by Tanya Holmes
(1) Protectiveness toward her child’s father, especially with mortals; (2) Telepathic hearing; (3) Hallucinations; (4) Fatigue; (5) Migraine; (6) Rampant Fever; (7) Paranoia; (8) Difficulty concentrating, Fuzzy thinking, poor decision-making; (9) Irrationality and severe mood swings; (10) Rage; (11) Maternal radar—or a woman’s ability to not only feel her baby’s father’s presence, but to locate him from miles away.
Now number 11 would settle it once and for all. Yet how could he test her without raising her suspicions? The only bright spot was that the day after tomorrow would be the last day for the Fever to appear, and the Fever was a trigger for most of the other symptoms. If she didn’t get it, he could reasonably conclude she wasn’t pregnant. In most cases it came on suddenly.
“Wait,” Xavier said, a hint of optimism lightening his voice. “If she’s knocked up, the Tishnon virus can’t hurt her.”
“You’re forgetting why it can’t.” Braeden’s right brow rose a fraction as understanding dawned on Xavier’s face.
“Shit. So she’s either mortal and dying, or pregnant and turning?”
“Correct,” Braeden said. “Now, your interspecies knowledge may be lacking, but if she’s pregnant, you know what comes next…for us anyway.”
The color drained from Xavier’s cheeks, which was understandable. His other half had a monumental decision to make.
Mortal women were immune to aging and human diseases by virtue of the Yoreck offspring they carried. This symbiotic relationship was a biological necessity since human females weren’t equipped to survive the physically and emotionally taxing gestational period. Because of this, pregnancy also turned mortal women Yoreck. Yet their immortality only became permanent about a month before the child’s birth.
However, a mortal female couldn’t carry a Yoreck child to term unless she was Sealed by the seed of the Yoreck who impregnated her. Without the sexual act of Sealing, the woman would miscarry and remain mortal. This was nature’s way of protecting the race, a safety mechanism to prevent a mateless human from giving birth.
Things were a bit problematic for mortals impregnated by Halved Yoreck men. In Danielle’s case, although Braeden’s seed began the process, the only seed that could Seal her was Xavier’s, the other half of the Whole. This was nature’s failsafe to protect the strength and secrecy of their existence, in addition to the survival and health of the family unit. But since Halved Yoreck men were considered mentally and spiritually “unstable” as well as “incomplete,” they were forbidden to marry and father children. Consequently, if a pregnancy went to term, a mandated Joining of both paternal Halves was required.
This was a holy and unbreakable Yoreck law.
“Fuck!” Xavier grabbed his empty goblet and hurled it at the wall. It shattered on impact. “You planned this shit, didn’t you?”
Braeden drained his brandy. “No, but that’s beside the point. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
* * *
KINGSPORT DINER
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
This close to the dinner hour, the place was packed. An equal amount of potholes, pickup trucks, and eighteen-wheelers filled the parking lot, but I managed to squeeze into a tight space up front.
I killed the engine and grabbed a photograph I’d tossed on the dashboard. It was the picture Mr. Nowak had referenced during the library confrontation. I’d found it in the courtyard as I was leaving. He must have dropped it. Or maybe he’d left it behind on purpose.
Whatever the case, I now had proof Braeden lied to that poor old man…and to me.
No wonder Gita seemed familiar. She looked just like the woman in the picture. This Hannah. The same woman with the widow’s peak whose likeness was hanging in Braeden’s suite! And the man standing beside her was the same guy I’d seen on Braeden’s wall with Hannah. Yet Braeden had denied any connection to Samuel Nowak.
The only question was why.
Tossing the picture aside, I shoved my bangs back just as my cell phone vibrated. I snatched the thing from my purse, knowing full well who it was.
Xavier. Again.
How he got my number, I hadn’t a clue, but I’d ignored both of his calls, so he’d switched to texting. This would be his sixth—text that is. The first was just two words, “call me,” followed by:
XAVIER (4:40 P.M.): i’m serious, D. call me now.
XAVIER (4:45 P.M.): when are you coming back?
XAVIER (4:46 P.M.): i can’t believe this. you’re gonna ignore me?
