Dark Destiny: Book One of the Destiny Novella Series (Destiny Novellas 1)

by Kari Gray

  “How?” Othello asked her, drilling his eyes on her as if he could read into her brain. He was soaked to the skin from the rain, his hair wet and shoved back from his face. Tall, dark, and handsome. And scary as hell.

  “A woman has to have her secrets,” she said. “Let’s get this finished. You have a phone call to make to your henchman, and we have less than fifteen minutes.”

  The wind gusted, hurling the rain sideways so that it pelted rather than fell. Lily put her hand to her temple where an ache began and she was tempted to release the focus she’d clamped down on Lady Chamonix. The pain intensified and she closed her eyes. “We need to hurry,” she said. “I can’t hold her forever.”

  Othello tried the heavy door under the family name, to no avail. He murmured a brief string of words Lily couldn’t hear and waved his hand over the lock. It opened an inch on hinges that squeaked in protest and he shoved against it, widening the opening.

  Lily raised a brow at him and glanced at her sisters, who regarded him similarly, each saying nothing. Lily was the first to find her voice. “How?”

  “A man has to have his secrets,” he said, and if he’d smiled, if he’d been even the least bit genial at his core, she might have thought he was teasing.

  “Fair enough.” Dahlia grasped Lily’s arm, brushing past the bokor and pulling her into the mausoleum. “Let’s do this before Chamonix gets tired of visiting. You do have her with you, right?”

  Lily nodded and squinted in the darkened interior, looking back at the doorway as the only source of light. Othello had his hand on Poppy’s back and shoved her into the room.

  “I’m not running away,” Poppy said, the angry whisper echoing off the walls. “Like it would do me any good.”

  Lily looked sharply at her sister. What had she meant by that? It had been a loaded, furious statement. Certainly it held more significance than irritation over the pact’s general “side effects” she’d described.

  Dahlia pulled on Lily’s arm again. There was too much swirling around in her head and she couldn’t decide what to do next. She was so cold she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again, but her head was on fire. She couldn’t make sense of the disparity, didn’t know who she had to help. Everyone was in danger and she was near collapse.

  Dahlia took Lily’s shoulders in her hands and shook her. “Lily. Focus on the talisman.”

  She looked at her sister, who was now illuminated with light from Poppy’s phone. Dahlia’s face blurred and then came into focus, only to go fuzzy again.

  Mom…please…

  Lily pulled the fabric scrap from her pocket and clutched it tightly in her fist against her heart. She pulled inward, thinking of nothing but the voodoo priestess, feeling her loneliness, her despair over lost loved ones, her rising sense of power as she studied the voodoo arts, the confidante she’d found in Veronique Dubois. The talisman she used to cast spells, to protect her home, to do good even when the means were ethically murky.

  Lily opened her eyes, recognizing the small room, the squares on the walls chiseled with names of the bones that rested behind them. She spun, examining the wall behind her.

  There. It was there.

  Lily ran her fingers along the wall, coming to rest on a square in the farthest corner.

  Therese Desjardin. Maman. Mon couer.

  Lily’s fingers were pale in the dim light, the bokor’s large jacket dwarfing her and giving her the appearance of a child. She heard his footsteps behind her and she shuddered inwardly, wondering how she was going to keep the talisman from his hands. She pulled at the edges of the square, ran her fingers along the corners, not having a clue as to how she’d open the thing. “There’s nothing here for you to punch a code into, Poppy…the letter…” She looked up at Poppy, who studied the wall intently.

  Othello was there beside her, then, and murmuring again in what she assumed was Romanian, he waved his hand over the deceased one’s name. The square slid forward with a grating sound and he pulled it off, revealing a small urn that rested inside. Next to the urn lay an object, and Lily watched helplessly as he reached for it. She felt a surge of horror that wasn’t her own, and she grabbed her head as pain shot through it.

