The Complete Tempted Series

by Selene Charles

  It was a man’s voice, and when he stood up, she could see that it was a green-eyed Nephilim. His hair was dark and thick and wavy, his features exotic and his skin burnished. All the Nephilim were strangely appealing, which was part of their lure and why the circus could stay in the same place for weeks on end and still command large crowds.

  Most traveling carnivals she’d ever been involved with would stay a maximum of a couple of days to a week tops before they maxed out the profitability of the town and were forced to move on.

  Flint couldn’t quite remember which of the seven deadly sins possessed the green-eyed Nephs, but she was betting envy. Each Nephilim carried around inside them one of the cardinal sins, and whichever sin they carried correlated to their particular eye color. Adam with his hypnotic and star-dusted blue eyes was a greed Nephilim.

  But that was about all she knew. She’d only recently begun learning about their world before the bomb happened.

  “I have my reasons.” Grace spoke up, and even though her body was rigid and tense, she never once looked over at Flint.

  The envy Neph was yanked down by a feminine hand, causing him to disappear from Flint’s sight once again.

  Grace held up a finger. “When you go out on a hunt, go in teams. No more solo search parties. At this point we have to assume that if Layla has left any drones behind, their intention will be shoot to kill.”

  “Do you think she’s planning another attack?” a female voice in the audience asked.

  “Absolutely, she is,” Grace replied with conviction.

  The assembly scattered soon after that, and just as Flint made to stand, Adam came over to her side, crooked a finger in her direction and said, “Follow me.”

  37

  Flint

  Adam waited for her grandmother to join them. Once Grace got to them, he led them both to his trailer.

  Flint remembered the first night she’d ever met him and how much she’d immediately despised him for the arrogant display he’d shown to her father. And while she couldn’t exactly say she liked the guy, she didn’t really hate him now either. All things considered, she felt bad for him.

  After helping her grandmother to sit, Flint took the seat beside her.

  “Thank ye, child.” Her nana sighed and it was weird, but suddenly Grace seemed old. Tired.

  Patting her hand, Flint whispered, “How are you feeling?”

  Adam sat behind his desk, grabbed for an orange, and peeled it quickly before saying, “You look like death, old woman.”

  Brows gathering, Flint would have ripped into him for being so rude if her grandmother hadn’t chuckled softly.

  “Well, I feel like it. And considering he’s my constant companion these days, I would say your statement’s not too far off the mark.”

  Grace rubbed her thumb across Flint’s wrist as if to say “No worries, lass.”

  Flint shook her head and brushed her way-too-long hair back. Already she was witnessing yet another side effect of her shifts. Just during the period of her coma, her hair had grown about five inches longer than it’d been before, now reaching well past her butt and hovering dangerously close to her thighs. She needed a haircut stat, and preferably some bangs.

  Ugh. She shoved another loose lock behind her ear.

  “So, someone care to tell me just what kind of school I’ll be going to now?” Flint asked with a heavy sigh, stomach a mass of twisted nerves as she envisioned just what kind of teacher she’d have.

  A demon.

  Vampire.

  Heck, maybe even a werewolf.

  Considering the types of creatures that worked at Diabolique, nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

  “Easy,” Adam said after swallowing a slice of orange.

  The powerful scent of citrus caused Flint’s stomach to practically grind against itself with its desperate need for food. Lips tipping, Adam reached into his desk and extracted two oranges before tossing them both at her.

  She picked them out of the air cleanly, one in each hand.

  Grace merely grinned.

  “Impressive,” Adam murmured.

  “I didn’t exaggerate,” Grace murmured, to which Flint frowned.

  Had they been talking about her behind her back?

  “No, crone, you rarely do,” Adam said gruffly. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped his thumbs on the polished wood surface. “Flint, you’ll not be required to become an act in the circus. You will, however, be trained again.”

  “What?” Flint cried, nearly dropping her half-peeled orange onto her lap. “No way. I didn’t sign up for that. I’m done being a walker.”

