Chosen by Fate

by Virna DePaul

  She didn’t look at him. “Not anymore, I’m not.”

  Lucy gasped.

  Caleb kept his gaze on Wraith. Unbelievably, she actually tried to walk away from him.

  Growling, he went after her, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

  She was fast, so it wasn’t until they were in the grand foyer that he caught up with her. He grabbed her, conscious of the feel of her distressed leather jacket in his grasp, holding on despite her automatic attempt to jerk away.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? That’s it? You’re just going to walk? Why?”

  She still refused to meet his gaze. “Mahone promised me—”

  “I know,” he said between clenched teeth. “He promised we’d help you find out who you are. But now, I take it, something more important than your precious identity has come up, right? Something having to do with felines?” He imitated the disdain with which she’d spoken the word. She scowled and he released her arm. “It can’t wait? How selfish can you be?”

  Something resembling hurt flashed across her face, instantly making him regret his careless words.

  “Oh, I can be plenty selfish, you bastard. Years of betrayal and the need for self-preservation tends to do that to a person.”

  He shook his head. “So that’s it? What about your offer—your need to forget? Are you walking away from that, too?”

  She hesitated, then plastered on a mocking sneer. “You were right, O’Flare, I was playing you, and you, with your thick skull and all, fell for it. I can’t say it hasn’t been fun. For a little while.”

  She turned and walked away. She was almost to the front door when Caleb said exactly what he was thinking.

  “Coward.”

  “Coward.”

  Wraith stiffened. She imagined that if she had a pulse, it would have skittered out of control, or if she wasn’t freezing cold again, that she would have been suffused with an angry heat. Neither happened, but she was nonetheless pissed at his accusation.

  And hurt.

  Of course, she wasn’t going to let him see that.

  Pausing at the front entrance of Knox Devereaux’s grand estate, her gaze met Caleb’s. With the band still blasting music in the next room, she envisioned him as he’d been twenty minutes ago—lust in his eyes, his lips barely brushing hers.

  He was so beautiful; he’d made her long for things she hadn’t longed for in ages. She could see by his expression that he wanted to say more. She could even convince herself that he wanted her to stay, not for the good of the team or for its next mission, but because . . . because he truly cared for her. Just as she’d told Joanna.

  The notion weakened her. Made her open her mouth to say . . . what? She didn’t know. Something. Anything that would eradicate the lingering disdain in his gaze and make him understand that she was doing this because she cared, too. About the team, yes, but most of all, about him. “Caleb . . .” she whispered.

  The sound of people running toward them made them both glance away. The feline female Caleb had been dancing with had changed out of her party dress and was wearing sleepwear, a skimpy negligee and a see-through robe that was clearly more decorative than useful. Her curves were displayed to their greatest advantage, but her face was splotchy and tear-stained, her makeup washed off, making her look vulnerable and needy. Despite the fact that she was accompanied by several large males who hovered around her, she flung herself into Caleb’s arms. She was distraught. Weeping. Screaming that the bastards had gotten her sister and that Caleb would help find them, wouldn’t he?

  Even as a sharp pain poked at Wraith’s temple and spread through her body, Caleb soothed the feline with his words and body, his voice soft and low, his arms engulfing her. It physically hurt her, Wraith thought, to see them together like that. Hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced. Because they looked right together. The feline fit in Caleb’s arms in a way Wraith never could.

  She mentally shook herself. It was time to stop fantasizing about what could never be. She’d joined the Para-Ops team for one reason—to find out who she was. Mahone was backing out of their deal. More importantly, she was a ticking time bomb. She couldn’t make a move without knowing whether it was going to affect the well-being of everyone around her. That meant she walked away. Now.

  Just as she had the thought, Caleb looked up at her. The feline’s body shifted, giving Wraith a clear view of Caleb’s chest. The death mark was gone.

  She’d been right.

  The only way to protect Caleb was to stay away from him. At least she’d figured that out, if nothing else, before it was too late.

