Switch of Fate 1

by Lisa Ladew

  Zver’s impatience and arousal got the better of him and he snarled. “Then run faster than her.”

  The male seemed to shrink before him and Zver reeled in his contempt. He tried a different tactic, dialing back his tone to one of guidance. “Why not do the intelligent thing? Follow her. See if she has sisters.” A burning hatred lodged in Zver’s gut, stoked by the switches’ return. Covenwhores, all of them, the filtiest of pedigree, spreading their legs for any male who proved to be a beast.

  A wave of the hand told Zver what Mitch thought of that idea. “She’s working alone. I guarantee it.”

  Stupid, lazy kiss-ass with no idea of the true implications of what had happened to him. Still, Garner could be made useful. Zver’s patience snapped. “You couldn’t guarantee that the sun will rise in the morning.” He tried to keep his voice level. “I gave you an order. Follow her. Fuck with her. You know where she works, where she lives. Get her riled up and see who she runs to.”

  The undead silence that followed what he’d said made Zver realize he’d been shouting. So much for guidance. Mitch’s eyes were wide and awestruck. “Yes, sir. Master. Zver.”

  The male tripped over his feet backing up. “I’ll report back.”

  Zver closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to relax. “You do that. But not to me. I can’t stand the sight of you. Report to Vlade, understand?”

  Mitch nodded, still backing out of the room. Zver lunged at him and hissed. Mitch scrambled so fast he fell on his ass in the hallway, then crawled away. Zver smirked. Not as graceful as phazing, but then, Mitch couldn’t phaze, could he? Just a baby vampire for all his years, and not very strong. Or smart. He dismissed the idiot and turned back to his meal.

  The whimpers began again in earnest, a dark symphony of misery and fear. Zver sighed in contentment, eking out the pleasure of selection in tiny bites.

  Over the years Zver had often wondered if humans would ever realize how much he enjoyed the screaming and the whimpering and clam up, try to take it away from him. Not yet. Further proof of how stupid and useless the whole race was. Not fit for anything but food for him, his siblings and children.

  He frowned. If the switch who had gone after Garner wasn’t an anomaly, he would need to grow his army faster, make more bloodblades. And more children.

  If he were human Zver might actually look forward to the prospect of so much mating. But he had long ago lost his taste for such things, turning to darker dealings for his own satisfaction.

  “Tell me, my dear.” Zver tuned his voice to one of pleasant conversation as he followed his final selection through the door by which he’d arrived. “How do you feel about being flogged?”

  He could charm her to love it, but where was the joy in that?

  Blessedly, she began to cry.

  Zver grinned. Perfect.

  Chapter 26

  Cora came awake all at once, the sound of bells following her from dream to reality. It took her a moment to realize the sound was her phone, charging on her nightstand. She scrambled across the king-sized bed to grab it.

  Shady Pines College, the caller ID read. Her fingers lost their ability to grip and she dropped the phone, cold fear filling her.

  She tried to get herself under control. Her tenure hearing was the next day. Someone might be calling to… remind her. Or to change the time! Yes!

  She answered with a shaky, “Hello?”

  “Cora.”

  Dean Aulander’s normally light voice was deadly serious. She was so fired. She should just hang up and run. Take her savings, head to the Caribbean, and… what? Become a pirate? Were there vampires on the high seas?

  “Bertha,” she whispered.

  “You can call me Dean Aulander.”

  Oh God. So bad. Fired, and shunned.

  “Cora, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Or next semester. You’ve been relieved of your classes.”

  Cora could only nod. “Ok.”

  There was a moment of silence, and when Bertha spoke again, her voice was just a bit softer. “Is it drugs, Cora? That nice young man seemed to-”

  “No! I swear. I-” But how could she possibly explain it? She tried to negate it instead. “I swear it won’t happen again.” But could she swear such a thing?

