Chosen by Fate

by Virna DePaul

Her attacker’s voice was deep and male. He picked her up like she was a small animal and—ooomph! He flung her back to the ground like a horseshoe, causing her to skid a few feet on the linoleum before landing on her stomach. Her face scraped against the ridges in the floor.

  She immediately tried to raise herself on all fours and get to her gun, but her assailant pushed her down with one foot on her back.

  “Don’t even think it, bitch! You’re right where I want you. God, you’re hot. I’ve been wanting a taste of one of your kind for a long, long time. Now that my orders have changed, I can finally do what I want with you.”

  She couldn’t move. Why was her mind so fuzzy? What had he given her? She’d taken hits like the one he’d given her and been on her feet within seconds.

  Wraith opened her mouth to scream just before he slammed her head into the floor again. Liquid spurted in her throat, choking her. With horror, she realized it was her own blood. When she felt the man’s weight on her and his heavy grasp between her legs, a long, guttural moan escaped her. She writhed back and forth, up and down, in an effort to shake him off her.

  “Giddy up, giddy up.” The man laughed villainously. “Shit, you had to wear pants, huh? Stupid cunt. Feminist bitch.” The man grabbed Wraith by the shoulders and flipped her over. She tried to get a look at him, but it was too dark. How could he see her? Something, most likely the man’s fist, crashed into the side of her face, causing her to collapse back limply.

  Her thoughts immediately went to Caleb. Her heart constricted with sorrow. Oh, Caleb.

  “No more screwing around. No more getting you out of the way while minimizing the damage. She’s paying me to kill you now. But shit, I think I’d do this for free, you know? Plus, she’s good with her mouth. What about you, huh? You good with your mouth? I might as well get something else for my trouble, doncha think?”

  The man ripped open her leathers, then unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis, and rubbed himself across Wraith’s naked breasts. She shuddered in horror, feeling helpless. Just as she had with that mage. She’d sworn she’d never feel that way again, damn it. She wouldn’t let this happen.

  “I’d have you suck it, but you’d just bite it off, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He slapped her again. She barely felt it.

  “Well, let’s see what you do with a real man. Yeah. Show you some pleasure before you die.”

  He started working at the fastening of her pants. Out of necessity, he let go of one of her hands and tried to contain both of her hands in one of his. When Wraith felt his hand slip, she acted on sheer instinct. Yanking with all her might, she freed her hand, tensed it into a half-claw, and jabbed him in the middle of his neck with her fingertips.

  The man gagged and let go of her completely in order to grab his throat. Wraith immediately sat up and went for his eyes, clawing like a lioness. Screaming like a madwoman. Her fists flew, inflicting damage that caused the man to gasp and moan. Until he managed to choke out a name.

  “Foster.”

  The name slammed into Wraith and instantly triggered her memory even as it caused her body to freeze. Foster. The little boy with the distinctive name who’d given her his kitten for safekeeping. Her hesitation cost her.

  The man grabbed her shoulders, slammed her back down to the ground, and slapped her again. Several times. She responded by rearing up and biting his throat as if she was Dex. The man screamed and pulled away, giving her time to go for her weapon. But the press of cold metal against her temples told her he’d gotten to his first.

  She froze, but spit out, “Why did you say that name? Foster? Why?”

  He caressed her skin with the barrel of the gun. “It was my safety measure. You seemed to really like the little tyke at the bus station. Doug pointed it out to me. You even took his little kitten, didn’t you?”

  Doug. Of course. The man she’d chased down in Wyoming while Caleb had subdued his friend. What had been his name?

  Emerson? No. Emmett.

  So they’d been watching her at the bus station, too. Had probably been getting ready to jump her before Caleb had shown up. “Did you hurt the little boy?” she asked, her voice a low growl that dripped with menace. She pictured Foster’s face. The purity of innocence in his eyes. Had those eyes gone dim because of her?

  Amazingly, the man sounded insulted. “I don’t kill little kids. Especially human kids. We’re already being overtaken by you freaks. Someday he’ll know to fight you, not make friends with you. As for me? I shoulda just shot you the first time I had a chance, but I can fix that now.”