  With an imperceptible sigh of relief, Wraith lifted her hand. She blew him a taunting kiss, watching as his eyes narrowed slightly. Then, forcing herself to turn away, she walked through the door, adding an extra sway to her hips.

  Playtime was over.

  It was back to reality for her, and reality meant a world without Caleb O’Flare.

  EIGHT

  Un-fucking-believable.

  An hour had passed since Wraith had walked away, but Caleb was still angry.

  More than angry. He was pissed. Boiling mad.

  He, who had sworn an oath to heal and had been taught by his ancestors to respect life in all its forms, was listening to the sounds of Knox and Felicia’s wedding reception while wanting to rip someone apart.

  Figuratively, of course.

  Unfortunately, he wanted to kiss that someone even more. Deeply. Punishingly. Without restraint.

  Too bad that for Wraith, kissing him like that would be about as pleasurable as an unanesthetized amputation.

  But he wanted to do it anyway. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her, and he’d been ready to do exactly that. To take her up on her offer and have sex with her, forgetting about all the reasons why he shouldn’t, including his own mental health.

  And that just proved what a fool he was.

  She was dead, for God’s sake. If it wasn’t obvious from her blue-tinged skin, white hair, and hazy eyes, it was apparent in the coolness of her body temperature and in the persistence of her dark cynicism. Prickly and foulmouthed and about as feminine as a pair of combat boots. That was Wraith, from introduction to kiss-off.

  At the time of said kiss-off, on the other hand, Natia had been practically catatonic. He’d finally convinced her to listen to her personal physician, who’d recommended a tranquilizer. She’d gone to her room to lie down, but not before extracting Caleb’s promise to find her sister’s rapists and make them pay. He’d watched her go with a feeling of pity, but also of dread. He’d seen the way Wraith had watched them embrace. But what was he supposed to have done? Pushed Natia away when she’d just learned her sister had been raped?

  Growling, Caleb tore at the knot of his tie, then unbuttoned his formal dress shirt until he could breathe easier. When that still didn’t provide him relief, he tore off his tuxedo jacket and flung it to the ground like a five-year-old having a tantrum. Staring at it, he shook his head, then started to laugh as he backed into a nearby wall. With the smooth sounds of Marvin Gaye in the background, Caleb slid slowly downward until he was crouching, head back and eyes closed. He could almost picture it now—him jumping up and down on his jacket like a rabid were just as Lucy or Knox or, God forbid, Dex walked into the small hallway just outside the Dome’s grand ballroom.

  He’d never be able to face them again.

  As a tight smile formed on his face, he opened his eyes.

  Then again, they all knew Wraith. They understood the depths of frustration to which she could bring a person. Hell, maybe they wouldn’t blink an eye if he lost it after all.

  She’d told him loud and clear how little he or any of the other Para-Ops team members meant to her. After everything they’d gone through together, she’d dismissed him as easily as a scrap of food, something she no longer had need for. And why? She’d turned her back on all of them because she didn’t want to wait her turn in line for FBI Director Kyle Ma
hone’s payout.

  But, he reminded himself, it was a turn that was due to her.

  Wraith had done what had been asked of her. Hell, he thought, shuddering at the memory of how she’d walked toward that gated compound in North Korea with explosives strapped to her torso, she’d done far more than what had been asked. All she’d asked in return was that the team find out who she was. Where she’d come from. What the hell she was doing here.

  Of course she’d reacted badly when Mahone had put her off with his claim that the situation with the felines took priority. But he understood Mahone’s position, as well. The felines were the most populated group of Otherborn, as well as the most united. They had pushed hardest for peace, while at the same time vowing to reinstitute the War should the government fail to protect them the way it promised. That vow had almost been tested after the death of Prince Elijah.

  Unbidden, an image of his friend formed in his mind, as did the memory of their last conversation before the War had erupted.

  “Our loyalty to our people is just one thing we have in common,” the man had said, then laughed. “You, O’Flare, are a hound dog.”

