Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series

by Laurie D'Ghent

  Shortly after Galia had left one day, Integrity had noticed the book Evan had been reading. Picking it up by it's back cover, she watched his bookmark flutter out and settle on the carpet. Oh, darn, she thought sarcastically, a satisfied smirk on her face. I went and lost his place. Picking up the bookmark, she jammed it into the book at random. There, all better.

  She moved to set the book back in its place, but hesitated. Paul had left, Bowman was only here sporadically, at best, so she was alone. At a loss for anything better to do, she flipped the book over so it was right-side up and turned to the first page, slightly curious about what would interest Evan enough to hold his attention.

  While the writing was obviously antiquated, and the beginning slow, Integrity's interest sky rocketed when she realized the book was a compilation of prophesies about The Destine. She dug deeper into the book, trying to understand the strange, symbolic wording. Not much seemed to apply to her, so, eyes burning, she closed the book and went to bed.

  The next day, she found herself at loose ends once more, and returned to Evan's book. There was a record of a young girl from the 1700s, who was believed to be the Destine. While the details Integrity most craved were sorely lacking, she was able to gather that the girl had been “changed,” presumably into a vampire, but that something had gone horribly wrong and she had “expired” before “the rite” could be completed.

  There were more stories, much like the first, that seemed to end in death or dismemberment. The chosen was not always female, but the subjects were always under 20. A foot note led Integrity to flip to the back of the book, looking for “Baker's Prophecy.” The convoluted stories that twisted together intricately absorbed all of her attention, but she was forced to break away for her daily visit with Galia, although her thoughts continued straying to the words on the page.

  That night, she chose to read rather than hang out with Paul. He always seems to have something to occupy himself, she justified, feeling slightly guilty for ignoring her comrade. She turned instantly to the prophecy that had been interrupted earlier.

  “Baker's Prophecy”

  I, Ferdinand Baker, do hereby solemnly swear that the following words

  were revealed to me after a trying time of deep fasting and isolation. They are

  recorded to the best of my knowledge.

  Ferdinand Baker

  1764

  In that day, a child shall be brought forth, Gifted with powers beyond

  those of any immortal. Fallen and unchanged, lowly and humble, the child will

  be taken to Westmarch, there to be aught the True ways, prepared to accept

  the burden of us All.

  The child shall be known by Where it is found, a land of stone and mire,

  false beauty and dark designs. The child will be in Peril always, among it's

  fellow mortals, or in the Shrine.

  The child must be brought to Fruition before the twentieth year.

  The child, this Destine, will provide the means for the Immortals to take

  their rightful place at the Head of mankind, ruling over the Fallen in severity

  and glory. With the Inherent abilities, The Destine will carry within itself the power to destroy all that stand in it's way. None

  The door behind her slammed open forcefully. She felt herself jump so high that she lost all contact with the chair. She whipped around to see what threat was exploding into the room. Irritation washed over her. “Oh, it's you,” she said blandly, her heart thudding painfully. Unable to remain blasé, she spat out, “What the heck do you want?”

  Evan stood in the open doorway, looking at her, conflicting emotions flitting across his face. Paul burst into the room from the opposite direction, and Evan and Integrity both turned to face him. “Sir?” he questioned, his gaze searching behind Evan into the hallway beyond, awaiting potential enemies. Evan didn't respond to Paul's unspoken question, but his face fell into his customary blank mask. Antsy, Paul said, “Sir? Perhaps you should come in and close the door.”

  Regaining control of himself, Evan walked coolly into the room and shut the door gently. He paused for a moment, then turned and stalked across the room to head deeper into his quarters. Still shaken, Integrity said, “Hey!” When he didn't stop, she shoved herself to her feet and set off down the hallway after him, still holding the book in one hand. “What the heck?” she yelled at his back. “You come busting in here, take twenty years off my life, and then walk off like nothing happened?” Evan reached the end of the hallway and turned to the left. Integrity sped up. “Evan!” she demanded. Still, he pressed forward. He opened the door to the weight room and stepped through. Furious, Integrity reached out and grasped his forearm. The icy temperature of his skin caused her to jerk back as though she'd been seared.

  At her touch, Evan had spun on his heel and jerked his arm away from her, breaking contact at the same moment she did. He sucked air in between his teeth, almost sounding like a cat hissing. She'd never seen his eyes spark like that—she could almost feel the venom of hate pouring forth. She took a step back involuntarily.

  Evan turned and moved across the room, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off over his head as he moved. Extremely uncomfortable, Integrity averted her gaze and glimpsed a polished dress shoe to her right. Looking up, she saw Paul standing in the doorway, watching Evan carefully. Integrity felt a stab of fear. Just how upset does Evan have to be before Paul thinks he needs to follow and protect me?

  Suddenly insecure, Integrity looked back to Evan. She felt a brief moment of relief that he was not entirely shirtless—he had apparently been wearing a tank top underneath his dress shirt. When he'd pulled it off, the rolled up sleeves had caught on his hands and turned inside out. It lay in a corner, discarded.

