"You're too late," Sawyers shouted at him. "The bomb is set and I've finally completed my work. Soon you will be dead and the last of her will be wiped from the earth."
Her? Was this really all about his mother?
He lunged. His jaws clenched around Sawyer's head and he wrenched first one way and then the other. He dropped the body and turned to the briefcase. A countdown showed on the screen and his heart jumped to his throat. Time seemed to slow down and several thoughts burned through him at once. If the bomb went off, Luci and Becky wouldn’t be safe in the panic room. He had no knowledge of how to deactivate bombs. The firefight continued outside.
Isaias didn't stop to think. He grabbed the briefcase in his mouth and tore out the back. His legs carried him to the edge of the forest and he shifted, throwing the briefcase in as far as he could. Blood poured down his side and his limbs shook as he turned around.
He wasn't sure how far he'd gotten or even if he took a single step before a flare of heat and a deafening boom knocked him off his feet. He felt the force pick him up and throw him back towards the house but he never landed.
***
He felt like his head had been blown up and replaced with a watermelon that had been left in the sun for three days.
Isaias groaned. He tried to open his eyes but they didn't want to, so after a moment he gave up. Instead, he focused on assessing whether he was dead or not. He felt like he had gone through the spin cycle in a washing machine, but when he tried to move he thought he was able to. Finally he managed to crack an eye open. He was in a dimly-lit room and there was somebody lying beside him. A familiar scent enveloped him and he turned his head, burying it in Becky's curls.
She made an adorable squeaking noise. Her whole body jerked as she spun around without leaving the bed. Isaias tried to flash her his dimples but even smiling hurt and he just ended up groaning again. Becky cried out and threw both her arms around him, awkward since they were both laying down, and attacked him with her mouth.
"Honey, gentle," he groaned.
Becky kissed him hard once more before pulling back. "Don't ever do that again."
"Don't ever do… what?"
"Scare me like that." Her hands became gentle as they stroked his hair. "You've been unconscious for three weeks. You were shot and blown up and you're still not fully healed."
"Three weeks? What, did I die?"
Her grim expression said it all.
Isaias sobered. "How long?"
"Five minutes. I was so worried. And even after we got you here and they were taking out all the bullets and shrapnel, I kept thinking that you were going to die. And all I could do was watch."
"I'm sorry." His heart clenched at the tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry… but hey, I'm alive. You're alive. Now that I've regained consciousness, I should start healing faster… And what about Adela? How is she?"
"She's fine. Already moving around and everything. I'm going to go get a nurse now so they can look you over. I need to let Adela know, too." She squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back.
Becky disappeared into the hallway for a few minutes, allowing Isaias to take stock of himself. Already the aches were receding. His body's energy had no doubt been going to repair the damage that dying had done to his brain. Five minutes. If it wasn't for the remarkable healing properties shifters had, he might not have gotten out of that unscathed. But his three-week coma would have fixed his brain just fine and now it was focusing on the less intense injuries.
Becky came back in moments later and slipped back into bed with him. He wrapped his arms around her.
"Sorry I scared you," he whispered. "But I am never going to leave you alone. You understand that, right?"
She sniffed. "Yeah. And I'm never going to leave you alone, either. I promise from head to toe that you will never be alone. I love you."
He pressed a kiss to her neck. "I love you, too."
"I love you so much… I want to marry you. For real this time. No threats, no faking, just you and me and getting married."
Isaias laughed, his heart lightening. Another kiss and he pulled her in a little closer. "You and me getting married, huh? I think I can arrange that… we have a wedding planned already and it would be a shame to have all that work be for nothing. But you know what I think? I think I'm going to have to buy you a new ring. A proper engagement ring that you'll actually like."
"I like your grandmother's ring."
"But it doesn't mean anything." He pulled a thoughtful face. "I'm thinking… an amethyst. Cut like a flower, on a white gold band."'
Becky grinned at him. "Oh, how well you know me."
"I pay attention, darling. And what should my wedding band look like?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Rose gold, plain, with an inscription on the inside from me to you."
"Sounds perfect."
Later, after the nurses and doctors checked him over and gave him a clean bill of health, Adela came to see him. She was still in a wheelchair but had Luci in her arms and smiled widely at them. Isaias grinned back. It was good to see for himself that she was alive and well. Luci cooed in her lap and clapped her hands when she saw him and Becky.
"So, the evil has been defeated and your secret stays secret," Adela said. "Sounds like it's a perfect happy ending. And the house wasn't even blown up."
Isaias laughed. It made his lungs ache and he stopped. "And you? Are you okay?"
Adela dropped her gaze, then raised it again with a smile. "I'm alive. My baby is healthy. What else could I ask for?" She took a deep breath. "Sawyers is the only one who was killed out of this. Even Marcus survived. He's agreed to testify against the other bears in exchange for a shorter sentence, since he did try to stop the kidnapping."