  She sank to the floor and slumped against the stone wall as the bokor pulled the talisman from the box and looked at it, nestled in his palm. Dahlia rushed to Lily and pulled her close, fear and desperation on her face.

  “Lily, look at me.” Dahlia took Lily’s chin in her hand. “Look at me!”

  Lily had tried so desperately to reach Chamonix, and now she couldn’t get her to leave. Please, I will fix it. I will get the talisman back.

  Lily heard a sob and a crushing sense of sorrow as the priestess finally withdrew. The pain in her head receded enough that she focused on Dahlia’s face and nodded at her.

  Othello stood and made his way to the door.

  “Wait,” Poppy called out and followed him. “You need to call your guy, have him release Mimi. I’ll hold that for you in the meantime.”

  Othello laughed, raised a brow at Poppy as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He touched the screen, put it to his ear, and said, “Release the old woman.” Replacing the phone in his pants pocket, he sobered and pinned his gaze on Poppy. “There. Your grandmother is safe, and none of you have anything to fear from me. I have what I need.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Poppy asked, moving closer to him. “Why do you need it so much?”

  “Careful, little witch,” he said, splaying his hand around Poppy’s throat. “I told you not to do that to me again.”

  “And you can’t hurt me.”

  He winced and stumbled back, his hand still clutching her neck and pulling her with him. Poppy remained on her feet, grasping his wrist with both hands. Lily’s mouth dropped open in surprise and she glanced at Dahlia, who also regarded their sister with her mouth slack.

  “Hang on, Poppy,” Dahlia whispered. “They’re almost here.”

  But Poppy didn’t have the ear piece anymore, Lily did. She registered a voice in her ear, Jeremy, zeroing in on their position, telling them to stay still and away from the door.

  “Poppy, get away from the door,” Lily cried out and lunged forward.

  Othello stared at Lily, his eyes hardening to silver chips of ice. A shout outside drew his attention and he whirled around as though hit by a fist. Poppy gasped; he shoved her from him and she fell back into the interior of the mausoleum as he disappeared into the night.

  “No! Dammit, he still has it!” Poppy scrambled to her feet and tore out the door after him as chaos erupted outside.

  “Poppy!” Dahlia stood and tripped over her dress, cursing fluidly as she fell and fought with the material that had twisted around her legs.

  “Go get her,” Lily yelled as Dahlia finally managed to regain her feet. The pounding in her head returned with a fury as she used the last bit of energy she possessed to make it to the door.

  Dahlia ran from the building as Lily slumped just outside it, her body refusing to support her. For the second time in less than a month, she heard Bennett Duschesne calling to her from afar, felt his aura as he fell beside her, heard the desperate beating of his heart as he pulled her close against him. And for the first time since leaving his house earlier in the day—had it been only a few hours?—she was finally warm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Lily blinked and pulled herself from sleep, she was disoriented. The room was dim, as though approaching either dawn or dusk, the bed was soft as a cloud, and she was wrapped in someone’s arms, blissfully warm. The pain from the bruises on her battered body had receded to a dull, distant ache that was far more manageable than it had been. She focused on her hand, again in a splint, which lay comfortably sprawled on a broad chest. The scent of clean laundry, a blindingly white t-shirt, and a smell that was so uniquely him she would know it anywhere invaded her senses like a gentle breeze. She flexed her fingers, feeling the muscles beneath them react as she lifted he
r eyes to Bennett’s face, inches from her own.

  “Hi,” he whispered, a gentle smile turning the corners of his mouth.

  “You look tired,” she murmured.

  “Maybe a little.” He skimmed her cheek with his knuckles, closing his eyes and placing a kiss on her forehead. “You scared me.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  “A.m. or p.m.?”

  “P.m.”

  She blinked. “I slept all day?”

  “You slept for two days.”

  Anxiety crept up her spine. She was so tired of feeling afraid. “Are my sisters ok? My family?”

  “Yeah.” He traced his finger down her nose and across her lips. “Everybody’s fine, and Ronnie is awake.”

