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

by Tamar Sloan

  The silent voices of the park only you could hear say thank you.

  Seth’s shoulders are curved once again. There’s only one emotion that carries that much weight. Grief.

  I pause beside him, knowing there’s little comfort my shut-down mind can give. “I’m sorry, Seth.”

  He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my words, and I wonder if someone else has discovered the self-induced emotional coma. “It’s ironic that what she dedicated her life to was what killed her.”

  I stay silent, knowing I don’t want to know. I’m here to escape pain, not find it.

  “There were some investors poking around near the Glade, not far from the highway, talking of buying and developing the area. There was lots of talk, but the Channons knew we needed action.”

  Seth still hasn’t looked at me, but all of a sudden I’m rooted to gravel and dirt.

  “We went there one evening, just to spook them away. We didn’t know they’d brought protection.”

  Now Seth looks at me, and my reflexes are too slow. I get trapped in agonized hazel. “I saw them lining her up, but I couldn’t stop them.” His lip curls. “Not without risking our secret.”

  “It was a tragedy, Seth; she couldn't have stopped it. From the sounds of it, she wouldn't have wanted to stop doing what she loved, what she believed in.”

  “He’s right, you know.” There’s a breath of time long enough for me to blink, for confusion to join the swirling fog in my head. Wasn’t Seth talking about his mother? But there’s no time for me to decide whether I want to ask. “My mother was killed by human greed, human selfishness. And we”—he thumps his chest hard, with conviction—“have the power to do something about it.”

  My mind, hollow and numb, struggles to hold the words, to understand their implication. Seth moves forward, coming closer. I brace my too-tense muscles, but he walks past. His last line, served with regret rather than victory, is the part that hangs long after he’s gone. “I wish it had been otherwise, but in the end, you can't bring someone into the fold when they were never part of the fabric.”

  The walls around my self-control bow in, giving in to the pressure his words exert. I shake my head as breathing becomes a fractured, difficult process. With every shred of my will power, I fortify the fortress. The emotions recede, and I’m left with emotional anesthesia.

  Striding to the end of the path, I turn left, deeper into the gardens, figuring Seth would have gone right and out. The gardens no longer look reassuring and relaxing. Nowhere is safe.

  I pull out my phone, deciding there’s only one person that can offer me sanctuary.

  29

  Noah

  I lean my head against the rough bark of Grandfather Douglas. I push, ridges and lines digging into my forehead. It stings then hurts, so I push harder, fingers biting into the bark, jamming the ridges into my skin.

  I’m a walking wound. I bleed everywhere I go. Pain hemorrhaging out steadily and relentlessly, impossible to contain because it has an infinite source— the knowledge that my choices got us here. It clouds my thoughts, hurts my chest. My whole body hurts.

  My whole doggone life hurts.

  The car I knew was approaching stops beside the house. The sound of Tara and Mitch’s footsteps try to crowd into my head. I step away from the big tree that wasn’t able to answer my question.

  How do I fix this?

  They stop a few feet away, keeping the distance that’s become the norm over the past few days. Tara crosses her arms. “Eden's not at school.”

  What? The whole reason I haven’t been going was to give her space. That, and a healthy dose of self-preservation.

  “And Seth's gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  Tara narrows her eyes. “How the hoopla should I know? I got a text ‘places to go, people to see. See you at Council.’”

  Mitch adds the obvious, like our twin bond has been severed. “There’s no way to find him before Council.”

  “He’ll be back for Council.” He has to be.

  Tara steps forward, furious red and angry angles. Her little finger punctures the air between us, and I almost wish she were close enough to reach the body she really wants to stab. “You’re the only one who can fix this, Noah.”

  She spins on the pine needle ground and stalks away. Mitch watches his mate create space between us then disappear into the house. He turns to me, blue eyes dark. “I’ve been watching for weeks, months, as Tara’s pack has been slowly disintegrating. Knowing the whole time, you were the one person that could have prevented it.”

