Fighter (Prophecy Series Book 2)

by Jessica Wayne

  The door opened and they turned as Shane stepped inside. Over the last month, Dakota had grown to respect him, despite the fact they were both in love with the same woman.

  “We’ve got a large grouping of Brutes making their way through the east side of the forest.

  “Fuck,” Tony cursed as he ran a hand through his hair. “They looking to head this way?”

  “Not sure. They’re carrying some large crates and have a few hostages they must’ve picked up on the way. Should we engage?”

  “How many is a large grouping?” Tony wondered.

  “Enough that we’ll need triple the man power of my current team.”

  Tony considered. “Let’s wait it out. If they head this way, we can take them out, but I’m worried removing that number of Fighters from the village will limit our option if we’re attacked.”

  “You got it.” Shane stepped back outside and Tony turned back to the map.

  Over the last month, the Brutes had moved closer to Terrenia than ever before. It was making them all nervous, especially since they hadn’t attacked yet. Dakota wondered just what in the hell they were waiting for.

  19

  Anastasia

  Anastasia rolled over and opened her eyes. Sunlight shone through the windows, and she squinted as she sat up. She was surprised when her muscles didn’t scream in protest. Last she remembered, she had been the owner of multiple broken bones, and yet she didn’t feel any pain as she moved.

  She was lying on a large bed in a bedroom she didn’t recognize. A dark brown dresser was across from her, and as she sat up, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was mussed from sleep, but her eyes were clear, and no bruises or cuts marred her face.

  She stood and made her way closer to the mirror to peer deeper at her reflection. Nothing. No sign of the torture she’d endured for countless days. Her eyes traveled down, and she lifted a pearl-adorned photo frame from the dresser.

  “What in the hell?” Anastasia murmured as she looked down at the smiling faces staring back at her.

  In the photo, she stood beside Dakota wearing a long, white wedding dress. Dakota was in a tux, smiling down at her. She searched the faces of the people surrounding them in the photograph and found his parents, then her eyes landed on the smiling faces of her own parents—Gregory and Annabelle.

  She slammed the frame face down on the dresser and squeezed her eyes shut as emotion tightened her throat. This is not real. Was this some kind of game? A new type of torture? Dangle exactly what she’d always wanted right in front of her, only to rip it away?

  Vincent was getting creative, she’d give him that.

  Not wanting to see anymore false truths, Anastasia forced her eyes away from the other photographs, and moved to the window. She looked down and sucked in breath. She would have recognized this street anywhere.

  She was in Dakota’s parents’ house, wearing her favorite pair of worn-out pajama pants. Pants that Dakota bought her for Christmas when they were in high school. Back before war had torn her away from this world and thrust her into another.

  “Momma!”

  Anastasia turned around as a little girl charged into the room, flinging herself at her. The small child gripped her leg, and Anastasia knelt, more confused than ever.

  Momma? Anastasia frowned. Surely this little girl wasn’t talking to her.

  “I'm so glad you’re awake, Momma.” She smiled, and Anastasia saw herself in the little girl’s eyes, Dakota in her goofy grin. “Daddy said that we could have pancakes this morning! Come on, he is making them now!”

  Slowly and disbelievingly, Anastasia followed the small girl down the stairs. The wall was lined with photographs of her and Dakota, as well as this mystery child. Was this it? Had she died, and this was her Heaven? Maybe she wasn’t being punished after all—this seemed like a pretty great place so far.

  “There are my girls.” Dakota, wearing plaid pajama pants and a dark T-shirt, turned to face them. His face was clean shaven, his eyes the brightest shade of blue she’d ever seen. “I was wondering when you were going to get up, sleeping beauty.” He crossed the floor and pulled her in for a quick kiss. The coolness of his lips against hers felt alien, though, not quite matching what she was used to. “Annabelle, go and make your bed. Breakfast will be done soon.” He kissed the little girl on the cheek loudly, and she turned to run off to her room.

  When he turned back to Anastasia, she wrapped her arms around him. Even if this wasn’t real, and she really was dead, or Vincent had finally discovered the ultimate way to torture her, at least she got to hold Dakota again. He wrapped his strong arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. She breathed deeply; the pine-scented aftershave he wore filled her lungs.

