Surrender (Fated Souls Book 1)

by Elle Lincoln

  My eyes stray to the door standing just barely ajar. I can hardly see inside, but what I see is a turned over couch with stuffing exposed to the stale air. I move away again, pressing against the railing. “I should have called my cousins to help.”

  “Sabina, let us help you. Your dad meant a great deal to us here.” His tone holds something beneath it. A story for another day, one that I can’t wait to listen to.

  Glancing at him, I see nothing but genuine sadness at my loss. Our loss. Yet more rests behind his eyes, his emotions sitting casually at the surface. I can’t quite name the feelings. “I don’t know you or anyone else. But I also don’t want to go in there alone. I didn’t—” Damn leaky eyes. I swipe away the rogue tear. “I didn’t think the house would be—”

  Dammit, I’m salting.

  “Hey.” Liam blocks my view of the house. His gentle eyes and soft touch instantly calm me like he is living, breathing chamomile. That shit is supposed to calm everything. “Let me call the others, and we can put it to rights.”

  “My birthday.”

  “What?”

  “That’s the code, my birthday. Three, twenty-two, ninety-six.” My words sound hollow, my head dropping at the weakness drifting through me. I truly thought I could do this alone. Now I’m here at the mercy and kindness of strangers. Yet... “I need to walk through first and at least accept what happened to heal.”

  “Doll face.” His warm fingers lift my chin, his touch reassuring yet firm. “You don’t have to do this on your own. I know you don’t remember me, but we used to play right there in that yard as pups.”

  I spin around, looking at the small patch of grass where a swing set still sits and an empty sand box lies in ruin. Something tickles the back of my mind that I can’t quite place. “I remember the swing set. I just don’t—”

  “Remember me.” I turn to look at him, sadness dancing in his eyes before he brushes it away with his lazy smile. “That’s okay, I just need you to know you can trust me.”

  For some reason, I do. “This is ridiculous.” I push out of his arms, stomping harshly against the planks of the porch. Except when my hand reaches the doorknob and I glance in, my eyes land on a spot of darkness.

  Nothing in this world or the next could have prepared me for that bloodstain. My body freezes as all emotion flees my system, shock taking over.

  “Sabina?” Liam calls, but his voice sounds far away. Blood rushes to my ears louder than the ocean’s spray. “Oh, shit.”

  He lifts me up and cradles me in his arms, his warmth seeping into the chill that crept in at that sight. My eyes see nothing more than that ominous stain. “No one told me.” It’s all I can utter over and over again. Mom should have told me.

  Liam sets me on a rocker, kneeling before me as he brushes my hair back. “Stay with me, Doll. I’m going to make a call. Okay?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t bother holding the accusation back. He had ample time to speak up at the store, and yet he didn’t, leaving me to wander out here by myself to find this. “Am I even safe here?” My brows sink low as I search his face for answers.

  I’m not, I can see the concern etched on his features—the need to tell me I’m not in danger warring with the truth. But this is my home, I won’t leave it. We created far too many memories on this mountain.

  “Sabina, right now I need you to trust me. You caught me off guard. It’s why I rushed to come out here.” He leans back, his eyes drifting to the side as his forehead ripples with lines.

  Like a fool, I reach out and smooth them away as his mind drifts miles from this moment. Touching him eases the pain of the house behind me, and little sparks of electricity dance beneath my fingers that brush his skin, calming us both.

  A gasp brings Liam back, and he reaches up and twines his fingers with mine. “They’re on their way.”

  “You didn’t even call them.” Whoever ‘them’ is. My hand drops, though he still holds my fingers.

  “Doll, did your father tell you anything?” he asks me cautiously. “Anything at all?” He leans in, bringing with him the scent of baked bread.

  “Did you bring doughnuts?” My stomach rumbles.

  “Yes, but can you answer the question?”

  “What is there to tell? He banished me from this place when I turned eighteen.”

  Liam rears back as though I’ve slapped him. “He knew.” His words drift away as a truck rumbles up the driveway. Hopefully, the doughnut delivery.