  It didn’t matter anyway. Bertha’s voice was cold again. “Thank you for your years of-”

  Cora hung the phone up silently, cutting Bertha’s words off. She couldn’t handle them. She stared at the wall. What to do now? Go for a run? But this felt too big for even the pavement to take. She needed someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on.

  Lynessa was at work and Cora didn’t want to call the college. Plus she’d been avoiding Lynessa a little bit. It felt wrong to keep the vampire stuff from her, but Cora couldn’t tell anyone. Only Jameson would understand.

  Oh! Jameson. She could talk to him. She’d thrown a fit the day before, but she would apologize for that. He would understand. She could get over herself. Cora grabbed her keys and hurried out the door, not sure where she was going, but the Black Bear Outfitting Co. would be her first stop.

  On the way there, Cora felt that tingling feeling on the back of her neck again, as if someone was watching her, like she had a few days ago in her own house. Probably just vampires, she joked to herself, her internal voice shrill.

  But as far as she could see, no one followed her.

  A woman Cora hadn’t yet met was running Black Bear’s store when she arrived. She was older, with glossy black hair and kind brown eyes, and the tag pinned to her campesina blouse said her name was Molly. Cora introduced herself and asked Molly if she knew where to find Jameson. Neither Bryce nor Flint were there; one brother was out on the river with a tour group and wouldn’t be back until almost sunset, the other was out doing his own thing.

  Molly looked at Cora for a long moment, her hair falling from its center part to either side of her round, tan face. Cora realized her own face was probably tracked with tears when the older woman clucked her tongue, tilted her head to the side, and said, “Why don’t you check J’s house, honey? He lives right over the city limits on Sycamore Road.”

  Cora smiled weakly. “Right. That won’t be strange or inappropriate. Thank you.” Shit, her mouth was a bitch.

  In ten minutes she was there, parking behind Jameson’s work truck. A tricked-out black SUV with chrome wheels occupied the driveway on the other side, two motorcycles parked behind it. She wasn’t sure why they caught her eye.

  The yard was spare but well-maintained. Whoever lived in the other half of the building had hung birdfeeders in the trees and window boxes full of yellow flowers and greenery from their porch railing. Jameson’s side was very nearly bare. Only a rustic Adirondack chair took up any space on the clean-swept concrete porch.

  Before she could talk herself out of it Cora rang the doorbell, trying to hold herself together. As soon as he answered the door, she felt better. She took a deep breath and smiled at him.

  He was surprised as hell to see her, not saying anything, just rubbing the back of his head and scowling slightly, then giving up and smiling. Ahhh, that sexy smile. She hated it.

  “Hi,” she whispered. “Sorry to show up like this but I went to your office and then to Black Bear and met Molly and she told me I should just check here to see if you were home and I saw your truck and well… here I am.”

  Jameson only stared, one eyebrow raised. Then he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

  Ah shit. Now Cora didn’t want to tell him. No idea why. Maybe because then he would feel sorry for her, let her in, and she wouldn’t be able to trust anything that might happen. She wanted to be let in for other reasons only. She pulled herself together. “I wanted to apologize for acting like a baby last night.”

  Jameson cleared his throat awkwardly, then softened. “Would you like to come in?”

  Where your bedroom is? Yes! “I would, thanks. I’ve had a day.” He stepped aside and she couldn’t quite read him.

  She could read hi
s place though. Dark, sturdy furniture with lots of Mission-style accents, simple lines and minimal fuss. Clean. No dust or scuffs. Like a housecleaner had come that morning. Or he was fastidious.

  His voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Tell me about it.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, but she couldn’t get the words out. He peered at her face, then invited her in for real. He motioned to a back door. “Come on out to the patio, it’s cool out there and we can talk.”

  Jameson stayed inside, his frame taking up most of the doorway. “I’ll get us some drinks.” He slid the door shut and left her there alone.

  He’s still touchy. And he has a right to be. She rolled her eyes. Don’t we all. She sank into a lawn chair and stared at the high fence that separated one side of the duplex from the other, examining the oasis of deep green plants, with a path that wound in a short circle around the center and spokes veering off into a handful of smaller garden scenes.