  “She is?” Lily’s eyes burned and he thumbed away a tear before it could get too far.

  He nodded. “Responding well to medication, can probably start rehab in about a week or two.”

  Her mind stirred, then, swirling with questions. “What happened at the mausoleum?”

  “A lot. Do you feel like eating anything? Hungry at all? I can bring you something.”

  “I’m a little thirsty.”

  Bennett rolled onto his back, reaching for a water bottle on the side table. She sat up slowly, took a drink and swished it around in her mouth, starting to feel human again. “Where is everyone?”

  “Your sisters took Mimi to dinner. She’s been at the hospital night and day. Between Ronnie and then you, I was afraid the poor woman would have a stroke.”

  Lily smiled. “Mimi never has strokes.” She settled back into the covers and lay on her side, reaching for his hand and then frowning at the splint. She pulled the velcro straps loose and slid her hand out, lacing her fingers with his and not even caring that she was sore. “Ok. Tell me everything.”

  “Jeremy had put a tracker on the limo, so we knew where you were without having to follow too closely. Took the driver into custody before he could notify Othello that we were there. And we waited, and waited, and waited. And it nearly killed me.”

  He swallowed and shook his head. “When we got to the mausoleum and one of the rookie cops saw Othello with his hand around Poppy’s neck, he shot him, hit his shoulder. Jeremy was furious—the kid could have hit Poppy by mistake. So Othello took off running, and Poppy went after him. She says she caught up to him, saw that he was losing blood, told him to give her the talisman. He refused and ran off, didn’t say anything else to her.”

  “You don’t believe her?” Frankly, neither did Lily. There was something weird now between her sister and the bokor, and Lily knew Othello didn’t like it. She doubted very much he would have run off without saying something of significance to Poppy, even if it was only to tell her to stay the hell away from him and the talisman.

  “She’s sticking to her story. She wasn’t hurt, that’s the important thing.”

  “Where’s Othello?”

  Bennett lifted a shoulder. “Gone. Vanished.” He frowned. “And I’m not happy about that. He could resurface any time.”

  Lily bit her lip. “You know we did a blood pact, I assume?”

  His features tightened. “Yeah.”

  “So he can’t hurt us. We’ll be ok.”

  “He can find you anywhere in the world. So whenever he decides he needs one of you for something, you’re at risk. He knows now what your skills are, each of you.”

  Lily frowned. “I don’t think he knows about Dahlia. He never mentioned anything about her premonitions.”

  “Regardless. I don’t like it.”

  “It’ll be ok. Maybe he’ll just call someday for a little reunion at the mausoleum. We’ll have a picnic and reminisce about old times.”

  Bennett closed his eyes and muttered something she couldn’t quite make out.

  “I’m good, Bennett. I feel tons better and even though he’s still out there, I really don’t think we’re in danger from him anymore.” She kissed lifted their clasped hands and kissed his. “No worries.”

  “Lily, I died a thousand times that night. I was so afraid for you and beyond pissed that I couldn’t step in, couldn’t do a damn thing. I’m never going through that again. You have to marry me.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I want you legally tied to me. I want you in my bed every night. I want to grow old at your side and be with you until you’re sick of me and make me go golfing or something so you can play canasta with your sisters.”

  “That’s weird. I don’t even know what canasta is.” Her heart thumped and a giddy sense of joy spread through her, starting in her heart and winding its way through her limbs until she was filled with it.

  “Please.”

  “Not very romantic, you know. What’s a girl supposed to do with a proposal like that?”

  He winced. “I know. I had much bigger plans.”

  She laughed and pulled her fingers from his, laying her palm alongside his cheek, feeling the tears return and glad that this time they weren’t from pain or fear. “Yes, yes, a million times yes. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you,” he said and then looked at the ceiling. “Thank you very much.”

  She laughed again through her tears. “I never pegged you for a praying man, Bennett Duschesne.”