  But the way he said that has me reaching out to grip his shirt just as he tries to stand. I yank him down to meet me eye to eye. “Knew what, Liam? What did my father know?”

  “Oh, Doll, I... I can’t tell you that.” He pries my fingers away while taking a step back, not meeting my gaze.

  I watch him walk away, his torn blue jeans my only focus until voices drift up to me from below. Ignoring them all, I work through Nessa’s breathing sequence.

  Inhale for seven seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for eight.

  Once, twice, three times until I can breathe normally and my equilibrium settles. I can’t change the fact that Dad is gone, but I can figure out what happened to him.

  Murder.

  The unwelcome thought sweeps through me, but I can no longer ignore the truth.

  So many questions assail me all at once. Primarily why my mom kept this from me. Unless she just didn’t know, didn’t want to know. She and Dad were close, which makes this even weirder. Once upon a time, she would have done anything for that man. They set the bar high with how in love they were with each other. Then, one day when I was ten, he left.

  It wasn’t a hey, running to the store and never coming back kind of thing. He just moved out while I was at school, and they acted as though life had always been that way. The following summer, Dad picked me up, and we spent every summer together here for the next several years. Until my eighteenth, when he just never came. I got a text.

  He visited me in the city after that. But I always missed this place. These woods.

  I brush away the thoughts as heavy footsteps thud on the stairs. Liam’s wispy blond head appears first, and he’s holding a box in his hands.

  “I come in peace.” His lips tick up into a passive smile as he saunters over with his peace offering.

  I snatch the box out of his hands, my stomach grumbling, and shove the sweet, delicious confection into my mouth with a moan. My eyes close in bliss and the world fades away, my taste buds dancing in happiness. I might have moaned a bit more and danced in my seat like a fool.

  I don’t even care, since the doughnut rights my world. It’s truly surprising what a bit of sugar can do. Okay, it’s not at all surprising. I’m a girl. It’s how we work.

  A choke and a grunt haul me back to the present just as I pluck yet another doughnut from the box. I growl at the interloper. Don’t they know not to mess with a hangry woman? Really, all men get that in the rule book on how to deal with women. It’s a standard regulation.

  “Did she just growl at me?”

  “Take notes, Liam. Keep your mate fed.”

  Mate?

  “This explains so damn much.”

  “You think this is why he was mu—”

  Thwack. “Shut the hell up.”

  “Ow, what the hell, man?” I know that voice. Christian. “It’s my job.”

  Stomach somewhat sated, I gaze up at Liam who leans casually on the railing, his ass perching perfectly against the top. I cock my head, watching the way it bubbles outward. At least I’m thinking of sex instead of crying like a little bitch.

  His jeans hug his thighs and grip his ass the way I wouldn’t mind doing. The holes gift just a peek of tanned skin. A rush of desire floods through me. I glance up sheepishly to meet his hooded gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his hands dig painfully into his skin.

  “Oh, man.”

  “Damn, that scent.” Another groan.

  “Doll face, you may want to acknowledge the cleaning crew.”
Liam’s toothy smile does nothing to ease the ache in my core. His blue eyes sweep up and down my body, and electricity dances everywhere they land. He doesn’t want me to look at his friends. He wants me to keep ogling him.

  Because if I look at them, then the desire will fade away and reality will take its place. I don’t say that, though, not exactly. “I’m not ready to face reality. Can’t we just sit here for a while?” Allow pleasure to dull the pain?

  “Damsel, we’ve got shit to do, namely find out who killed your father,” Christian drawls in indignation. He has a slight twang to his voice, giving him a sexy southern accent.

  I love and hate it at the same time.

  His words do their job. My neck cracks as I turn to gaze at him. “What the hell did you just say?”

  Confirmation.

  “I said—” He’s cut off by the man to his right who smacks him upside the head.

  Actually, there are two others. My eyes dart between them, but just like with Liam and Christian, I don’t get the chance to look at them before my heart pinches and burns once more, stealing my breath. I clutch my chest as my snack threatens to make its way out of my throat and onto the pristine planks.