  Scoffing, Grace patted her silver bun as if to smooth out any flyways, but her grandmother was a study in poise. “Child, ye’ve no need to learn a skill you’ve already mastered.”

  “Then what exactly—”

  Giving her a no-nonsense assessment, Adam said, “If you’re going to be a part of this circus, you need to be a contributing member. We don’t accept freeloaders.”

  A slice of orange dangled half in and half out of her mouth as she gasped. “Freeloader!” she shrieked, causing them both to wince. “I’m not a freeloader. I’m not even sure why you’d call me that. I’ve never asked for—”

  Adam’s jaw visibly ground together before he said, “You’re moving here permanently, girl. It’s the safest place for you to be right now. Which means you’ll be given a trailer and a daily ration of food and money. In return, you will do as we require.”

  Her eyes bugged. How dare he decide her life for her? “How could—”

  “Flint.” Her grandmother’s commanding voice stopped her tirade cold. “We’ve talked this through with your father. You probably noticed most of your clothes and even some of your furniture gone; it’s because it’s here.”

  Most of the fight left her then. “And he said okay to this? He just let me leave?”

  It wasn’t that Flint hadn’t wanted to move away from home. She was seventeen, practically eighteen in just a few short weeks. Of course she’d wanted to leave. But it sucked and hurt to think that her dad was cool with her just skipping out.

  Stomach churning with a thread of anger and maybe even a prickling of rage, she turned her face to the side, studying the door with unseeing eyes.

  “He still loves you, Flint,” Grace said softly after a minute.

  Huffing back the wet tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, she shook her head. “I’m not upset.” She was quick to correct her grandmother. “He can do whatever he wants. He’s a grown man. Not like I took care of him when mom died and he was drunk almost every night and wasting his life. Oh wait,” she snarled and crossed her arms. “I did.”

  “Flint,” Grace said her name cautiously, “Don’t do that. He’s not abandoning you.”

  Uncaring that the stupid tears were rolling down her cheeks now, she whirled fully on her grandmother. “Yeah, well, excuse me if it feels that way. Katy comes waltzing into our lives and he could give a crap less about me now. Whatever. I’m over it. I’m a big girl.”

  She swiped angrily at her tears, noticing the looks both Adam and Grace got at the mention of Katy.

  “One other thing.” Adam’s voice rolled deeply. “I didn’t want to say this out where we could be heard.”

  Flint shivered at the sound of those ominous words. “What?”

  He shook his head. “It’s going to be obvious to many in the next few weeks that you’re changing, no longer quite so human. For now I think it’s best—”

  “Not just you, Adam,” Grace chimed in. “Honestly, Flint, we both think it’s in your best interest to not mingle too much, remain hidden. Just until it’s all over.”

  She’d been thinking much the same thing herself lately. If she was gonna turn into a Legolas type, she was cool with that. But what if she didn’t? What if she became that giant booger with arms and legs?

  She shuddered.

  “Your normal group is fine,” Grace continued, “as the
y know you fairly well, but—”

  Flint wrinkled her nose. “Nah. I mean I’ll hang with them, but actually I kind of don’t want anyone knowing about me or who I really am for right now.”

  Adam shrugged. “Might be best. Thing is, Flint, the fae are steeped in a lot of myth and lore, and superstitions abound among our kind. So lying low might be just the thing.”

  “Good. I didn’t want you guys to think I was saying they aren’t my friends and all, but—”

  Adam lifted a hand, stalling her words. “First mistake, never assume any of us are your friends. Even those who profess love for each other will just as soon betray you than protect you for the right price.”

  There was a definite thickness to his words. And where he’d seemed unaffected before in the tent, now he didn’t. Taking a deep breath, Adam rolled his shoulders and stared off to the side. A massive muscle in his cheek twitched as he ground his molars.

