Prophecy Accepted: Prime Prophecy Book 2 (Prime Prophecy Series)

by Tamar Sloan

  Inside is a landscape, a picture of somewhere close, by the coniferous greens that it depicts in thick vibrant strokes. It’s a clearing in the foreground, tall pines in the background. A single pine stands to one side of the grassy opening, smaller than the others. I look a little more closely; it’s a Douglas fir. A very familiar one. I look up at my surroundings. It’s a painting of where we’re standing, but before Grandfather Douglas was a grandfather, before our house was built. Back when it was just an embryo of what it would become.

  I look to Tara, impressed with her talent, a little gobsmacked at her message.

  She smiles, not needing to ask me if I like it, and when Eden takes the painting to have a closer look, I grab my childhood best friend and give her a hug.

  Tara says ever so quietly, so even Mitch can’t hear, “No one would have guessed the significance of this place, or this pine. But it birthed a great family, a very special pack, and a whole lot of love.”

  I squeeze a little tighter, still struggling to find words. She squeezes back, telling me I don’t need any.

  “Now for yours, Mitch.” Eden has placed the painting, very carefully, against the same pine it captures then hands Mitch a white envelope.

  Mitch’s eyebrows hike up into his hair as he takes it. He tears it with the same enthusiasm as before and looks down at two slips of paper. In a split second, Mitch looks like he’s holding Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket. All big eyes and a bigger grin.

  “Forgotten Fire?” He uses the same tone you would use for the Holy Grail.

  Eden shrugs a one-shoulder shrug. “My mom knows someone. They stayed at the Inn.”

  I wonder if Mitch knows the extreme lengths Eden would have gone to get these tickets. We’re talking, like, talking to her mom. Whether he does or doesn’t, he jumps forward and engulfs Eden in a hug. She smiles then laughs.

  Mitch goes back to the ticket, eyes scanning his holy grail. “Two tickets!”

  Uh oh.

  “And it’s next weekend!”

  Next weekend, next weekend. Please let me be doing something next weekend.

  “Noah and I will be busy.”

  I turn to Eden in surprise, not to mention relief. “We will?”

  And find her looking nervous, biting her lip, one hand strangling her elbow. She passes me an envelope of my own, this one bigger and thicker. I lean forward to give her a kiss on those tense lips. I have no doubt I’ll love it.

  I take the envelope, feeling its mysterious weight, testing the padded thickness.

  “Hurry up!” Tara is doing rapid pushups on her toes.

  I pull out a piece of folded cardboard. On the front Eden’s written,

  You swept me off my feet, now I return the favor…

  I open it, and out folds a little red helicopter. It’s a pop-up card, handmade and hand drawn. I look at Eden, confused brows moving down to meet a puzzled smile.

  Her teeth dig into her lip again. “Look inside.”

  I open a little flap, the door to the helicopter, and inside are two stick figures, one with long dark hair, the other with short yellow hair.

  My eyes widen as I piece together the puzzle. “We’re going on a helicopter ride?”

  “I’m hoping it’s the one angle you haven’t seen the reserve from, yet.” Eden watches me, eyes scanning my face, looking like she’s holding her breath.

  In a flash, Eden gets her second hug for the day. This time I spin her then kiss her. Then kiss her again.

  “No way. That’s gonna be awesome!”

  Eden blushes, pleasure and pride creeping up her cheeks. “They’ll drop us off up the mountain then we’ll hike back down…” Then the red gets higher, brighter. “We’ll camp the night then hike out.”

  “And it keeps getting better.”

  That glowing smile breaks out again, and we’re smiling and happy, together. “It’ll be amazing, just the two of us.”

  “Just the two of us.” That smile tightens, my teeth tighten. My chest tightens as it hits me. Just. The. Two. Of. Us.

  Camping. Overnight. Alone.

  With a passion that needs nothing but a glance to spark it.

  Who am I kidding? I could be blindfolded, and it would ignite.

  I take it back. I was Darth Vader in a past life. Because spending a night with Eden, in the wild where we are most at home, most connected, totally ALONE, knowing she’s my mate but not, is penance for a whole lot of bad.