  She’d never felt relief at discovering someone’s bigotry before but she felt it now. If it helped save an innocent life like Foster, she’d deal with the other repercussions any day of the week. “Wraiths don’t die, you idiot. Whoever sent you here is playing you. You can’t hurt me, and if you try, I’ll just come back and make it worse for you.”

  “Ahhh. Wraiths can’t die, but I know you happened to have a particularly important birthday a few months ago. That changes things, right? And from the looks of you, your body isn’t up to regenerating. I wonder why? Did you use up all your energy fucking the pretty boy outside?”

  “How . . . ?” Wraith blinked, straining to see. How did he know about her birthday? That she and Caleb had been intimate?

  “Any last words before you die?”

  THIRTY

  When the shape-shifter didn’t answer him, Caleb turned swiftly to Dex. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “She was at the bar chatting it up with a tall human. I didn’t see her again, not until we saw . . .”

  Shit, Caleb thought. No, of course they hadn’t seen her. Caleb had been so intent on intercepting Natia before she reached Wraith, and Dex had been talking to the vampire at the table, pretending to be drunk while keeping his eye on Lucy. They’d been sloppy, and even though they hadn’t thought there was any reason for Wraith to be studiously watched, they should have kept tabs on her. Hell, that was twice as true given the fact someone was gunning for her—something Dex didn’t know, but Caleb certainly did because of their run-in with Doug and Emmett.

  And what about Wraith? She knew better than to leave without giving them a heads-up, which meant she probably hadn’t left on her own.

  “Where is she?” Caleb spat as he leaned harder on the shifter’s throat. Her lids fluttered as she struggled to hold on to consciousness, but Caleb refused to give her any air. Her mouth—what seemed to be Wraith’s mouth—moved in an effort to speak, but no sound came out. A whimper escaped her, one so pathetic, he almost automatically backed away.

  Caleb had to remind himself that this wasn’t really Wraith, but it was harder than he would have thought. He knew Wraith’s body intimately now, and this shifter looked like her, right down to the recent sparks of blue in her eyes. How the hell was that possible?

  Her mouth moved again, and Caleb eased back on his hold, but just slightly.

  “Can’t breathe—”

  “Tell me where she is!”

  “Can’t—”

  Caleb immediately put more pressure on her throat, and the shifter’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  “O’Flare,” Dex said from behind him. “Back off. You have to let her go.”

  Caleb’s mind was spinning. His body felt too hot and he knew his rage was controlling him. He was out of control.

  “—let her get some air into her first. O’Flare! Think of Wraith!”

  Think of Wraith. He did, and that gave him the measure of restraint he needed.

  He hesitated only a moment before backing off.

  The shifter took in great gulps of air. Her body shimmered back into her alien-like form, and a rose-scented cloud wafted around them.

  He was beginning to hate the smell of roses.

  “Thank you,” the shifter said, its voice gravelly. It was hard to tell a female shifter from a male, except when they talked. This one’s voice was low and masculine.

  “Where is the w
raith?” He spaced the words concisely and thought of the way she’d questioned Doug, the man they’d caught in Wyoming. The way she’d pulled out her knife, prepared to use it to get her information. He wouldn’t need a knife to rip this shifter apart if he didn’t start talking.

  “I saw her go in the bathroom. I took the opportunity to . . .”

  Caleb glanced at Dex. He struggled to keep hold of Lucy, who alternately fought him and swayed as if about to lose consciousness. God damn it, how were they—

  The door to the club suddenly swung open, bumping against the shifter. “Hunt, you gonna let me out of here?” a cross voice inquired.

  Cursing, Caleb grabbed the shifter and pulled him out of the way. The female who’d spoken slipped outside and closed the door. It was the vamp Dex had been talking to. She took them all in, including the shape-shifter, with calm eyes. “You need help?” she asked silkily.