  How quickly she’d forgotten about Layla. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He didn’t turn back to look at her, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  Grace laid a hand on Flint’s knee and said, “For the most part I think your friends would understand and even accept who you are, should you ever feel the need to break your self-imposed silence, but Adam is right. Centuries of belief is a hard doctrine to shake.”

  “More than that though,” Adam drawled. “The fae, while feared, are also revered as mystical and powerful beings. You are an untried, untrained quarterling. Prime pickings for those less honorable among us. You are an enigma. So let’s just agree to let it remain that way, at least until you’ve learned how to fight and defend yourself.”

  Flint shoved an orange slice past her lips. Its juices were sweet and slid down her throat, but she couldn’t help but shiver at his words.

  “It’s not like anyone would come and snatch me away,” she mumbled, looking wide-eyed at Adam, who merely shrugged.

  “We don’t know that. And considering Layla went to great lengths to take Abel and bite you, I have to believe that somewhere deep down she knows of your differences and if she could exploit them, she would.”

  Her nail accidentally dug into one of the slices, causing the juice to drip down her fingers and make them sticky.

  “So,” Grace said, “I guess for now we’ll be telling others that Layla’s bite has altered you. Considering we’ve never seen a drone’s actual metamorphosis occur, none of them could claim contrary.”

  There was no way she’d be able to keep this hidden for long. Which meant she’d either have to tell her friends or move away to Alaska. Neither option sounded all that promising.

  “I don’t look like a drone.” She lifted a brow. She—who’d never gone hunting for one in her life—still knew what a drone looked like.

  Flaking skin and double eyelids were just a couple of the more notable changes, not to mention the red freaky eyes.

  “This is the story we’re running with.” Grace’s words were resolute. “You want us to keep your secret. We’ll try, but like you said, you don’t look like a drone.”

  She understood the implication very well, but chose not to follow that line of thinking further. “Are the fae powerful, like the rest of you guys?”

  Adam shrugged. “Because of their naturally secretive nature, we just don’t know.”

  Grace chimed in. “The Order knows more about the fae than probably anyone else, but even so, our information is limited at best. We believe them to be incredibly powerful, and some would even say a sneaky lot, but so much of who they are is tightly intertwined in myth that it’s hard to suss out fact from fiction. What we do know for sure is that everything—to include the fae—has weaknesses.”

  “What’s mine?” Why did her toes feel suddenly so tingly? Even the fine hairs on her arms were standing on edge, like she’d just walked through a lightning storm or something. She set the rest of the orange down on the desk before rubbing her arms.

  “We don’t know.” Grace sighed. “But that’s why you’re here and why you shall remain here for as long as we need you to. As your change continues to evolve, we’ll be able to pin down your likely ancestry, but until then, it is anyone’s guess.”

  “But you erm…you got with grandpa fairy,” she twisted her lips, not exactly sure how to phrase it nicely that Grace had gotten her bow chicka wow wow on with what’d amounted to a perfect stranger. “Shouldn’t you at least know something?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. As I’ve told you before, even within familiar groups and similar blood lines each fae’s heritage can be as radically different as the sun is from the moon. He was a Hunter. But that means little in the grand scheme of things. You may be just like him, or you may be nothing like him at all.”

  It was sort of insulting except for the fact that her grandmother was totally right. She might be some weirdo, all-powerful fae, but right now she felt one hundred percent weak human.

  “So school, isn’t exactly school then?”

  Grace chuckled. “Oh no, young miss, ye’ll be getting that diploma come hell or high water. Because you were so close to graduating, we’ve been informed by the school district that you would only be required to take a few tests to earn your diploma by mail. We’re sorry you’re won’t walk the—”

  Relief coursed through her, making her almost dizzy. “No, really that’s fine. I’d rather just get it over with as soon as possible. Will I be getting a GED then?”

  “No.” Adam shook his head. “Extenuating circumstances being what they are, you’ve merely to pass a final exam to graduate.”

  “Thank God. Well, that’s one bit of good news anyway.”

