Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  “Put me down!” Her tears soaked his t-shirt. It was a wish. It could only be a wish.

  “No. This isn’t you.” His chest tightened under her cheek as air whistled through his clenched teeth. “By the gods, we feel it. We feel what’s happening to you.”

  The beast mimicked the gray world and the speed of transfer flowing around her increased.

  “We will not leave you.” Ladon’s arms stayed like steel as he dropped her feet to the pavement. “We will get you through this.”

  The sedan’s door swung open. A tall man unfolded from the interior, his expression flat. The expensive suit he wore draped beautifully, but it looked unkempt. Singed.

  She knew who he was. She’d seen him in the Texas vision. Auburn hair, similar to but lighter than hers. Wiry and strong, like her mother. Eyes so blue they flashed in the park’s one light.

  Her uncle Faustus.

  His skin looked red, as if he’d spent too much time under a heat lamp. Fingers twitching, he adjusted his cuffs.

  “How can he be here? He’s dead.”

  Ladon enfolded her, his arms tight around her belly, his chest pressed against her back, his chin against her cheek. “He lied. He’s good at it.”

  The War Babies faked the vision. Stitched in the present a fake view of the past and made it look like the Burners killed her uncle in Texas.

  Twitching again, Faustus stepped forward, then back, toward the sedan. “So you recognize your family? Good. Good.” A quick growl popped out of his throat and he slammed his fist against the top of the car. “You’re a good Jani child. A good one.”

  “Burndust,” Ladon said. “He’s snorting burndust to stay invisible.”

  It did the same things to his body that Rysa saw in her mother when she ingested the implosion. The shuddering. The anger. The damage. He couldn’t feel the effects of the sickness in his joints either, no matter how much they hurt.

  “Why did Ladon-Dragon vanish?” Faustus scratched his chin.

  “He’s deciding if he should kill you.”

  Faustus frowned and walked forward. He stopped about five feet away, his eyes narrow as he studied Rysa. He clapped, the sound pulsing through her head, before pointing at Ladon.

  “You want to stay with him, pumpkin? He kills me and your mother drops dead from the sickness.” He sniffed and tapped his cheek. “She’s not that strong. No. She’ll drop where she stands. Stood.” Another sniff. “That pathetic Burner will gorge himself on her flesh before she cools.” He shook his head, his disapproval registering as a dramatic frown. “Damned Burners show no respect.”

  “Get out of her head.”

  Her uncle was in her head? Fire was in her head. The entire world burned.

  She’d seen this, at the house—the burning world—and she’d forgotten because she let her feelings for Ladon and her out-of-control abilities and the War Babies threatening her mom take over. She forgot because she couldn’t pay attention. But the world will burn. People will die. And she’d cause it.

  Faustus laughed and leaned forward, his hands on his hips. “Why? She needs to see what’s coming.” He whistled and pointed at Rysa. “She’s the catalyst. She’s the one who will harness their chaos. She’s the Ambusti Prime.”

  “Get out of her head. Right. Now.” Ladon growled, the sound pushing from his chest to Rysa’s shoulder blades.

  Faustus sighed, a grand exhalation of air accompanied by the wide sweep of his arms. “Pumpkin.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go. He’s not what you think he is.”

  She’d vomit if her throat would open. An ignited world gurgled in the back of her throat and she couldn’t keep anything straight. “You’re a liar. You beat my aunt and your children murder and I won’t go to the Burners! I know what will happen and I won’t be their tribute.”

  She buckled forward but Ladon laced his fingers with hers, his grip so tight it hurt, and held her back, against his chest.

  Faustus paced to the left and grimaced before pacing back to the right. He bounced on his heels, jolting again. Another burst of his laughter filled the park. “Tribute? Please. Parcae are not tribute. We are the measure of civilization. The shapers of purpose. All our sacrifices move forward what must be.” He pointed at Ladon’s head. “Did he tell you that ridiculous story?”

  Neither Rysa nor Ladon answered.

  Faustus guffawed. “Of course he did! Still a simpleton, I see. You share two brains. You should be a genius. But there’s not much in either head, is there?”

  Ladon didn’t respond. He stepped in front of Rysa, his body a wall between her and Faustus. She watched her uncle over his shoulder.

