina rubbed her sternum as the ache she’d felt since leaving Aric increased. “I can still feel you.”

  “You need to practice,” the woman accused. “Your pronunciations are sloppy, and your movements are stiff.”

  Divina blushed. “I, uh—”

  The woman shook her head. “My shift ends at two,” she explained. “Be back here by then and we can work on that.”

  “But—” Divina began to protest, but the woman turned and went into the kitchen, carrying the sugar container.

  Frowning, Divina slumped in her booth. She hadn’t even ordered breakfast. This day had gone to shit before it even started.

  CHAPTER 4

  As Rori wasn’t a fool, he figured out relatively quickly that the wolf hadn’t chased him. He slowed his running to a lazy stroll and continued to roam about the French Quarter of New Orleans, at a loss for how he was to find Divina.

  Jazz poured from the bars as tourists spilled out onto the streets when the doors opened. He barely noticed those celebrating around him but made attempts to avoid colliding with them. Some were human. Some were not. Rori didn’t care. With his hands in the pockets of his dark cuffed jeans, he kept his head down. His heart was heavy with the lack of a plan. He knew the witches wouldn’t have her; she’d never go with them willingly, so going to them would be a waste of time. The wolf didn’t have her, either. An odd sense of satisfaction with that thought had Rori snorting to himself. She had rejected not only him but the wolf as well. The prophecy had nothing on Divina.

  He halted. Had Perci and Selene fou
nd his love? His heart jumped into his throat, choking him. His mind raced with the possibilities of what they could or would have done to her. Perci could be brutal, and he thought nothing of humans. As a witch, Divina was practically human when compared to other supernatural beings, and she stood between Perci and the throne. He’d have no mercy for her. Selene had proven to be just as cold that night in the alley.

  On Bourbon Street, a loud jazz band marched by, and all around him people screamed for beads and laughed. Scanning the jovial faces of those who were enjoying the spectacle that was New Orleans around him, Rori frantically sought some sign of her. He turned in circles amid the crowd, desperate for an indication of what had happened to his love. If possible, Divina’s fate seemed worse than he’d previously thought.

  Someone bumped into him, and Rori felt as though the crowd had closed in. He rasped at their proximity, sputtering out a cough. While everyone rejoiced, he felt as though he were drowning. The idea that Perci would hurt Divina—that anyone would hurt his love—because of him was more than he could bear. He needed to get off Bourbon Street and away from the party.

  As he found the ability to flee, he pushed those in his way without regard for the force he used. The sense of urgency surging through him wouldn’t allow for it. The glares and shouts of protest as he shoved people aside didn’t faze him. He needed to get out of there. He needed to rescue Divina.

  “Roricus Fromm?” A masculine voice speared through the crowd.

  At the sound of his full name, Rori spun around. A lean young man had his dark eyes locked on Rori. Amid the chaos of Bourbon Street stood the only calm person, dressed in all black, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his tactical pants. Meeting his gaze, Rori scanned the man’s chestnut-colored face, which held an intense smoldering expression.

  “Who are you?” Rori demanded as he closed the gap between them.

  The stranger turned and walked away from the crowd without response.

  Perplexed and intrigued, Rori followed. The stranger had known his name and where he’d be. What more could he know?

  The unknown man meandered through the crowd, bumping a human or two while he walked, which earned him scowls. The stranger seemed unaffected by the interactions. Rori did his best to weave through the crowd, following the same path as the unknown man. Apologies for each accidental collision slipped from his lips as he attempted to keep up.

  Turning left, the man led Rori away from the crowds. The distant celebration faded into a murmur from afar. By the time the stranger stopped, he was out in the open of an almost-empty parking lot. The light from the streetlamps above illuminated the empty space where he stood, waiting for Rori.

  As he got closer, Rori could make out more of the man’s features. His dark hair was shaved close to his scalp. His neatly trimmed goatee framed full lips, which were tight with tension. The plain black T-shirt he wore strained over his broad chest and accented his toned body. With his feet shoulder width apart and his hands behind his back, the rigid posture hinted at some sort of military training.

  “Who are you?” Rori demanded.

  He introduced himself once all humans were out of earshot. “I’m Jonas Risminsky, knight to the vampire court. Your presence is required.”

  Running his fingers through his dark brown hair, Rori looked past the young man. “Shit,” he hissed as he turned back in the direction he had come. Tight-lipped, the weight of the court invitation burdened him. He didn’t have time for this.

  “Mr. Fromm?” Jonas tried to gain Rori’s attention. “Your presence is required within the hour,” he urged.

  Rori spun back to the man. “What?” With a furrowed brow, Rori peered at Jonas as though he had said something absurd.

  “I have a car waiting.” Jonas gestured toward the parking lot, seeming oblivious to Rori’s expression.

  Bringing his hand over his forehead, Rori scrubbed down his face. He swept his gaze in the direction of the lot and spotted the black town car with its engine running. The impulse to run tickled his leg muscles. Escaping vampire politics in pursuit of love appealed to Rori more than it should.