  Dex cocked a brow. “You willing to take care of my friend here?” he asked, tipping his eyes toward Lucy, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

  The vamp quirked her lips. “Depends. How good a friend is she?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Dex said, “A good friend. Very good. Meaning, if anything happens to her while she’s in your care, I’m gonna make you really sorry you decided to stop at my table to flirt with me.”

  Instead of taking offense, the vamp simply laughed and nodded. “In that case, since you asked so nicely, yes.” She reached out, eased Lucy away from Dex, and easily swung Lucy into her arms, cradling her like a baby. “But there’s something I need to tell you. About the feline who left out the back. She—”

  “Not now,” Caleb snapped, mad as hell that Natia’s presence had distracted him for even a split second from Wraith.

  Instantly, Dex strode toward the shape-shifter and nodded to Caleb. “Go.”

  Wraith heard the sound of a gun cocking and shut her eyes. Not because it would hide anything, but because she wanted her last images to be of Caleb, untainted by this horror. “Do it,” she said, knowing this could be the moment her immortality failed her.

  It was as good a time as any, she supposed. She’d just experienced the pleasure that was possible in life. Why not kill her when she’d regret it the most?

  “Wraith!” She heard Caleb’s voice over the din outside. Her attacker’s body jerked, indicating he’d heard, as well.

  A surge of hope raced through Wraith’s body, bringing with it a jolt of adrenaline and energy. Her mind cleared. Her attacker was distracted. His body open and vulnerable. And sometimes the most obvious choice was the only choice.

  Wraith raised her knee into the man’s groin. He doubled over in pain, and she threw him off, quickly curling her body into a crouch. With a primal scream, she propelled herself toward him . . .

  She felt the pain an instant before she registered the cracking sound of a gun going off. The impact of the bullet flung her backward until she hit the ground. Surrounded by darkness, fire traveled from her abdomen, sizzling through her veins and into her extremities.

  It wasn’t that bad, she realized, being shot.

  Compared to everything she’d experienced over the past ten years, it wasn’t that bad.

  Tentatively, she touched her belly, then jerked when she felt the warm, sticky wetness covering it. Blood. Warm.

  She smiled, but it wasn’t with relief. It figures, she thought again.

  The door to the bathroom flew open. “Wraith!” The lights sprang on.

  She registered the shock on Caleb’s face the instant he saw her. Her attacker’s back was to her and she whimpered, trying to call a warning as she saw his arm rising. With a roar, Caleb flew at him.

  Wraith struggled to get up, falling back when fingers of pain twisted inside her, yanking her organs out one by one. Her vision wavered and darkness descended. Just before she passed out, she heard the reverberation of another gun going off.

  Caleb.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Caleb heard a gunshot reverberate just before something hit him in the side.

  It was like being bitten by a gnat. Insignificant. His entire focus was on the bearded man whose eyes were filled with fear—on the need to kill him, quickly and efficiently so he could get to Wraith, who was lying in a heap on the floor, eyes closed, her body bleeding out on the bathroom tile even though she wasn’t supposed to bleed.

  Emmett, the same man he’d chased down outside that restaurant in Evanston, tried backing away, but Caleb wrapped his arms around him, his forward momentum slamming them into the opposite wall hard enough that the impact shuddered through both of them.

  He didn’t take the time to disarm him or question him, not even about how he’d managed to get away from the police. He didn’t even take the time to ensure the man knew what was coming so he’d feel that wild, vicious fear in the few seconds before he died.

  Grabbing Emmett on either side of his face, Caleb twisted his neck and instantly heard bone snap. Dropping the man’s body to the floor, Caleb rushed to Wraith.

  The blood—her blood—was everywhere.

  He laid his hands gently on her chest, getting yet another shock when he felt the strong, frantic beat of her heart. Damn it, he’d known she was changing, but not to this degree. Not to the point where she could die. Why hadn’t she told him?

  Shutting his eyes, he waited for his ancestors to infuse him with their healing power. Only it didn’t happen.

  “Damn it,” Caleb gritted out. “Help me! Please.”

  But despite his plea, no one answered.