  Faustus jabbed a finger into the air several times before he waved his arms. “You’re the damned ghouls’ savior.”

  The Burners will eat her. Tear her body into little pieces and pass around a bowl full of Rysa so they all got a mouthful.

  Faustus paced again. “What the hell are you going to do with your life? Use your seers to cheat on exams? Become a park ranger? Have visions of lions and tigers and bears? Or are you going to lay a finger to the winds of time every evening—” He licked his finger and held it out. “—as you drive home to your suburban hovel?” His finger poked at Ladon. “One must know exactly what dinner to cook him each night.”

  “I won’t go to the Burners!” she screamed. Her life was her own. Ladon had told her when she activated that her life was her own.

  Faustus laughed. “You’re Parcae. We are the living equivalent of the Fates. We do not now, nor have we ever, lived for the simpering desires of the petty.” He clapped loudly and skipped in front of the sedan. “What are you going to do, pumpkin, the first time your seers take the measure of a man and you know you must cut his threads and send him to his death? Will you wring your hands and blubber like a housewife? Fate will have its due, young lady. Fate always has its due. Your purpose is to give its glorious clarity to the world.”

  His bared teeth held more heat, more viciousness than a Burner’s. Predatory and precise, her uncle’s goal was to make her a weapon.

  No. Her seers showed the truth: She was to become a weapons factory.

  Her uncle’s future-seer danced like hammers on metal. “Yes! Now you see. You’re to be their lovely center. The one who gives them purpose! Someone needs to. Your aunt couldn’t do it.”

  The flood from the crack in the back of her mind raged into her chest and her belly. The nauseating truth clicked into place: Ismene was half dead. Dead enough to cause the sickness for her mother and her uncle, but not dead enough to hold still. “How?” Rysa yelled. “How did Ismene become one of them?”

  “They got her. I couldn’t stop it.” He jigged around, pointing at the stars. “No one can predict what Burners will do.”

  Was it an accident?

  Her brain clicked again: Fire over land and sky. Fire in her veins. Fire burning every nerve to nothing but anguish and she’d only care about her hunger. Stripped of her humanity, her Fatehood, she’d be fire uncontrolled.

  Faustus shrugged. “Ismene’s blood made them useful. Regular Burners couldn’t set off a mall. I made the best of a bad situation. Do you know how hard it is to herd those damned monsters? And I had to have enough of her children to get the job done. Had to find the pumpkin.” He waved at Rysa. “Imagine my delight when I realized you’re the Ambusti Prime. The Jani are the best. The best.”

  “But the world burns.” If she went to the Burners, she’d cause it.

  Faustus shook a fist at random bits of air. “I’ve seen the truth for a century and a half, niece. The same things you’re seeing.” He paced again. “It’s not you that causes Hell on Earth.” Faustus reached out his hand. “Our role is to stop it. You need to come with me.”

  Under her palms, Ladon’s core tightened. He turned in her arms and touched her cheek. He didn’t plead. He wouldn’t plead. But she saw need. Need and ferocity and promise.

  Everything she wanted stood in front of her, offering everything he had.<
br />
  Faustus stared, his gaze steady over Ladon’s shoulder.

  Ladon didn’t turn toward her uncle. He focused on her. “Where is Ismene?”

  Faustus jigged in a circle. “How the hell should I know? She’s a Burner.” He danced forward, his eyes narrow. “Come out from behind him and act like the Parcae you are. Do the job fate’s given you.”

  Ladon’s hand moved between their chests and he finger-spelled: Run. Van.

  Faustus’s gaze darted to their vehicle as his seer thundered through the parking lot. “Stay here, Rysa. You need to come with me. We have work to do.” He tilted his head, his gaze boring a new hole in her skull.

  The spike in her head inched deeper. She grabbed her forehead, a shrill groan grinding between her teeth as she pushed back.

  Ladon whipped around but kept his hands behind his back and gripping her waist. “Faustus!”

  Her uncle’s attention snapped to Ladon, but he mirrored her movements, touching his own forehead. A low groan rolled from his throat and he squinted. “She can’t do that.”

