Fate's Consort

by Elysabeth Grace

  “What did I tell you about a driver?”

  “Reminder, you and the guardians work for me,” Analise stated. “I sent you a text when I left this morning. What’s up?”

  “I assume you’re with Richard. What time are you returning to the city?”

  “I’m staying over. I’ll leave about ten in the morning to avoid traffic. Peter’s meeting me here later today.”

  No. You will return immediately to San Francisco.

  She ignored Lucifer’s voice. “Unless there’s a pressing reason for me to return today, Mark.”

  Do not ignore me, Consort. You cannot—

  She blocked Lucifer before she said, “I’m staying at the Harbor View Inn. Tell Jess I said hello.”

  Analise knew Mark got the unspoken message to leave the issue alone when he asked, “where are you having dinner, Empress?” If only Lucifer were easily trained.

  “Gerrard’s. I can’t accept his offer and I prefer the professional route. I’ll text or call you when I get to the hotel. Bye.”

  She tapped her phone and waited until Mark’s face disappeared before peering at Richard. She touched his arm. “Be careful. You’re right I seem to be the eye of a dangerous storm. I’m worried it’s going to turn into a category twelve hurricane and we’re unprepared.”

  “Lise.”

  She shook her head. “Save it, Richard. I’ll ring you before I leave Santa Cruz tomorrow.”

  Richard watched the door close behind Analise. He got what she didn’t say—the DNA was hers. She was a full shifter. The thought excited researcher’s mind. Then his heart and reason kicked in, tamping down his enthusiasm. If MCRP discovered Analise’s secret, her wealth and reputation were no protection against the fear and racism. Analise would be chipped, bled, and, in the end, dissected. Even worse, AnthroGen would either be absorbed into MCRP or sold to the highest bidder.

  “Damn.”

  All of Martine’s nightmares would come true. Shifters couldn’t survive the ensuing racial purge. The dangers to shifters, who were still human despite the genetics they were born with, meant the research and its findings could never find its way into MCRP’s hands.

  Richard stared at the sample Analise handed him. What they knew so far was the shifter chromosome didn’t appear in every generation. It might skip one, sometimes two, generation and became a recessive trait coded in either male or female. What their research hadn’t pinpointed was the turn in the code; he how and why recessive codes suddenly generated as a shifter code. The hypothesis he initially favored—that a maternal non-recessive code and a paternal recessive code were needed to produce a shift—didn’t pan out.

  Assuming Analise is the donor, whatever he found would be game-changing. His fingers closed around the small vial on his palm. She had asked if he believed in angels. Right now, he hoped guardian angels do exist because, in the guise of national security and racism, Satan sure as hell did.

  Chapter 12

  Analise made her way north on Pacific Avenue toward Gerrard’s Restaurant. She smiled when two toddlers twirled in wide circles as a lone fiddler off-keyed his way through the baby shark tune. Her smile faltered as Richard’s question about children floated to mind. She had long accepted she would never have children in her life. What hurt at the moment was knowing, since the age of four, such joy, such careful abandon, was not part of her memories, and would never be.

  Skirting the small crowd of people, she hurried toward the restaurant, avoiding both physical and mental contact with those emerging from buildings. Her ability to shut out human noises faltered when she was stressed. Right now, she was definitely stressed. She usually avoided downtown Santa Cruz when she visited the city, preferring to spend her time at the lab. Pacific Avenue hadn’t changed a bit except to become busier. The tourists, the affluent, the university, and the locals all cohabited on sidewalks under the watchful eye of meandering police officers.

  She arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late. When the host approached, she smiled and told them who she was meeting. Satan rose from his chair and waited until she sat before returning to his. She stared at his face for a second. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s good to see you, Analise,” he said. “Thanks for the invite, and you’re not late.”

  “Thanks for meeting me here. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  “I was sitting in my hotel room facing another day of boredom. I noticed you were online and hoped we could hook up before I return to New York. My only regret was the loss of your expertise as a tour guide. My assistant believes the only city worth anybody’s tourist dollars is New York. Had to wander on my own.”

