by Cecy Robson
His voice seems barren of emotion, though my guess is there’s a lot brewing beneath. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Not now,” he says, stroking my cheek lightly. “We have to go.”
I follow him to the rear of his SUV. All weres keep extra sets of clothing in their vehicles. With all the changing they do, it’s a must. I’m sure Gemini’s packmates offered Emme clothes, but like me, she’s not going to strip in front of just anyone. Weres are comfortable being naked around each other. We’re not.
I slip into the back when Gemini passes me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Emme is going to swim in these, but it’s better to look slightly awkward than to continue wearing what she is. If anything, I’m ready to do her a favor and set the clothes she’s in on fire.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
I try and unzip the back of her dress, grimacing when the damn zipper gets stuck on something thick and slimly.
“What’s wrong?” Emme asks. “Is something on me?”
“Honey, everything is on you,” I say, cringing when I break through the sticky bits and see how much is left. “Try to pull it off from the front.”
She keeps her back to me. For lack of better terms, her back is moist. Very moist. Seriously moist!
“Can we stop somewhere?” I ask. “A motel or something just so she can get a quick shower?”
“There’s no time,” Gemini says.
I try and unsnap Emme’s bra when she struggles. Yeah, that’s pasty, too. But as much as I want to rid her of all these gross clothes, Gemini’s vacant tone momentarily keeps me in place.
“Taran, is something wrong?” Emme asks me.
Her eyes are rammed shut. She’s likely terrified of what’s soaking through her bra and what I might tell her it is.
“Not at all, sweetie,” I insist. I’m grateful she can’t see my face when I peel her out of her dress, especially when something plops down her back. Thankfully that’s the worst of it, and super props to Gemini for keeping large black garbage bags in one of the seat compartments. I won’t ask why he needs bags this large. He is were and I’ve been grossed out enough.
“Gemini, could you pass me my purse?” He drops it in my hand. “Thanks, love.”
I reach into the larger compartment where I keep a tiny container of hand sanitizer. Honolulu Sunshine, doesn’t that sound nice? Well, it smells even nicer! I lather my hands and Emme’s. It works so well to remove the nasty bits of leftover vamp, I slather it on her face then use tissues to dab her face somewhat clean.
We’re on the highway back to Tahoe by the time Emme is finally dressed. Like I thought, Gemini’s clothes are too big on her. But she’s warm, and safe, and alive. I’ll take it, especially with all the danger we’ve learned of tonight and following Gemini’s proclamation that we may not survive it.
As Emme settles, Gemini explains the suspicions the Alliance has about the Legion and how the shapeshifters are likely the opposing force leading them. When he’s done, I leave Emme to her thoughts and crawl into the front passenger seat. Totally illegal I know, but just as Gemini is calmer when I’m near, Sparky and I do better with him beside us. His hand slides over mine and he gives it a squeeze. I look up at him, smiling as much as I can, considering our rather eventful night.
“Who was called to the meeting?” Emme asks. “Was it just the leaders in the surrounding territories?”
“No. Alliance members from all over the world have been summoned,” he replies.
Again, the way he speaks makes me take notice. “Like who?” I ask.
Tension gathers along his shoulders. Apparently, I asked the winning question. “Babe?” I press.
“Those highest within our supernatural circles.” The apologetic look he shoots me and the words that follow send chills down my spine. “Including Destiny.”
Chapter Five
Trudhilde Radinka aka Destiny.
I first met her in vampire court a few years ago. The same day we met Misha, in fact. We were charged with unjustifiably killing one of Misha’s keep, a big no-no unless the vamp tries to kill you first or he directly challenges you to some stupid duel.
The court was packed with beings with sharp nails and fangs, deliberated by vampires older than dirt, and brought forth by Misha who will one day strike the most powerful master dead. Their collective power raked against our skin and pierced our bones, demanding blood and torture.
But it was Destiny who scared the unholy shit out of me.
Forget that she dresses like a six-year-old who found a chest stuffed with clothes accented in polka dots, zebra stripes, feathers, and roadkill fur. Destiny is different. No, she’s flat out bizarre. You know some of those freaks who walk around, those you suspect collect shoeboxes stuffed with Barbie doll legs and dust bunnies who resemble celebrities? Destiny is their leader and she wears that crown proudly.
Once every century an especially gifted baby girl is born from a union of two powerful witches. She is given the name of the original and most powerful soothsayer of all time. But it’s her insane ability to accurately predict the future that earns her the nickname Destiny.
She’s who decreed Celia and Aric’s children would rid the world of evil, sticking to her guns even after Celia was told she could no longer bear children.
I glance behind me as we reach the base of Granite Chief Peak, expecting her to pop out of the rear wearing a zebra-striped fedora. “Of all the supernaturals out there,” I mutter.
“She’s not so bad,” Emme says. She squirms as the first of many magical defenses leading up to the Den press against us. “She’s just a little unique and quirky.”
“Unique and quirky are good words,” I agree, rubbing my arms and trying to shake the mix of witch and were magic we’re doused with. “So are outlandish and alarming.”