  Veins and arteries step up from oozing to a steady stream. Mitch is the one person who’s understood why I kept quiet. “You know why I did it.”

  Mitch never moves, but I can feel my twin moving away, the distance growing. “I know exactly why you did it.” He looks back at the house. “But I thought you'd figure it out.”

  “She wasn't ready.”

  With a shake of his head, Mitch turns. “I knew you were stubborn, but I never picked you for a coward, Noah.” Shoulders pulled so low you couldn’t heap on any more disappointment, my brother walks away.

  Leaving me alone.

  Well, not completely alone. My choices, fractured shards, crash and glisten around me, slashing through the healthy dose of doubt that now runs alongside the pain.

  The next car I don’t hear, nor the footsteps, until I find I’ve once again got company under Grandfather Douglas’s canopy.

  Dad, still in uniform, looks a bit like someone sucker punched him, too. “I’ve managed to plant the suggestion that what they saw was nothing but a wolf. We’ll probably do some searches through the reserve, make it seem like we’re responding, but looks like we might be able to bury the paperwork.”

  That would have been tough for Dad. Although we live with our secret, manipulating and lying to protect it wouldn’t feel a lot like integrity.

  “It’s just Seth we need to deal with then.”

  Dad growls, and my chest tightens along with his fists. “Noah, the only way any of this will stop will be with the claiming of the Prime Alpha.”

  I look away, knowing it’s true, but my pain-soaked brain hasn’t come up with any answers.

  “You need to talk to her.”

  I blink, hating that I have to say it out loud. “Eden's gone.” I haven’t felt her since our run. The last run. “She didn't want this.” She didn’t want me if it meant Prime Alpha.

  “You told her, and she ran?”

  “She figured it out.”

  Then she ran. I don't blame her; who would choose this? As in choosing to lead Weres when your life is just about to start, according to a Prophecy people forgot existed. No one would choose that. The knowledge doesn't stop the hemorrhage of pain.

  “Then the only way you can claim Prime Alpha is to draw blood.”

  That suggestion has me flying forward, sick with disgust, full of anger. “And be the ultimate Precept enforcer?” The only one with the power to end a Were.

  Dad doesn’t move, a mountain that’s meeting Muhammad. “You don’t have a choice, Noah.”

  The immutability of his statement, his immovable conviction has me backing down. “I can’t do that, Dad.”

  There has to be another way.

  Dad is shaking his head, slowly, propelled by the power of certainty…like there’s no other choice. “You're the one who chose, Noah. Chose for us all.”

  And like everyone else, like all my options, he leaves, too.

  I make it back to the massive trunk before I lose the ability to stand. Leaning back against the fir tree, I slide slowly down, welcoming the graze of bark on my back—if it draws blood then at least some part of me can start to echo how the rest is feeling.

  There’s one way there can be a Prime Alpha without Eden.

  But there’s no way I can be anything without Eden.

  30

  Eden

  Orin doesn’t live on campus, but I quickly find the small c
ottage tucked on the far side of Cheyenne, the city home of Wyoming State. The place, perched at the end of a quiet street, is possibly more of a shack. A small, wild garden tumbles around the house, knowing no boundaries, thanks to the absence of a fence. I let out a sigh as I park the car. If I ever start feeling again, I’ll be too far away for anyone to find me. Or feel me.

  I quickly discover why the place is as isolated as you can get in suburbia. There are animals everywhere. Two dogs rush forward the minute I open the car door, one big and black, the other stocky and brown. No one, single breed is apparent in either. They greet Caesar like best friends of old.

  Orin greets me like the prodigal sister returning home.

  Inside the cottage is a menagerie of furniture, no one piece from the same culture, and a harem of cats. One feline, one eye permanently closed, the opposite ear torn, limps over on a deformed leg. She hisses, back arched, spitting an unwelcome greeting. I slip my suitcase to the ground, but the melody doesn’t come. It seems to have abandoned me along with the ability to feel. For the first time, I realize this barren existence may not be helpful. I heft my suitcase; the alternative is unthinkable.