  Analise laughed. “That must have been an experience.”

  “It was,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering wine. The selection here is quite good. What do you recommend for an entrée?”

  She scanned the menu and made a couple of suggestions. Their orders placed, she sipped her wine as they talked. Analise realized her initial perception of Peter Nathanson was accurate. He was intelligent, charming, possessed a subtle sense of humor, and accustomed to getting what he went after. She knew she should feel flattered by his interest in her. Dating him wouldn’t be a hardship. So why did she feel nothing? Not even a spark of interest. She was right, Analise told herself. As Tamahaq, there was only one life mate for her, and Peter wasn’t the one.

  A slight cough disrupted her musing. She glanced at Peter then down at her empty dessert plate and back to his face. She grinned and said, “I have no shame because I enjoyed every bit.”

  He smiled. “I suspect you are a dessert person. You ate very little of your dinner.”

  Her shrug was unrepentant as she replied, “Found out. As a child, I would eat enough vegetables to satisfy my parents’ insistence on healthy foods before I got dessert.”

  Her laughter flooded the space between them as she declared, “My concept of hell is one where you can get fabulous dinners but no dessert.”

  She took a sip of wine. Her expression became serious and she toyed with the stem of her glass. “I fear I must spoil our meal, Peter. I can’t accept your generous offer.”

  “Before you reject me, let’s agree to revisit this conversation in three months. I don’t expect an immediate decision, especially with the death of an employee and another missing. Is there any word about Ms. Jensen?”

  “No, but we’re not giving up hope. AnthroGen and I have increased the reward for information. Until we know for certain where she is or. . .anyway, I need to focus on my other employees.”

  “I understand. Will six months be enough time?”

  Analise shook her head. “Persistent.”

  “With you, I am,” he murmured. “I’m not going to engage in pretense.”

  She nervously smiled and stood. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Peter.”

  He rose, moved to her side, placed his hand on her lower back. Shards of pain spiked across Analise’s back, getting worse as they moved through the now crowded restaurant. Once they stepped on the sidewalk, Analise eased her body from his touch. She faced him, about to say her goodbyes and get the hell away from peter. The needle-sharp pains had brought her close to tears.

  “Can’t I persuade you to come to New York for a quick visit? There is so much I would show you about my city. About me.”

  Analise felt a subtle nudge bringing her body closer to him. The pull became stronger when Peter’s fingers reached up and cupped her chin. His head dipped in a move to kiss her. Before she could put distance between them, his lips grazed hers. A sharp jolt made her jerk back, her hand pushing against his chest.

  “I’m sorry if I led you to believe . . . to think there was more,” she stammered, fighting both pain and nausea. “I need to go.”

  “Forgive me, Analise. I’m not usually so aggressive but you do something to me,” he said smoothly. “I’ll say goodnight. When you are ready, text me.”

  He strode over to a waiting car. Before he clim
bed into the back seat, Peter turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. Coldness raced done Analise’s spine and she tightened her grip on her tote. Then he waved and disappeared into the car.

  Analise waited until the driver pulled away from the curb before she turned and walked back to her hotel. Instead of crossing the street to the hotel, she strolled onto the pier. The air was balmy and waning sunlight glistened on the bay. She leaned against the railing, her gaze unfocused, her mind preoccupied with her reaction to Peter.

  He had shed his businessman’s jacket. Tonight had shown her a different side of the man, especially when he talked about his estrangement from his family. Gone was the arrogance. In its place was a sadness he struggled to mask. He must have realized how much of himself he’d revealed because he quickly turned on the charm. It was obvious Peter believed he could seduce any woman he wanted. While his primary object of desire was AnthroGen, his behavior made it clear he was in pursuit of her as well.

  What she couldn’t dismiss was her body’s reaction whenever he touched her. In fact, she dreaded the thought of any physical contact, especially after the kiss. The after-effect was swift and gut-wrenching pain. The walk back to the hotel helped but a residual discomfort lingered. She didn’t recall having this problem with any other man, which made her wonder just how much of Lucifer’s claim was true.