  Shaking his head, Caleb pushed thoughts of his friend’s grinning face away. He fought even harder to make the images of Elijah’s bloodied face and body disappear. Their friendship hadn’t been a deep one, nor had it been very long, but Caleb’s relationship with Elijah’s sister Natia had sped it along. Caleb had felt a natural affinity toward the younger man who liked to play and laugh far more than he liked to fight.

  In the five years since Elijah’s death, the felines had only grown more volatile. It was as if they were looking for any excuse to once again war with humans; for everyone’s sake, that had to be avoided at all cost. Then there was the simple fact that a rapist was hurting females, no matter what their race. As a society, the United States couldn’t let that continue.

  After his part in Elijah’s death, Caleb certainly owed it to the felines to help. What’s more, he wanted to. Guilt filled him as he remembered the pain that had thrummed through Natia’s body as he’d held her. She was close to all her sisters, but to Morgana most of all. Caleb hadn’t known Morgana very well, but he remembered her being extremely shy, peeking around her mother’s leg when Natia had introduced them. She couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen years old now. The idea of her being raped by a coward who’d drugged her made him want to begin hunting him immediately. It just looked like he’d have to do it without Wraith.

  Sighing, he wearily swiped his hands over his face, straightened, and snatched his jacket up. He was shrugging it on when he heard footsteps.

  Mahone.

  Caleb glared at the man who’d wreaked havoc on his life from the moment he’d stepped inside the reservation’s bar. “Forget something?” Caleb snarled. “Or did you want just one more look at the mother of the groom so you can jack off tonight?”

  The instant the words left his mouth, Caleb regretted them. Worse yet, Mahone didn’t even look surprised by his vicious attack. It was a low blow, mentioning Mahone’s feelings for Knox’s mother, Bianca. The fact that Bianca had recently been reunited with Knox’s father had to be killing the other man. “I’m sor—”

  “Save it, O’Flare. I’m sure you and your teammates will get a lot of use out of that particular subject for years to come. Lucky for me, I don’t give a shit. I have more important things to do than cater to your knee-jerk salvos, the first of which is to get the Para-Ops team ready for its next mission.”

  “Yeah, well, the Para-Ops team’s numbers are fading fast,” Caleb shot back. “With Knox and Felicia on sabbatical and Wraith headed for God knows where, you better hope Lucy, Dex, and I can—”

  “Wraith isn’t headed anywhere. Not if you or I have any say in the matter.”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think I want a say in anything Wraith does?”

  Mahone looked at him chidingly. “Don’t play games with me, O’Flare. You want Wraith around more than any of us, so you’re going to do whatever you can to make sure she stays.”

  Trying to shrug off his displeasure that Mahone knew even a fraction of what he felt for Wraith, Caleb tried to keep his face blank. “You pitted me against her once before, remember? I’m not of a mind to put my head on that particular chopping block again.”

  Her offer of a booty-call aside, he knew his betrayal still weighed heavily on Wraith. Guilt ate at him, as well. He’d done what needed to be done for the benefit of the team, but he hadn’t liked it.

  Mahone didn’t reply. He simply stared at Caleb, waiting for him to break. But Caleb didn’t break easily. He turned and had actually made it to the door when Mahone said, “If you want me to beg, that’s not going to happen.” He paused, then said somewhat reluctantly, “But we need Wraith. This next op is sensitive, and having two females who are already familiar with each other is key to its success. So I won’t beg, but I’m willing to offer an incentive.”

  Disbelief whipped Caleb around. “Incentive?” he snorted. “You mean you’re trying your hand at bribery again? You did that to get me to join the team, and I still haven’t collected.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have a name for you then. I do now.”

  Caleb sucked in his breath. “Now you have a name for me? Why should I believe you?”

  “Who else are you going to believe, O’Flare?”