  “We don’t have time to dawdle,” Jonas insisted. With a hand on Rori’s elbow, Jonas attempted to usher Rori in the direction of the car. Using his free hand, Jonas waved to the driver.

  Rori shrugged out of the man’s hold. “There’s no purpose in bringing me to court,” he declared, rolling his shoulders back in an effort to display resolve. Going to court when he had no intention of following the prophecy would be an insult to those who truly wanted to be crowned.

  Jonas arched a brow. His chocolate eyes bored into Rori with skepticism. “Surely you are aware of the current state of our kind?”

  “I am.” Rori jutted his chin upward. “I hold no rank within the court. It’s a mistake to summon me,” he explained, knowing full well why he’d been summoned.

  “Sir”—Jonas gave him a knowing glare—“it’s not a mistake. It’s also not negotiable. You’re going to court.”

  Iron fingers dug into Rori’s arm with a viselike grip. Holding his bicep, Jonas jerked Rori in the direction of the car.

  “Unhand me!” Rori futilely barked as he attempted to yank his arm back.

  “I was instructed to use force if necessary. It will be much better for you if you come willingly.” There was a hint of smug triumph in Jonas’s tone. Rori set his jaw, sure Jonas would delight at the opportunity to use force.

  He should have been able to overpower Jonas and escape easily. While unfamiliar with this vampire, Rori had a suspicion that he was older than Jonas, thus more powerful. However, Jonas dragged him against his will. Rori dug his heels into the pavement and clawed at the fingers clamped onto his arm. Kicking at the back of Jonas’s knees, he tried all he could think of to resist.

  Nothing stopped the man.

  The back door of the town car opened, and Jonas thrust Rori inside. Leaning in through the open door, Jonas gave Rori an eerie smile, revealing bright white teeth and two impish dimples. “Please, Mr. Fromm, try to relax.”

  The door shut.

  With a better look at the vampire’s face, Rori realized what made Jonas stronger than his age. Pinpoint pupils and clammy skin? Jonas was high on werewolf blood. Acting like an amphetamine did to humans, the testosterone-filled blood amplified all it was to be a vampire—sharper reflexes, increased strength and agility. Vampires on wolf blood were almost unstoppable.

  Jonas tapped the roof of the car, and they accelerated, leaving Jonas behind. Rori tested the handle. Locked. He tugged anyway until the handle popped off in his hands. Tossing it to the side with a growl, he tightened his jaw. Flopping back onto the seat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This night had to go down in history as one of the most fucked up in all of his undead life.

  Taking a deep breath, Rori contemplated his options. With the prophecy being a persistent little bastard, he needed a new strategy. Just when he bucked it, it sucked him back in. He could only hope the same had happened for Divina, that she’d wound up with the Ember Witches and not the wolf. The wolf could die in a fire for all he cared. It was the witches he hoped were keeping his Divina safe. She was supposed to become one of them, after all.

  Divina was destined to be an Ember Witch. He was to forsake her and their love. She was to find the wolf. She was to take her seat at the witches’ table.

  A sudden hope blossomed within him. There might be a silver lining to the prediction if it were true.

  She’d need to be alive and safe for it to be realized.

  Rori had set it all in motion. She’d even met the wolf, much to his chagrin. Regardless of anyone’s want for it, the prophecy continued to exert its hold. There was a chance that it would come true no matter what they did. At every turn, when he had defied or even destroyed the prediction, it found a way around him. To find Divina, he’d need to anticipate the prophecy’s next logical step.

  The witches. Rori hadn’t thought they would t
ake her unwillingly. Then again, he never thought someone who didn’t want to take the emperor’s throne would be forcibly thrown into a town car and taken to court, either. Yet there he was, sitting in the back of one and on his way.

  Resting his elbows on his knees, Rori leaned forward, bowing his head. Running his hands through his hair, he studied the floor and contemplated his situation. The prophecy was in control. Fate had forced itself upon him; it must have done the same to Divina. Doubting his ability to go against the prediction, he questioned the level of autonomy in his life. The illusion of choice had lured him in. All his actions had led to this situation, and he’d been a pawn. Heat rose in his cheeks and he balled his fists. Slamming them against the seat in a flurry of rage, he let out a growl of frustration at his lack of control.

  The new moon was on its way, and the new emperor would be crowned by then, whether Rori liked it or not. Perhaps Jonas spoke more truth than he realized. There wasn’t time to dawdle. Rori and Divina had done their dance, had attempted to assert their will. Now look at them. He’d been shoved into the back of a car to face the court, and Divina? Where was his Divina?

  Heartsick, Rori glanced out the window as the city flew by. The witches had to have her. Fear strangled him as he wondered what methods they’d use to convince her to join them. He’d seen what they’d done to Ines. She had been a terrifying sight when they stripped her of her magic—her frail appearance, her skin practically melting off her while she coughed black ooze in front of him. His stomach churned at the idea of Divina being dealt such a sentence. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he feared he’d vomit. They couldn’t do that to her. In time, Divina was to take Esmine’s seat at the council table. If they stripped her, she couldn’t take the seat, and that would defy the prophecy. They could threaten it, though.