Gifted - The 5 Book Paranormal Romance Box Set

by Amira Rain

  It was a Gifted named Andrea who first alerted me to Dylan's presence, though unintentionally, gasping while looking across the clearing to the tree line. Following her line of vision, I saw him, ghastly and terrible with his glowing red eyes and pale skin. And suddenly, his absence on the battle field up to this point made perfect sense.

  He'd wanted to wait to join the fray so that all Gifteds would be fairly worn down when he did. I wasn't sure why I hadn't suspected this, knowing what a coward he was, and what sneaky things he was capable of.

  What I hated was that Dylan's battle strategy, although completely without honor, had been extremely smart. Many Gifted fighting were becoming a bit visibly worn down by now. I didn't feel myself losing power just yet, but I knew I was possibly getting close to a drop; it was just hard to tell sometimes.

  I'd fought in battles where I'd lasted two hours, but I'd also fought in battles where my zapping energy had run completely dry after only ten minutes. I'd come to learn that these variances were due, at least in part, to how quickly I zapped and how much power I put into each one.

  Seeing that Mark was currently occupied fighting off two Angel lions who were trying to get to a group of Gifteds, I took off, knowing that I had to reach Dylan before Mark saw me. If I didn't, I knew he'd probably beat me to him, and I couldn't let that happen. Still hell-bent on getting revenge, I had to be the one to reach Dylan first, at least before Mark did.

  Zapping while weaving through tight clusters of fighting wolves, Angels, lions, and Gifteds, it took me longer than I expected to cross the clearing, and once I did, Dylan was already engaged in combat with a North Haven lion, zapping him with a stream of silvery light so bright it actually hurt my eyes. If he himself thought it was bright, though, he hadn't seen anything yet. I planned to send him straight back to hell, as Mark had suggested.

  Mustering every shred of strength and power remaining in my body, I thrust my palms out toward him when I was within twenty feet. "Liar!"

  The electrical streams that shot from my palms simultaneously may as well have been bombs. Never in my three years as a Gifted had I ever produced any zaps even a tenth as bright or powerful. Maybe not even a hundredth. The force of them rocketed Dylan back into the trees, and for a split-second, I could hear him yelling in terror. High-pitched and shrill, his voice sounded like a little girl's.

  Immensely gratified, I charged into the forest after him. "Come here and face me, you coward! Come here and face me!"

  I wasn't even sure if he could hear me, but it felt good to yell. I honestly wasn't sure if he'd come down from the treetops yet. I just hoped he hadn't somehow gotten stuck, dangling from a branch or something. I was nowhere near finished with him yet.

  After running across the mossy forest floor for less than a minute, I spotted Dylan on his back, beneath a tall sycamore. Moaning, he was obviously struggling just to try to sit up. Also, his pale face was contorted in clear pain.

  Feeling triumphant, I came to a stop beside him and immediately gave him another zap, making him seize, head dropping back on a large rock with an audible thud.

  "How could you, Dylan? How could you?"

  I'd practically screamed my second question.

  "I gave you three years of my life, and you used me in the cruelest possible way. I actually defended your life, over and over and over, while the entire time, you were just mocking me."

  "I'm still mocking you."

  The fact that Dylan was lifting his palm had barely even registered when I felt myself being hit by a current of electricity that knocked me back on my rear.

  Suddenly, somehow, Dylan was up, hovering above me with his feet barely touching the ground. "I'm pretty good at acting and faking pain, wouldn't you say?"

  Shaking off the pain of his zap, I was already lifting a palm to send him one in return, but simultaneously he was doing the same. Basically canceling each other out, our zaps met in the air, making a crackling noise like a high-voltage power line. This did, however, give me the chance to leap to my feet, zapping Dylan again with my opposite palm even while I did so.

  This zap connected with his midsection, and he went down. Digging deep for every last particle of energy left in my body, I tried to prolong the zap as long as I could, making him writhe in the dirt, seeming to be in very genuine pain.

  When I could no longer sustain my zap, I dropped my palm and moved to stand above him. "How was that? Are you faking now? Doesn't look like it."

  I went to zap him again, but to my extreme dismay, I produced only the thinnest of electrical streams. It made him writhe again, but only for the second or two that it lasted. Immediately, I tried zapping him with my other palm, but to my horror, nothing came out. Not a near-invisible stream, not a spark. Just nothing.

  Chuckling, though holding his stomach, clearly still in genuine pain, Dylan looked up at me. "Oh, that's too bad, Gifted. But this will give us a second to talk. I just have a quick, random question to ask you. I heard that my Angels killed your mother by blasting her eyeball and brains right out of her skull. Did you really think I could fix a mess like that?"

  I must have blacked out for a second or two. Because one moment, I was towering above Dylan, fists balled. And the next, I was on top of him, pounding his face, yelling. A few moments later, intense pain ripped through my shoulder, and I fell, or rolled, or tipped. Something. I may have run out of zaps, but Dylan obviously hadn't.