XAVIER (4:59 P.M.): where the fuck did you go???
His last text had a much different tone. He’d used CAPs, which most people interpreted as yelling: Y AREN’T U ANSWERING?
“Why?” I glowered at the phone. “Because you’re insane!”
Scowling, I threw the thing into the glove box and slammed the lid shut. One half of me was ready to burst into tears. The other wanted to punch a hole through the windshield. Lately, I’d been so emotional and out of control, you’d think I was PMSing. The mood swings and crying spells. Obviously, my nerves were fried, but the last thing I needed was for Luke to start asking questions, so I had to pull myself together.
When my phone chimed again, I tore out of the car and headed inside the diner. The odor of grease and unwashed humanity gave my stomach a workout as soon as I entered the place. A sudden wave of dizziness rippled over me too, making the floor shift. Jeez. I didn’t know what annoyed me more—my agitation with the twins or these phantom symptoms.
“Yo, Denieve!”
I steadied myself and headed for the booth in the back. What was he doing here?
Luke’s assistant, Tommy waved me over as he stuffed the last bite of a burger into his mouth. Sporting his trademark dirty blond hair and blue eyes, Tommy Tyler had the Byronic face and lean build of a rock star. He looked just like his first cousin Noah Tyler, the latest reality show flavor of the week.
After navigating the gauntlet of diners and tray-toting waitresses, I eased in across from Tommy. A half-eaten plate of slaw and steak fries drowned in ketchup lay in front of him.
I pulled my jacket off. “And you’re here because…?”
Still chewing, Tommy nodded at someone behind me.
“Sorry I’m late.” My ex-partner—and lover—slipped in beside Tommy. “Beltway traffic was crazy.”
I was glad to see Luke, especially after my hellish week with Xavier. He signaled for a waitress, all the while giving me a thorough once-over. Concern shadowed his deep-set green eyes.
“You look like shit, Deni.”
“And hello to you too,” I said.
He scrubbed a hand through his shoulder-length auburn hair, revealing an early touch of gray at his temples I still found attractive. “No, I’m serious. When’s the last time you slept?”
“It’s been a rough couple weeks.”
“Yeah, we heard,” Tommy said around a cheek-full of fries. “It was all over the news.”
A painted-up bottled blonde with brown roots and a tan uniform that was a size too small, stood over us, pad in hand. The name tag hanging crookedly above one of her massive boobs read ‘Giselle.’ “What can I get y’all?”
“Sweet tea for me,” I said.
Luke’s eyes never left mine. “Coffee. Black.”
“What about you, sweetheart?” The waitress shot Tommy a flirtatious wink. “Anything else?”
He blushed Hades red, and after polishing off his Coke, making a rude noise with his straw, he handed the glass over to her. “Can I have a refill…Giselle?”
“You can have whatever you want, baby.”
Oh, for God’s sake. I rolled my eyes as she sauntered off with a cartoonish sway of her ample hips. I sighed and divided my attention between the two men. “Let’s get down to business. Why am I here?”
“This.” Luke pulled a file folder from his gray windbreaker. He removed two 8x10s—one was a glossy black and white, the
other full color—then pushed the first one across the table. It was a stout man of about twenty or so. Taken back in the late eighties or early nineties from the looks of the clothes. He had a pockmarked face and cold, dead eyes. Shark’s eyes. I could practically feel the evil oozing out of them.
Next, he set the second photo in front of me. This one was taken with a telephoto lens. It was the same man. Only he was older now—by at least twenty-five years. In this picture, he was sitting behind a steering wheel and a cemetery loomed in the background.
Hold on. I knew that car. I studied photo number two. “Who is this?”
“His name was Lionel Gubczyk,” Luke said.
I shrugged. “And?”
“And I shot this photo at Shady Acres the night of the big storm.” Luke tapped a finger on the second picture. “Gubczyk’s the guy who was tailing Frost, Deni. You saw his blue sedan parked on the street a couple times, remember?” He locked his gaze on mine. “The cops found his body at Caryn’s cemetery the same night. They couldn’t figure out who he was because he had no ID on him, and he’d purposely burned off his fingerprints with acid. They had to use dental records.”