  Evan punched a button on the wall, one of several, and heavy metal music pulsed into the room. Integrity could almost feel the beat in her molars. Evan moved to the the hanging punching bag and calmly took his stance. Integrity turned back to Paul, her eyes searching his face.

  For the first time, Paul's gaze flickered from Evan to Integrity, though only for a moment. He was frowning. Have I ever seen Paul frown? Maybe when Evan killed my parents...no, not even then. Integrity felt as though her very atoms were charged with so much energy that they were bouncing off of one another. If she moved, she might fly apart into a billion pieces. Paul watched Evan for several seconds, then turned his gaze back to Integrity. She could hear Evan striking the bag, but her gaze remained fixed on Paul. Though he still frowned, he seemed more puzzled than wary now. Raising his eyebrows, he jerked his head toward the door, inviting her to leave with him. She shook her head slightly, careful to keep her movements small, controlled. She didn't dare move too much—leaving the room, walking, was out of the question entirely. Paul shrugged, unconcerned, then turned and left. Integrity was left staring at the empty doorway.

  Breathing only shallowly, feeling as though she stood on a dangerously high precipice, Integrity turned her head slowly back to where she could see Evan. The current song ended, silence reigned for a split second, then the next song began. The unexpected, loud beat caused the girl to flinch slightly. She was grateful that Evan didn't see it.

  She felt her atoms realign; even though she was calming, the steady rhythm of Evan's punches gave her something on which to focus, her DNA continuing to vibrate. She felt as though the activity had not lessened, only changed tone, slipping into something different entirely. The fear had fled, leaving a barely controlled rage behind, a rage she had not felt before, even when her parents were murdered before her own eyes, murdered by the man before her. Deep inside her, she smiled wryly. I guess I have a greater capacity to hate now. It's like a muscle, gaining strength with each use. I should be ready for the Olympics by next week.

  Knowing she was on the verge of losing all control, Integrity disciplined herself; she knew if she allowed herself the freedom to shout at him, that same freedom would conquer her, wash over her and take contr
ol. Who knew what would happen then? She walked slowly across the room until she stood opposite Evan, to one side of the punching bag. She could see his good hand clenching tighter as she neared, his skin losing all color under the pressure. Her eyes tracked naturally to the brace on his opposite hand. The bass line of the song seemed to pound in her very veins.

  Evan continued to hit the bag with a steady rhythm for a few beats, then he shifted the angle of his strike enough to force the bag on a collision course with Integrity. She threw her arm up to deflect the impact. “Hey, what's the big idea?” she spat at him, dropping the hand holding the book back to her side, finger still between the pages to mark her spot.

  Evan struck the bag with his left elbow, unable to strike with the brace, then smoothly grabbed the book out of her hand with his opposite hand. “Didn't your mother teach you not to take what's not yours?” He threw the book to one side, where it landed face down, the pages crumpling.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked incredulously, furious. “Oh, excuse me for reading a book that you left behind when you disappeared again. How incredibly rude of me to read it,” she growled, sarcasm dripping from her words. Evan didn't respond, though his eyes did flick to her for a moment, but continued hitting the bag. Integrity grabbed the bag, stopping it from striking her. “Quit freaking ignoring me!” she almost yelled, still struggling to maintain control.

  Evan hit the bag once more, then stopped and looked directly at her. “Why must you torment me constantly?” He was glaring at her, fists still clenched. “I wish I could swat you like the annoying little fly you are.”

  Integrity shoved the bag at Evan with all the force she could muster. “Well, you can't!” she retorted, spit flying from her mouth. “I'm not yours, Evan. I'm not a slave! You can't control me. You can't make me just sit happily in a corner, not make any waves.”

  His eyes narrowed. He shoved the bag back at her, and she stumbled back a step at the impact. She felt the air being forced from her lungs. Evan stepped closer to her, then drove his fist into the bag with enough force that she felt enough pain to make her nauseous. “Stay out of my stuff,” he growled at her, then turned and left the room.

  Feeling control slipping completely, she yelled at his retreating form, “Don't worry about it! Just run away like you always do!”

  Є

  That night, Integrity fell ill and spent several hours vomiting. Paul hovered like a worried mother hen until she was able to fall asleep.

  In the morning, she found the book sitting on her nightstand, the cover laying less than flush, the crumpled pages unable to be fully smoothed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Integrity lay in bed, feeling weak, and stared at the book with consternation. It may as well have been a cottonmouth, arced back and ready to strike. Why the heck does it have to be there? she thought, too tired and weak to be grumpy.

  She was grateful to know that she wasn't likely to puke again, and sent that gratitude heavenward. She was constantly amazed at God's love for her, the love that was so personal and individual. She wouldn't have been able to explain to someone how, even in the midst of nausea so intense she would not have fled from death, she could feel her Heavenly Father's love so intensely. His love was something so perfect, it didn't rely on immediate relief or healing—it was always there, and always would be. For that, she was grateful.

  Integrity still had not touched the book when Paul quietly opened the door to check on her. She gave him a weak smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. How are you doing?” He entered the room, looking as though he might bolt at any sign of a coming up-chuck.