  The next moment, I heard a mighty roar, then some sort of collision, like a thud followed by another thud. Opening my eyes, I saw the lion that Dylan had zapped earlier was now on top of him nearby, slashing at his face and throat, each swipe of his large paw sending jets of blood shooting into the air.

  Getting to my feet, I looked away, not needing to see any more.

  Beginning to fall into the lethargic haze that usually preceded a post-battle fainting spell, I staggered back to the battlefield, seeing that the fighting was over. Everywhere, Angel lion carcasses and severed heads littered the bright green grass, their glowing red eyes quickly dimming. Here and there, I spotted severed Angel heads. Across the field, by the southern tree line, I saw a large group of Gifteds, most of them sitting, surely just as exhausted as I was. A few dozen North Haven lions were dashing over to them, to make sure everyone was okay.

  Miraculously, it didn't appear that any North Haven lions or Gifteds had been seriously injured or killed. However, there was one lion in particular that I just wasn't seeing among all the other lions that were up and around, crisscrossing the battlefield, probably looking for any Angels or Angel shifters that had only been knocked out but not killed via decapitation.

  Coming to a stop near the eastern side of the field, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted with as much strength as I could muster. "Mark! Mark, where are you?"

  When I heard no response after several seconds, I tried calling out to him again, forcing my voice to carry even further, but still heard no response in return.

  I did, however, attract the attention of a nearby lion, who shifted into his human form, walking toward me. "We can't find him. Last we saw, it looked like he was trying to spot you, and then he was charged by three Angel lions at once. None of us could get to him, and then he was just gone. It was like he just disappeared."

  My stomach just about dropped to the ground. Realizing that Mark might have died because he was so distracted trying to protect me, I felt like I might be sick. It wasn't lost on me that in my quest to avenge the murders of my family members, I might have caused the death of a man who'd become the closest thing to family to me since then.

  *

  Making a sound between a whimper and a moan, I sank to my knees in the grass. "Mark. Mark, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "You'll be able to tell him that to his face in a second."

  "What?"

  In response, the shifter who'd stopped to talk to me pointed in the direction of a large copse of trees at the eastern edge of the clearing. "Look who's coming on out. And i
t looks like he's dragging an Angel lion carcass with its tail in his mouth. I guess when he disappeared, he'd probably just charged into the trees."

  Weak with relief, I was glad I'd already sunk to my knees, because I was pretty sure my legs wouldn't hold me up.

  It wasn't long before I was in Mark's human form arms, babbling that I was sorry, though sorry for what, specifically, I didn't even know. Everything. For making him distracted, for believing Dylan's lies, and for thinking that getting revenge would somehow make me feel better.

  "It didn't, Mark. I zapped him hard a few times, but it didn't change anything. My family's still all dead. It wasn't even worth it. I'm just sorry that I ever thought it would be."

  Mark hushed me with a finger on my lips. "Stop, Paulina. No more apologies. From this point onward, we only move forward. Agreed?"

  I nodded, head suddenly spinning. "All right."

  Within seconds, I passed out, sinking into the complete oblivion of unconsciousness.

  However many hours later, I awoke to the feel of something tickling my cheek. It was something wet and warm and a little sandpaper-y rough. I slowly opened my eyes and saw Rocky standing beside me on the bed, his furry, golden form illuminated by the nightstand lamp.

  "Oh, hi, sweet boy. Hi."

  While I reached my arms up to pet him, a voice startled me.

  "Hey, messed-up shoulder twin."

  I whipped my head to the right and saw Christy sitting in a chair bedside with a paperback book balanced on one knee.

  "Did I not tell you, Paulina? Did I not tell you? Now, feel around on your shoulder. Feel that big ol' bandage? Welcome to the permanent shoulder scar club. You were warned."

  Rocky barked once, looking at Christy, and she sighed.

  "Okay, he's right. I am being a little hard on you. So right now, I'm going to go in for a hug, but very carefully, so that I don't hurt your burn." After setting her book on the nightstand, she leaned over me, gently giving me a half-hug, avoiding my bandaged shoulder entirely. "I'm really glad you're okay. I'm starting to see you like a sister, and I just about lost my mind when I heard you'd been injured."

  Sister. Though no one could ever replace my three little sisters, I liked the sound of having a new one.

  Over the next week, Mark was gone a lot, burying carcasses, one of them Dylan's, and trying to chase down several dozen Angels and at least a dozen lions who'd managed to escape the fray. However, he still made it home in time for dinner each night, and he insisted on doing all the cooking, as if the three-inch tall and two-inch wide burn on my shoulder completely prevented me from lifting a pot or a pan with the hand on my opposite side.

  I complained a little at first, but deep down, I kind of liked the fussing. And although Mark maybe wasn't the greatest cook in the world, burning a lot of dishes and under-cooking others, somehow each meal he made for me tasted like something that might be served at a hundred-dollar-a-plate restaurant.