"As long as we're all alive and healthy." Isaias didn't want to think about Marcus and his role in what happened. He didn't matter anymore. He held his arms out for Luci and Becky picked the baby up and nestled her into his arms.
He looked between his mate and his best friend–his sister, for all intents and purposes. His family. They were safe and they were well. It was all he wanted.
*****
THE END
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Description
An aspiring opera singer is in the clutches of losing her voice when she meets the world’s most lauded baritone, a man whose biting charm might be just what she needs to make all her melodic dreams come true.
Eva St. Marie graduated as the most promising young singer from Julliard, but all that seems all for naught when her voice mysteriously starts to disappear. The best doctors in the field don’t know what to make of her voice but a run in with the world’s most alluring and prestigious baritone seems to magically transform her voice back to its full strength.
Ambrose Leroy is a man of secrets and shadows. With the appreciation and praise of the world at his feet and a last name that means “The King” it is no wonder that the handsome man seems to attract female attention everywhere he goes. But Ambrose’s attention is caught when he meets the budding Eva, a woman on the either the verge of greatness or edge despair, but will her beauty and voice be enough to hold and keep his attention?
When Eva falls under the spell of Ambrose she has no idea that her life is about to cha
nge forever. As her attraction to him and her voice flourish in his presence, life seems ready to take her by the throat. With the moment of decision ever creeping forward, Eva will have to decide between the silent darkness and the biting, lyrical light.
Chapter One
“I think we’ll need to run some more tests. You don’t seem to have polyps, lesions or bleeding like we see in other singers.” The doctor’s voice gave the impression that he was intrigued.
Eva got the sense that he viewed her x-rays as he might view a good book.
“But there’s something we can do?” Eva’s voice rasped out.
She’d gotten to the point where even talking was difficult and she now tried to live her non-singing life in a mute silence as much as possible. Today, like everyday, she had a thick gray scarf wrapped around her throat and a bottle of warm honey water by her side.
“I suppose there might be an option to operate but I’m just not sure.” He turned from the computer, where photos of her laryngoscopy illuminated the screen. “Truthfully, I’ve been doing this for twenty years and this is different from most of my cases. You will, of course, need to stop singing for the time being.”
Eva felt like she’d just been thrown in front of oncoming Manhattan traffic.
“Stop?” she asked. Her voice was even less intelligible than normal.
“Well,” his expression turned pensive as he digested the look of stricken panic on her face, “at least for a few months until we find a viable solution.”
A viable solution? Eva wanted to scream. But screaming, or any sort of noise whatsoever, would only make her problem worse.
“I understand that this may be hard to hear.” He pushed his fingers together until the tips of his fingernails turned white.
“And if we operate…will I be able to sing again?”
“If that is an option then there is a possibility that you may experience some loss of your normal singing range… you may also have a full recovery after several months of vocal rest. It’s hard to tell in these cases.”
Eva felt tears sting her eyes and the chubby doctor, with his wisps of thinning black hair, looked uncomfortable. He lifted a box of tissues and handed it to her. Eva took a tissue and pressed it to each eye.
“Let’s set up a follow-up in a month. Give yourself a full month of vocal rest then there might be something new to see. Good?” He stood, obviously trying to get the crying girl out of his office pronto. “Get lots of good rest and perhaps things will look better in a few days.”
Eva let out a strangled sob.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but maybe you should look into other careers as well, keep your options open. You’re very young.” The doctor’s voice took an almost paternal tone and Eva hated him for it.
She opened her mouth to respond but found nothing to say. What sort of training did they give doctors for talking to their patients these days? Things would look better in a few days? Look into some other career? Things would certainly not look better any time soon unless her voice magically reappeared. And of one thing she was certain, there was no other world for Eva outside of the musical one.
Ten minutes later, out on Fifth Avenue, Eva gave serious consideration to walking straight into oncoming traffic. The rain, that had been gusting down all day, was only a drizzling imitation of what it had been and Eva let the small droplets fall unabated onto her face.
Her life was crashing around her and she had no idea how to fix it. The small scratching feeling in the back of her throat had begun during her finals. She’d sung Dido’s Lament and all the while there was a sensation of vocal chords growing thick, clogging up her throat, keeping air from getting through. She sounded as if her voice box were filled with marbles.
Eva had quickly stopped speaking when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, used honey, water, cough drops, and sprays that tasted like bitter raw herbs. Nothing worked. It seemed that every day the problem got worse.
It made no sense to Eva or her teachers. She had been trained by the best instructors her whole life. She had perfect technique. She had the perfect genes. But it was no use.