Everything he said struck me like a sledgehammer, but I hid the impact.
Luke slipped the photos back into the folder and tucked it away. “As you’ll recall, Frost went grave hopping that night.”
“Yeah, so?” I said, much too defensively. “You can’t place him at Sunset Memorial. Hell, you lost him at Shady Acres. Anyway, what possible motive would—”
Tommy leaned forward. “Fox 5 reported yesterday that Gubczyk is linked to some wise guys in Hoboken and New York. They even said he had ties to the Gambinos at one time and another crime family in California. He’s also connected to more than a dozen unsolved murders across the country.”
“Deni,” Luke cut in. “Lionel Gubczyk was a hit man.”
CHAPTER 6
KINGSPORT DINER
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
Details of that stormy night and what may have led up to it trickled back. The angry family members. Mud on Braeden’s shoes. The hate mail and death threats. That bloody hole in his shirt. The swarm of dark emotions.
The strong scent of death wafting from his clothes….
The waitress arrived with our drinks, pulling me from my disturbing thoughts. She gifted Tommy with another saucy wink and scampered off when the cook screamed for a pickup.
Had Braeden used his magic serum to heal a bullet wound?
Dread washed over me as I struggled to maintain my composure. I grabbed my tea and took four generous swallows. Plopping the half-empty glass down, I said, “You know, with all your conspiracy theorizing, I’ve yet to hear anything about how this…this Gubczyk person died. What was it? Strangulation? Stabbing? A gun shot?”
Luke hesitated. “Natural causes.”
“Seriously?” My back hit the booth cushion in relief. “So how does a man dropping dead in a cemetery add up to murder?”
“Oh, it does.” Tommy ticked off his points with his fingers. “First, nineteen patients die suspicious deaths within a six-month period. Second, Frost gets death threats. Third, he goes gallivanting off to half a dozen graveyards, all of which have one or more of his vic—excuse me—dead patients. Fourth, one of those cemeteries is Shady Acres where Luke shoots a photo of Gubczyk who’d been trailing Frost for hours. Fifth, the last time Luke saw Gubczyk was on the Beltway following Frost.” Tommy looked at Luke. “What direction was it?”
“South,” he said.
“Yeah, south. Toward La Plata where—number six, they discovered Gubczyk’s body that same night. They also found a gun at the scene. It had been fired. And last but not least, there’s lucky number seven.”
Color burned my cheeks. “Which is?”
Luke took a hard sip of coffee. “You tell us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Death vibes from Frost. Did you get any when he got home that night? Did you smell— What is it?” Luke asked Tommy. “Manure?”
“No, that’s lies,” Tommy corrected. “Second Person death is wet earth.”
Luke turned back to me. “Well?”
Did I have to be kidnapped to suffer Stockholm syndrome? Because my feelings just weren’t normal. While it was okay for me to question Braeden, the same scrutiny from others felt like a threat—a threat I had to neutralize.
“What you’re implying is absurd,” I said over my hammering heart. “Duh. He was in a cemetery full of dead people. Of course, I smelled wet earth.”
“You remember Finn Moreau, don’t you?” Luke lifted a brow. “He was an internist in Frost’s practice. Well, he just died in a hospital in Ireland. From cancer. Poor bastard was only thirty-four.”
I rubbed my damp palms against my thighs. “So a man dies thousands of miles away from a disease that affects millions, including my mom, and that proves what, exactly?”
“Frost’s patients died from common diseases too,” Luke said. “And he has a history of suspicious fires. There’s the one that killed Caryn and then that car explosion.”
“That lightning strike was an act of God and you know it,” I shot back. “And besides, I have supernatural proof he had nothing to do with Caryn’s death.”
Luke rolled his eyes.
“So my gift doesn’t count this time? Isn’t that freaking convenient!”
“Deni…”
“Stay out of this, Tommy,” I snapped, my eyes blazing on Luke. “I can’t believe this nonsense. You’re pulling stuff out of your ass.”
Luke blinked. “Why are you defending him?”
“Oh, please. I’m just stating facts. Meanwhile, you’re tossing a bunch of bullshit, hoping something’ll stick. For your information, Caryn already cleared Braeden over a—”
“When the fuck did he become Braeden?”