  She got up and moved to a tiny stone bench she’d spied near the fence. Adorable. Stone fairies flanked it, like dainty guardians.

  Someone spoke from the other side of the fence, a gruff male voice. Older.

  “Switches? You’re sure?”

  Cora froze, her heart thudding, knowing she shouldn’t listen but unable to make herself move away. They were talking about her, even if they didn’t know it.

  The voice that replied was familiar. Flint, she was pretty sure, though she’d barely spoken with him. “One hundred percent. Seen one. They’re out there and we need them. As many as we can, as fast as we can.”

  The gruff old male spoke again. “That’s the best damn news I’ve heard in fifty years, son. Been itching for a fight for decades. Can’t fight vampires without the switches. Unless you’re the mountain man.”

  Mountain man? She wasn’t sure whether the moniker was creepy or campy.

  A new voice spoke up. Male, adult, but younger than Flint, she thought. “You can have the fight, Buck, I’m itching for a switchin’. Y’all think what they say is true? About after?”

  The one he’d called Buck replied, his voice a sure drawl. “’A course it is.”

  A smile entered the younger male’s voice. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Some of that Prowl sex. I’d help a switch hunt damn near anything if what they say about the Prowl is true. Vampires. Sasquatch. The Loch Ness monster. We could fuck for days in a cabin in the woods.”

  Coralie’s heart skipped a beat or three. Prowl sex? Dammit, she knew killing vampires would come with a fucking downside. Unless it was with Jameson.

  Flint spoke. “Jesus, you and Bryce both. It’s not like you’re guaranteed. Carick says the switch chooses her mate.”

  Buck let out a coughing sort of laugh. “Their mate, sure. But we’re talking about the Prowl. If you’re there when a switch kills a vamp, and there aren’t any more left to kill, I heard it’s fuck her blind or follow her around and clean up the human bodies.”

  And I’m out. Cora shot to her feet and tore through the lush garden, ripping open the sliding glass door and darting through the kitchen, past Jameson with his look of confusion and out the front door. She dashed to her car and fumbled the keys, dropping them as she tried to unlock the doors.

  Prowl. Sex. Prowl sex. Human bodies.

  She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

  Chapter 27

  “Just a glass of lemonade, find out what’s wrong. Comfort her. Get her to call a friend. Then you can send her home.” Jameson stood at the kitchen sink, talking to himself under his breath as he poured lemonade into the shortest glasses he owned.

  You’re such a bastard. When he’d opened the door and seen Coralie standing there, Jameson’s heart had thudded hard and his entire body has stiffened, especially his traitorous dick. After last night he’d thought she’d never want to see him again, much less apologize to him. So he let her in, and had that ever been a mistake.

  She’d been perfectly at home standing in his living room, smiling as she looked around, wandering through the garden he’d spent years designing and creating. Cora just fit. What the fuck kind of game was fate playing? Making a switch slide into his life so perfectly, then holding her up as forbidden fruit?

  He picked up their glasses when Cora appeared, frantic, on the other side of the sliding glass door. She slammed it open and ran through the kitchen, barely even glancing at Jameson as she tore past him.

  “Cora? What’s wrong?” Jameson set the glasses down as quickly as he could and looked out the back door. Had she seen a wasp nest? No. A shifter maybe? Flint or Bryce in their bear form? He wouldn’t put it past either of them, especially since he’d told them that morning that she still didn’t know what they were.

  Nothing in the yard. Jameson slammed the door closed and sprinted to the front.

  Cora sat in her car, keys in hand, hunched over the ignition, keys jingling as her shoulders shook, forehead on the steering wheel.

  He knocked on the window and she yelped. She opened the door instead, her expression stricken. “I can’t put the window down because I can’t start my car. My hands are shaking too bad.”

  A suspicion formed in his mind. Shifters wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t known about yet. What switches and shifters were to each other? That could knock her on her ass like this. “Tell me what happened, Cora.”