  8

  Eden

  There are people everywhere. Witches in the house, goblins on the lawn, demons under the trees. It’s a supernatural chaos zone.

  The Phelans are all there, Adam and Beth hosting with flair, Aunt Mavis dressed as Cupid, short white sheet and all. All our classmates hold glasses of punch as they gush, sometimes laugh, at each other’s costumes. Most noticeable are the Channons, though. Having them here doubles the numbers of Weres, and I’m not sure if they add to the festivity of the party or bring a level of tension that wouldn’t have been present. But with Tara as their Alpha, and by a Bonding that includes Mitch, they were invited.

  My attention is wholly dominated by the Were-now-vampire holding me tight against his side. One dressed in a claret red, velvet waistcoat, a black jacket that hugs those delicious shoulders then comes down to hug lean hips before ending mid-thigh. All below dark blond slicked back hair, blue eyes above long canines that flash each time he grins. It’s the birthday that just keeps on giving.

  Just like every other Phelan family get-together, tables form a dotted line between the lawn and the trees. Phelan women walk between the house and the tables in a steady train, delivering plates of food and returning to the house. Some of the Channon mothers and wives give them a hand. They smile and chat, like the friends and allies they are. Friends and allies who are now much more intertwined.

  I spend a couple of hours initially pretending I’m at one of my mother’s work parties, smiling and greeting everyone as they wish Noah and Mitch a happy birthday. But it might be the happy glow that radiates from the firm muscles and blue eyes besides me or the two Weres that constantly smile and touch on my other side, because I find myself relaxing. Even enjoying myself. Even Bianca, dressed as a sexy red devil, doesn’t dampen the light, warm feeling that sets up residence within me.

  We eat, and Noah, ever considerate particularly when today is his day, has prepared me veggie patties. Some goblins sit, some cupids stand with plates in hand, as the supernatural crowd devours meat and salad, then more meat and more salad.

  That black shoulder nudges my own. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “I’m here celebrating with friends, happy families, and a heart-stopping vampire. What more could a girl ask for?”

  And it’s true. All I want is a sense of belonging to match the love I feel for this Were.

  Noah leans in for a sweet kiss. “I want you to be happy.”

  “You make me happy.” I give him a kiss of my own, sealing the truth of my words.

  Shining summer sky eyes look into mine, lips parted; I’m not sure if he’s happy with the silent love we’re basking in or if he’s thinking of saying more.

  A clearing of the throat breaks our love bubble. Adam steps up to the head of the tables, signaling he is about to make a speech. He waves to Noah and Mitch to join him. Noah squeezes my hand, leaning in to give me a surreptitious eye roll and signature grin. The crowd of Phelans and friends watch as they stand beside Adam.

  The three make an impressive line-up. Adam, big and blond with Noah, now almost as big and just as blond, next to him. Mitch stands on the other side, his dark good looks a contrast, but Noah’s twin in height and the size of their grin.

  Silence spreads through the crowd.

  “Having twin boys has certainly been a ride. There were days I didn’t know if I would survive.” Adam glances from Noah to Mitch. “There were days I didn’t know if they would survive.”

  The crowd chuckles. Pride has my chest expanding and my mouth tilting up.
/>   “But we’ve reached a milestone—eighteen years. So, it seems we managed to stop you from killing yourself and each other or putting us in jail when we’d finally had enough of walls painted with cheese, skunks in the lounge room, and floor omelets.”

  Adam’s hands eagle out to rest on each of his son’s shoulders. “And you’ve grown into two fine men. Two boys we adored have become two young men we love. Two mischief makers have become everything we could have wished for. Two strong young men to become leaders of the future.”

  Adam draws them in closer to his sides. “But most importantly, two sons we can be proud of.”

  A wave of applause rises from the men and women, boys and girls, Weres and humans in the crowd. The humans seeing a proud father, two beaming sons. The Weres acknowledging their future leaders.

  I see the boy I love. A proud son and undeniable leader. My heart swells with the feeling as my chest clenches with the implications.

