by Vivian Wood
“Don’t know who you mean,” Wyatt said at last.
Luke was quiet, letting the matter drop… only to bring up something worse.
“You need to tell them. Finny, Gavin… they deserve to understand what you’re doing,” Luke said, his voice level and soft.
Wyatt scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it,” Luke said, snagging his arm and liberating the whiskey bottle. Luke sat the bottle down out of Wyatt’s reach, giving him a hard look.
“What am I supposed to say? ‘Uh, hey, guys. I’m not really an asshole, I just have these visions that tell me how your fated mates are in danger. I have to act, push you into the relationship, or they die’? That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Wyatt sighed.
“Better than having your brothers and sisters-in-law think you’re repugnant,” Luke replied.
Wyatt slid him a long look.
“Repugnant? You’ve been spending too much time with your mate,” he informed Luke.
“She’s a smart lady,” Luke said, unrepentant. He paused, seeming hesitant about his next words.
“The baby’s going to be fine,” Wyatt sighed. “I’ve seen her, a few years from now.”
Luke shot him a startled glance.
“You telepathic now? You gotta warn people about that,” Luke said.
“No, but you’re predictable,” Wyatt said.
“So you’ve seen… her?” Luke said, stumbling on the word, his voice awed.
“Yep. A page right outta Aubrey’s book, too. Fucking gorgeous.”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Luke asked.
Wyatt chewed on that for a moment, then shook his head.
“Sorry, man. Bad stuff happens if I talk too much. I can’t just tell people not to do this or that. Believe me, I’ve tried. I have to be there, thwart it myself.”
“How many more are there?” Luke asked. “Doomed women, I mean.”
Wyatt smiled, sadness blooming in his chest.
“Just the one.”
“Ah,” Luke said. “Yours, I guess.”
Wyatt nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Luke watched him, concern evident on his features.
“You can call on any of us, for anything. You know, that right?” Luke said.
Wyatt gave a bark of laughter.
“Everyone hates me right now. Everyone but you and Ma,” Wyatt sighed.
“No. They’re not happy, but Berans stick together. Our bond is in the blood. Don’t forget that.”
Wyatt slid him a glance, surprised at Luke’s eloquence. Until he’d met Aubrey, Luke had barely been able to speak, even with the family. Now he was a chatty poet, it seemed.
“Thanks,” Wyatt answered.
They were silent for a long time. After a minute, Luke handed Wyatt the whiskey bottle. Wyatt took a swig, wincing. His thoughts swelled and swirled, threatening to take over. He wanted nothing more than to tell his brother everything, every dark detail, unburden his soul.
But one particular life still hung in the balance, the one person who Wyatt could never risk.
His mate. His heart. The woman who would… might… should bear his children.
After what felt like a lifetime, Wyatt couldn’t hold it all in anymore. He had to share something, anything with Luke, desperate to feel less alone. Right now he was a single man on the highest mountain peak, looking down at the world with a heavy heart.
“Her name is Lucy.”
Luke looked over at Wyatt, rousing from his thoughts.
“My daughter?”
“No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head slowly. “My mate. Her name is Lucy. She’s a doctor.”
Luke just nodded, then pushed to his feet. He offered Wyatt his hand. Wyatt took it, letting Luke help him to his feet. To his surprise, Luke pulled him into a tight, quick hug.
“It’s going to be okay,” Luke said. “You’ll see.”
“Are you the psychic one now?” Wyatt asked, but his tone was lighter now.
“No, but I can predict that Ma will be pissed if we don’t get our asses inside for dinner,” Luke said. “Apparently she made a standing rib roast, whatever that is.”
Grinning at his brother’s wry humor, Wyatt nodded. They walked toward the house, and Wyatt had a sudden thought. In a matter of weeks, Lucy’s situation would come to a head. No matter whether Wyatt succeeded or failed in saving her, it would all be over. His visions would end, he’d be able to tell his brothers everything.
He’d have his family back, at the very least.
The thought warmed his heart, and Wyatt realized just how lonely he’d been this entire year. It was true, though… it was nearly over now.
