Cursed by Destiny

by Cecy Robson

  He sat across the table from me, frowning in a way that would have sent his family scurrying in fear. “Perhaps it is a little of both, since you fail to come to your senses. You could be with a more deserving male.” He paused. “You could be with me.”

  His comment hitched my breath. For once, he wasn’t merely asking me to bed. “Are you asking me for a commitment?”

  Misha’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps.”

  I stood and walked to his side and brushed his long blond hair away from his face. His expression softened when he caught my smile. “I think you’re the one who needs to come to his senses. You deserve better than what I can give you.”

  I meant that. For a vampire, Misha was a tremendous catch. In addition to his incredible masculine beauty, he was smart, funny, and enjoyable company. And, for anyone who cared, he was also obscenely wealthy. I think he owned Canada.

  Misha regarded me with complete tenderness. It was a look he gave me frequently since I’d inadvertently returned his soul. His expression was one of kindness and compassion I’d never seen him demonstrate to anyone, and it warmed my heart. He reached out and stroked my face. “Thank you for believing I’m a better man than I am.”

  I squeezed his large hand with mine in time for Hank to appear. “Did you find the culprit?” Misha asked without looking at him.

  Hank shook his head. “No, Master. We’ve searched the house and the grounds, and the digital recordings taken over the last twenty-four hours have been reviewed. No one but your family and feasts have entered the premises.”

  Which meant either the limo had been booby-trapped during an excursion . . . or Misha’s family hated me more than I thought. My thoughts played across my Latina features like a violin. “None of my family would dare harm you,” Misha said. He turned to Hank.

  Hank backed out of the room as if Misha was wielding a flamethrower. “No . . . of course not, Master.” He jerked his head toward me. “We would never think to hurt our lovely Celia.”

  It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. Sure. Yup. Whatever. “How long can a spell like that stay dormant? I haven’t ridden in the limo in over a week.”

  “At least a month, under the proper conditions. The longer it’s inactive, the more dangerous it becomes. Its hunger for its destined prey fuels the accelerant.”

  My inner tigress sat up and pawed at me irritably. We didn’t like being referred to as prey; it enticed our need to hunt and made our claws itch to fight. “So either a witch is after me or someone hired one to cast a spell.”

  “It would appear. Such magic is ancient. It continues to be created in a cauldron and poured into a vial upon its completion. Since the magic targets a specific subject, anyone may carry the specimen without risking injury and dispense it wherever he pleases.”

  My tigress grew restless and paced within me. “I’m picturing witch fire lying around the compound like land mines. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  Misha shook his head. “Witch fire is potent, yet easily destroyed when exposed to the elements. Those few who can cast such a spell rarely choose to. Their magic is squelched to give the spell its strength, and often it fails to return.” His hand covered mine when he sensed my doubt. “Trust me, my dearest. Witches hoard their power—they’re not ones to gamble something considered so precious.”

  “Unless the witch was desperate enough to take me out, or someone forced her.”

  “Or filled her pockets. Such magic costs more than most American homes.”

  Whoa.

  Another apprehensive vamp entered the kitchen with her head lowered. “Master, your dinner is ready.”

  Misha sighed, annoyed. “She can wait. I will be with her when I finish my meal with Celia.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. The supernatural world was a twisted laugh riot, doubly dipped in a gravy boat full of crazy. Where else would anyone refer to dinner as “he” or “she”?

  “What’s on the menu tonight, Misha? Blonde, redhead, or brunette?” I asked.

  I wouldn’t have joked if I thought any of the vamps were going to harm their dinner guests. Vampires kept their beauty, their youth, and their bodies functioning by taking small amounts of blood from humans throughout the day. Between their supermodel good looks and the seductive pheromones they emanated, humans flocked to them. It also didn’t hurt that the blood consumption process was the equivalent of multiple emotional orgasms. Misha especially seemed to be a remarkably great eater. I could usually hear his meal screaming for Jesus and all his disciples clear to the guesthouse. Oh, yes, being a so-called creature of the night didn’t suck; most spent their days tanning.

  But even though I knew vampires weren’t as scary as Bram Stoker claimed, their “feasting” was not something I could comfortably observe. The vamps ate away from me. Since my arrival, Misha usually ate his non-stiletto-accessorized meals with me first. I suspected it was his way of bonding with me, especially since he consumed food because he could, not because he needed to. Only blood could keep him alive and young.

  Misha smiled. “Do you truly desire to know the specifics of my entrée?”

  I grimaced a little. “No. Not really.”

  Chef interrupted by placing a beet salad with mandarin oranges in front of me. The wine-colored liquid from the beets pooled at the bottom, smearing the elegant white china and robbing it of its purity. It reminded me of blood. My blood.

  I moved the slices around, wondering if I’d be able to stomach it now that I’d made the comparison. “Misha, why would anyone try kill me? My assignments have been carefully concealed and the vamps and I haven’t left any witnesses following our battles.”