  What-will-be seared: Burner venom morphing her body into something caustic and violent. It will ravage as it scorches, a deluge of fire and transformation roaring from cell to tissue to organ and out through her veins. Twisted and angry, she’ll create an army. Her children will be like her, the Fate singular, and hold past, present, and future. She will give them the order of the universe, the opposite of their Burner chaos. Her blood will calm their ragings. They’ll be stable and overpowering.

  The agony of the vision knocked her backward. She couldn’t ignite into something soulless and malevolent that was meant to birth demons. It couldn’t happen.

  Faustus stroked his chin. “I always knew the Jani Prime would bring about the cure.”

  “No.” She’d create an army so incendiary neither Ladon nor his sister could stop it.

  “Get out of her head!” Ladon bellowed.

  Faustus walked toward them. “She’s seeing what all the Primes have seen for the last century and a half. I just opened the spigot.” His wrist circled in little twisty motions. “It’s not the Burners who end the world.” He halted inches from Ladon. “Who else makes fire?”

  Who else—

  The realization hit like her head had bounced on the pavement. She was just another attack, another weapon in a battle fought in a very long war between the Parcae and the Dracae. Rysa, the weapon of dragon destruction.

  Another deep growl reverberated from Ladon’s chest. “Take care with what you insinuate, Faustus Aurelius Jani.”

  Her uncle poked at Ladon’s chest but he pulled back before his finger touched. “Every powerful future-seer on the planet sees it. I see it. Her cousin Metus sees it. Oh!” He pointed again. “All of Timothy’s descendants see it! And that ponce Daniel? It was the last bit of knowing his brain made before my boys gutted him.”

  Something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t right. “Leave me alone!” Rysa screamed.

  “Come, pumpkin.” Faustus extended his hand one last time.

  Ladon’s stance changed. The mention of Daniel turned his back as hard as granite. “She’s made her choice. She won’t go with you.” The words came out deep, with the authority of the ages filling all his pauses.

  Faustus sighed another grand exhale. “Get in the car! No more playing house with Ladon-Human. It’s time you grew up and faced your responsibilities. You’re Parcae. We do what we are meant to do.”

  Behind Faustus, the air shimmered. Dragon swung a large metal pipe, fire pouring from his mouth. Her uncle’s future-seer thundered toward the beast and he avoided the flames, but the pipe cut a gash along his forehead.

  Faustus dropped back, dazed, blood streaking his hairline. “Ladon-Dragon!” More thunder on metal. “There you are. I know where you will be.”

  His posture cocky and arrogant, he dodged more of Dragon’s stabs.

  Rysa saw Dragon’s instructions. Her body froze. The pipe flew like a javelin toward her head, a shrill whistle screaming through its length. Ladon twisted, one arm behind his back and around her, the other at his shoulder. He caught the pipe, his grip less than a foot from Rysa’s nose.

  Ladon’s back rippled as he slammed the pipe into the asphalt. A crack blasted through the park and sparks showered their feet, the pipe grinding deeper. Holding it like a pike, Ladon leaned forward, his focus on her uncle.

  Rysa backed away. Right now, in front of her, Ladon’s body manifested the opposite of the gentle touches they’d shared before. He poised to kill. He didn’t want to be a warrior anymore, to fall to the expectation that he’d do battle. Yet here he was, between Rysa and her fate.

  For an instant, it frightened her more than her uncle’s attacks.

  She’d stolen Ladon’s options and now the violence of his past reared into his present. He called on an expertise he wanted to leave behind. All because of her.

  Faustus sneered.

  A knife flew, fast like a Burner. But unlike them, her uncle wouldn’t miss. Her nasty took control and her rigid body jerked to the side, but the blade nicked her upper arm.

  She fell to the pavement, a new fire erupting through her nerves. Her nasty pulled in her seers as it desperately tried to protect her fraying consciousness.

  Ladon slammed Faustus to the ground. The wind knocked from both their chests. Her uncle rolled and landed in a crouch. He sneered, his fingertips drumming the asphalt.

  He laughed and pointed at Rysa’s temple. Another future dagger pierced a new wound and she stiffened, her muscles unwilling to move. She tasted death, all death: Ladon in blood. Dragon, his hide gray and lifeless. Herself, a bullet in her chest.

