Julia skipped one of the flat stones, and the swan startled, flying a few feet and craning its elegant neck to give her a disdainful look. Could swans be angry? She sighed and sat down on the boulder again then picked up a stick and twirled the water, her chin in her palm.
Then there was Michael. She felt her whole face break into a grin. That scene with the shit had been priceless. Beyond funny… even if Scott hadn't been laughing.
Payback's a bitch.
Julia threw the stick in the water and stood. She began to pace the shore, thinking about Brendan. He'd been the one to carry her from the Were. How had he found her? He said simply that he was a “Tracker.” It didn't fully explain things. He also said he had a crossover ability. Pyrokinetic. Julia was reminded of that Stephen King novel, Firestarter. She'd mentioned it to Brendan who'd laughed and said, “Nah, that's some trashy fiction story.”
Right.
The novel's plot hadn't seemed so implausible when the feet of ten werewolves were on fire. That had seemed pretty legit to her.
Her mind landed on William. He'd been trying to free her, too. But the more Julia thought about it, the less “free” it felt. She cared for him… but the reality was she'd be the bird in the gilded cage again. She almost was a bird in a cage of the Were, as well. It wouldn't have been gilded though. Julia thought of Tony and shuddered to think there was even a slim chance that she'd have been forced into a union with Tony. She understood instinctively that he'd been bad, evil maybe. And it hadn't just been Adriana's misgivings. Julia had had plenty of her own. She sighed. She felt as though she was shuffling a deck of cards, afraid to cut the deck.
Julia heard a noise and turned, her hand at her heart, startled. She smiled when she saw who it was.
Brendan.
He walked toward her, his bronze hair a low-burning flame with the sun lighting it from behind, his eyes like onyx with the sun at his back. The mountains framed his silhouette as he approached, and Julia felt heat rise to her face, seeing the evidence of his combative training on every square inch of his body.
He waved at her as he drew closer, and she lifted her hand in return.
Julia already felt more at home with him than she had a right to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The feral saw the two beside the lake and could hardly contain his territorial urges over the female.
She was his, and another was beside her, putting his hands on her.
That male would die.
The feral would enjoy tearing at the soft flesh of his neck, the hot spray from the blood coating his muzzle in a satisfying spray of fragrance.
With an effort that was almost painful, he retreated into the depths of the forest, his snout scenting their whereabouts. He would be cautious. The male who was with her had an advantage that the feral recognized and wished to cripple if he could.
The male was something other than human. The feral did not know how he knew this, but when he had been near the male and the small female, their kinship had been apparent, easy to scent. But the feral's chest had tightened uncomfortably with a sensation he could not identify.
When he had the male in his grip, he would ascertain what that enigmatic detail was.
*
Brendan
Brendan watched Julia from a safe distance. She wore her discontent readily, he thought. Brendan sighed. He couldn't contain the fam, and knew not to even try. It was obvious Julia felt off-kilter, unsettled. Who wouldn't? First the vamps took her then the Were. He didn't know much about her past. They'd find out more later. After all, she was their queen. Marcus had raised them on the legend, as his father had before him. He'd demand to know more.
She didn't look very queenly. She was slim and of average height for a female. Her coloring was different. Brendan slowed his pace, studying her. Julia had a unique, soft golden-red hair color. But it was her eyes that took his breath away. They matched her hair, depending on the light. They were amber in indirect light, but in the sun, they rivaled the orb's brightness.
He walked toward her, and she jumped as if he'd startled her. He gave a short flick of his fingers, sort of an unconscious waving of the white flag. She waved back, and he smiled, walking the rest of the way toward her. He was puzzled by the expression on her face.
For a moment there, she looked as if she was assessing him. Taking his measure as a man.
Brendan's smile widened into a grin. Now, that he kind of liked.