  “I am from now on. Promised to go to church and everything if you said ‘yes.’”

  She smiled. “I guess we’d better make sure you have some shirts pressed, then.”

  He grinned at her, and it nearly took the breath from her lungs. He lowered his head and captured her lips with his, deepening the kiss as she responded and pulling her close against him. She sighed as he trailed his lips softly along her jaw and across her neck. She would have time later to visit Ronnie, to hug Mimi and her sisters, to make plans for rebuilding the Bohemian Boutique. For now, this was everything, and it was perfect. The family legacy, her destiny, plans for a wedding—it could all wait.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair as he brought his mouth back to hers and she realized with a sense of delight that sometimes it was nice to not think about anything at all. The world could wait while she relished what she’d hoped for since the moment a sexy co-ed had asked her about her unique last name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dahlia Bordeaux sat back in her seat on the flight to Boston next to her sister, Poppy. She was exhausted to the bone, unsettled from recent events, but happy that her older sister, Lily, was engaged to the man she loved and was thrilled about it.

  It wasn’t every day a person battled with a bokor and lived to tell about it. But it wasn’t done, it still left a flutter in her stomach that Dahlia didn’t appreciate. Othello hadn’t been captured for his attempt on Lily’s life—far from it. He’d escaped, and now was tied to the three sisters in a way she wasn’t sure any of them fully comprehended.

  She glanced at Poppy, who leaned back in her seat and prepared to put her ear phones in.

  “You ok?” Dahlia asked.

  Poppy nodded and touched a spot behind her ear. “I’m wearing my patch. No throwing up for me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Poppy took a breath. “I’m good. I swear.”

  “What did he say to you outside the mausoleum? For real.”

  “Nothing. Really. I would tell you.” She smiled, but there was something in her eyes that was…off. Poppy was notorious for trying to keep the family from worrying about her. She took care of everyone else, it was a role she’d perfected when Lily had left home for college.

  “You’re not telling me everything. You know it and I know it. And this isn’t the end of it.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes and put her earphones on. As the plane filled up with people shoving bags that were much too big into overhead compartments that were much too small, Poppy eventually closed her eyes and shut Dahlia out completely.

  Dahlia sighed, tense. She rolled her head around and massa
ged the back of her neck, knowing she’d have to see the chiropractor in a few days. She was active, fit, and toned, and prided herself on her ability to hold her own in a street fight. Not that it happened too often. But she was ready, stayed ready. She’d been ten years old when her parents had been murdered, and it had defined her motivation since. Relaxing was hard for her, as a consequence, and she’d come to know her chiropractor on a first-name basis. He and his wife had named her as their first child’s godmother.

  She couldn’t very well force Poppy to tell her what had transpired between her and the bokor in those final moments outside the mausoleum, and she was going to have to let it go. Dahlia had always called Lily a control freak, but if she had to be honest, that mantle probably settled better on her own shoulders.

  Lily had completely turned off her paranormal abilities when their parents had died, and Dahlia had embraced them to the hilt. Honed her strength, stayed vigilant, fine-tuned her premonitions of the future when they flew at her out of nowhere. It hadn’t worked so well in New Orleans, though, and that scared her. Her visions had been scarce, and hardly of any use at all. She was going to have to do something about that.

  She glanced at Poppy and felt a sudden sense of loneliness as the passengers settled into place and the plane taxied toward the runway. She watched the flight attendants go through the motions of routines they’d done a thousand times, heard a toddler two rows back scream for a piece of candy, and closed her eyes as she settled her own earphones into place. Lily had Bennett, and she was genuinely happy for her sister. Poppy was no longer the little sister Dahlia could boss around, and Mimi was staying behind in New Orleans to be with Ronnie while she healed. Dahlia was a tense bundle of nerves and she felt absolutely isolated.

  It was just as well. She didn’t have time for a man or even a best friend. She had a lot on her plate and it kept her busy. And busy was good.