The only thing she’d ever wanted in her life, besides wishing her parents alive again, was growing further and further out of reach.
Another tear slid down her cheek.
The patter of rain began to pick up again and Eva felt glad for it. She wanted the rain to hide her tears, to make her invisible to the thrusting crowds of tourists and Manhattanites around her.
She walked back to her Central Park apartment, climbed the four flights of stairs and left her wet clothes on the floor at her door.
Three days later she was still in her pajamas, listening to records of her mother when singing the title role in Aida .
A loud knock at the door pulled Eva out of her malaise and she walked over to see who it could be. Looking out of the eyehole, she saw her school friend, Bridget, standing on the other side.
Eva paused. She didn’t feel like seeing anyone, she didn’t want to tell anyone that her career was over before it had begun.
Bridget knocked again and, with a sigh, Eva opened it.
“Where have you been?” Bridget walked in without being asked. “I’ve called you like twenty times, and sent emails.”
Bridget was a few years older than Eva, she’d been a child star on Broadway before deciding to study classical opera. She was one of the most wretchedly optimistic people Eva knew, with milk chocolate skin, and a tiny body that made her look more like a teenager than a woman.
Eva, on the other hand, had always been mistaken for someone much older than her actual age. She’d grown full hips and the curvy body of a woman when she was still only a girl herself. Even as a child she had carried herself with a sense of purpose and maturity unknown to the girls her own age. Julliard had been the best thing that had ever happened to Eva. Until then she’d never known that people her own age could be just as driven, dedicated, and serious about their work. She’d also never fully understood how unique her talent was.
Bridget looked around the apartment with a sigh. Eva’s discarded clothes still lay on the floor where she’d left them three days ago. Dirty mugs of Throat Coat tea lined the coffee table and records lay strewn across Eva’s piano bench.
“What’s going on?” Bridget turned to look at Eva, “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Eva rasped.
“And you sound worse, I thought you were going to the doctor,” Bridget sat unceremoniously on the green velvet couch that Eva had inherited from her parents.
“I did,” Eva said as she picked up several mugs from the coffee table and walked them to the kitchen.
“Bad news?” Bridget looked at Eva as she came back from the kitchen but Eva looked out of her window, away from her friend.
“Not good news.” Eva picked up a discarded scarf and wrapped it around her neck. The day was unusually cold outside for that time of year but didn’t seem to deter people from their daily romps in the park.
“Well, tonight will be good to get your mind off it then,” Bridget said as she leaned back into the couch.
“Tonight?”
“Don Giovanni ? Ambrose Leroy singing Don Juan?” Bridget lifted her eyebrows. Eva and Bridget had nursed a serious crush for the famous and extremely handsome baritone. Eva had even let his recorded voice sing her off to sleep for a number of stressful weeks.
“Oh,” Eva felt a pang at the thought of watching an opera she might never be able to perform herself. Of seeing one of the men she’d most admired and adored onstage, dangling the delights of something that might be forever out of her reach.
She felt the tell-tale heat of threatening tears burning behind her eyes.
“I’m not ready.” She looked down at her pink silk pajamas but she meant the sentiment in more ways than the physical.
“So go take a shower, I’m meeting Jerome and Leslie for dinner, you can just meet us at Lincoln Center.” Bridget stood up like everyth
ing was settled. “Do you want me to help clean some of this up before I go?” She looked around at the mess.
Eva took a shower telling herself all the while that she could always cancel with Bridget afterward. She blew out her hair, put on a pair of black seamed stockings, an emerald vintage dress that accentuated her curves, then looked herself over. She looked good.
It wasn’t a terrible idea to go out tonight. She loved the music of Don Giovanni , and she loved the sound of Ambrose Leroy more. His voice was like a million warm and wonderful sensations crawling over her body all at once. She could listen to him for hours and not get hungry or cold. She shivered with anticipation as she thought about seeing him live onstage.
She would go for a walk through the park toward Lincoln Center and then she could decide once she got there. She wound a black silk scarf around her neck and tucked her bag under her arm.
It felt strange to be outside after so many days cloistered in her own world. The air was chilly and brisk. As she walked down the path she couldn’t help but feel that she was being looked at. Eva turned casually but found no one. A shadow passed her left side and she gave a little jump when she saw one of the famous Central Park horses standing a few feet away.
Eva smiled at herself and continued on, still thinking of what she would say to Bridget when she cancelled.
But Eva didn’t cancel. With every step closer to Lincoln Square and the vast glass panels of the Metropolitan Opera House she felt as if she were being pulled. As if the building itself were drawing her in.
“You look much better.” Bridget winked at Eva when she arrived.
“Green is a good color on you,” Jerome whistled as she moved in for a kiss on each cheek.
“Thank you,” Eva rasped softly into her friend’s ear.
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