  In the end it’s not necessary, because Orin holds out his hand, kneeling in front of the distrustful feline. The cat instantly calms, and with a single-eye glare, leaps to the back of one of the chairs.

  “You can command them?”

  “Why would we? We do not dominate, we touch their curiosity, their desire to explore, their need to connect. Our relationship is a reciprocal one.”

  I glance at the tattered, still-wary cat. “What if they're aggressive?”

  “How many aggressive animals have you faced?”

  “A few.” Caesar was the first.

  “And?”

  I shrug. “Aggression is a means to an end. It’s about suggesting to them there’s a different way to get there, considering a different outcome.”

  Orin smiles agreement, leading me past the lounge and adjoining kitchen to a hallway with a handful of doors. He glances over his shoulder. “Your mother is okay with this arrangement?”

  The conversation with Alexis had been like a dagger, short and sharp. She’d walked into my room as I’d left the bathroom, heading to my suitcase, glancing from the contents of comfortable denim and bland cotton to the toiletries bag in my hand. “I don't think so.”

  Ignoring her, I'd stuffed the little bag in, closed the lid, and zipped it up.

  “Where are you going?”

  I hadn’t looked at her as I’d lifted the belongings that would follow me from this house. “I’ll let you know how I do in exams.”

  “You'll have nothing.”

  I’d continued to the front door, Caesar by my side. “You never gave me anything that counts.”

  Her heels had followed me to the door. I was through it and at the car when she spoke again. “You don’t get to leave and take what you please.”

  A trickle of emotion had seeped in, little tendrils of anger, hot and piercing. “That would mean I'm using you, wouldn't it?” I’d slammed the trunk, the thud shutting down the feelings I don't need anymore. “How does it feel?”

  I hadn’t bothered to see what she’d thought of that.

  As Orin stops in one of the doorways I shake my head. “Believe me, she’ll thank us.”

  “You are not close with your mother?”

  “No.”

  Orin’s eyes seem to track me as I look at the simple room we’ve stopped at, bed and dresser, blues and greens on the walls and bedspread. “And Noah?”

  The walls of my protective shell bow in, like they've been assaulted by his name. For a moment, the world sharpens, there's a ray of pain. I grab the doorway, determined fingers wrapping around the wood.

  In a strong, hollow voice I say, “It’s over.”

  Orin nods, green eyes serious. “When you want to talk.”

  I notice Orin’s use of ‘when’ instead of ‘if.’ I enter the room of greens and blues, not bothering to tell him neither is an eventuality.

  “You'll be sharing with Aria.”

  There’s another cat in the room, curled in the center of the double bed. This one a tabby and much friendlier looking. Orin leaves me to settle in, and I sit next to Aria, brushing her absentmindedly as I allow myself the feeling of satisfaction. I’ve found my sanctuary.

  It doesn’t take long to unpack. Jeans and shirts in the drawers, toiletries in the bathroom. I find Orin reading in the lounge and join him on the mismatched lounge chairs. Orin smiles, the gesture almost feels like a hug, before returning to his book.

  I clear my throat. “I, ah, just wanted you to know I have savings, so I’d like to pay board.”

  Orin’s blond head doesn't lift from the book. “Orin?” I’m about to repeat my statement when his hand comes up.

  “I heard you. I’m focusing on striking that insult from my memory...sister.”

  He looks up, a gentle smile gracing his green eyes and familiar lips. My own lips soften, my eyes tilting. It’s the closest I’ve come to smiling. Orin’s smile fades, and I almost wish I could have joined him. But I’ve seen what it could look like if I consider feeling. That’s not a place I’m visiting.

  “Okay.”

  I open my book, heading to my favorite chapter on wildlife ecology. I turn a page, and something slips onto my lap. I gasp, leaping to my feet as it flutters to the ground.

  “Eden?”

  I want to crawl, run, escape, but it’s too late, because my traitorous hand picks it up. Faded and brittle, a pressed columbine rests in my palm. Clear and unwanted, the memory it holds plays in my mind.

