Fighter

by Jessica Wayne

“It was good.” Anastasia forced a smile.

  “That’s wonderful to hear.” He kissed her loudly on the mouth, and she knelt to give Annabelle a hug.

  “I love you, Momma! I missed you while I was at school.”

  “I missed you, too, baby. Guess what?”

  “What?” Annabelle’s eyes widened.

  “I made cookies.” She’d used a recipe Elizabeth taught her long ago, on one of the days she’d snuck over to Dakota’s house.

  Or had that all been a dream as well?

  “Yay!” Annabelle giggled and ran toward the kitchen, but Dakota stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Go get cleaned up for dinner and set your daily binder out.”

  With a groan, Annabelle changed direction and bounded up the stairs.

  Dakota pulled Anastasia in for a hug. “I missed you, my love.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Bringing his lips to her ear, he said, “I was thinking that maybe after dinner, we can pour a couple glasses of wine and give the new hot tub a try.” His breath against her neck sent a shiver down her spine.

  This was Dakota… she shouldn’t feel so out of place with him.

  “How does that sound?” He pulled away to look into her eyes.

  She searched his blue eyes for the familiarity that should have been there. When he continued to stare at her, she responded quickly, “Great, except, I didn’t cook dinner.”

  “No worries, Ana. You’re not that great of a cook anyway.” He winked and set his backpack down. “I’m going to get out of my scrubs, and then we will head out.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Dinner. We are meeting Max and his new girlfriend at that Italian place up the street today.”

  “Max?” she asked curiously.

  Dakota playfully rolled his eyes. “We’ve only been friends with him since high school, Ana. Just because you based a character on him—a bad one, I might add—doesn’t make him a bad person.”

  “A character? What?”

  “Maximus?” Dakota raised an eyebrow.

  She straightened. Surely he wasn’t serious. “We’re eating dinner with Maximus?”

  “Ana, he is our friend. If you can’t separate your book world from the real world, then you need to stop writing such shitty things about people we know.” He narrowed his eyes.

  The curtness of his tone caught her off guard. Had she ever heard that sternness from him before?

  “Oh, okay,” she responded, turning to finish folding the laundry she had washed.

  “Be ready to leave in thirty,” he called behind him as he headed up the stairs.

  Anastasia finished folding the laundry and started up with her basket. As she reached the top of the stairs, the image of a bleeding Gregory caught her eye in the glass of the mirror. She dropped the basket and bit back a scream. His eyes were wide and wet with tears. He reached for her, and when she took a step back, he opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound followed.

  She moved closer to the mirror, and when she touched the cold glass, she could have sworn she felt the warmness from his touch on the other side. Anastasia closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s not real,” she whispered. “It’s only in the story.” When she slowly opened her eyes again, only her reflection stared back at her.

  “Did you do any writing today?” Dakota asked as they drove through Seattle.

  “No, I just spent my time picking up and relaxing.”

  “Good.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just been getting to you so much lately. Honey, you woke up this morning and didn’t remember our daughter,” he whispered quietly so only she could hear. “Maybe it’s time you stop.”

  “Stop? It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. Why would I stop now that I finally have it?”

  “I’m just worried about you, is all.” He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Just think about it, okay?”

  She nodded and looked out the window. She couldn’t give up her writing. Her entire life, all she had ever wanted to do was write stories that would make people happy. Stories that had the power to pull the reader out of whatever was going on in their lives at that moment and submerge them into adventures that they would never be able to take on their own.

  Nightmare or not, part of her believed that she had spent most of her life fighting beasts and not writing, so why would she let go of what she finally had? Still, his words rang with truth. Maybe she should change up her story. Erase what she had and start over again.

  “Where have my parents been?” she asked him, curious as to why she didn’t remember when she’d last seen them.

  “They are in Africa on a safari this month, remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” she lied. “Must have slipped my mind.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of a small Italian restaurant. The car’s headlights illuminated two people standing next to a silver sedan, and Anastasia’s pulse pounded in her ears.

  “Dakota, we have to go.” She started to panic. Maximus and Ophelia stood hand in hand in front of their headlights, waving and smiling as if they were all best friends, as if they hadn’t killed her father or been responsible for the death of hundreds of innocent villagers.

  Anastasia reached to her back where her sword would generally sit, and she suddenly felt very empty without it. She dug down into her subconscious and tried to summon her magic, but nothing happened.

  “Anastasia!” Dakota yelled, pulling her out of her trance.

  Why did he use her full name?

  “What?” she asked, hoping he didn’t notice how badly she was panicking inside.

  “Do we need to leave?” he asked worriedly. “You look freaked out.”

  “Just the remnants of my nightmare. Honestly, Dakota, I’m fine.” She smiled and turned to look at Annabelle. “Hungry?”

  “Yes.” Annabelle smiled, and Anastasia swallowed her fear. In the back of her mind, though, a voice screamed for her attention. A voice that sounded suspiciously like her own.

