Chosen by Fate

by Virna DePaul

  She opened the door and peeked inside.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Across a large, cavernous space stood Caleb, his powerful chest and thickly muscled arms bare and on display. A pair of sweats rode low on his hips, the waistband drenched with sweat that was dripping from his temples, neck, and upper torso. He was alone, doing some fancy moves on the mat that looked like boxing punches combined with high kicks, lunges, and the occasional flip. As he changed position, a dark shadow on his right shoulder blade occasionally made an appearance before vanishing out of sight again.

  It was a tattoo. A new one. One he hadn’t had the last time he’d been bare-chested in front of her. But that damn death mark was still there, too.

  Glancing down, she stared at the three dots on the back of her hand, faded but still visible, on the fleshy area between her thumb and forefinger. She’d noticed the markings for the first time this morning. At first she thought they were freckles or moles, but then she wondered if they were some kind of tattoo. She’d looked up the primitive design on the web. To her horror, it seemed to be associated with gang members, used throughout the world by Crips and Bloods alike, but with varying meanings. Sometimes, it stood for mi vida loca—my crazy life. Often it symbolized a gang triad: individual, set, gang. A gang member was expected to make a reputation as an individual to begin with, but only with the expectation of furthering that reputation for his set, the group he ran with, then his gang, the larger group to which he belonged. Furthering one’s reputation usually meant creating a direct link between your name and someone else’s fear.

  She hated it. Wondered if she’d hate herself completely if and when she ever did discover who she’d been. Maybe finding out her identity wasn’t such a good idea after all. But then again, wouldn’t it be better to know? Good or bad, the knowledge might bring her peace.

  She moved closer, wanting to get a better look at Caleb’s tattoo.

  A punching sound, like someone was beating a bag, caught her attention and turned out to be exactly that. Caleb was kicking the shit out of a heavy duffel punching bag. For a moment, Wraith wanted to slip inside, take a seat somewhere on the floor, and just watch the show. Watching Caleb work out could be as addicting as—

  “If you’re going to come in, come in. Otherwise, you’re letting in a draft.”

  Frowning, Wraith stepped inside. He’d stopped punching and swiped his arm across his forehead. She tried not to look at his bare chest, but that left his lower body or his face, both of which seemed too much for her to handle at the moment. She focused on his chin instead.

  His gaze took in her clothes and the body beneath it.

  “You really expect to work out in your leathers?”

  “I do everything in my leathers, Caleb. You know that.”

  “You weren’t in your leathers last night.”

  No, she hadn’t been. As a result, she still felt the imprint of his hard body against hers. She also felt the small inklings of peace and satisfaction that had washed over her as he’d held her—just held her, soothing her and comforting her, asking her about her past as if he cared, telling her he and the team cared about her.

  There was little evidence of that caring now, yet she knew instinctively it was still there. Without her quite realizing it, her eyes sought out the tattoo that even now was hidden from her.

  He caught her looking. “What is it?”

  She rubbed at the marking on her hand, then jerked her fingers away when she realized what she was doing. To cover, she used that hand to gesture to his shoulder. “You have a tattoo . . .”

  He arched a brow then slowly turned until she could see it.

  “It’s a yin yang symbol.”

  Turning back to her, he nodded. “You familiar with what it means?”

  “Two halves of one whole or something like that, right?”

  His mouth tipped up. “Kind of. Chinese medicine focuses on the connection of mind and body to unite the yin and yang and to achieve a perfect exchange of energy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her voice was loaded with skepticism.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh no, I believe you. I’m just wondering what a shaman is doing studying Chinese medicine.”

  His mouth stretched into a grin, one that made her eyes widen and her body tremble with desire. The man was lethal. “Earth People aren’t held back when it comes to spirituality. I’m a healer, and that means I rely on everything and anything I can to heal myself and others, body, mind, and soul.”

  She felt almost mesmerized by his words. As if the intimacy they’d shared last night was wrapping around them even now, reminding them that they could never return to the place where they’d been. Distant. Hostile. No matter how hard she tried. Even as she fought that feeling, a small part of her was glad. “And how does the concept of yin and yang help you heal?”

  He reached out and touched her cheek, testing, watching her closely to see if it hurt her. She shook her head slightly, telling him the touch hadn’t hurt her.

  “It’s all about balance. The outer circle represents everything, while the black and white represents the interaction of yin and yang energy. Hot and cold. Male and female. Neither is absolute. Both are continuous. Illness is believed to be a disturbance in the balance of yin and yang. Sexuality is all about balancing the yin and yang between males and females.”

  “Re-really? That . . . that’s interesting.” His fingers were rubbing her scalp in slow, firm circles. His touch, combined with the deep murmur of his voice, caused jolts of pleasure to shoot through her groin.

  “A female’s genitals are internal yin, while a male’s are external. Emotionally, however, the opposite is true. The female yang finds it easier to express herself, while the male yang is more internalized.”