  “Better. Weak, but better,” she replied. Waving at the book to her side, she said, “Why in the world did you bring that in here?” Though the words sounded harsh, she knew her tone of voice would counteract most of that; she came across sounding more puzzled than irritated.

  Paul walked over and picked the book up, looking at the cover. “I didn't bring it in here. Evan must have.” He set the book back down, losing interest.

  Integrity snorted. “Yeah, right. He almost took my head off over it yesterday. He's not likely to give it to me today.” She shifted. “Will you take it back out to the sitting room and tell Bowman thanks, but no, thanks?”

  Paul shook his head once. “Bowman hasn't been here for more than a week. Unless you brought it in here yourself, Evan did it.” He let that sink in for a moment, then said, “If you want it gone, you'll have to wait until you feel good enough to do it yourself.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He's way too testy for me to risk setting him off today.” Returning his voice to a normal level, he asked, “So, you think you can hold anything down?”

  Integrity thought for a moment, then said, “Think you can get your hands on some apple juice?”

  Paul frowned in mock perplexity. He stretched his mouth in a grimace. “That might take some doing,” his face changed to a relaxed smile, “so you'll have to give me 30 seconds or so.”

  Є

  Before she had finished her apple juice, Integrity fell back asleep. She was not pleased when she awoke to find Evan sitting in his usual spot, the chair moved to her bedside. She noticed that his hand was not resting on the nightstand; the brace settled on the armrest instead, and she felt a mixture of guilt and pleasure. At least she wouldn't have to listen to him drumming his fingers.

  She rubbed her eyes, too weak and tired to come up with some snappy remark. “What do you want?” Her normal venom was missing from the words.

  Evan rubbed his mouth with his good hand, then used it to prop his head up, still covering his mouth loosely. “Did you finish the book?”

  Integrity sighed. “That's what this is all about?” She shifted, trying to ease the ache that had settled in her lower back. “Look, I didn't take your stupid book. It flew here by itself, okay?” She fumbled for the water bottle that Paul had filled with apple juice and took a small sip before screwing the lid back on and dropping it onto the bed at her side.

  Evan rubbed across his mouth again, as though the slight five-o'-clock shadow was itchy. “I know you didn't take the book. I brought it to you.”

  Integrity rubbed one hand over the top of her head, smoothing the hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail away from her face. “What, is that some kind of apology? Or are you just setting me up for another assault?” She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. It wasn't worth getting upset over, not when she felt this crummy.

  Evan sat silent for a moment, then dropped his hand away from his head, leaning back in the chair. He muttered something. Missing it, Integrity opened her eyes and looked at him again. “What?”

  “I said I don't understand you.” His words were calm, almost conversational.

  Integrity snorted. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't understand you, either.” She closed her eyes again, breathing slowly. After a moment, she continued, “You know, before I came here I would have thought that, if vampires did exist, they would all be like you. But you're one of a kind, Evan. No one else is quite like you.” Traces of bitterness crept into her words. After a slight pause, she said, “No, I guess that's not fair. Jydda's a lot like you.” She opened her eyes and looked at him once more. “You two make a lovely couple. Just do the world a favor and don't have kids, 'kay?”

  “Jealous?”

  Integrity laughed once, in disbelief. “Oh, yeah,” she said sarcastically, “I've often thought how much I wished I could date Jydda.” Dropping the pretense, she said, “Get over yourself, Evan.”

  “See, this is exactly what I mean. What's with the hate? What makes you think I'm so much worse than anyone else?” Integrity was pretty sure he muttered, “Women,” under his breath, but she couldn't be sure.

  “Can you just leave? Please? I really don't feel like doing this.” She scratched one arm before pulling the covers up to her chin, suddenly chilled.

  “No, I'm not going to leave. Answer the question, Integrity.”

  Sh
e felt as though she could cry from sheer frustration. “Fine, if you want to play dumb, I'll put it into words. You killed my parents. You made me an orphan. Good enough?” She closed her eyes again, this time just wanting to block him out.

  “And that's a bad thing?” he asked. “You should be thanking me for that. Who doesn't want to be out from underneath their parents' thumbs?”

  “Me,” she said back, her eyes sliding open. “I'm not the typical rebellious teenager, Evan. I loved my parents. My mom was my best friend. Taking them from me is the single worst thing anyone could ever do. Understand now?”

  Evan studied her face for a few seconds, obviously looking for some sign that she was lying or exaggerating. She stared boldly back, knowing he wouldn't find any falsehood. “Are you being true?” He was deadly serious.

  “Yes, I'm being 'true.'” Irritated now, she grumped, “And why do you talk like that? One minute, you're all normal, and the next you sound like Robin Hood. Do you have multiple personalities? Which Evan's less mean?”

  She wasn't prepared for him to laugh. It took her back. She'd never before heard a laugh from him that wasn't filled with menace or cruelty. What the heck is going on?

  “It's quite simple, actually,” he said, a slight smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “It drives my parents to distraction when I talk like a 'plebeian,' as they like to put it. And, no, I don't suffer from multiple personalities.” Suddenly his face became deadly serious. “Besides, I don't think there is a nice Evan.”