The only thing that remained to be seen was the matter of his mate. Night after night, Wyatt watched the possible outcomes. At the end of the visions, just before dawn, Wyatt woke, heart pounding. The scene replayed over and over in his mind, driving him from his bed. Sometimes her death was so gruesome, so visceral… several times, Wyatt had actually spent long minutes in the bathroom, retching, trying to rid himself of the clawing, monstrous feel.
Tomorrow, Wyatt thought. Tomorrow, I will go to her. Watch over her, and wait.
Heart heavy once more, Wyatt walked up the steps to the Lodge, ready to join his family for what might be their last meal together.
Wyatt’s Resolution Cover
103
One
Wyatt Beran stood in the deep shadows of a dimly lit parking lot, a place he vaguely recognized. There were maybe a few dozen cars parked there, a few BMWs and Mercedes scattered in a sea of battered Chevy Malibus and dinged, boxy Honda Civics. The only light came from a couple of street lights, but they were at least a thousand yards away. Wyatt looked down at himself, at his hands, noticing that his fingers were blurry, almost translucent if he moved them too fast. He was here, but he wasn’t here. Or was he just inconsequential?
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He was dreaming again, if it could be called that. His brother Luke called Wyatt’s episodes visions, but that seemed a little off the mark.
Wyatt sucked in a breath and looked around again, trying to focus. The cars were clear enough, the aging pavement under his feet was solid. Other details, important details, were still missing. Wyatt looked past the cars, toward the street lights. He could sense them, and their light reflected neatly on the parking lot, but the scenery was nothing but a blur. No poles, no sidewalk, no actual street or pedestrians. No sound, either, beyond his own footsteps as he moved. In other words, no real clues to indicate where, precisely, this vision was taking place.
Wyatt swung to look the other way. In the distance, if he squinted, he could make out a building of some kind. At least a few stories, but not a skyscraper. Light colored, maybe. Wyatt noted every detail he could, tucking it away for later. He walked amongst the cars, reaching out to touch a few of them, knowing he wouldn’t be able to memorize the makes and models. Their sleek metal was cool to the touch, the sensation jarring in this silent, motionless world. If only the dream would stop here…
He didn’t have to wait long for the action to begin unfolding.
First, he heard her walking, heard her flip flops clacking. He remembered that detail every time he had this dream, because it was funny, seeing a white-coated doctor all dressed up, but wearing flip flops on her feet. It didn’t hurt that the doctor herself was utterly memorable, a stunning, curvy woman with chestnut hair and eyes the precise color of a stormy sea at dawn. She looked so young in her white lab coat, and her petite height clashed with the length of her white lab coat, making her look something like a child playing dress-up.
Wyatt had run through this vision dozens of times now, enough that he’d focused on her every detail, absorbed everything he possibly could from her physical state. This dream, of all the dreams that featured beautiful Lucy Summers, was Wyatt’s second least favorite, he calculated.
Wyatt shook himself, trying to regain his focus. Where
was he? Ah, yes. Lucy approached. Click, clack, click, clack.
She emerged into his field of vision, fully formed and perfectly detailed. Her head was down, her heart-shaped face framed by dozens of wispy curls that escaped her messy, curly ponytail. She frowned in concentration as she clutched a thick stack of medical textbooks, her nose wrinkling and showcasing the delicate freckles that adorned her nose and cheeks. That detail made Wyatt wonder if it was supposed to be summer, if perhaps the good doctor had been out in the sun, making those freckles stand out.
He filed that thought away for later, knowing he’d have countless hours to pick apart his latest vision.
Lucy picked her way through the cars, completely unaware of her surroundings, fumbling in her coat pocket for her keys. She drove an ancient blue Volvo, Wyatt was pretty sure. At least that was the car she’d be pinned up against in a few moments. Wyatt turned, looking for the next player in this little scene.