  Grace chuckled. “Not really, since you’ll be taking that test after your classes today.”

  “Classes?” She frowned. “But I thought you just said—”

  “Lass, you might be done with school, but there is still much studying to be done. All fae inherit their traits from their sires, but they don’t always wind up the same. Hunter fae, like your grandfather, can take on many forms.”

  Lifting her brow, curious despite herself, she asked, “Like?”

  “Like, you could be deadly accurate with a bow.”

  Curling her nose, she slumped in her seat. “That sounds swell.”

  Adam rolled his eyes, and that just made Flint want to bristle. She might be acting childishly, but her entire life had just been turned on its head, so excuse her if she wasn’t handling things the way he thought she should.

  “Or then again, you could have shifter in you,” Grace continued.

  Flint chuckled. Everything was becoming more and more surreal. It wasn’t funny, but it was either laugh or cry. “So am I a werewolf?”

  “Again, we don’t know.” It was Adam who responded this time. “That’s the purpose of the tests. Once we’ve figured it out, then your training will begin in earnest.”

  Heart panging, Flint nibbled on her bottom lip, unable to help but wonder just what was happening to Abel right now. She hated how messed up everything was now.

  “So are you going to be training me, Grace?”

  “Oh, heavens no.” Grace chortled. “Honestly, girl. You’ve quite the imagination on you. We’ve got several members in the circus whose skills might be a suitable match to yours. We’ll pair you up until we find the perfect fit. I head back to the Order in”—she checked her watch—“a little over an hour.”

  “And tell me again how we’re going to keep this fairy stuff secret from them if I can suddenly shape-shift or whatever?”

  Adam nodded. “They all know Layla; they know of her experimentations. It’s an easy enough lie to weave. But your training will begin now. Head over to Carlito’s tent.”

  Flint doubted everyone was as stupid as Adam and Grace seemed inclined to believe, but then again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cook up an explanation for all the weirdness on the fly either. Standing up on legs that suddenly felt like Jell-O, she asked, “And what exac
tly is Carlito?”

  “Oh trust me, luv.” Grace stamped her cane down. “It’ll be more than obvious.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  Twirling on her heel, Flint marched out of Adam’s trailer and headed toward the animal trainer’s tent.

  About halfway there, she remembered the book bag sitting on her dad’s floorboard with the sword still in it. “Dangit.” She sighed.

  Last thing she wanted to do was go back and talk to either Grace or Adam. She wasn’t mad at them exactly, but she was tired and irritated. But just the possibility that the sword was somehow tied to her coming metamorphosis had her quickly reversing course and heading for her dad’s truck.

  She opened the still-unlocked passenger door and reached in for her bag but immediately knew the sword was no longer inside the moment she lifted it up. Unzipping the bag quickly, she peered inside only to discover a mound of soft dirt.

  Frowning, she sifted it through her fingers and then glanced around.

  Manny, the night watchman, lounged on a foldout chair about ten yards away. He had his eyes closed and his hat partially shading his face. He wasn’t human, but Flint wasn’t really sure what he was. He didn’t have the strange glowing eyes like the Nephilim and berserkers did.

  She’d only talked to him once in passing, but he’d seemed like a decent enough guy.

  Zipping up her book bag, she shrugged it over her shoulder and walked over to him. “Hey, Manny.”

  He looked up immediately, letting her know he hadn’t actually been sleeping at all.

  His kind-looking brown eyes flicked across her face. “Flint, right?” he asked, then reached out his hand to shake hers.

  “Yeah.” She took his hand, noting the firmness and strength of his callused grip. Dropping his hand quickly, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Just wondered if you happened to see anyone around my dad’s truck this morning.”

  Leaning his head to the side to glance at the truck, he shook his head. “All’s been quiet around here.”

  “You sure you weren’t asleep or something?”

  He barked with laugher. “Believe me, if anything had come this way, I’d have smelled it.”