  I’m pleased we’ve accepted Satan is not the one for us.

  Analise gazed at a solitary sailboat bobbing its way to Santa Cruz Harbor. Your happiness fills me with such joy but I haven’t ruled him out yet, she said snarkily. I see you’ve decided to resurface. What triggered this visit?

  Snark does not become us.

  Who are you? Why can’t I name you or see you in my mind? By the way, you need to choose a singular or plural pronoun and stick with it. This back and forth with first person plural and second person singular makes it difficult to buy into what you’re selling.

  Clearly in a mood. TTFN.

  A frustrated ‘what the fuck’ slipped past Analise’s lips. This inner voice thing was annoying as hell. For years, she had written the connection off, seeing it as part of her telepathic ability. Assumed it was a link to another telepath who functioned as her conscience and security blanket. Trouble began when Analise tried to block the voice and failed. She couldn’t be blocked the way other people or creatures could. In fact, she couldn’t be blocked at all.

  The past year, She became a major pain in the ass. Obsessed with suppressed memories and some sort of telepathic reunification. So what happens when the memories finally detonate like a nuclear bomb and spew all its particulates at once, she was curiously absent. Now she’s back?

  Are we done pretending we like the mud? We need to close the book on Peter and focus on Lucifer, Tamahaq. We don’t have time for your game of denial.

  She wasn’t wrong. Analise admitted that Lucifer clouded her view of Peter. Whenever she looked at Peter, she saw who he wasn’t. He wasn’t Dream Candy. The telepath who consumed her dreams, who came to life in an underground rock chamber, confessed to being angelic, and who kissed her out of her emotional safe room. Lucifer had punctured her cloistered self, declared she was more than just her telepathic ability, and insisted she live with the outcome.

  Analise closed her eyes. She, of the inner voice, told no lie—no matter who he was, Peter Nathanson wasn’t her future.

  I’ll never lie to you, Tamahaq.

  Sea mist, pushed by a faint breeze, nuzzled her face. Analise took a deep breath and released it. She reminded herself that she controlled her destiny, not a pair of Seraphim at war with each other, or the voice inside her head. Her parents, Lilith, the Drakes, Mei Li, possibly Iris, Tampa, and nameless others died because of their relationship to her. If nothing else, she owed it to them to discover why.

  The decision left Analise feeling more in control. Starting for the hotel, she found herself suddenly surrounded by blackness except for a pinpoint of light in the center, a soft yellow glare spinning counterclockwise in the middle of the darkness. Mesmerized, she remained fixed against the rail as a water spout formed. Translucent bodies emerged from the spout and glided across the untroubled water and over the pier’s railing.

  She turned to the couple who had lingered nearby only to see them walking away. She whipped her gaze back to the ocean. Nothing was out of place, the water was smooth as glass and the yellow glare was gone. Rubbing the back of her neck, she decided that stress and exhaustion had her imagination working overtime. With one last look at the bay, Analise turned in the direction of the hotel, froze, and screamed. Twelve men armed with swords blocked her path. Please don’t let them be demons.

  One of the men stepped forward so he was framed by a streetlight Analise felt some of the tension leave her body. She recognized their clothing as the type worn by Algerian Imohag. The dark brown djellabas and indigo tagelmusts, the veils concealing their faces, confirmed their status. They were elite warriors. Fear twisted in her stomach when the warrior stepped forward and bowed.

  “Tamahaq. You have awakened,” he said in Tahaggart.

  “You know me?”

  “We are your servants and your kinsmen, Tamahaq. We slept as you slept, woke when you awakened. We are yours to command.”

  “Um, I. . . um. . .”

  Tell them to be at ease, Analise Saria. We need to talk.

  “Be at ease,” she repeated.