“Um, guys?” Tommy’s gaze darted around the diner as patrons took interest in our discussion. “Dial it back a notch, okay?”
Luke ignored him. “What are you, brainwashed? You’ve been there just two months, and you’re making excuses for him?” He paused a few beats. “Holy shit. You’re in love with him.”
“My feelings are none of your damn business.” I studied his furious expression for a moment. Then it hit me. “This isn’t even about Braeden Frost or those dead people. This is about you, me, and the fact that I left!”
Tommy formed a T with his hands. “Whoa. Time out!”
“Maybe it was at first.” Luke scooted closer. “Maybe I missed you so damn much I couldn’t believe you didn’t need me.” He gave a curt nod. “Sure, I’ll own up to that. But our problem wasn’t me, Deni. It was you and all your shit. Bad enough I had to deal with your daddy issues, but then there was the Caryn baggage. All because of what happened in that car. Why else would you get yourself fixed so you couldn’t have children?”
He’d gone there. He’d actually gone there. The blow was so low it winded me. “You bastard.”
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Luke said without an ounce of shame. “This is why you couldn’t stay out of my head. You didn’t trust what we had. Why should you when you didn’t believe you were worthy of love?”
I gathered my things. “That’s it. I’m out of here.”
“I have gut instincts too.” Luke grabbed my wrist. “They’re telling me Braeden Frost has gallons of blood on his hands. And if you don’t get away from him, he’s gonna kill you.” He gave me a quick once-over. “That’s if he hasn’t already.”
I wrenched my arm back. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Like I said, you don’t look so good.”
Bile boiled in my throat. My heart was at war with my mind, with logic. This news about Gubczyk, the Nowak situation, my conflicting feelings for Xavier, my love for Braeden—it all swirled inside my head like a bubbling cauldron, just waiting to explode.
“Deni?” Tommy said gently
. “You okay?”
I looked at them both with honesty and fear. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Then please,” Tommy said, “pack up your stuff and get out of there.”
The thought of leaving Braeden made me feel sick. “You’re asking me to ignore my gut. And my gut tells me Braeden Frost is a good man.” I snatched my purse, shoved to my feet, and put on my bravest face. “Tommy. Luke. This case is over. So toss your research and back off.”
Luke studied me for a long while. When he finally spoke, the animosity was gone. “Fine, but you know something’s not right here. You know it.” Love flickered in his eyes. “Babe, I’m begging you. Don’t ignore the facts. Give them a good inspection because your ‘gift’ can only go but so far. The Digby case proved this.”
* * *
THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
BRAEDEN
____________________________
“Are you okay?” Braeden asked.
Xavier stared blindly at the floor, his face expressionless. “Take a wild guess.”
While Braeden couldn’t read Xavier’s thoughts, he knew what his twin was feeling. He’d experienced much of the same emotions over the past few weeks. Denial, helplessness, disbelief, and at one point, rage. All normal reactions for someone backed into a corner. But the time for navel gazing was over. Decisions had to be made. Action had to be taken.
Braeden went for a refill. He pulled the stopper from the decanter and tipped the crystal. “Let me make it plain for you—”
“What about conjuring? Can’t you fix her with one of those spells they taught us in Yoreck premed? You were always better at it than me.”
Although they both had lightning-speed, shifting, and telepathic abilities, only Xavier had a photographic memory and teleportation powers. While Braeden was a skilled conjurer, no amount of spell casting would cure Danielle Reed.
“Conjuring only ‘fixes’ human injuries, Xavier. Broken bones, burns, that sort of thing,” Braeden said with a longsuffering sigh. “Not diseases, and that goes for both Yoreck and mortal illnesses. Otherwise I would’ve cured myself by now.” He dropped his head and sighed again. “Any latent diseases she’s carrying will eventually surface if she’s not pregnant. If she is, she’ll lose the child unless you Seal her. And if she loses it, she won’t turn, and the Tishnon virus will kill her. She’s already tested positive for it. Those are the facts. Not much wiggle room there, so you need to decide. Time is of the essence.”