Sure enough, the man morphed into existence, ether melting and pulling to produce him from thin air. Wyatt watched the man intently, though the mysterious figure was no different than ever, no clearer. Dark pants, dark jacket, a windbreaker perhaps. The figure was deeply blurry, no matter how close Wyatt got. He moved in a whoosh, catching Lucy from behind. Lucy’s mouth opened; a disjointed scream poured into the air, like a movie out of sync; the man pressed her up against that blue Volvo; metal glinted in his raised hand.
Though he knew better, Wyatt couldn’t stop himself from moving, inexorably drawn to Lucy like a magnet to a steel blade. In a heartbeat he was close enough to touch her shadowy attacker, his hand going out, finger shaking…
And Wyatt went right through them, sinking deep until he hit the Volvo’s glass window. Frustration burned him, made his jaw clench as he watched the man’s hand descend, knife flashing brightly though there was no light to make it so. Lucy made another sound, a terrified whimper that cut off when the blade pressed to her throat. Wyatt couldn’t make out the man’s fingers, but the knife was outlined in vivid strokes.
Wyatt’s heart thrummed in his chest, adrenaline sluicing through his veins as he saw a faint line of scarlet burst from the pale, fragile skin at Lucy’s throat. Her assailant held her from behind, plucking at the hem of her shirt to raise it. Bile rose in Wyatt’s throat as the man ripped at her lacy pink bra, exposing her breast, clutching at her so hard that angry red marks bloomed on the skin around her dusky pink nipple.
Wyatt couldn’t hear Lucy’s ragged breathing over his own. He pulled back and slammed his fist against the car hard enough to dent it, though of course he couldn’t do that, not any more than he could stop this attack. He could squat and touch the rough cement ground, but he couldn’t touch Lucy. He could see the minute hands on his Rolex, but not the clothing her assailant wore. He could hear Lucy begging for mercy, could tell that there was a verbal response, but he couldn’t hear the man’s replies.
Wyatt turned away, unable to watch. He knew what happened now. The man managed to get Lucy’s dark jeans unbuttoned, shoving them down along with her panties. Moving the knife to the back of her neck, he held her in place as he raped her, whispered in her ear, humiliated and terrified her. Wyatt had watched time and time again, unable to intervene.
Looking at his watch, Wyatt timed the exact moment that his other self arrived on the scene. Real Wyatt watched himself as he raced from the edge of the parking lot, wearing the red plaid shirt Wyatt often wore, intent to murder scrawled over his features. At the rate his other self moved, he was nothing more than a tall, dark-haired flash, blurred yet substantial in a way that Dream Wyatt was not. It bent his mind a little, trying to distinguish between himself and himself.
“Fucking idiot,” Dream Wyatt mumbled to himself. “Go ahead, see where it gets you.”
This was the worst part of the dream, vision, whatever. The attacker’s head blurred as he turned to see Wyatt coming down like a wrathful avenging angel. The knife flashed again; Lucy’s scream rose, and Real Wyatt’s shout; and then everything went silent, like when in an airplane when your ears pop. Just a low hum as Lucy crumpled, red silk tumbling and splashing from her throat and neck and shoulder, following the path of the man’s knife as he pulled it through her flesh.
Real Wyatt didn’t catch Lucy in time, floundering as the would-be villain turned to flee. Dream Wyatt watched his other self, torn between chasing the assailant and comforting his gasping mate. Finally Real Wyatt sank to his knees, pulling Lucy onto his lap and screaming for help, pressing his hands over her wound, her blood soaking his hands and shirt. Dream Wyatt saw everything, every detail. The way her blood came out in gushing pulses, strong at first and then slower, slower as she began to fade.
Though he was a degree removed, though Lucy was not yet his mate, though none of this had happened, Wyatt turned and retched, unable to stomach her demise. His body turned to lead, his heart to stone, his skin prickly and cold.
104
Two
“LUCY!” Wyatt bellowed, voice hoarse. He sat up in his bed, stiff as a board, sheets clinging to his damp skin. He sucked in long draws of air, trying to control his shaking limbs as he dug his fingertips into the mattress, pulse pounding dangerously. He was a moment away from shifting, his bear rising with the need to fight, to protect what was his.