  Misha placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair. His gray eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite interpret and his voice lowered to an ominous tone that sent goose bumps racing across my flesh. “I’ve told you, the lake whispers to me the secrets carried in the wind. The dark ones see you as a threat. But one in particular perceives you as the key to its destruction. I caution you, Celia: it won’t stop until your death.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Virginia stood in the hall, watching as Misha and I ate our red velvet cake. She was possibly the most striking redhead I’d ever met. Her skin was flawless and milky white. Her eyes were a beautiful blue and always lustful when fixed on Misha. She was human, but she made me strangely uncomfortable.

  At one point in her life, she’d been an extremely successful attorney. She’d originally met Misha at a charity ball, where they had snuck off together and had a moment. According to what Hank told me, Virginia had been obsessed with Misha ever since. She was now a “regular,” allowing Misha to frequently feed and have sex with her.

  Every now and then, a master of vampires chose to let a human become aware of the vampire society. This was allowed only because humans could be hypnotized into keeping their secrets. In this case, Misha chose Virginia. She no longer practiced law; pleasing and seducing Misha became her full-time job.

  I leaned forward and spoke softly. “Virginia is standing in the hall.”

  Misha didn’t bother to glance up from his plate. “I am aware of her presence.”

  “Would you like her to join us?”

  “No.”

  I dipped my fork into the thick cream cheese icing and dabbed Misha’s nose with it. “Why?”

  Misha paused and attempted to glare at me, but he couldn’t hide the sparkle in his gray eyes or his wicked grin. He wiped his nose with his white silk napkin before placing it back on his lap. “My darling, this is our time together and she will only prove distracting.”

  Virginia slid her outrageously long tongue across her collagen-injected lips. I felt sorry for her in a way. She didn’t have friends. Misha was her universe. “Um. Maybe she’ll tone it down some if you ask her nicely.”

  Misha let out a frustrated breath before turning to ad
dress Virginia. “Virginia, come in here, please, and do try to restrain yourself.”

  Virginia glided in, panting in anticipation. By the time she straddled Misha, her blouse was completely undone and she’d forgone wearing a bra. She licked Misha’s ear and gyrated on his lap. I sat there gawking at them, a fork still poised in my hand. Misha rolled his eyes and gave me an “I told you so” glare.

  I pushed back my chair. “All righty. I think I’ll head back to my place.”

  “That’s not necessary, kitten. Virginia was just leaving. Weren’t you, Virginia?”

  Virginia stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. She stamped her foot, then made a dramatic and riveting exit. I continued to watch the doorway even after she’d left.

  “I thought for sure she’d obey you when you told her to behave herself.”

  “She did behave, kitten. Did you fail to notice I’m still wearing my trousers?”

  I glanced under the table just to make sure. Virginia struck me as the kind of gal who could remove pants with her toes. “Has she always been this . . . obvious?”

  “She has become worse as of late, since insisting I turn her vampire.”

  I straightened a little, surprised by the news. “Do you think you will?”

  “I very much doubt it. Should I succeed, I will never rid myself of her. Moreover, I could never completely trust her.”

  “I thought your vampires are under your control and must follow your orders . . . or else.”

  “They are. However, once in a while some are able to resist, especially if they are reborn as masters. I believe Virginia would be among those if turned.”

  “I can see why you’d be apprehensive about it.” I waited, debating whether I should ask what I’d wondered about for so long.

  Misha quirked a brow. “Is there something you would like to know, my darling?”

  “Hmph,” Virginia moped from the doorway. She’d accepted Misha’s command to leave the kitchen, but refused to go far. She scowled, angered by his dismissal, and clearly ticked he’d called me his “darling.”

  “Virginia, if you wish to receive any pleasure from me this evening, you will cease your childish behavior.” Misha didn’t bother to turn toward her; instead he swept my long waves behind my shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse us, Celia and I would like to be alone.”

  Virginia smiled at me before she left. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was more like a crazy “one day I’ll eat your liver with fava beans” kind of grin. Like I said, she gave me the willies.

  “You were saying?” Misha asked.

  I shrugged. “I was just wondering how a master creates a vampire.”

  Misha leaned forward. “Why? Are you interested in becoming one?”

  I rested my chin on my hand. He didn’t intimidate me in the least. “No, I’m just curious. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

  Misha walked around the table and knelt in front of me. He took my hands, placing my fingertips over his crown line and rubbing them gently. I felt two indentations. He then slid them down a little to his forehead and I traced two more grooves. At first, I didn’t understand, but then it hit me. “You pierce the brain . . . with your fangs?”

  He nodded and smiled, but his grin lacked any trace of genuine humor.

  “But wouldn’t that kill a human?”

  “Yes, usually, but that is why it proves difficult to make a vampire.”

  “But why the brain? Weres pierce the hearts.”

  “I think it is simply because vampires have traditionally valued the brain as the most important organ. We are intelligent and analytical. The weres believe the heart to be all-encompassing.”

  In that simple statement, Misha had spoken volumes about the differences between himself and Aric. I continued to gape at him. “So then, like the weres, you transfer your power into the person you’re turning?”

  “Yes, but unlike the weres, vampires do not risk death, should we fail. It either works or it doesn’t.”

  “And this is how Uri turned you?”

  “Yes.”

  I couldn’t stop my cringe. “Did it hurt?”