It’s not that I don’t like Destiny. Frying my brains to goo in vamp court aside, she’s nice enough, always waving and smiling like we’re besties. And if it wasn’t for her and all the clout she carries beneath the weasel fur she wears, Celia wouldn’t be under the protection she is, and her future children would be seen as mutts not saviors.
Gemini’s SUV barrels up the path, slinging mud from last night’s rain against the windshield and tiny pebbles pitter-patter beneath the undercarriage. I frown when I realize something doesn’t make sense. “Wait a minute. Why would someone target Destiny?”
“Why wouldn’t someone target her?” Emme questions softly. “She’s hailed as royalty among witches and is held in high regard across the supernatural spectrum.”
Gemini smirks. He knows what I mean. “Because you have to be a real dumbass with a death wish to mess with Destiny. I get that her name is figurative, but it’s literal too, given that her predictions, and those of her predecessors, are never wrong.”
“Pardon?” Emme asks.
“She can ‘see’ anyone trying to kill her,” I elaborate further. “And because she can, she can obliterate her assassin long before he thinks about taking her out.”
My “weird” magic gives me glimpses of the future. They’re always graphic and tend to revolve around chaos and dismembered body parts soaring through the air. They also pop out of nowhere and usually haunt me for months. I don’t think Destiny has that problem and would bet she can summon her visions at will.
“There’s a lot we don’t know about Destiny,” Gemini adds. “And a great deal more she and her predecessors have kept hidden. What we do know gives us just a hint of her strength. It’s what’s kept her, and others like her, safe throughout history.”
“I figured,” I add. “Disastrous taste in clothes aside, she’s not stupid. Personally, I think all the bells, whistles, and funky fur are to distract from all the mojo lurking beneath.”
“Agreed.” He eases along the road, easily avoiding a large ditch. “There are countless legends surrounding Destinies. All warn that an attempt to kill Destiny seals your own fate.”
“You can’t kill
Destiny?” Emme asks.
“It seems that way. All documented attempts throughout history were foiled, and every assailant who tried met a strange fate.”
“What constitutes a strange fate?” Emme asks.
He glances at the rearview mirror.
“Never mind,” she adds quickly. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“But maybe you should,” he tells her gently. “Have you ever heard of Draco the Athenian law maker?”
“No,” Emme replies. I shake my head too.
“Unbeknownst to the humans he served, he was a warlock and among Destiny of Aegina’s biggest critics. It was rumored he hired a merc to kill her in 620 BC. The night of the assassination attempt he went to a theatre, likely to make himself visible so he wouldn’t be named a suspect.” His gaze flickers to me. “He never made it out of that theatre.”
I’m picturing something gruesome involving a sharp weapon. But Gemini did say “strange fate” and he doesn’t disappoint.
“He was showered with coats and hats from grateful citizens. So many he was smothered to death.”
“All right, that’s messed up,” I agree.
“There’s more.”
“There always is,” I say, steeling myself.
“When his guards peeled back the layers of clothing in an attempt to rescue him, they found the hired assassin on top of him with his throat slit.”
“Mmm,” I say. But what I’m really thinking is damn what a freaky way to go!
“In 455 BC, Aeschylus, Athenian author of tragedies, and brother to the local head witch, sent a band of marauders to ambush Destiny of Athens en route to Troy. He was furious with Destiny following her prediction that he would die by a flying object, convinced she was trying to intimidate his sister into surrendering her territory.”
I hold out a hand. “Let me guess, that Destiny made it out unscathed didn’t she?”
He nods. “The creek that ran through his property turned red from the blood of the marauders found stacked like stones up stream.”
“What happened to him?” Emme asks, hesitantly.
“He was killed by a tortoise dropped by an eagle. Most believe the eagle mistook his bald head for a rock it needed to shatter the tortoise’s shell.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Neither do I. Death by tortoise is some messed up comment to chisel into your headstone. “What about Destiny of Athens?” I ask. “Did she take his sister’s territory?”
“No,” he says. “A different witch did when she died of grief following her brother’s death.” He stomps on the gas as the road grows steeper and narrows. The rows of sugar pines thicken, shadowing the ravine below. “These stories are just the beginning and grow more violent in the middle ages.”
“Do they all involve witches?” I ask. “It seems to me that’s the running theme here.”
“No, some involve vampires and weres who saw her as threat or viewed her as competition.” He shoots me a look. “We all have blood on our hands.”
“We do,” I agree. If history has taught me anything it’s no race has been exempt from cruelty. “But as much as Destiny falls under the witch umbrella, she doesn’t embrace the world of covens and spells.” To my knowledge, she wasn’t required to attend “witch school”, unlike me who was forced to (although I’m not a witch) just to keep Sparky from burning us alive. “And the spell-wielders don’t exactly embrace her. I’ve never seen any witch from any coven run up to her like an old friend, happy to see her, and glad she arrived.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I feel bad for her,” Emme adds quietly. “She’s invited to all these exclusive events and interacts with the most prestigious members of supernatural society, but it’s only because of her power and her title of Destiny. I don’t think she has many real friends or genuine relationships.”
“I don’t think so either,” I agree. “Except for Tye.” I laugh when I turn to look at Emme, knowing she’s blushing. “You remember Tye don’t you?”