  Caleb stopped the massage and pulled away, causing Wraith to groan in protest before she could stop herself. “That’s how a man and woman complement each other. How they balance each other’s energy. Sexually. Emotionally.” Caleb shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what I’ve read, anyway.” He leaned down, kissed her lips lightly, then stepped back.

  His expression pierced into her as if he was searching for something within her own gaze—understanding? But understanding of what? She realized she was leaning toward him, that she’d practically melted at his touch. At his words. What was wrong with her? Where was all this . . . this human weakness coming from?

  She cleared her throat and stepped back. She forced herself to be as bitchy as she possibly could. “So I guess that tattoo of yours must be a tribute to all the females you’ve laid in an attempt to balance their energy, right? How big of you.”

  He just stared at her as if he saw right through her, making her avert her gaze. Instead of sounding snide or disgusted, she’d sounded exactly the way she’d felt. Defensive. Jealous. Fighting the connection between them with her last ounce of strength.

  He jerked his chin toward the bag he’d been working. “You ever work on a bag?”

  Her gaze jumped back to his in surprise. His expression told her he was letting her off the hook. For now. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She smiled slightly. “I’ve had enough practice on real individuals. Punching a bag seems like a waste of time.”

  He grinned and winked, causing her to narrow her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You wanted to blow off steam. You can either do that with me or the bag. I figured you’d choose the bag. Am I wrong?”

  In response, she strode to the heavy bag and punched it. Then kicked it. Despite the power that made the bag swing on its chains, it felt foreign to her. She felt awkward. Incompetent. Weak.

  That wasn’t something she ever put up with.

  She looked at Caleb. “Show me.”

  An hour later, Wraith was sweating, and her arms felt like they were going to fall off. More precisely, she wanted to cut them off; at least then she’d be in less pain. She was used to pain, but not
the bodily exhaustion she was experiencing with it. Both were almost too much to handle.

  “You ready to stop yet?” Caleb shouted to be heard.

  Wraith shook her head and kept going.

  She was on the last portion of a regimen Caleb had taught her. She didn’t know if she could complete it, but damn it, she wasn’t going to quit with him looking on.

  First, she’d done a series of punch-out drills—short, rapid, successive straight-arm punches for sixty-second intervals, increasing intensity with each interval. Then she’d done four three-minute rounds of skill work, where she threw punches but had also integrated head movements, feints, combinations, and kicks. Next, punches in a variety of different combinations—left to right, right to left, hook, cross, and undercut. Finally, she got to what she was currently working on: varying her punches while hitting at full-out maximum power.

  Her muscles were screaming, begging for mercy. Sweat was dripping into her eyes, stinging them. She wondered if at some point her body would simply get used to the pain and numb out. If so, she prayed that time came soon.

  “Stop.”

  Even she knew her power was waning, but she had to keep going. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep going.

  Couldn’t stop.

  Had to keep going or she would lose.

  Couldn’t stop fighting or she would die.

  “God damn it, I said stop!” Caleb grabbed her arms and roared in her face loudly enough to snap her out of her thoughts. He was panting hard, his eyes wild as he stared at her. His lip was also bloody and she . . .

  Her eyes widened. “Did I . . . ?” No, she’d been hitting the bag, just like he’d shown her. She hadn’t been hitting him. Had she?

  “You didn’t even know you were doing it, did you, Wraith? For all you knew, I could have been Doug or Emmett. Remember them? The two guys who attacked your friend Joanna? The two guys who were hired to snatch you? You were so zoned out you couldn’t even tell foe from friend.”

  At the censure in his voice, she straightened, every muscle in her body and face stiff. “We’re not friends, Caleb. We work together. You get on my nerves, but you’re hot. Too bad you’re not willing to inflict a little pain to give me a whole lot of pleasure. Or maybe your ability to give me pleasure was just a fantasy.”

  His face remained stiff and unreadable even at her jibe.

  She stalked toward the door. “I need a shower.”

  “Not so fast, Wraith.”

  She froze.

  “Look at me.”

  Bristling at the command in his voice, she turned, cocking her hip as she placed her hands on her hips. “What is it?”

  “You’re sweating.”

  He was right. She was. That was another thing that was new. “So. It’s happened before,” she lied.

  “You’re also tired, when I thought wraiths never tired.”

  “You were wrong again. Imagine that.”

  “So maybe I was wrong about other things.”

  She sucked in a breath at the heat in his eyes and the way he began circling her body like a lion going in for the kill.

  “Like the fact I couldn’t give you enough pleasure to make it worth it for me to touch you. You want to test it out, Wraith? If I can really give you what we’ve both been wanting?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question? A threat?”

  “What do you think?”

  He began coming straight at her. She stepped back a few steps, not realizing what she was doing until she bumped up against the punching bag. “I think it’s another tease. One that you’re not going to follow through with, Caleb. You had your chance last night. I don’t give second chances. Forget it.”

  “I can’t.” He raised his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Immediately, she froze, her body trembling, her mind conflicted. She didn’t want his touch because she was afraid he’d see right through her, see how much she still wanted him—no, needed him.