  Analise listened attentively, never taking her eyes off the warriors, while she explained the warriors’ origin and purpose. Lilith had created a race of shifter guardians to protect the last of her descendants from the Fallen. The more she explained, the harder it was for Analise to dismiss what she saw.

  Do you have questions, Analise Saria?

  Who are you?

  “You know who we are.”

  Analise shrieked. It was like listening to herself speak, which was impossible since no two people sounded exactly alike. “Excuse me, if I knew I wouldn’t ask.”

  Silence greeted her reply. As usual, she wasn’t getting an answer to this particular question. “She of the mysterious voice” was like that. Flitting in and out of her mind, dropping micro-explosive hints about the who, what, where, and why.

  If she chose to reply, it was always, “When you decide to free us, you’ll know.”

  Analise blew out her frustration in a single breath. Focus on the issue closest to her. Can you hear my thoughts, warrior?

  Yes, Tamahaq. We are as you made us.

  She ignored the implications of his words and asked, “Where do you rest? Do you have a dwelling or tent nearby?”

  The warrior shook his head. “We cannot leave your side, Tamahaq. We will rest where you rest.”

  Her glance took in the twelve warriors. “Hmm, that’s going to be a bit awkward.” She considered several solutions before she said, “You will rest in my dwelling.”

  She sent the warriors a telepathic image of her San Francisco apartment and briefly wondered if she should give them directions or notify security. Thoughts of Gabriel Angelis quickly killed the idea. “If I need you, I’ll call. I mean summon you.”

  Analise telepathically gave the warriors instructions on entering the building and assumed they’d do so without being detected. Eleven of the warriors shifted into hawks and took flight, heading north along the coastline. She peered at the warrior who remained. He bowed and said, “I remain to guard you, Tamahaq.”

  “I don’t need a guard.”

  “I remain to guard you, Tamahaq.”

  She muttered several Tahaggart curses and then blushed when he shook his veil-covered head. “What is your name, warrior?”

  “I am Izem, Tamahaq.” He drew his sword and pointed to the sky. “I will keep watch while the Tamahaq sleeps.”

  Analise nodded and headed toward the hotel, Izem at her back. She felt a molecular change in the air and knew the warrior had shifted. A desert leopard padded in front of her and blocked her path. The cat growled, lifted its head an
d sniffed the air before his gaze locked on the nearly black sky.

  She glanced up and detected a faint shadow. It circled once then disappeared from view. Not wanting to chance another demon encounter, she hurried across the street. Izem stayed in leopard form until they reached the hotel doors. Then he shifted into hawk form and soared upward.

  The lobby was quiet when she entered and approached the reception desk. She hid her impatience behind a hurry-up-and-give-me-the-door card smile. After a five minute “here are all the places to visit in Santa Cruz,” speech, the clerk handed her two key cards. Terrified he might start up again, Analise fast-walked to the elevators. Stepping inside, she heard footsteps and pressed the open door button.

  “Damn.”

  Lucifer waited until the doors closed behind him. “You disobeyed me.”

  “Excuse me, did I hear the word disobey on your lips?”

  “Yes.”

  The doors jerked opened on his reply and she shoved her way past him. “Asshole,” she muttered as she made her way to her room.

  How could she want that Neanderthal? Disobey? Did he think she was a child? Disobey. She angrily shoved the card into the lock. The light remained red. She cursed and slid the key into the slot, waited, and retracted it. The light turned green and she pushed the door open.

  Lucifer’s hand prevented her from shutting the door once she crossed the threshold. “I didn’t invite you inside.”

  He didn’t move his hand. Analise stepped back, refusing to rip him a fresh one in a public space. It wasn’t how Lydia Drake raised her.

  Her arms folded across her chest, she stood to one side as he strode into the room. She angrily shut the door behind him. Tempted to call Izem, she smiled at the delicious images of a battle playing in her mind. Instead, she sighed. Her mother was right. It was time to teach a Seraphim a lesson.

  She set her bag on the dining table. “Let me explain how this works in words simple enough for your thick head. I. Will. Never. Obey. You.”