When he reached her, and she didn't seem resistant, he took Julia into his arms, giving her a brief hug then releasing her. She smelled like a ripe piece of fruit, and he instantly wondered if it was the shampoo or her. Brendan stepped back, reluctantly letting her go, his fingers trailing lightly down her arms, causing goose flesh to rise where their contact had been.
Then it hit him: a smell so strange he couldn't name it. But it was familiar. Brendan swung his head in the direction of the woods that bordered the opposite side of the lake.
*
Julia leaned into the hug that Brendan gave her and sighed. She allowed herself that moment's peace then stepped away. Her chest tightened horribly. Her loneliness constricted her heart. She was desperately alone. At least, it felt that way.
As a matter of fact, in only a few more days, it would be two years since Jason died. Tears threatened at the thought of that anniversary, but they were chased away by the sudden expression of wariness that washed over Brendan's features.
Julia looked around, frightened. They'd said she was safe! She whirled on Brendan just as he grabbed her.
“Let's get outta here!” he said, dragging her after him.
“What is it?” she asked, half jogging. But he didn't answer until they had traveled the short distance to the house. When they bounded up the wide, wooden steps and were nearly at the front door, he turned and took her shoulders. “There's something in the woods!” His eyes searched hers, the grip cupping her shoulders almost painful.
“What?” she cried. Was it vampire? Were? What the hell… trolls? Could there be more mythological creatures springing to life to kidnap her away from the one group that she actually belonged to?
Jen stepped out the front door, letting the screen crack back against the wood frame. The noise of it reverberated everywhere. She took in Brendan's expression. Her eyebrows came together. “What's wrong?” Jen looked from Julia to Brendan.
Julia said, “How did you know there was something wrong?”
Jen flicked her eyes at Julia. “It's a sib thing.”
Julia waited. Finally Brendan said, “It's that Were from the compound.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “Thanks for clearing that up, bro! What, there's like, a hundred or something?”
They looked at each other, and Julia watched their expressions. Jen spoke first. “You mean that giant red one?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that's him.”
Julia remembered almost going to him—the connection had been so strong. What could it mean?
Jen looked at her. “This is some of the awful crap that can happen.” She sighed and looked at Brendan again. His eyes turned away from hers. They were trained on the woods beyond the lake.
At that moment, Scott and Michael came walking from the big barn that acted as Training Facility for Singers. There wasn't a laugh or smile on their faces. Not that she'd expected one from Scott, but Michael had been downright jovial in the two days since she'd been with them.
Julia looked at all of them. “Okay, I give up. What's lurking around in the woods that has everyone's collective underwear in a wad? You guys are scaring me!”
Brendan said, “We think—” Jen glared at him, and he shook his head, resigned. “I think that we have a Singer who's been turned.”
Julia stepped forward. “I don't get it. Turned how?”
Michael shook his head. “Not how—what.”
Julia sat there and let the idea take shape, blooming in her head like an ugly flower. Her eyes snapped to Brendan's. “Wait a second.
You're telling me that we've got someone out there that was one of us, and now some Were or vamp has… changed them?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah, that's about it.” He folded his muscular arms across a barrel chest.
Jen turned to Brendan. “You're sure, Bren?”
“Werewolf,” he said tersely, and Jen's shoulders drooped. “They're the worst.”
“What's with all this? It can't be saved?” Julia asked.
Brendan shook his head. “It's a he.”
It was a man. A Singer like herself, turned. Her gaze swung back to Brendan's. “Did he want to be a werewolf?”
Scott answered, “Doubtful. The attacking Were would've known he was a Singer. Don't know why they'd do a Singer. After all, they need Singers to produce”—he lifted his fingers in sarcastic air quotes—“a Rare One.” His eyes met hers. They were filled with loathing and derision. Somebody wasn't happy with her status. Like I can goddamn help it!
What the hell had she done to piss in his Wheaties? The putz. Julia felt her eyes narrow as angry heat suffused her face. He glared right back at her.
“What's your problem?” Julia asked.
Scott met the challenge in her words and stalked toward her as Brendan put her behind his back. “What are you doing, Scott?” Brendan ground out.