  Those mesmerizing eyes catch mine across the person-littered lawn and make me forget everything, because you wouldn’t think you can squeeze so much love into one glance. But Noah does, making it look easy and effortless, and it cocoons me as I let him know he’s not alone in that feeling.

  “And now, the night belongs to our future generation. Joe, lights, please?”

  Uncle Joe, beneath the veranda, flicks some switches. There’s a brief moment of black that has the odd girl squealing, then a colored disco lights up the center of the lawn. There’s a puff and a hissing sound and proof that Tara did indeed get a smoke machine furls across the lawn. A white cloud bellows out then sinks, tendrils snaking along the grass, curling around legs. The Phelan backyard has been transformed into a primitive, amateur, underage nightclub.

  Dance music starts beating through the smoke and lights. A foot tapping, hip moving beat pumps from the speakers on the veranda. Strobe lights, some angled from the trees, others from the veranda posts, pulse out colored beams of light.

  Groups of girls filter onto the dance floor. The confident ones, who don’t care what others think or know they can rock that grass, start some pretty impressive hip gyrating, waist twisting action. Intimidating hip gyrating, waist twisting action.

  Tara turns to Mitch, eyes alive, feet already skipping to the beat. She tugs on his hand, pulling him toward the dance floor.

  Mitch makes a show of resisting, pulling her back, but the grin shows this is a battle he doesn’t really want to win. Tara grins wider then sashays up to him, a sultry fairy temptress.

  Mitch watches her with raised brows, glowing eyes. “Well, it’s no Forgotten Fire, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Purple tulle bouncing, Tara leads Mitch to the dance floor. Beside me, Noah’s fingers tap against his black-clad thigh, the hand holding mine pressing out chords.

  Bianca and Brandon are next. Brandon’s dimple flashes in his demon face as they bop past to the beat. They disappear into the multiplying crowd. The smoke machine hisses another stream of smoke that catches blues, reds, and greens, making the light move and swirl.

  I know what’s supposed to happen next.

  “No.”

  Noah turns toward me, because he never asked a question. Slow dancing at a Were wedding, with the guy you just found out chose you, is one thing. Busting a move at a party full of judging peers, hoping to heaven you have rhythm, is not happening.

  “Just one?”

  “I can’t.”

  Noah shrugs like it doesn’t matter. But our clasped hands communicate the flash of disappointment. The fingers strumming his thigh slow then stop. “Maybe next time.”

  That statement makes me pause.

  Safe Eden would never get up and dance. The Eden who belongs with the Weres and teens would already be up there. She wouldn’t question it. Being with Noah, doing what makes him happy would be a no-brainer.

  How many more times will I have this opportunity?

  The next song, courtesy of Tara’s dance compilation on random, decides for me. Surely I can’t get the Nutbush wrong.

  I step forward, his hand still in mine, before I can change my mind and regret this decision. I don’t look back at Noah; I can already feel his surprise then pleasure. I head to Tara and Mitch as the crowd naturally forms into a grid, lines of people already kicking and stepping as Tina Turner pumps through the people and smoke. With Noah on one side, Tara on the other, I join them.

  The first four steps start off well, the beat and smiles around me contagious. Two sidekicks to the right, two to the left. Then I discover why Tina never wore long dresses. My shoes catch the flowing hem as I step to the back then the material joins me as I try to can-can out the front. The little hop, skip, and jump to turn ninety degrees has me completely tangled and falling. Falling sideways until two strong hands grasp me around the waist.

  But this Eden-who-belongs doesn’t care. She’s living life and loving it. I laugh, and Noah laughs. I hitch up my hem and keep going. In a line, vampire, fairy, vampire, fairy, we all jump and kick and dance until laughing gets hard, my mass of hair sticks to my neck, and I feel like I have the body temperature of a Were.

  With the last chorus, we clap and pant. Blue eyes alive with happiness capture mine before his lips capture my own. It’s a hot, sweaty, happy kiss. My arms wrap around Noah’s neck as the rain of happiness continues. We’re laughing and kissing and smiling.

  Eden-who-belongs is a wonderful place to be.