  25

  Anastasia

  Sitting at dinner, she did her best to focus on the conversation. Maximus and Ophelia were nothing but friendly, and both Dakota and Annabelle were at ease in their presence.

  Anastasia smiled and nodded along with something Ophelia had said, although she had no actual clue as to what it was.

  The Ophelia in front of her, wearing the white button-down blouse, with her hair falling loosely around her shoulders and the carefree smile on her face flashed in and out, morphing quickly into someone else. No, not someone else. Sitting in front of her now was the bloody, sadistic Ophelia who murdered Anastasia’s father.

  “You’re going to die,” she sneered, but before Anastasia could respond, she morphed back into the laughing, smiling Ophelia she’d been sitting across from all night.

  Maximus was next, and in an instant, she was somewhere else.

  “You think you are anything compared to me?” He slammed her to the ground. “You’ve been training for, what, two weeks? I’ve been training my entire life.” He reared his fist back, but before it made contact, Anastasia was ripped back to the present.

  “How is the book coming along?” Maximus asked sweetly.

  “It—uh.” She cleared her throat. “It’s moving forward.” She looked down at the napkin in her lap, wanting to avoid looking at him for too long. Her fingers trembled.

  “You’re writing a book? How exciting!” Ophelia exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

  “She sure is. Made me a bad guy because I’m so devious.” Maximus laughed, and Ophelia slapped him lightly on the arm.

  “Devious, yeah, okay. If being devious means using all the hot water so I have to take a cold shower, then yes, you are as devious as they come.”

  They continued laughing, and Anastasia did her best to push her thoughts out of her mind, but they continued surfacing.

  She saw Maximus standing over an unconscious boy—Brady, s
he remembered—and the anger rose in her chest as if it were happening right in front of her eyes. She looked to Dakota for some kind of reassurance that she wasn’t going insane, but he appeared as happy as she had ever seen him, and Annabelle wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable around Anastasia’s enemies.

  Because that’s what they were, no matter what anyone told her.

  Maximus and Ophelia were monsters.

  She looked up at Ophelia and saw her cleaning her dirty fingernails with a blood-covered knife as Gregory lay bleeding on the ground. They fought until Anastasia threw a ball of light into Ophelia’s chest.

  Anastasia stood up so quickly that her chair fell back.

  “Ana?” Dakota asked, and Anastasia flushed when she realized everyone’s eyes were on her.

  “I-I’m not feeling well. I’m sorry.” She turned to leave, and Annabelle gripped her hand.

  “I’ll come with you, Momma.”

  “I think we are going to have to head out. She’s been having some trouble today with getting out of writing mode.” Dakota laughed lightly and shook hands with Maximus. “See you later, man. It was nice to meet you, Ophelia.”

  “Nice to meet you, as well. Hope you feel better, Ana.”

  “Anastasia,” she corrected. “And thank you.” Anastasia scolded herself for interrupting their evening. What was wrong with her?

  “Annabelle is tucked in and falling fast asleep.” Dakota took a seat next to her on the couch.

  “Good.” Anastasia closed her eyes tightly, fictional images still clashing with her reality.

  “How are you?” He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “I don’t know. I can’t seem to get out of my head. I keep having these visions play out, and it’s just not possible.”

  “I think you should talk to a coworker of mine.” At her questioning look, he continued. “He’s a therapist, a very good one, and he might be able to help you start separating. I want you to be able to do what you want with your life, Ana, but I don’t like how it’s affecting our family and your happiness.”

  Anastasia thought about it for a moment, then nodded in agreement. She had to do something to stop this assault on her emotions. Besides, if this was some sort of mind trick from Vincent, eventually it would play out. Right?

  “I’ll set you up an appointment for tomorrow.” Dakota smiled and rubbed his hands down her arms. “Everything is going to be okay, you’ll see.”

  She did her best to offer him a warm smile.

  “Now, how about a little of that wine?” He pulled her to her feet.

  Ana frowned. Dakota didn’t like wine; he drank scotch. And so did she, didn’t she?

  “Or, maybe we want to have something a little harder instead?” He glanced back at her, eyebrows raised in question. “How about a scotch?” He reached into the cabinet and pulled down a bottle. Strange.

  When she hesitated, he set it down on the counter and stepped closely. “Or maybe we’ll skip that all together.” He kissed her, but something in it still felt wrong.

  “Maybe we can just go to bed tonight? I’m really not feeling well.”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile, releasing her. “Everything will be better tomorrow, you’ll see.”

  Yeah, we’ll see.

  26

  Terrenia

  Dakota

  “We need to find a way to mark you and your warriors so that our Fighters don’t accidentally get one of you with the platinum blades,” Dakota said to Argento as they looked over a map of the most recent Brute camps.

  “Agreed.” He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face. “So, this Anastasia, you say she is with Vincent now?”

  “Yes.” Dakota’s jaw tightened.

  “She is his niece?”

  “Yes,” Dakota said again, fearing he knew exactly where this conversation was going. The whispers of the Phoenix who’d gone dark were already spreading. “He kidnapped her as a baby and sent her to live with an abusive man and his wife. She hates Vincent.”