  Swiftly, Caleb spread her jacket open, wincing when he saw the damage to her flesh. Rising, he lunged for the basket of white hand towels by the sink, then methodically covered Wraith’s wound with a makeshift compress and applied pressure. Memories of his time on the battlefield crashed through him, of soldiers, human and Otherborn, moaning and writhing as they fought death.

  Wraith was doing neither, but it was because she was unconscious, not because she was giving up. He wasn’t letting her give up.

  “Get back, damn it!”

  Caleb’s head swung around at the sound of Dex’s voice. Only then did he see the crowd gathered at the doorway.

  “Move away from the door and let me the fuck through!” Dex pushed his way past the nearest gatherers. “Damn it,” he whispered. His gaze landed on Emmett then Wraith before meeting Caleb’s eyes.

  Caleb shook his head. “I tried healing her . . . it won’t . . . she won’t . . .” Was that trembling voice really his, Caleb vaguely thought, or was it a voice from the crowd?

  He didn’t recognize it.

  Turning back to Wraith, he felt moisture gather in his eyes. She looked paler than normal, and unbelievably, her mouth was tilted up on one end in what could only be seen as a smirk. A twisted recognition that she was finally getting what she’d wanted. An end to her pain.

  Pressing his lips together, Caleb shook his head. “No. You don’t need that now. You’re not alone, damn it, so don’t you dare leave.”

  But when he checked, her pulse was thready. His own heart almost stopped when hers did. “Dex!”

  Dex swiftly kneeled by Caleb’s side.

  “Keep your hands on the compresses,” he snapped. “Tight.”

  The were’s hands replaced his, and Caleb immediately moved to straddle Wraith. He positioned his hands over her heart and began pumping the organ for her. “I’m not letting you go, Wraith. Do you hear me? You’re not alone. You have me. You have the team. So stay with me, damn it. Stay with me.”

  Grim, Dex watched O’Flare work on Wraith.

  With her blood oozing through the cloth and through his fingers, Dex held no hope that Caleb would be bringing her back. The bullet had hit her vital organs, and somehow she’d obviously acquired not only the ability to bleed, but to die.

  Vaguely, he wondered if Caleb had known. If he had, he knew exactly how Caleb would feel once he accepted Wraith was gone. He could see the terror and grief and guilt on the human’s face quite w
ell.

  Instinctively, Dex looked away, the emotion on O’Flare’s face too intense for comfort. He could still hear him, though, and the words that alternated between strong and angry, soft and pleading.

  “Damn you, Wraith. Come on. You’re too big a bitch to give up. Come on, damn you. Please, come on.”

  The crowd at the door shifted until, suddenly, the female vampire was there, her arms supporting Lucy, whose eyes were open now, but watching them with a blank expression that made Dex wonder how much she actually saw or understood. He didn’t have to wonder that about the vampire. Her beautiful features were set into a grave expression as she stared, not at his teammates, but at him. The knowledge of Wraith’s death was there, mirroring his own thoughts. And for once in his life, Dex hoped like hell his instincts were wrong.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Pain surrounded Wraith. Although she tried to escape, to move physically away or to slip into her own mind and disappear, something was stopping her. Hands held her body down and a voice talked to her, refusing to give her the quiet she needed to slip away. It was the mage, she realized. Somehow he’d gotten her back.

  Or maybe he’d never lost her.

  Maybe the life she’d imagined in the past few years had all been a dream. A way for her body to cope with what he was doing with his knives and needles and hammers.

  She’d never fought in the War.

  She’d never been on the Para-Ops team.

  She’d never met Caleb or been touched by him.

  Loved by him.

  A pathetic whimper escaped from her mouth, and she couldn’t even chastise herself.

  He’d never said the words, but that’s what Caleb had made her feel like when he’d touched her. Like she was being loved. And it had all been her imagination. The thought hurt more than what the mage was doing to her.

  “Wraith . . .”

  She frowned when she heard the voice because it didn’t sound like the mage. It sounded like Caleb.

  “Don’t leave me, Wraith. Stay with us. We need you. I need you.”