  One evening after one of these meals, he pulled me onto his lap and whispered “I hope you know how brave, and strong, and fearless you are, Paulina. And I hope this scar will always remind you of that. You faced off with a sorcerer, and you didn't let him win."

  With a huge lump in my throat, I tried to say thanks, but the word just came out as a whisper. Mark said you're welcome with a kiss so tender it made me curl my toes.

  Over the next few weeks, Mark's scouts reported to him that the majority of the Angels and lions who'd retreated from the battle had made it back to New Bad Axe. Mark decided not to further pursue them, because of the women and children at the settlement. Mark figured they'd all probably soon take a boat to get back to the northern half of the state, which was still very much Angel-controlled, even though Dylan's successor hadn't been chosen yet. Besides, Mark now had other enemy problems to worry about, namely a large pack of Angel-enchanted wolves that had been terrorizing the southern half of the state, seeming to have come out of nowhere.

  Mark knew that eventually, they might venture into the "thumb" of the state, requiring all of us North Haven fighters to deal with them. However, for the moment, all of us villagers were content to enjoy a little peace.

  As July turned into August, then August into September, and September into October, Mark and I became closer and closer, and this time, I knew it was genuine closeness, because I wasn't hiding anything from him. He, however, seemed to be hiding a little something, some special little woodworking project that took up about an hour of his time in his garage carpentry shop every night.

  He never specifically mentioned what he was working on, but since he'd said something or other about desks for the new community school at some point, I just figured that was what he was working on. So, I never went out to the garage to investigate. Besides, I figured that the garage was his personal "man space," and maybe he preferred I stay out of it, anyway.

  It was only near the end of October that I finally got to see exactly what he'd been working on out there. Telling me he had a surprise for me, he led me into our bedroom, covering my eyes. Then, after guiding me to the foot of our bed, he uncovered them, telling me to have a look at something he'd made for me.

  Near my feet was a gorgeous, large chest made of what appeared to be light honey oak. Near-impossibly ornate curls and swirls had been carved into the lid, which also bore my initials in similarly ornate lettering overlaid with gold filigree. Like the kitchen table that Mark had made, the finish of the chest was so glossy it was mirror-like. The chest, as a whole, was the most beautiful piece of woodwork I'd ever seen in my life. I wanted to tell Mark that, but for some reason, I couldn't even speak.

  Beside me, he put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "I know this is probably hopelessly old-fashioned, and maybe even...well, frankly, lame for this day and age, but I got this idea that I wanted to make you a hope chest.

  “I thought you could use it to store things that remind you of your family members who are gone but never forgotten, and I thought you could also use it to possibly store things for a future family that you might have someday. You don't have to use it, though. I know most women prefer gifts of diamonds or other jewels, but for some reason, I thought-"

  "I love it. I think it's absolutely beautiful, Mark. It's stunning. I'm going to treasure it for the rest of my life."

  Mark grinned, clearly pleased by my response. "Good."

  "Do you mind if I open it? Can I look inside?"

  "Go right ahead. It's yours."

  Although the chest was obviously made of sturdy construction, I opened the lid as if it were made of porcelain, for some reason. Inside the box, I'd expected to see hinges and wood, maybe a cloth or satin liner or something. But instead, the only thing sitting in the box was a tiny blue velvet box. It looked like a ring box.

  Not comprehending how it might relate to me, I lifted out the little box and looked at Mark stupidly. "What...what is this?"

  Grinning, he took the box from me. "This is something for me to open." Making me gasp, he then got down on one bended knee in front of me, opening the box to reveal an enormous princess-cut diamond on a slender gold band. "Paulina Marie Mars, will you marry me?"

  Despite a huge lump in my throat and tears welling in my eyes, I managed to say yes, and then I said it again, just for good measure. "I want to be your wife more than anything, Mark."

  Grinning, he slid the ring on my finger with a shaft of sunlight revealing that his own eyes were slightly shiny. "You’ve made me the happiest man alive."

  I was pretty sure I was the happiest woman.

  That July, we were married in an outdoor ceremony attended by everyone in North Haven. Christy, who was seven months pregnant, was my matron of honor, and Britt also stood up for me. Wearing a doggie t-shirt printed with a picture of a tuxedo jacket on the front, Rocky served as one of Mark's groomsmen. In order to stay in place and behave during the ceremony, he had to be bribed with a giant rawhide bone to keep him busy.

  That evening, after we'd danced
beneath the stars for hours, Mark carried me over the threshold of our brand-new five-bedroom house, which was on a secluded lot to the east of the village. Together, we'd designed it, and Mark and his shifters had built it.

  After setting me down on the couch, he poured champagne for us both, handed me my glass, and had a seat beside me. "I'd like to make a toast. To us, and our happiness, and many, many joyful years together."

  Both of us grinning, we clinked our glasses and each took a sip of champagne, then I proposed a toast.

  "To us, our future family, and always moving forward."