Gemini takes a sniff, likely picking up on Emme’s sudden shyness. “What don’t I know?” he asks.
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she says.
“Just that she made out with the son of the president of the North American Were Council,” I add, ignoring her attempts to silence me. “No big deal, right, Emme?”
Gemini rubs his jaw, chuckling as he straightens his SUV. “When did this happen?”
“Malaysia,” I say, laughing.
His grin fades as he inhales deep. “That wasn’t Tye,” he murmurs.
“What?” I turn around, but Emme’s found someplace else to look. I’m dying to know who she was with. I was certain it was Tye. But something about the way she curls inward makes me back off.
“Ah, so getting back to Destiny,” I say, unable to keep the worry from my tone. “Seeing how anyone who has ever opposed her kind dies in some tripped-out way, she should be safe. Between her powers and what history has shown, it’s like she’s impossible to kill.”
“But she’s not,” Gemini says. “It’s true that no one has ever succeeded in killing a Destiny. That doesn’t mean she can’t be killed. We can’t assume she’s safe nor can we abandon her without protection.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say, thoughtfully, remembering the shifters and how they’re feeding the assassins their blood. Some prick could try and off her. Destiny, while not exactly normal, is very human, and God knows she has a heart.
I roll my shoulders when another wave of magic pushes through me. The defenses are similar to the ones surrounding our house and capable of blowing any threat to smithereens. But the ones around our house are welcoming since we’re a part of it.
Mate or not to the second in command, and sister-in-law to a pureblood Leader, my sisters and I still don’t feel welcomed, and these magic wards reflect their dislike.
I lean back into the comfortable leather seat, thinking matters through and trying to come to grips with it all. Normally, it takes forever to get up the mountain. Tonight it doesn’t take long enough. I hate what’s happening—the greed, the constant battle for supremacy that wages between “us” and “them”—there’s no end in sight, not even with the exorbitant amount of loss on both sides.
My eyesight sharpens and my nerves go on edge the moment the stone fortress that surrounds the Den comes into view. I don’t see the weres stalking in the shadows along the perimeter, but my body and magic sense their presence.
“They’re friendly,” Gemini assures me when he glances in my direction and catches sight of my eyes.
What he means is they’re part of the Pack. Friendly is a loose term around here and not one I’d ever use to describe a were. The fact that they’re prowling outside Den walls is indicative of their need to protect and readiness to kill.
I blink several times, trying to clear the unusual way my irises blanch when preternaturals draw too close. But it’s not until Gemini strokes his hand gingerly against my cheek that I finally settle. It’s not that I think the weres would attack me unprovoked. It’s more that I recognize we’ll never quite fit in, regardless of how hard we try.
We reach the tall wrought iron gates at the main entrance. Slowly and gracefully they part, allowing us through and onto the hundred acres of land secured behind the fortress. As the tree line breaks further up the road, the sea of lush green grass that usually greets us by day opens to waves of inky black.
Each blade of grass glints with silver, illuminated by the full moon pushing through the cluster of clouds stretching across it. I expect the usual, young weres in their beast forms racing along, their large paws indenting the thick sod as they practice tracking those who threaten the earth.
I never told Gemini how much I like watching the young weres. Their energy during their lessons is a perfect blend of innocence and excitement, and the thrill of the hunt, that’s something altogether different. They want to be the good guys, and are enthusiastic about learning their duties. I
don’t know another species like that, I suppose that’s why I have such a strong respect for them.
Tonight, that enthusiasm and innocence is gone, replaced by a sense of seriousness I wish they didn’t have to know so young. It’s no longer playtime, too much shit is going down. I catch traces of their eyes as Gemini careens forward, their large bodies huddled along the taller stalks of grass and slinking through the thick forest in silence.
“The kiddos are out late,” I say.
“They’ve been pulled for watch,” Gemini says. “Every student will be required to work in shifts for the next few weeks. Perhaps longer depending on what happens next.”
Even with all the magical booby-traps and protection spells the property has been saturated with, and the older weres skulking outside the Den walls, it’s not enough. The Alliance isn’t taking any chances.
I only hope they don’t take any chances when it comes to Celia.
“Did you know?” I ask, my voice unusually quiet. “That any of this was coming?”
“We’re always suspicious when something occurs out of the ordinary,” he says, reaching for my hand. “And as a whole, weres tend to be more paranoid, given what our species has been exposed to.” He kisses my hand. “But whatever doubts remained vanished following the assault against Genevieve.”
“And the attack against Uri was the final nail in the coffin,” I reason. “Seeing how high his rank and how insanely dangerous he is, I’m sure that put everyone on edge.”
“It did,” he agrees, his voice lowering as we pull into the main campus.
The Den originally resembled a fancy ski resort catering to those of lavish means. Since the war, and everything that happened in between, what originally was designed to be a school for werewolves expanded, becoming a safe haven for weres of all species
A large fountain at the center of the campus seamlessly joined the new buildings with the old, and small paved streets separate each block. I was worried when the expansion began that the area would lose its elegance and prestige. But the were who designed it wanted to stay true to the original vision, maintaining its beauty as well as its opulent reputation.