“It's her fault! He's after her!” His eyes found all of theirs and then went back to Julia. Well, she wasn't going to hide behind Brendan. She came from behind him, and Brendan said in a low voice full of threat, “Don't you hurt her.”
“Our queen?” he asked mockingly, putting his hand to his chest and looking at Julia as if she were a piece of garbage on the bottom of his shoe. “Never! She is safe as a sleeping babe in the cradle of her mother's bosom!” he snarled, barely contained rage making his face more handsome, not less.
“Stop it, Scott!” Jen hissed.
“No!” he yelled back, and Jen flinched.
Julia got right up in his personal space, defying common sense as he was at least six foot three and built like a brick shit house, all brawn and anger. “I can't be that safe because I don't have a mother.” She poked his solidly muscled chest with her finger for emphasis, and he didn't move a centimeter. “I don't know what I did to get on the top of your shit list, but I assure you it wasn't on purpose!” Julia was shaking with rage but continued. “I watched my husband die.” Their eyes widened while Scott's narrowed. “My best friend is gone forever, my parents dead. I was with the vampires, then the Were, and now I'm with you. I have to be queen? Of the Blood Singers? Maybe I don't want the job!” And with that last comment, she pushed him in the chest, but it came out more like a slap, harder than she meant it to be, like hitting a tree. Her anger overrode even the pretense of self-restraint.
He wrapped his huge hands around her small wrists and jerked her into his body. The siblings were too late to help or to stop it.
The moment Scott touched her, the branding fire of his flesh on hers was complete. Neither expected it.
Neither welcomed it.
Julia's soul bound to Scott's in one earth-shattering moment of clarity, as natural as the breath she took. She felt their beings knitting together, and she gasped. It was almost painful.
He breathed out, “No.” Even as he staggered back, his hands went for her again, but Brendan was there. “What's wrong with you, Scott? What are you doing?”
Jen and Michael looked at each other then at Julia. She was breathing shallowly, her body a throbbing mass of unquenched desire, longing, and absolution.
Her eyes never left his.
Julia didn't even like Scott.
Then Marcus, their leader, was there. He looked from one to the other of them, instant understanding riding his face, their unity a thing that sizzled in the air all around them.
“Soul mates!” he proclaimed.
Julia looked from the leader and obvious father of the family as she leaned weakly against Brendan's chest, her back pressed against his warmth and comfort, her eyes fixed on Scott's.
His were filled with anger and hate directed at her.
They couldn't be soul anything. It was obvious Julia wasn't someone he wanted, respected, or liked.
She tore herself out of Brendan's arms and ran inside the house. Taking the steps two at a time, she rushed into the bedroom they'd given her and slammed the door, using the old-fashioned skeleton key to lock it. She backed away until her thighs pressed against the bed. Julia sank down into the mattress, the firmness of it a temporary cradle to her sadness.
Could things get any more screwed up if she'd wished for it? She put her face in her hands and cried, while off in the distance, she heard a howl.
*
Singers
“Tell me,” Marcus said, his eyes like slits on his grown children. “And it better be good.”
Everyone began talking at once. Finally Michael took the conversational reins. “Brendan came back with news of a Singer turned Were.”
“What?” Marcus roared, his eyes casting a wide net at the surrounding area.
Brendan shook his head. “It's in the woods for now. But it will find its way here. Soon.”
“Male?” Marcus queried.
They nodded. Marcus looked at Scott. “I understand your sentiments about the Queen—that you've never adjusted to the idea of it.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “Adjusted, Dad? Try anarchy! That'd be more like it.” She looked at her oldest brother. He was so sure of himself. Nothing ever bothered him. He fought with a skill unmatched by any other Singer in their quadrant. He was the number one Deflector of their band of Singers and then one female Singer—the Queen—came to them, and he lost his status of independence. That was what a soul-meld would do. The irony wasn't lost on Jen. She felt a little sorry for Scott. It would suck hating his soul mate but being bonded to her anyway. And Julia impressed Jen as independent. She felt a smile curl her lips.