  “So you believe she can be trusted? You say this Phoenix, as some of the people call her, is the only one who can take him down?”

  Dakota heard the grin in the way he spoke, a soft—almost amused tone. It pissed him the hell off. “Yes, she is. It was prophesized when she was a baby.”

  “By an old woman. Are you sure it still stands true today?”

  “I wasn’t an old woman when she was born,” Carmen said from behind them, and both man and beast turned to face her.

  “I did not mean any disrespect.” Argento bowed his head, and she smiled.

  “Oh, my feelings are not easily hurt.” Carmen waved her hand as if to erase what he had said from her memory. “I’m not entirely sure where the vision came from, but I know it to be the truth. I saw her defeat him in a way that no one else will be able to.”

  “How?” Dakota asked.

  She shrugged. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have all the answers?” She chucked. “I only know that her magic is the only thing that will take him down.” Carmen turned to Dakota. “I’ve got something.”

  Hope surged within him. “You found her?”

  “Not exactly.” She sighed and folded her hands in front of her stomach. “But she is alive. I can’t pinpoint whether she is here or in your Seattle, but she is alive.”

  “How can we figure out where she is?”

  “That’s just it, it doesn’t feel like another world. It’s as if he has her somewhere that exists, but isn’t necessarily reality?” She shook her head. “I’ve been racking my brain but I can’t figure it out. She’s just a blip on the radar.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Dakota asked.

  “That is not good,” Argento answered, and Dakota looked at him. “He must have her in a stasis.”

  “Stasis?” Dakota asked, confused.

  “It’s something we Brutes do when we are having difficulties with a decision, or if we need to deal with a complex emotion such as grief. We go to one of our healers, and they put us in a stasis where our minds can be manipulated to make a decision and see all possible outcomes for it. We can also see those who have passed, and it helps us to move forward.”

  “Is she aware of what is happening?” Dakota asked.

  “It depends on how he is manipulating her. She could very well be aware, and he could be putting her through various tortures without the risk of killing her, or he could be weaving a scenario to help her to make an important decision.” Argento must have seen the anger on Dakota’s face, because he immediately continued, “I apologize for my candor, but I do not see the benefit in lying to you.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, Argento.”

  “That makes sense as to why I can’t reach her mind again. Vincent must be using your tactic to hide her from me. How would he have learned this practice?”

  “It’s something that my captain would have been well versed on. His father was one of our greatest healers.”

  “Is there a way to find her?”

  “I’m afraid not, Dakota.” Argento touched Dakota’s shoulder and looked at Carmen. “One of my warriors is a healer. I will send him to you and you can speak to him. He may know something I do not.”

  “Thank you, Argento.” Carmen turned to leave the cottage, and Dakota slammed his fists on the table.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “You love her,” Argento said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I am very familiar with love. It is a painful and frustrating emotion. One that can both lift you up and knock you down. Make you strong, and yet, can be your greatest weakness. I do not care for weakness.” Argento smiled. “But time and time again I would choose weakness if it meant love.”

  Dakota nodded and took a deep breath. They would find her, he knew, and at least they had the comfort of knowing she was alive for now.

  Tony stepped into the cottage, his face hard.

  “What is it?” Dakota asked.

  “We got word of
a large camp set up about twelve miles from here.”

  Dakota crossed his arms over his chest. “How large?”

  Tony ran a hand through his hair. “About half the size of our village here. It’s heavily guarded, too, which tells me they have something there they really don’t want us finding.”

  Dakota straightened. “Is it possible?”

  Tony raised his hands. “I know you’re thinking it may be Anastasia, but we need not get our hopes up on this. Either way, we should make a move while they aren’t expecting it. It’s a large enough force that they could do significant damage to us if they so choose.”

  “We should attack tonight,” Argento offered. “It can be our first assault on Vincent.”

  Tony nodded. “I’ll get the Fighters prepared.” He turned to head back down the path, and Argento clasped Dakota’s shoulder.

  “We will find a way to differ ourselves from the enemy as you suggested.”

  “Good.” Dakota responded half-heartedly. His mind was still on the idea that Anastasia might have been so close to him this entire time, and he hadn’t even known it.

  27

  Anastasia

  Anastasia stood nervously in front of the receptionist’s desk in the psychologist’s small office. “Hi, I have an appointment this afternoon,” she began. “My husband made it for me.”

  “Name, please?” the woman asked without even looking up from her keyboard. There wasn’t a single hair out of place in her red bun.

  “Anastasia Parker.”

  The woman reset the black-rimmed glasses on her nose and pressed a few buttons on the keyboard.

  “You’re checked in. He will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Uh-huh.” The woman returned to whatever it was she was doing, and Anastasia turned around slowly to get a closer look at the office.

  Flowers danced in gold frames that were arranged neatly on the walls. Bright yellow couches sat on both sides, with a row of red chairs in the center. Throw pillows with green leaves embroidered on them decorated the couches, and magazines were placed neatly in a rack hanging on the wall.