  “I knew it!” Liam shouts.

  I don’t listen. The pain is double what it felt like before, and black spots dance before my eyes. My body slumps down in the rocker, my stomach heaving. I don’t have the energy to lift my head and turn it to puke. I try to swallow it down over and over.

  A face blurs before me as shouts rise. A hand swipes my hair back, leaving a burning trail. It only eases the pain slightly. At least I won’t puke in my hair.

  “Nix!”

  Blackness dances in my vision, threatening to steal my consciousness. Hands hesitantly touch my face, tilting my head back against the rocker. Hands that steal the remaining pain.

  But it’s all too damn much.

  Darkness washes over me, and for the first time in my life, I faint. Truly marking me as a damsel in distress.

  Chapter 4

  Voices drift around me, breaking through the haze of my blackout. Never in my twenty-four years have I lost consciousness like that. Hopefully that will remain the first and last time that ever happens, because the odd sensation in my head feels like I spent hours on a roller coaster. Yeah, I can do without that. Not to mention the pull in my chest and the burn in my body that feels like fire ants are doing a tribal dance across my skin.

  Hell ants.

  Still, I stay quiet, straining to hear the conversation taking place. The scent of tobacco and cherry vanilla taunts my senses with the feel of home and safety. An illusion if there ever was one. I know where I am, and I struggle not to burrow into the worn fabric of Dad’s couch. His broken in, faded plaid monstrosity. His scent engulfs me like a parental embrace, and I want nothing more than to wrap myself up in it. I’m starved for that minor piece of him. His reluctant hugs, his smile, his smell.

  “I can’t believe she fainted like that.” Liam’s voice, full of concern, envelops me. I repress a smile. It isn’t a father’s worry, but it’s a decent replacement.

  I could really end up liking that guy.

  “Weak.” A snort, and I can visualize Christian and the sneer on his face.

  Him, I may not like so much.

  “She knows nothing of us or our ways.” I shiver at the deep masculine timbre, the thread of authority giving him the mark of a leader.

  I’ll hold my thoughts on that one.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do with that?” Christian. Why is he so angry? “How did Allen even know? Not only that, but why hide her? He damn well knew what she could mean to us.”

  “Our survival.” Another voice. Soft, pensive.

  “Enough, Christian. It is done. We can’t ignore the call of her soul any more than we can ignore the call of the moon.” His voice rumbles like a thunderstorm on a lazy summer day. The ones with lightning and thunder that rolls through the heavens. Dad used to tell me Zeus and the other gods were bowling during those storms.

  “Athos,” Christian groans. “She won’t accept this.”

  “You’ve yet to give her a chance. We take this slow.” A deep sigh.

  “Slow? A mating call, slow?” A crash startles me, and I jolt. I try to make it look like I’m falling in my sleep… that always makes my body jerk. “Have you not heard the stories of this? She will burn for us, and we will burn for her. There is no taking it slow. She will need to fu—”

  “Hush. She’s waking.”

  Alarm pierces through me. I was content to listen to their odd conversation and learn what I could. People divulge all kinds of secrets when they think no one is listening. Sadly, the deep voice busted me. Maybe I can keep faking it.

  I feign sleep, flinging my arm over my eyes even though I can’t help myself, and I peek out through my elbow crease. The couch faces the wall of dark windows showing that night fell hours ago. Inky blackness sweeps through the room, a blessing so I can’t see the destruction of Dad’s cabin.

  But it also means I can’t see the man whose footsteps creak the floorboards. Or the others who follow in his wake. I can, however, feel them as some unseen string pulls between the two of us. My heart skips a beat, but not in fear, in excited anticipation. That’s not weird, right?

  A click echoes around me before light shimmers through the room, piercing the darkness.

  I snort as though I’m pretending to snore while shutting my eyes tight. Because why the hell not? I’m not ready to face the men before me. I don’t know them even though I know Liam. Kind of. Well, my vagina wants to get to know him. With that thought, a flush of arousal rushes through me, singeing every nerve. A slight whimper escapes my lips.

  “Is she—”

  Thwack.

