Fate's Kiss

by Elysabeth Grace

  She smiled at the thought of him negligently brushing a lock of hair from his face, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Kit’s forehead would be scrunched in worry, despite the fact that Willoughby plantation was one of the most successful ones on the island, and doing so without enslaved labor. She lowered her eyelashes. Kit?

  The sensation of a thumb stroking her cheek widened her grin and she leaned her head inward as if the stroke were real. “I miss you.”

  “And I you, pest. I received your letter but you wrote nothing about you. Are you well?” He paused before he said, “Your soul seems troubled.”

  “My body is healthy, though I did have a mishap several days ago.”

  “Mishap?” Kit’s voice chilled. “You were dying, I felt it. Had I not summoned Raphael, I would be without my sister. Did I make a mistake sending you to London?”

  Anne’s arms cinched her waist. “There was no mistake. I am mated, Kit.”

  Human, or one of our kind?

  “He is supernatural but not our kind.” She hesitated. “Gabriel is undead. His sire is Mephistopheles.”

  Anne felt Kit’s astonishment explode across her awareness. What seemed like hundreds of questions flooded her mind all at once. Brushing aside the slight discomfort, she soothed her brother’s agitation. “Be calm, Christopher. I’ll answer what questions I can. I’ve come to accept the life mate bond. Although, the same can’t be said for Gabriel.”

  “He hasn’t made you one of them, has he?” Kit demanded.

  “And you accuse me of having an unfettered imagination,” she teased. “I am the same as I was born, as is he. The only way I can become undead is to take his blood inside me, which Gabriel will never permit.”

  At Kit’s confusion, she explained what she’d learned about her life mate and his resistance to their bond. Kit’s love surrounded her before his voice sounded in the room. “Is he capable of human emotions? Will he love you as you deserve? Who is he?”

  Anne continued to share what she knew about her life mate. She felt Kit’s relief when she described the deep friendship between Gabriel and Cadan. “Gabriel is on a crusade to purge the world of demons and the undead.”

  Kit snorted. “Then you two are a match made in heaven.”

  “Very funny, heathen,” she retorted. “He is the exact opposite of what I expected in a life mate. Gabriel Elstone is arrogant, ruthless, and incapable of affection. I suspect instead of blood there is ice flowing through his veins.”

  “His blood may be cold but, from your thoughts, there is one part of him that hasn’t earned your contempt.”

  Anne felt the flush of embarrassment all the way to her toes. “Christopher Sebastian Willoughby, that information was personal.”

  “Then hide it where you hide all the things you don’t want me to see,” Kit stated. “Besides sibling, you are the owner of a notoriously famous brothel. What transpires between a man and a woman shouldn’t cause you embarrassment. How fares Fatimah? Any suitors now that you’re mated?”

  “Fatimah is well. There is one persistent suitor but she refuses to even consider marriage. He hasn’t even bedded her. She declares his white skin would offend her ancestors and he would not survive the Sahara. He believes he can wear her down, like water on a boulder. He pays a handsome sum to ensure no other man occupies Fatimah’s time when he cannot visit.”

  Brother and sister exchanged news until Kit’s yawn reminded Anne that night had long descended on Barbados. They said their goodbyes and she remained at the window, her gaze following the slow rise of sunlight over the rooftops of London.

  15

  Gabriel watched the approaching constable. He had scented the man’s fear long before he came into view. If only the man of law knew exactly how much his fear was justified. Gabriel’s mood had been foul since . . . the mating with Anne. A sudden shift in the air, a familiar odor floating down to the street had him darting into a nearby doorway. As the constable neared, Gabriel saw the confusion on the man’s face and then a superior look descended. Clearly, the constable assumed Gabriel’s action was based on fear. Little did the fool know.

  “Here now.” The constable halted a few steps away from where he stood. “Here man, what are ye about? Looking to thieve these poor people? Show yourself and state your name.”

  Gabriel’s aristocratic temper bristled before he reminded himself that no one looking at his patched trousers, mud spattered shirt, and scuffed shoes would mistake him for a man of substance. There was another reason he wasn’t about to obey the addlebrained constable. One. Two. Three.

