Fallen Ashes: Fated & Forbidden

by T. F. Walsh

  The woman glanced away, as though debating running. Then her eyes dropped to the armful of food she was carrying, and the bottle in her hand. She shifted until she could hold them all with one hand, and he knew he'd won. She reached into her pocket for the cards with an annoyed sigh. Dante didn't understand why she was so uneasy, but even her hands were trembling. She held out the deck. “Pick a card. If it's talking to me, I'll read for you.”

  Dante grinned, a lopsided smirk that either made women want to bed him, or slap him. The fortune-teller looked like it had the latter effect on her. Still, she hid it behind a cold smile of her own. He wouldn't have known he was getting to her if it wasn't for the way her pulse sped up, hammering into his fingertips like a siren song.

  He took his hand off her reassuringly warm flesh, reached into the deck, and removed the first card to separate under his fingers.

  She glanced at it. “The tower. The collapse of a structure built on false beliefs.” Her eyes met his, turquoise as the ocean's water, with a little ring of pure green around her pupils. He found himself drowning in her stare. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off him, either. But the longer she met his gaze, the more convinced he became that it wasn't truly him she was looking at. “I'll do it. You need the help.”

  His smile turned predatory, as he shoved out the seat Hart had inhabited. She sat, and reached for the money in his hand, juggling her leftovers precariously. He pulled his hand back. “No. After you work your magic.”

  She glared at him. He wasn't sure whether she was more pissed about his sarcastic tone, or about him withholding her payment. He gestured expansively at the table. “Well? Go on...”

  Her teeth worried the edge of her lower lip, making the flesh turn red as though she'd just been kissed. She set her leftovers to the side, and set her deck down on the table.

  Her fingertips lingered over the deck, and she winced. He bit back the urge to growl at her to get on with it. She shut her eyes, and raised the bottle to her lips. She drank a hefty amount of liquor with the focus and desperation of a poisoned woman guzzling the antidote. He raised an eyebrow. That did not bode well.

  She exhaled, and he could smell it on her breath, sweet and spicy. He plucked the bottle from her hands, and raised it to his own lips.

  “Excuse me?” she said. “Ever hear of asking permission?”

  “For what I'm paying you, sweetheart, you can buy yourself plenty more.”

  Her nostrils flared. “True. But I'm gonna buy the cheap stuff. Not the good stuff like this. Money up front.”

  Dante didn't appreciate the challenge. It made him want to dig in his heels. “No. Money after. Make it worth my while.”

  She sighed, but turned to her deck, and began shuffling. He could almost feel the magic in her fingertips as she worked, as though the air itself had grown heavy with intensity and constrained power. Though he was sure it was simply the little tells in her demeanor, little flourishes that had been carefully cultivated to impress the stupid and gullible, she was good. He half believed that her hands were moving of their own volition, acting under the force of something far larger than herself.

  She set the deck down, offering it to him. He cut it, and passed it back to her. Her fingers were warm—too warm. Feverish. Her skin seemed even warmer than the last time he'd touched it. She was sweating, too, and the trembles were back.

  Fucking tweakers, he thought. She had the look of one, the sharpness, the fight-or-flight bleeding through her pores. He'd been willing to think she was simply afraid of him, that maybe she had a hint of instinct and common sense. But for the amount of liquor she'd drunk, maybe she was just masking over the symptoms of something far more acute and painful. The last thing that he needed was her freaking out and attracting attention to him if her withdrawal got worse.

  Her eyes darted to the side, but when he tried to see what she was staring at, there was nothing there. Just a piece of trash drifting in the breeze.

  “Get on with it,” he said. He was impatient to be done with her. The initial spark that had made him confront her had died out as quickly as it had formed. She'd just gotten lucky reading the other woman, and he'd been a fool to buy into it, even for a moment.

  He paused himself before he could say something sharp. It wouldn't be the first time his temper had burned him. Better to contain his irritation, and stick it out. If only to avoid causing a scene. Perhaps it was simply his inner contrarian not liking how long she made him wait for whatever answers she could provide. Perhaps she'd pull a rabbit out of that hat, and give him something worthwhile, if he just held his tongue.

  She glared at him, and began placing cards on the table.

  “The devil. Self-deception. You're in a situation where you feel restricted. But the only thing that's restricting you is your own hangups.”

  Dante's doubt multiplied. She was taking him for a ride.

  “Death. It looks scary, but it just means one phase of life ending, making way for another one. If you keep an open mind, the change won't be bad. The queen of swords. You meeting someone who speaks the ring of truth. Heed her words.” She grinned, a twisted, bitter look.

  He was now fully convinced that she was scamming him. Telling him that she was a part of his destiny, if he heeded her? Every two-bit psychic knew that one. From a distance, she'd had the spark, but up close? It was amateur hour. Only a rank beginner—or someone too high to pay attention to detail—would try that trick on him.