Here in the dank chill of his hotel room, there was no one for Wyatt to fight. Though every hair on his body was raised, his teeth bared, his mind wild with fury and distress, there was no one to answer. He was hot as fire, cold as ice, strong as any Berserker… but none of it mattered.
Wyatt sank back, mind whirling, thoughts cycling without anywhere to go. The sheer helplessness he felt actually made tears prick his closed eyelids as he struggled to calm himself, bring himself down from the peak of frenzy that the visions always brought.
The second that he was level enough to breathe, Wyatt reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp. He snagged a thick leather-bound journal and a felt-tipped pen from the table, opening it to a fresh page and neatly dating the first line. He worked for several minutes, filling three pages with every detail he could remember, trying to sort out what was new.
The building, the white building in the background. That was new, he thought. It looked a little like the hospital where Lucy worked, Wyatt thought. He knew this because he was basically stalking her every hour he was awake, only returning to his downtown Seattle hotel room when he was on the brink of collapse from exhaustion. It wasn’t a great plan, or even a good one, but it was all he had for now.
A month into his shadowed guardianship of the woman who couldn’t ever actually know him or become his mate, Wyatt knew he was growing unstable. Physically, emotionally, and who knew what else. Tomorrow, he would have to call in backup. His older brother Luke was the only one who knew about Wyatt’s visions, so he was the only choice.
“Fucking A,” Wyatt mumbled to himself.
He’d really, genuinely hoped that tonight would be dreamless. Or better, one of those hazy, lust-filled dreams of Wyatt and Lucy in bed together, doing things that felt better than Wyatt had any right to feel. Lucy couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, but they’d already fucked a hundred times, a thousand, every single way Wyatt knew how. When he got a break from the night terrors, got a chance to experience the mate he’d never get to touch or taste, he made sure to take everything from it that he could. He seared every moment into his memory, knowing he’d never get another shot at that kind of…
Blanching at his own thoughts, Wyatt tossed the journal and pen back onto the night stand and picked up his cell phone.
hey stranger
my place 8:15 be there
where u at?
come over tonight plz
R U ignoring me now??? ur an asshole
Wyatt grunted and returned the phone to the table, face down. Five texts from four different women in three hours. Go figure. Even if he was back in Chicago and could have reached out to one of the long list of ladies in his stable, he wouldn
’t. Or couldn’t, maybe. Two days after his first vision of Lucy’s death, one of several scenarios in which Wyatt had been so privileged to watch his intended mate cease to exist, he’d also experienced his first sexual failure. The pretty redhead, a favorite of his, had been downright astounded when none of her extensive charms could bring Wyatt to full… attention.
Groaning, Wyatt pulled a pillow over his face. Why the hell was this happening to him? Hadn’t he repaid every bit of cosmic debt for being a player? Over the last year, he’d saved each and every one of his brothers’ intended mates from unspeakable fates, often behind the scenes and credit-less for his secret heroism.
Surely that made up for all the shit he’d pulled on all the women he’d slept with?
Apparently not, because now he was here, spending his waking hours watching the only woman he’d ever really wanted, unable to approach her lest he accidentally trigger the events that brought about her potential doom. His mind wandered back to the vision he’d just witnessed, to the white building. That was something, at least.
Looking at his watch, Wyatt sighed and propelled himself from the bed. It was late, just about the hour of night that he remembered from his dreams. If he went now, he’d catch Lucy getting off work, follow her to make sure she got home alright.
“Pathetic,” he hissed aloud, even as he tugged a shirt on. “Truly pathetic.”
105
Three
“Why are you making that face? Did that creep call you again?”
Lucy Summers looked up from her phone screen, smiling and rolling her eyes at her best friend Lexie. Lexie was hopping up and down by her changing room locker, pulling on scrub pants and getting into comfy tennis shoes without touching her bare feet to the tile floor. Lexie was coming on shift just as Lucy was leaving, something that happened with increasing frequency the closer they got to finishing their medical residencies.