  The noise and stench of a chamber pot being emptied was drowned out by an explosion of furious curses. Gabriel stepped out of the doorway and hurriedly backed away from the drenched officer who had whipped off his hat and waved it wildly. He watched with amusement as the constable looked up and angrily shook his fist at the woman leaning out of a window. Insults flew between the pair as Gabriel deftly avoided the excrement-riddled constable and strolled down the cobblestoned alley and into a bustling Charing Cross.

  The crossroad teemed with people who nervously glanced over their shoulders to track the known thieves and pickpockets moving among the throng. As he sauntered purposefully through the crowd, Gabriel sensed he was being followed. Not that it caused him alarm. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to teach a lesson in what it means to engage an undead.

  Turning right onto Green Street, Gabriel paused and stared at a nearby building. Where was Old Meg? The moment he set foot in the alley, she normally came out on her stoop. The old woman’s link to him would have given warning of his approach. Her hearing was also sharp as a honed knife and she would have heard his footsteps. For those who made the small alley home, Meg was more effective than the constables at frightening those intent on doing harm.

  As if on cue, she stepped from the mud colored brick house and onto the street. The hair on the back of his neck settled when she waved him over.

  “Why yer skulking in the shadows, Devil? Come give old Meg a shilling and she’ll give you more pleasures than those fancy skirts in Holland’s League. Although, if your prick is diseased and about to fall off, you can just pay me for my gossip about the Duke’s visit to Covent Garden.”

  Sally “Meg” Brewster was neither old nor all that she appeared. A lace cap concealed a shock of pale blond hair threaded with silver. Her deep-set blue eyes, despite their hint of vagueness, were perceptive and didn’t miss a trick. Many a man and woman had misjudged her and paid the price. Sally Brewster was also one of the best spies in his London network.

  Gabriel walked up to the old woman and smiled. “The Duke’s visits are no secret, Meg, which means your gossip is two months old.”

  She gave him a toothy grin. “Not this time, Devil me handsome lad. If ye give me a buss I’ll take yer coin and tell what I ‘ear.”

  “Ah lass, if I buss ye ye’ll want to leave Tom and he’ll slit my throat all for a friendly kiss. A kiss that will lead to my love dying of a broken heart.”

  “She probably already is, given yer pretty face,” Sally chortled.

  Gabriel slipped two pence into her outstretched hand. “What news do have for me, sweet Meg?”

  “Don’t try none of your rakish ways on me,” she huffed.

  He glanced around before he positioned his large body between her and the street. Her demeanor shifted and the wizened crone momentarily faded. Her speech lost its distinctive cant as she spoke softly and quickly, her eyes searching the street behind Gabriel. When she was done she leaned away him and ran her hand along his arm. Her husky voice carried into the alley behind him. “Such a handsome lad ye be. Someday you’re going to get that cold heart of yours broken.”

  Gabriel shrugged, said his farewells, and strolled over to St. Martin’s Lane. Despite the chill a few hardy souls were making their way into the church. He strode past the churchyard until he reached a tavern. Above the door a wooden sign swayed on its iron hinges. The Mule’s Folly. He chuckled softly to
himself. Sally had named the place after her dead first husband’s impractical nature. Always one to seek a bargain, Peter had brought a swayback mule to draw his wagon. What he didn’t know was the mule’s owner had trained the animal to return home after a day or two. The mule cost Peter twenty shillings and made him the butt of his neighbors’ jokes.

  The tavern door abruptly swung open and Gabriel jumped out its path. A drunk man stumbled out and into the street. A second man, unsteady as the first, followed, berating his companion for getting them tossed out of the tavern. When the two men began to brawl Gabriel slipped inside and surveyed the dimly lit room until he spied a man seated at a table. He approached the table and plunked himself down on a wooden chair. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Long enough for Henry to put me to work,” Cadan Mortaine replied. “He’s paying me to move some barrels.”

  “How much?”

  Cadan chuckled. “Five shillings. If we work together, we’ll have more time to drink up the coins she’s paying.”