  Coralie closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “Your neighbors were talking about me.”

  Jameson growled. He was gonna have roast-bear for dinner. “What did they say?”

  Her cheeks flamed pink, the flush moving down to her chest where the thin straps of her kelly-green sundress decorated the skin of her shoulders. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. Whispered really. Two words. “Prowl sex.”

  Jameson closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, trying to keep the images at bay. He was no help to her distracted. But hell, the thought of how magnificent Cora would be in her Prowl was one that Jameson could easily lose days to.

  He took Cora’s keys gently with one hand, the other helping her to stand. “Come with me. I’m taking you somewhere quiet.”

  Cora didn’t protest, just followed along as he led her to his truck and settled her on the passenger side. Once he had her there Jameson realized that what he had in mind was an even bigger mistake than lemonade. Thoughts of the duty his family had upheld for centuries swam through his mind. But she needed him.

  He dug his keys out of his pocket and climbed in, the truck rumbling as he put them on their way, trying to calm his heart. “What else did they say?” He needed to know it all.

  For long minutes she didn’t say a word. When her voice came it was a hushed murmur. “What if there’s nobody there?”

  Jameson’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his wrists ached. “Nobody where, Cora?”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “If I kill a vampire, what if there’s nobody there? Those guys back there said I would go after humans.”

  Jameson muttered a curse. Roast-bear on a stick. “Someone will be there, Cora, I swear. Switches and shifters are a team.”

  Cora turned on him, eyes wide. “Switches and what now?” Her black eyes were almost healed, barely visible under the makeup. He wanted to kiss them both.

  “Ah, shit,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he drove them into the forest. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  But she didn’t even press it, other queries taking center stage. “Someone who? You? Will you be at my Prowl?”

  There it was. Out. In the open. Flapping on the seat between them. Did she want him to be there?

  He looked out the window, unable to meet her eye. Cora’s shoulders sagged and she curled into herself, shutting him out.

  Fate sucked and if it were in front of him, he would drive directly over its head, then back up and do it again. He turned the wheel savagely down the curves of the road, trying a hundred times to say something that would make her understand, but every time he opened his mouth,
nothing came out.

  ***

  Jameson eased his truck to a stop outside his own primitive cabin on the Nantahala grounds, far away from the one where he’d sequestered Carick with enough technological gadgets to occupy him. Coralie’s head rose. “Where are we?”

  Jameson pushed open the driver’s door, pausing a moment before answering. “Somewhere we can be alone. A quiet place for you to think.”

  She seemed to accept that, climbing down from the truck before he could make his way around to help her. Jameson ran one hand through his hair, questioning his decision. Too late now. He unlocked the door to his cabin and let her in.

  He had been right to be worried. Coralie’s sweetly-blooming smile was like a corkscrew to his heart as she stood in the center of the single room and slowly turned, taking it all in. He would never forget how she looked in that moment, no matter if he lived another hundred years.

  Cora’s eyes lit up as she looked over his shoulder to the small bookcase where he kept his favorite books. They were the ones that never failed to comfort on long, lonely nights.

  “Jameson, you could be one of my students!” She snatched a thin volume of poetry from the shelf with a grin. “I’ll admit I did every assignment I could on Dracula, even my Master’s thesis. But every time my advisor started to get hinky about my ‘narrow focus’ I’d turn to Eliot. My paper on The Wasteland kicked ass.”

  She slid the book back into place, bending down as she scanned each subsequent shelf, chattering happily. “Eliot’s the only poet I know who consistently gets taught in both American and British lit classes.” She chattered on, more facts about her favorites.

  He nodded. “I like the one about the coffee spoons.” In fact if Cora’d opened that copy of The Wasteland she’d picked up, she’d have seen a personalized inscription Jameson wasn’t sure how he’d explain: To the original J. Alfred Prufrock. I couldn’t have written it without knowing you. -T.S.