“And now I'm bound to her!” Scott roared, his lip curling with distaste.
*
Above them, Julia listened from the window that was ajar. It was fine that Scott didn't want her. He was stubborn and mean and—ugh! Julia didn't even like him! She'd do better on her own. She felt confident enough with her telekinetic ability to get by.
Julia didn't want to be queen. And she didn't care if there was some “soul-meld” or whatever. She couldn't get out of being a Blood Singer or a Rare One. But she didn't have to be in this place with someone who hated her.
She looked around her room. A profound melancholy slipped through her, her being still tingling from the encounter with Scott. Julia shoved away how painfully right it had felt to be in his arms for that one moment.
He hated her anyway, so it didn't matter.
Julia grabbed the only coat in the room and slipped out quietly, heading down the staircase that exited the back of the house. It had once been a little-used servant's staircase. She used it now with circumspection.
Julia slipped away without listening to the rest of the conversation.
*
Marcus looked at his eldest son and sighed. Scott had excelled at everything, his training, his ability, his… conquests. But stubbornness was his biggest flaw. Scott had fought long and hard to let the legend of the Queen of the Blood Singers die a natural death. She did not exist, he'd argued—it was only legend. But Marcus remembered the reverent way that his father had discussed her Coming. He knew that Julia was the Queen.
If her scent was not sufficient confirmation, she had the mark of the moon branded on her forehead, as foretold. The pearly crescent shone at her temple, a testament to her position among them.
Scott could deny it until he was blue in the face. But Brendan was one of their finest Trackers.
His nose never lied.
Then there was the soul-meld. His eye's met his son's. Only Singers of royal blood could soul-meld. It was a double confirmation.
“Hate her if you will, but remember this”—Marcus spoke to all of them but directed his
words at Scott—“she has been through many traumas. We don't know what or how many. What did she tell you?”
Jen told him what Julia had said to Scott.
Marcus threw up his hands. “So what we have here is a Singer who lost a husband.”
“Infant bride,” Michael muttered, and Marcus's brow cocked.
“Nothing,” Michael said but couldn't hide a smile.
“And she was held by both factions, Were and vampire?” When Marcus looked for confirmation, Brendan nodded.
“Then”— he began to pace the wooden planks of the covered deck, and some squeaked with age as he passed—“she is kidnapped by her own people, told she is queen, and treated abominably by my eldest son.”
“Twice,” Marcus said, looking at Scott, who glowered back, the barest hint of shame creeping into his expression.
*
Scott folded his muscular arms across a chest that proved his time on the mat. “Okay, I guess I could have handled it better,” he said, still trying to stop his guts from churning. His entire body yearned to get back to her. He hated the loss of his independence.
“Uh… duh!” Jen said. He glanced at her, and she continued. “Unless anyone objects, I suggest you get your dumbass up there and apologize!”
Marcus scowled at Jen but let it go. “From all accounts, Scott behaved badly. And to a female Singer—the Queen, no less! It could hardly have been worse.”
Scott said, “I hate feeling trapped. She made me feel…”
“Complete?” Brendan asked with just a hint of envy.
Scott thought about it. Yeah, he guessed she had, but she'd blindsided him. He'd been totally—no, completely—unprepared for a soul-meld. But dammit, he had reveled in his independence, refused to go on the wild goose chase of an acquisition for another Singer. Let his hotdog brothers and sister do it.
And look what the cat had dragged home.
He looked up at the window of her bedroom, feeling miserable. How could he fix it? Did he want to? He realized belatedly he may have misjudged her. Badly. Scott remembered those huge amber eyes looking up at him in anger, wounded by his careless words. He'd fallen right into them—as soon as she was inside the circle of his arms, he couldn't think of anything but her—and the protection of her. He sighed and began to walk toward the front door.
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