  Gabriel stood and followed Cadan down a passageway and into a store room. Once they were inside, Cadan moved to a wall and touched a sconce. When a secret door opened, he walked in. “Coming, Demon?”

  “What is it with all the secret doors?” Demon grumbled. “Makes it difficult to be a competent spy.”

  Cadan’s laughter echoed in the walled passageway as he closed the door behind them. He led Gabriel to another door, opened it and walked into a room brightly lit by several wall sconces and a low burning fire in the hearth. Despite its small size, the chamber was comfortably furnished. Several cushioned chairs surrounded a square wooden table. To the left of the hearth a cushioned bench provided additional seating. A window provided a means for air to flow into the room, though at the moment it was shut.

  “Where’s Jonas, Demon?”

  Gabriel slid onto a chair and smiled at his closest friend. “He’s fetching our dinner.”

  The friendship between him and Cadan no longer surprised him. A bond was formed when they were first at Eton and, despite the two years between them, their friendship continued in ways, Gabriel thought wryly, that would greatly infuriate their respective fathers. For the past five years he and Cadan served as spies for King Charles, doing whatever necessary to protect the monarchy. Once Cadan married Asiya Willoughby, Gabriel had taken on the more dangerous assignments; ones not even the king’s excise men would consider.

  The last time Gabriel had been injured Cadan declared that while he may be an undead, he wasn’t invincible.

  A faint scraping against door drew both men’s attention and their hands went to their boots. A key twisted in the lock and the handle turned. Jonas entered the room followed by a young lad carrying a heavy tray. Gabriel and Cadan relaxed their grip on the knives tucked inside their boots.

  “My lord,” Jonas said with a deferential nod to Cadan. “Set that there, Billy.”

  Billy set the tray on the table and shot a quick look at Jonas before leaving the room. Jonas made sure no one was about and locked the door before he turned and said, “My lords, I think you’ll be more private in the other room.”

  He hefted the tray and walked over to the room’s center wall. His free hand reached up to twist the iron sconce to the right of the bench. A door swung open and Jonas passed through the doorway, Gabriel and Cadan at his heels. The door shut behind them.

  If the outer room was sparsely furnished, the chamber they just entered was even more spartan. Four chairs and a rough table were all that occupied the space. Despite its lack of windows, the soft whistling of air penetrated the room. Gabriel’s gaze followed the sound to the carefully disguised trapdoor in the floor. The door led to a secret passage connected to a cellar beneath a house on Green Street.

  The three men sat, devouring Sally’s excellent stew in companionable silence. When his bowl was empty and his belly full, Gabriel took a long drink from his tankard. “What can you tell me about Siya’s cousin, Cadan?”

  Jonas rose from the table and gathered up the empty bowls. “I’ll be in the other room.”

  Cadan waited until Jonas departed before he responded. “Which cousin are you talking about, Demon?”

  “Anne Willoughby also known as Anne Holland and keeper of Holland’s League.”

  “How and what do you know about Anne?” Cadan asked, hearing the frustration in his friend’s voice.

  Gabriel shifted his chair back and stretched out his long legs. “Besides the fact that she owns a brothel, is a shape changing supernatural, prefers to be called Tamahaq instead of mulatto, and claims to be my life mate, not much.”

  Cadan couldn’t hide his amazement. “You and Anne? Life mates?” His hand scrubbed his face before he expelled a long breath. “I really must listen to my wife more closely. Does Anne know what you are, Demon?”

  “She does now,” Gabriel drawled. “Neither one of us is ecstatic about this turn, although she seems determined to make the best of it.”

  Cadan peered him for a long second. “Why are we meeting?”

  Gabriel stared at the near empty tankard. “Anne and I had an arrangement. Initially, it concerned one of her courtesans, Betsy. After Betsy joined the convent demonic activity around Holland’s League grew. For over a fortnight dead women have turned up near the brothel. Most are women and girls who don’t earn their keep on their backs, the youngest was fifteen. Anne is convinced, as am I, that the killers are demons or undead.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  Gabriel’s quick laugh was iced. “I’m undead, remember?” He pushed several fingers through his hair. “The bodies were savaged as only an undead will do when in the throes of bloodlust. The bodies were also marked with signs. The kills are a message and I believe it is all directed at Anne and her brothel.”