  Caleb paced, cursing under his breath. Whatever name Mahone had, it was the name of someone high up. Well protected. His statements to Mahone aside, Caleb hadn’t overlooked the possibility that Elijah’s death might have been intentional. In following that theory, Caleb had pulled every string and used every advantage and connection he had to get a name, but it hadn’t mattered. People had closed up. Gathered close. Shut the vault. No amount of money or threat of bodily harm had made a difference. For the sake of his peace of mind, he needed that name. He finally paused and stared Mahone down. “Who is it?”

  Mahone shook his head. “After you bring back Wraith.”

  Caleb was on him in a second, pushing him against the wall. “You promised me if I joined the team—”

  “I promised I’d help you find the truth. And I will. But first you need to get Wraith. After all, you’re the one who chased her off in the first place.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Caleb released Mahone and stepped back. “She left when you told her you were sending us on a different mission.”

  “She left when you came back into the room. You guys have another fight or something?”

  “Or something,” he mumbled. His mind raced back to that moment when he’d seen her. The lust. Then the fear. Right before Bianca and Jacques had stopped him. Could Mahone be right? Had she made up an excuse to leave because she’d been afraid? Of him? But that didn’t make any sense, given the way she’d propositioned him.

  Mahone stared at him, waiting patiently.

  “Tell me,” Caleb ground out.

  “Drugging and raping the feline leader’s daughter and getting away with it? Untenable. We need to find the bastards, and fast, before the felines decide to take matters into their own hands. To do that, we need two Otherborn females, at least one of them disguised as a feline. They need to be comfortable with each other, able to pose as friends out for some fun on the town. Wraith and Lucy fit the bill.”

  Of course they did, Caleb thought. Only, he didn’t see how they were going to convince Wraith she needed to come along, or for that matter, why it was so important she did. Caleb took a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on Mahone. “Why do you really need Wraith? And don’t tell me it’s so Lucy can feel comfortable. You know Lucy’ll get the job done regardless, and that’s all you care about.”

  Mahone studied him, then said, “Wraith has previous experience with the type of club we’ll be targeting, as well as a prior history with one of the suspects we’ve identified. Her reappearance might be surprising, but it won’t be overly suspicious. It can also give us an adv
antage.”

  Caleb formed his hands into fists. He knew what kind of clubs they were talking about. Sex clubs. Kinky-ass shit with private rooms, sex toys, and even an audience, if that’s what someone wanted. When wraiths were involved, kink became synonymous with pain, and lots of it. Picturing Wraith involved in that made him sick.

  Picturing her coming face-to-face with yet another lover, one Caleb seriously suspected had gotten off on hurting her, made him want to kill the unknown son of a bitch.

  “So what’s it to be?” Mahone prompted. “Because a certain name’s drifting from my memory even as we speak.”

  “You’re a fucking bastard, Mahone,” Caleb snarled.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Caleb wanted to tell him to go to hell, but Mahone had planned well. Caleb wanted that name. He also wanted Wraith.

  “Where is she?”

  “I’ve got men tailing her. She got her stuff from the hotel and right now is on a bus headed for Maine.”

  He blinked, then slowly shook his head. “Public transportation? What the hell is she thinking?”

  “She’s thinking she doesn’t want anything to do with us, and that goes double for any type of transportation we offered her.”

  “Yes, she’s also pissed and wanting to fight. And what better way to pick one than on a bus? Shit.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Now, if you’re done dancing here, go after her and bring her back.”

  Caleb winced, thinking of how he must have looked when he’d thrown his jacket to the ground. “Saw that, did you?”

  “No worries, O’Flare. I’ll keep your little secret. Believe me, I’ve done quite a bit of my own tantrum-throwing lately. So, do we have a deal?”

  Caleb knew he should tell Mahone to go to hell and walk away, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  Things weren’t over between him and Wraith. Not this easily.

  Not until he decided they were over.

  “Fine.” He nodded curtly. “But first I need to check on . . . a friend.” He hesitated, not wanting to say Natia’s name out loud for some reason.