  “Are these, too?”

  Noah had stood there, the sun’s rays combing through his dark blond hair, making gold the strands it touched. His summer blue eyes so light, sparkling with a touch of humor...and a touch of hope.

  I’d taken it, stood there like I didn’t care, determined not to let him in. Then tucked the precious little gift into my backpack and pressed it in my favorite textbook the moment I got home.

  But he’d gotten in. First slamming through with the force of an angry white wolf. Then knocking down the remaining defenses with feather touches, a hint of a smile, words laden with meaning. Walls that had been so willing to come down.

  It’s that fragile, pale columbine that becomes the straw, the straw that brings me to my knees.

  And breaks me.

  It’s a shattered body and forgotten text that fall to the floor. A sob, a powerful wail, fill my chest and claw up my throat. By the time they’ve escaped, they’ve accumulated all the pain and hurt I’ve been carrying but avoiding. They escape, gain voice, and don’t stop.

  The hands over my eyes are wet, their lines and crevices filled with never-ending tears. I pull back to look at them, confused as to why they are glistening clear rather than blood red.

  “Eden.” Orin’s voice, so full of compassion, seeps under the howl I can’t seem to contain.

  He joins me on the floor, and for the first time in my life, there is someone comforting me as I fall apart. Warm arms slip around my shattered body, holding my shuddering shoulders, stroking the hair that circles me like a shroud.

  And it doesn’t help.

  Every part of me is shaking to pieces. The broken shards of me slip through Orin’s arms and fingers. They bleed onto the ground. It’s only a matter of time before I’m a fractured, fragmented ruin scattered around my brother.

  “Orin, it hurts.”

  Without the blessed oblivion of ignorance, it hurts.

  “I know. I'm here. I'll hold you.”

  As anguish and heartache, agony and soul-deep grief batter and lash at me like I don’t have any defenses left, Orin stays true to his promise.

  He holds me as I shatter.

  31

  Noah

  “I've brought you your favorite.”

  I peel my eyes from the ceiling and the pointless process of drawing shapes between the faded sticky tape marks.
Mom joins me on the bed as I sit up. I don’t need to look at the plate in her hand to know what’s on there.

  Growing up, Mitch and I had a code. The worse Mom's cooking was, the more we complimented it. That way, the other twin could realize and feign a full stomach before they got served, thereby asking for a small portion. The day pigs’ trotters had rolled onto my plate, all pale and human-skinned, it was my turn. As the chewy leather had entered my mouth, Mitch had watched closely as I’d chewed. As my taste buds had rebelled, I knew I had to warn him.

  “Wow, these are sooo good, so good I think they just became my new favorite!”

  Mom had been so delighted she’d made them at every special occasion— my primary graduation, when I got my first high school A, to cheer me up when Tara had given me a haircut. They’re a fitting punishment for my latest achievement.

  My head sinks into my hands, jamming my fingers in my hair. “I’ve royally fudged everything, Mom.”

  Mom places the plate with the pig legs on my bedside table. “Was it harder to believe in yourself, or in Eden?”

  What? My eyes shoot to hers. “Eden is one of the most amazing people I know. You don’t know what she’s had to overcome to be where she is.”

  Those brown eyes are steady on mine. Waiting.

  My shoulders slump. “I just wanted to give her time.”

  “Noah, do you remember when Grandmother Mae died?”

  I nod. “We were ten; she was hit by a drunk driver.” Even speedy Were healing couldn’t repair the damage the truck had dealt like a wrecking ball.

  “I spent a long time keeping you away from Grandpa Ben. It was such a shock, and he was in such a bad way.”

  I stare at the wall, remembering. “Mitch and I were so confused. We didn’t know what was going on.”

  “Exactly. I realized I was doing it wrong. When I brought you over, Grandpa Ben took you two in his arms and sobbed, and you cried right along with him. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever seen.” Mom’s fingers tangle in my fringe, bringing my eyes to hers. “But you grieved together, and eventually you healed together.”