  Gabriel shuttered his eyes for a second before he stared at Cadan. “Betsy proved to a demon, an unusual hybrid capable of masking her blood. She won’t trouble Anne any longer but the threat remains. Your wife’s cousin is in danger and I’m not certain she knows just how much since she decided I was her mate.”

  “Anne’s life has always been in danger, Demon. Also, Fate decided you and Anne were life mates so direct your anger at her.” Cadan waited a moment then said, “I assume you’re aware of her role in angelic prophecy.”

  “I’m well aware of what she believes.”

  Cadan’s mouth tightened. “Don’t be an ass, Demon. It’s not my place to tell her story. When she thinks you’re worth the effort, Anne will tell you herself. What you should know is Siya’s cousin is fully aware of what she faces, has known since childhood. I do not envy either of you, and I’m happy Fate did not chose Asiya. However, if she had, do not doubt I would be at my life mate’s side.”

  “What was it like, Cadan? When you discovered what I am?” Gabriel heard his friend’s soft inhalation. “To learn your friend was a supernatural of the worst kind, a creature who needed blood to survive, an undead?”

  “It was terrifying,” Cadan admitted. “It’s one thing to see a man die by sword or pistol. It’s different to watch a man you thought you knew almost as well as yourself turn into . . . “

  “A bloodsucking monster.”

  Cadan closed his eyelids. “I watched you kill a man the way a wild dog does, with fangs, and drink his blood. I didn’t know what to do except flee, to avoid you and what I thought you’d become. I’m sorry, Demon.”

  “That is a time I’d rather forget.” Gabriel was still unable to admit the hurt, the rage, the loneliness he had felt at Cadan’s abandonment.

  “I can’t. We’d been like brothers and I nearly broke that bond. What brought me back to reason was Siya. We were at St. Kerens. She instinctively knew something was wrong. When I refused to confide in her, she . . .” Cadan shifted on his chair before his eyes met Gabriel’s. “No need to repeat her words.”

  “Most likely camels were involved.” At Cadan’s raised eyebrow, Gabriel grinned. “Anne is Siya’s c
ousin in more ways than you might imagine.”

  “Which means you’re also familiar with a Tamahaq’s dagger,” Cadan said with a laugh. “Anyway, Siya taught me about loyalty, what Fate and angelic prophecy held for her family, and acceptance. She asked if I ever felt threatened or unease in your company. I hadn’t. Siya said if learning that you were different, a supernatural, had changed my trust in you then I hadn’t trusted you from the start. Then she went for my gut.”

  “I can’t imagine Siya doing anything else.”

  Cadan’s fingers gripped the tankard he held. “She asked how could I possibly love her knowing she will never be a white Englishwoman, knowing her cousin is a shape-changer, and that our firstborn daughter might well be born a supernatural. Truths I’d have to face, she said, if my declaration of love was heartfelt. Then she walked out of the room and avoided me for several days.”

  Cadan rose from his chair. “We’ve been friends since Eton. In my heart I knew I could never truly turn my back on you no matter what but I had to face my own fears about a world I didn’t think existed. I also realized I’ve always known who you are, Demon. A man whose trust is rarely given but when you do it is never broken. Since Anne has been in London, I’ve learned more about this war among angels and what it means for her, and now for you. These murders speak of the Fallen’s involvement. How do you want to proceed?”

  “As we’ve always done,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “I jump in and you rescue me.”

  Cadan’s laughter filled the room and he slipped his arm across his friend’s shoulder. “Always, except when you and your life mate are at odds. I’ve learned my lesson with my own life mate.”

  16

  Anne’s hand slid beneath her pillow and clenched her dagger. The effort caused her some slight pain but she ignored it. The stiffness in her shoulder was nearly gone, leaving an occasional twinge when she moved too suddenly. Her knife ready, she waited in silence, focused on the extra weight on her bed.