  Misha quieted, as if remembering. “It happened over a hundred and twenty years ago and . . . I still remember the pain.”

  The thought of him suffering made me inexplicably sad, perhaps because, like him, I’d experienced my own share of pain. I placed my hands on Misha’s head and swept my lips over the fang sites. He grabbed my wrists, locking eyes with me as he stood. “Do not pity me, my darling. Look around. As you can see, it was all worth it.”

  I didn’t bother to do what he asked. In my attempt to show him compassion, I’d inadvertently insulted him. Master vampires believed themselves gods who ruled the earth and there I’d treated him as my equal—or, as he saw it, someone beneath me. His dark expression brought me a sense of unease. “If you say so, Misha. Look, I’m tired, and Virginia is probably waiting for you. I think it’s time for bed.”

  He didn’t release me right away. Just when I thought I might have to break his hold, he dropped my hands and nodded curtly. “Good night, Celia.”

  It wasn’t a good thing that he reverted to calling me by my name—especially at such a volatile moment. “Good night, Misha.”

  I abandoned the kitchen and hurried out the back door and onto the terrace, hugging my body tightly when I felt the first sting of the bitter night. Misha usually accompanied me or had someone escort me to the guesthouse. He didn’t tonight and in a way I preferred it. My mind tried to make sense of his actions and the sudden change in his mood. The more I analyzed the situation, the more I decided I was better off not knowing.

  My sneakers crunched against the thickening snow in the garden, but the sudden alertness of my tigress slowed my steps. She veered right and left, searching for a way out of me and thrilled by the sudden aroma breaking its way through the flurries. I lifted my head to the sweeping sugar pine to my right, my lips parting at the sight of the dark figure crouching on the branches. He leapt and landed with the controlled grace of a predator, watching me as he rose.

  Aric.

  “You caught me,” he said quietly. I nodded, my breath lodged deep in my lungs. “I know I shouldn’t have come. But I needed to be sure you were safe.”

  Five vampires emerged from behind the trees, their sharp hisses forcing Aric’s deep voice to morph into a challenging growl. They circled us, their vicious gazes fixed on Aric. “Try it,” he rumbled.

  I stepped away from Aric and faced the lead vamp. “Go back to your posts.”

  “The dog doesn’t belong on our master’s land, Celia,” he hissed, his incisors lengthening.

  “He does as my guest.” My voice remained calm. My protruding claws revealed I’d skewer hearts like chicken if anyone laid a fang on my wolf.

  The vampires advanced. “Move, Celia—”

  “I’m not asking!” I snapped. “I’m ordering you to go back to your damn posts!” Misha had bequeathed me the title of Mistress of the House of Aleksandr when I first moved in. For the most part, his family and I ignored the so-called promotion. I rarely pulled rank, but I did then. Slowly the vamps withdrew, easing back into their hiding spots with audible swears and grumbles.

  My breath released in a shudder only to catch when Aric’s heavy black leather jacket fell against my shoulders. The same jacket I’d given him on his birthday so long ago. I lowered my lids to beat back the raw emotions of our breakup. Months had passed from that awful night and still I hurt so much.

  Aric’s brown irises flared as he gathered the soft leather against my chest. “You’re cold,” he said.

  I backed away from him. “I—I don’t understand why you’re here.” He straightened, falling silent. Snow fell in thickening clumps, coating his dark brown hair and plastering the ends over his thick brows. I focused on the exhaustion creeping from h
is five o’clock shadow to the creases in his eyes. The silence and tension stretched between us. Eventually words found their way through my lips. “Come inside.”

  Aric followed me through the garden and into the guesthouse. The lights flickered on, illuminating the green granite counter and stainless steel appliances. I kicked off my soggy sneakers and tossed my socks into the empty hamper in the laundry room. Without looking at him, I draped his jacket over one of the wrought-iron barstools and flopped onto the chocolate suede couch in front of the gas fireplace. I focused on the flames, the same flames I’d flung Barbara’s wedding invitation into. Traces of the jab she’d sent via courier were no longer evident. But the insult and the slap to the face lived on. I tucked my bare legs beneath me, ignoring the throb to my injured knee, and waited while Aric kicked the snow from his heavy boots.

  He sat beside me, resting his forearms over his muscular thighs. The warmth from his body trumped the heat from the fire. “You shouldn’t be here, Aric,” I said quietly.

  Aric pushed his wet hair from his eyes, taking in my visage. “I don’t mean to upset you, Celia. It’s the last thing I want. But I needed to see for myself that you weren’t harmed.” He swallowed hard. “It’s killing me that I can’t be around to protect you.”

  “You’ll soon have a wife to protect and look after. Don’t worry about me.”

  Aric dropped his head into his large hands. “Don’t.”

  My eyes burned. I bit my bottom lip to hold back my sorrow. “Don’t what? It’s the truth.”

  He angled his chin toward me. “Don’t remind me of what I have to do. If this goddamn war hadn’t broken out I never would have left you.” He paused as the first of my tears trickled down my cheeks. He never could stand to see me cry. I wiped my tears irritably with my hand. He reached for it and linked our fingers. We both stiffened as a surge of heat spread across my body.