  “The knight of wands. A long journey. One you feel you must embark on immediately. But that's a lie. Self-deception, remember. Take your time. Take care. Don't rush.”

  With every word to leave her lips, the woman was deflating, shrinking into herself. She looked, for lack of a better word, haunted.

  “Nine of swords. You're blinded by your own fear. And while there are threats around you, the biggest one is your own stubbornness. This card, and the devil are damn clear about that.” She chuckled, and the corner of her shapely lips turned up in a soft smile, but he wasn't taken in by that. She was having fun insulting him, while trying to make it look like her reading was true. He didn't return the grin. No way in fuck she'd earned the money he'd promised her.

  She shrugged, and tapped the next card. “Five of swords. It can show dishonor, defeat and loss, if you aren't careful to be ethical in your actions. Selfish victories are short-lived. Don't get so caught up on the short term battle that you lose the war.”

  That made his hackles raise. Did she suspect that he was planning to stiff her?

  “Eight of cups. Abandonment. Leaving behind old goals for new ones. Better ones. Don't be afraid to turn your back on your emotional investment, to seek out something better. Ten of wands. A wonderful project or idea becoming a burden. As the eight says, don't be afraid to walk away from it.”

  Dante had had enough. He stood and walked away, watching her out of the corner of his eye in case she tried to attack him. For a moment, the woman stared at him with her mouth hanging open, but she caught on fast. She scrambled to scoop the cards up, as well as her boxes. “Hey, you owe me!” she called after him. He heard her footsteps behind him as she raced to catch up.

  “No, I don't think so. You're only gonna use it to buy booze or drugs.” He didn't bother looking at her. She was an incoherent liar.

  “Bang on. But you knew that when you offered me the cash.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Why'd you change your mind? Is it just that you want me to go deeper?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lips tremble. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught. “You're gonna lose your war—but you're gonna win a far bigger one you haven't even looked at yet. I see it—I see it on the back of my eyelids, like it's seared into my brain. Is that what you want?”

  Her voice was choked with tears. He ignored her, and kept walking. She stumbled, behind him, crying out. “You're a self-destructive, selfish cheat. I'm happy you're gonna fuck this up. I hope it costs you a lot more than what you
stole from me—”

  He didn't respond, though he didn't quite ignore her. He wouldn't put it past the fake mystic to attack him, to try to get the money he'd promised her. She collapsed against a wall behind him, sinking to her knees. The wind carried her continued mutters to him, but he couldn't make hide nor hair of what she was talking about. Something about foul winds, and hostile birds.

  He had a knack for picking them. He'd been an idiot to let his desperation drag her into his path.

  Dante would just have to find other sources of information. Reliable ones.

  Ones that were more trustworthy than the drunk, homeless woman clinging to the wall behind her as though it was tethering her to the ground.

  About K. de Long

  New York Times and USA Today Bestseller K. de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, she flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library.

  K. de Long writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and dark romance under Katie de Long. For more information about K. de Long's work, visit www.delongkatie.com.

  About the Author

  Amazon bestselling author T.F. Walsh emigrated from Romania to Australia at the age of eight and now lives in a regional city south of Sydney with her husband. Growing up hearing dark fairy tales, she’s always had a passion for reading and writing paranormal romance, urban fantasy, horror, and young adult stories. She balances all the dark with light fluffy stuff like baking and traveling.

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  DACIANA

  Damn bear. Leaving footprints on the outskirts of the forest, winding around the apartment blocks, and scaring locals for the past week. No wonder the cops had threatened to shoot him on sight today.

  Sunrise wasn’t far away; neither was my transformation from wolf into human, so I had to hurry. Romania’s morning breeze wove through my fur, and the distinct dried- clover-and-grass scent screamed bear. He was definitely here—always just before dawn.

  Not that I should care. Wolves and bears weren’t the best of friends. But I’d seen the way humans made killing us a sport, and I couldn’t stand to see any animal hurt.

  Careening around the corner of the building, I halted and silenced my breaths.

  Fifteen feet away was a frizzy, brown bottom sticking in the air. The bear that belonged to that butt balanced on the edge of an oversized trash can, head down inside, his scratching and grunting muffled.

  A few steps closer, I snarled, the sound vibrating through my chest.

  The bear jerked upward, a butter container sitting over his nose. He clacked his teeth and forced an expulsion of air, throwing the container off his face.

  I backed up. Yep, this might be a funny moment on television, but not when you were the one facing the six-foot animal standing on hind legs.

  He flopped back onto all fours and momentarily gazed back at his trash.

  I have no plans to take your garbage. A growl slipped past my throat, and I lowered myself, feigning attack posture. Come on, boy, get out of here before it’s too late. I stalked forward.

  He swiped at me with a front paw, huffing.

  I jumped back and circled him.

  But he lunged suddenly, slapping the concrete ground several feet from me, and stood

  there, his mouth hanging open. He roared and made a pulsing sound deep in his throat. Oh, he felt threatened now. Good.