  The music changes to a Justin Timberlake song, all short breaths and sexy beats, and Noah’s eyes darken to a twilight sky. Becoming eyes full of hot promises and endless possibilities.

  Eden-who-belongs. This Eden belongs.

  My pulse spikes, trips a little, and finds a new excited rhythm. A little good-excited as that big, warm, hard body aligns with mine. A lot nervous-excited as I’m no longer performing a choreographed line dance.

  All of a sudden, I churn out two heartbeats for every swaggering music beat.

  But Noah knows. And his unending patience rises to the challenge. He steps back, creating a little space between us, then starts moving from side to side, step left, step right. We start slow, two steps for every sultry beat. I copy, finding the rhythm, letting it merge with my limbs. I know I look like a gawky giraffe that just discovered modern music, but I try not to care. I pretend it’s just me and Noah. Just me and those electric blue eyes and the current that’s pulling us closer.

  Very quickly, pretense becomes reality. My awareness shrinks until it’s just Noah and me, our little piece of nature’s dance floor, and the smoke, the lights, the music.

  Hips sway, side to side, the occasional down, the odd breath hitching forward. There’s a whole lot of pulsing…alongside the music and the rhythm the heat builds, muscles tense, eyes hold, passion throbs.

  This Eden pushes her fingers into her hair then spirals her arms into the air, back arching, hair tumbling. This Eden is rewarded with summer sky eyes opening a little wider, heating a little hotter, hands pulling her in a whole lot closer. All the Edens love every minute of it.

  When the song fades away, we still. I step up to place a soft, chaste kiss on Noah’s lips. He leans in slightly, keeping the touch feather light. We both know any more and something might spontaneously combust. Possibly taking all of Jacksonville with us in a spectacular mushroom cloud.

  “Drink?”

  “Yes, please.” That sort of dancing gets you hot, sweaty, and thirsty.

  Noah takes my hand, and we weave through the angels and demons and Aunt Mavis. Tara and Mitch throw themselves around and against each other in abandon.

  As we head to the punch table, Jordan approaches. Noah has to release my hand to give our biology classmate the standard fist pump, this time followed by a macho shoulder bump.

  “Nice party, Phelan.”

  “I’m having a blast.”

  “As the birthday boy, that’s all that counts. Hey, Eden.”

  “Hi, Jordan. Love the costume.” Jordan’s ebony skin pulls off a
dark angel like no one else could.

  I disengage myself, my parched throat seeking moisture. It’s only a few feet, and I’m at the punch table. As I’m trying to avoid scooping an orange slice in my cup, a witch comes up beside me. She’s short, but then again everyone is compared to me, with a black pointed hat, black fingernails, and a hooked plastic nose.

  She holds out a plastic cup of her own. “Nice costume.”

  I smile as I scoop up another ladle, now neatly avoiding the citrus slices. “You, too.” I look a little more closely; there is something familiar about this girl.

  An arm snakes around my waist, pulling me into a solid, heated side. I turn, holding my two proud cups of punch, smiling. “Here you go. It’s not even spiked, yet.”

  The two cups sink when I see Noah’s expression. He is stony, staring at the witch.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Noah, it’s good to see you...” The stilted sentence fades away. She drops her chin, black fingernails tightening around her cup.

  I don’t get a chance to ask the obvious question.

  “Where is she?” Tara zig zags through the throngs of people like a purple pinball. A high-pitched squeal tells me she’s found what she’s looking for. Tara throws herself at the witch, knocking the black hat backward.

  Freeing the matching red hair that tumbles onto her shoulders.

  Dana.

  The two sisters hug and jump before Tara leans back, holding Dana at arm’s length. Her smile is the width of her tutu.

  “What are you doing here? How? Why?”

  Dana laughs, bouncing herself.

  The solid arm around my waist hardens even further. “We should talk somewhere else.” Noah hasn’t caught the girls’ excitement and enthusiasm; his words are a quiet monotone.

  Mitch joins us, surprised and smiling, but arms crossed. We head to Grandfather Douglas, the one place the lights and noise don’t quite reach.

  Tara is still dancing, that tutu bouncing out her joy. “Well?”