  Dragon’s ghost-form shimmered against the dark sky as he lifted Faustus off the pavement. The future-seer yelled, his attention pulled from Rysa. The beast’s hide bristled, jagged. His fury that Faustus harmed his humans stood a solid wall in the emotions flowing around Rysa. He flung her uncle at the sedan as a brilliant white flame burst from his mouth.

  Faustus contorted midair and landed on his feet, dropping out of the fire. A haze billowed off his suit jacket, but he’d escaped unharmed.

  Ladon’s arm drew back, the speed and control of his muscles perfect, and the pipe launched like a missile.

  Faustus lunged to the side but the pipe caught his jacket and speared it to the pavement. His shoulders wiggled and he yanked, but Ladon twisted his arm before he freed himself.

  “She’s going to become what she’s meant to be. She’s Parcae. You can’t fight that.”

  Ladon slammed Faustus against the ground. “She will have the future she wants.”

  “A litter of Dracae pups? That worked so well for your other women, didn’t it? Better she become a Burner.”

  Ladon punched. Faustus spit out a tooth.

  The world rocked like a canoe and Rysa pitched to the side. She’d drop, slam her head on the pavement, maybe shatter her elbow, but Dragon’s invisible hand laid her down.

  “Your boyfriend’s going to die in a rain of blood and fire, pumpkin, and you’re the cause.” Faustus chuckled, more a gurgle than a laugh, and pushed against Ladon.

  Rysa pulled herself to her knees. “It doesn’t have to happen. I won’t let it.” She’d pay attention, even if it killed her. She wouldn’t become something evil.

  Faustus struggled. Ladon held him down. “We’re Parcae! Control is irrelevant.”

  “Your visions are wrong.” Ladon slammed Faustus against the pavement again.

  “All Parcae are having false visions? You are an idiot.” Faustus grunted. “Of course, it might be the Dracas. But I think it’ll take both of you to cause the damage we see.”

  “If I stay with them, if I see it coming I can help them. I—”

  “You can’t stop what’s due with kisses and hugs! Please, child. Dragons are feared in European mythology for a reason.”

  Ladon punched again.

  “I see what you will do!” Faustus licked blood off his lip. “Your
kind is more dangerous to this world than all the Mutatae and Parcae combined! You can snap my neck but others will stop you. It’s fated.”

  “It won’t be them!” Blood dripped down her arm and her stomach churned. The visions flared. She squinted, knowing only burning and death.

  Faustus chuckled. “She has you wrapped around her little finger. When she turns Burner, you won’t hurt her. The beast won’t, either. My dear sister and her impeccable present-seer. She’s the best.”

  Ladon smacked Faustus’s head against a window. Glass cracked.

  “Her army will end you. You won’t defend yourself!” A small gun dropped from Faustus’s sleeve. He pushed it into Ladon’s ear. “Silly me. Forgot about this. I blame the dust. Heh.”

  Ladon stiffened.

  “Maybe I should kill you now.” Faustus frowned. “But martyring you would cause your sister to rampage.” Faustus pushed Ladon off. “And we know what happens when one of you rampages, don’t we?”

  Backing toward the driver’s door, Faustus snorted, his future-seer hammering. “Tell you what, pumpkin. I’ll give you more time with the Dracos, how’s that sound? So you can say your good-byes. Then we’ll talk again.”

  Faustus saluted with the gun. “She was born for a purpose.” Then the driver’s door banged closed.

  And the future banged in Rysa’s head.

  30

  Memories that weren’t memories blotted out all Rysa saw and heard. Her body shook with jolts and spasms. Her gut knotted. Three seers snapped from past, present, and future and the Jani Prime overrode Rysa. Too fast, too intense, the emotions frothed. Her body ebbed in venom and flame.

  Sensations: One War Baby hit her mother and another made burndust. The third tortured Billy by breaking his bones.

  Mira tried to run into the prairie with the snorting buffalo but the past-seer slapped her hard and grinned under his expensive sunglasses.

  “Mom!” Rysa’s cheek stung like the past-seer had hit her.

  Ladon picked her up off the gritty pavement. “What are you seeing?”

  Her mother’s rage punctured every nerve in her body. “Stupid Eurotrash triad! Ah!” She thrashed in his arms, more Mira than herself.