  “Oh, she is.”

  “Sabina, we know you’re awake,” says the man with the rumbly Zeus voice, but little does he know that I am not, in fact, awake.

  “Nope. Sleeping.” I snore once more for good measure, then blow out a breath that the big bad wolf would be proud of.

  “Is she pretending to snore?” That soft calculating voice drifts to me. I don’t know this one’s name, but I love the way he sounds. Like my favorite bar of chocolate.

  Dammit, now I’m hungry for chocolate.

  Maybe this is just a dream. That’s it, I’m dreaming. I drank far too much with Grandma last night then passed out in her very haunted house, and that’s where I am, listening to the voices of the past. Very sexy voices.

  “Sabina, sit up.”

  “I’m busy dreaming,” I counter, wondering if I want to open my eyes back up. I do, but I don’t. On one hand, I’d see the sexiness that I know surrounds me. But on the other hand, I don’t want to see the destruction.

  Rough hands grip me, lifting me as though I weigh nothing more than a toddler, and if that wasn’t bad enough, his rough, calloused hands run along my skin, leaving a fiery wake. My eyes fly open to one green eye and one blue.

  Except they aren’t happy to see me.

  “See? Awake.” Christian backs away, wiping his hands on his pants as though I’ve got cooties.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a dick?” I scrunch my nose up at him in revulsion. It doesn’t matter how hot he is, an asshole is still an asshole no matter what the packaging looks like.

  Even a bleached one.

  “Yes, often.” He crosses his arms. He’s still wearing the black sheriff’s uniform, but now that I’m truly looking at it, it’s just black fatigues and a black t-shirt with a patch on it. “Now, Damsel, when was the last time you spoke to your father?”

  “Are you interrogating me?” Inconceivable. “In my father’s own home?”

  “Sabina, it’s a valid question.” This came from the Greek god with a man bun, with the back and sides of his head shaved. My eyes finally get a delicious look at him. He’s tall and muscled, but not as muscular as the others, he’s leaner, and he’s wearing a white V-neck and dark blue jeans. His
blue gaze holds my own with an authority that I can’t decide if I want to defy or not. I’m not a rule breaker, per se, but I might break a few if he punishes me.

  I cock my head at him. “Know what? Liam didn’t introduce us and, quite frankly, I think I need a doctor more than an interrogation.” I frown. Was it something I ate? My stomach grumbles, reminding me I’ve yet to feed the beast something more substantial than sugar. I’m inching closer toward hangry again, and the sugary confection did nothing to sate me. “Feed me,” I demand of the man bun. I’d feel more shame if I wasn’t starving.

  His lips twitch, his gaze still holding mine. “Liam.”

  “On it.” He shuffles away until I hear the telltale wrinkle of grocery bags.

  “Sustenance, pretty boy!” I shout, still glaring at man bun. “I need names, otherwise I will forever refer to you as man bun.”

  “Athos.” He nods his goatee toward another man in the corner by the door and window that overlooks the indoor pool. “That’s Nix.”

  I nod. “Liam mentioned Nix.” Slowly, my bearings are coming back to me, but still, I press, “I need a doctor, I think I’ve had a heart attack.”

  “Damsel, you don’t need a doctor, you need a good fuck.” I exhale slowly so as not to pull out my inner bitch and claw Christian’s smug face off. I blink as I glance at him.

  My gaze runs deliberately up and down his form, then I raise my brows and scrunch my nose, indicating I find him... lacking. “You won’t do.” I dismiss him, looking back to Athos because I feel like he’s the ringleader here.

  A snicker sounds from behind him—Liam. Glad someone finds me amusing. Even Athos’s lips twitch.

  “You don’t need a healer,” Athos answers, finally acknowledging my request.

  “Healer? We call them doctor’s in this century,” I say, wrapping my arms around my torso as the air kicks on and blows directly on me.

  “Yes, a doctor. You don’t need one, you haven’t had a heart attack,” Athos reassures me, that silky smooth voice rolling over me with confidence and settling into my bones like a drug. I almost believe him.