  His fingers shifted, dipping into the hollows of her ear so that trembling turned into virtual shudders of delight. Desperate, she knocked his hand away, making him chuckle.

  “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll change your mind.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Always.”

  “Shut up, Caleb.”

  “What’s the matter, Wraith? You didn’t have a problem with intimacy yesterday. Why the sudden change?”

  Why? He dared to ask her why? Even worse, to expect her to answer? To admit it had hurt, the knowledge that he could turn her away when all she could think of was being close to him, feeling his hands on her skin, feeling him loving her. When she’d already told him he wouldn’t hurt her.

  “Wraith?”

  She frowned when he shifted closer, trying to keep him in her sights as he circled around her. “Maybe it was one rejection too many.”

  At first he looked confused. “Is that what you thought? That I was rejecting you? You know it’s always been about me not wanting to hurt you, Wraith.”

  “I already told you . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently for a moment. When she opened them, he was staring at her, his cheeks flushed, his expression determined. “Look, let’s just go with that. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me, okay?” But he already had, simply by rejecting her, by pushing her back when she’d needed his warmth.

  “It’s too late—”

  She shoved him in the chest, making him take a step back.

  “Good. That’s good. I love how strong you are.”

  Her eyes widened at his use of that word. She shoved him again, and Caleb grabbed her by the arms, kissing her. Her lips clung to his. Then she hooked her leg behind him and tripped him to the floor. She had to fight him, or he’d hurt her even more—not her body, but her heart. The heart she’d never thought she’d had but was just beginning to show signs of life inside her.

  Caleb kept his hold on her as he fell back onto the gym floor, immediately flipping her over so that his large body pinned her to the ground. She struggled, trying to free her legs or her arms—which he’d pinned above her head—so that she could knee him in the nuts or do some serious damage to his face. So she could punish him for awakening this desire in her and then not fulfilling it.

  He had to struggle to keep her in place, but he still managed to do so. She could feel the hard length of his arousal against her stomach. She wanted to surrender to it, to him. But her head fought her heart and won.

  “Is that all you’ve got, Wraith? Come on, you’re a badass, remember? You can do better than that.”

  Calling her a badass helped quiet that tiny voice in her heart that kept on telling her to give in. Narrowing her eyes, she met his challenge head-on. Literally. Raising her torso off the ground, she head-butted Caleb in the face.

  “Shit!” His hands loosened momentarily, and she shoved him away, turned on her stomach, and tried to do a quick crawl away from him. She knew where this was going, and she had no intention of staying for it. She felt raw and jittery, incapable of controlling the emotions that Caleb brought out in her. Fear. Wildness. Desire. She needed to get out.

  Caleb covered her body with his, grinding her breasts into the unforgiving concrete. He put his mouth to her neck, biting the vulnerable cord there, using none of the care that he normally took with her and forcing the fight from her body in a sudden rush of pleasure.

  “I guess I asked for that. But you know what, Wraith? I’m strong. And I’m not afraid of your strength. I can handle it. Handle you. And you can handle me, too. That’s where I’ve been going wrong, isn’t it? Worrying about causing you pain when I know damn well you can take care of yourself. Hell, you could kick my ass if you really wanted to. If I was hurting you. So all I’m going to concern myself with is the pleasure I can give you. Do you want it?”

  Wraith said nothing. Closed her eyes and relaxed her body so that her left cheek was resting on the ground. When he leaned down and k
issed her mouth, she didn’t fight him.

  Caleb knew the instant she surrendered. She opened her mouth to his tongue, inviting it in with a prolonged groan that thrummed throughout his body. He ground his cock into her firm buttocks as he kissed her, running his hands along the length of her hips.

  Lifting his body so she could turn onto her back, he caressed her breasts through her clothes. He tried to play with her nipples, but the thick fabric of her leathers hampered him. Growling with frustration, he unhooked and unzipped until he could pull the fabric away from her bare breasts. Lightly, he kissed his way down her throat, making a liar of himself as he watched for any sign that the pain was overriding the pleasure. From the way she was arching and grabbing his hair, it wasn’t. He was about to cover a nipple with his mouth when she wrapped her right leg around his hip and twisted her body up and over. She grabbed his hands and immediately pinned them next to his head.

  She stared into his face. “How does it feel? Having someone control you? Not so great, is it?”

  He pushed his pelvis up into hers. “Actually, it feels pretty good to me.”

  That surprised a laugh out of her. She shook her head, then stared at him for a few more minutes. Slowly, she let go of his hands and sat up. He closed his eyes at the feel of her body shifting along his.

  “So you think you want me? The real me? All right. You’ve got it.”

  With that, she shrugged off her leather jacket and undershirt completely. Caleb immediately sat up and buried his face in the lush valley of her breasts, inhaling the musky scent of female sweat. He grabbed her buttocks and encouraged her to arch into him, which she did.

  “What do you want, Wraith?”

  Instead of answering, she grabbed his hair and tried to push his face toward her nipples. Caleb wouldn’t let her get away with that. He looked her in the eyes. “Full participation, Wraith. That’s what I want. Now tell me what you want.”