  I ran around him in a large circle, faster. His claws swatted at me, inches away, but

  once I was at his back, I leapt closer and nipped his hindquarters.

  His bawling echoed, but I hadn’t drawn blood, and it sure as hell was better than a

  bullet.

  The crunch of leaves sounded, followed by footfalls, from around the building behind

  me.

  I flinched and sniffed the air. Humans.

  The bear turned and ran away from the trash, from me, from the city, heading toward

  the forest. I chased after him to make sure he got as far away from here as possible. He bolted faster, his paws hitting the ground with each pounce.

  “The bear. And a fucking wolf?” a disembodied voice boomed from my left.

  In the empty grassland between the apartment block and the woods, two police

  officers with rifles watched us. They were there to hunt the bear and broke into a run in our direction.

  Fuck, this was bad. Really bad. I burst into the dense Transylvania forest behind the bear, trampling foliage and dried twigs. He’d swung right and already put distance between us. He was safe, but what about me?

  Heading straight ahead, I sprinted across the forest floor, dodging low branches. I glanced behind me. Footfalls resonated, and the two figures raced my way.

  Heavy breaths strangled my lungs as I bolted. The ground flew beneath me and fresh pine-scented air splashed over my face, promising escape. Except my heart was attempting to break free from my chest.

  A shot was fired, and I scampered faster.

  Ten pulse-wrenching minutes later, the police were nowhere in sight or smell range. That didn’t mean they couldn’t still be trailing after me.

  The first ripples of a transformation into my human form crawled through my back legs. I scrambled up the hill, claws digging into the soil for leverage with each rapid lunge.

  Not yet.

  Through the woods, the first glimpse of the morning sun peeked over the horizon.

  My body shuddered, and I stumbled forward, shivering uncontrollably as thousands of tiny bite-like nips swarmed across my flesh. I whimpered, and a long exhale gushed past my lips. The change was happening.

  Fire catapulted through my veins, and a thunderous growl rolled free as my wolf retreated. My limbs stretched, and my bronze pelt vanished. Gone were the muted colors. The shadows no longer glowed with a gray hue. Now, I crouched on all fours in my human form with a chill snapping across my bare skin. The full moon had come and gone too fast, along with my forced change into a moonwulf. It happened once a month. Unlike other moonwulves, I had the ability to control my wolf when I turned. No being locked up for me, and I thanked the moon goddess for her blessing to run wild in the woods, to release my wolf, and be one with nature every full moon. On the other days, I remained a regular human.

  I staggered upright, rubbing the cold from my arms and shivered.

  Hopefully I’d put enough distance between the police and me. The Animal Research Institute lay over the hill. So much for reaching it before sunrise and any of my coworkers arrived at work. No one knew about my wolf side, and unless I intended to break a massive pack rule that could get me killed, it would remain that way.

  As I sped up the slope, the frozen earth and foliage pinched the soles of my feet. Working at the institute had its perks, including a spare set of clothes tucked away for situations like this. Keeping the humans clueless of my kind’s existence had been drilled into us at birth, or as in my case, the moment I joined my pack family at a young age. Hmm, maybe stashing a set of clothes in a tree trunk would work better in an emergency. Mental note for next month.

  The winds carried an icy bite, so I ran. With my chin tucked low, I spotted the purple berry juice staining my toes. Stretching my fingers out revealed the same dark crimson in the corners of my nails. Overnight I had
devoured so many wild berries, I was surprised my whole body hadn’t turned violet.

  Most of my day would involve caring for bear cubs, so I’d blame my stained fingers on feeding them berries.

  Through the trees, the shadow of the institute loomed.

  Except, blue and red lights throbbed from the far side of the building, glowing brighter through the morning dimness. I froze on the spot. Had they seen me coming this way in my wolf form? A naked girl in the woods would also definitely attract attention.

  If I retreated, it meant sneaking into the city without clothes. Not an option.

  I crept toward the back of the building, away from the flashing lights, and prayed no one saw me. Approaching several trash cans, I tilted the largest one on its side and reached for the key I’d taped to the underside the previous night.

  The crunch of dried leaves sounded from around the building ahead of me, and I halted. Footfalls closed in.

  With the key clenched tightly in my fist, I scrambled back into the woods. No time to unlock the door and dash inside. Throwing myself on the ground behind a huge, thick bush, I watched as two uniformed officers stepped into view.

  My breathing quickened as I lay there freezing, a sharp object stabbing my belly. The police scanned the area with a flashlight. They tried the back door of the building, which was locked, and inspected the windows. Standing several paces from my hiding spot, one of the men examined the bins, inside and underneath. He leaned over and picked up something from the lawn near the bin. What did he find?

  Despite the cold, sweat beaded on the nape of my neck.

  When the officers beamed a light in my direction, I ducked and held my breath. Their footsteps receded, and I waited awhile to see if they returned. They didn’t.