  After a moment, she pulled away.

  “What is going on?” It was the first thing she had been able to say. Her heart ached, and her brain insisted that none of this was real.

  “What do you mean? Are you all right?” Dakota’s brows drew together, and he set down the mixing bowl he had picked up.

  “This can’t be real.”

  “Ana, what’s not real?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “This, Dakota, all of this!” She gestured to the house and the pictures that hung on the walls in the kitchen.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Last night I was in a dark, cold prison. I was injured and not even sure I was alive anymore, and then this morning, I wake up here. With you… and her.” She gestured toward the hall where Annabelle had disappeared. “It can’t be real.”

  Dakota shook his head slowly. “You had the nightmare again. Ana, I keep telling you, if they scare you, then don’t write about them. Making them come to life like that is only going to make things worse for you.” He wrapped his arms around her again and lightly kissed her forehead.

  “Write about them? What are you talking about?” She pushed away and backed toward the wall.

  “The monsters in your books—the Brutes, as you call them.”

  She shook her head frantically. “No, it all happened. It’s real,” Anastasia insisted.

  “No, it didn’t. Come here, baby, I’ll show you.” He reached for her, and she cautiously took his hand and followed him down a hall and into a small office.

  Anastasia stepped into the room and turned. “Oh my God.” The walls were littered with sketches of Brutes and Kaley. A timeline covered one whole wall, sticky notes with different events mapped out. She leaned in closer.

  ‘MC sacrifices herself for 2nd MC. She is captured and tortured’ was written on an orange sticky note next to a sketch of a woman who looked alarmingly like herself.

  ‘Brute force attacks a small village and takes captives’ was written on a blue sticky note next to a drawing of a Brute.

  Dakota cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. “You’ve been writing about them for about a year now. Your first book was a bestseller, so you dove back in, ready for another.” He spoke the words calmly, as if rehearsed. As if he’d said them to her before. “Every now and then, you have these episodes where your brain mistakes the events in your book for reality.”

  She turned to face him and could see the truth in his eyes. He believed everything he was telling her—didn’t that make it true?

  “Daddy, the pancakes are burning!” Annabelle yelled from the kitchen.

  “Oh, crap!” He laughed. “Pancakes are your specialty, not mine.” He grinned and turned for the kitchen.

  Anastasia’s brow furrowed. She didn’t cook, did she?

  Anastasia walked closer to the timeline board. She ran her fingers over the sticky note that read ‘loses love to the Brutes and goes for revenge’. Could all of that have just been a nightmare? Could what Dakota was saying be true? Her heart wanted desperately to believe it, but a voice inside her head screamed for her attention.

  “Mommy?”

  She turned toward Annabelle standing in the doorway. “Hi.” She knelt in front of t
he girl and smiled softly. “What is it?”

  “Do you remember me?”

  Her words were a punch in the heart, so she lied. “Of course I remember you, Annabelle! How could I ever forget such a perfect little girl?”

  Annabelle smiled and wrapped her arms around Anastasia’s neck. “Just making sure.”

  She followed the little girl back into the kitchen and sat next to her at a tall dining room table. Dakota set the platter of pancakes in the center of the table, and a plate with eggs over medium, just the way she liked them, in front of Anastasia.

  “This is delicious, Daddy!” Annabelle grinned and scooped up a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  “Thank you, honey, now don’t talk with your mouth full.” He winked, and Annabelle giggled, small pieces of egg falling from her mouth.

  Anastasia took her first bite of pancake, and the taste exploded on her tongue. Had she ever tasted anything so delicious? She ate quickly and cleaned her plate, even having thirds of the maple syrup covered pancakes. The fact that she could taste them was another checkmark in the ‘this is real’ box. If it were a dream, there would be no flavor.

  Right?

  Later that morning, Dakota came down the stairs dressed in scrubs. Anastasia’s mind fought against the image. He had never become a doctor. He was a detective. Hadn’t he followed in his father’s footsteps rather than his mother’s?

  “I should be home from work around five.” He smiled and pulled Anastasia in for a kiss.

  “Gross!” Annabelle laughed and made a silly face that had all three of them giggling.

  “Okay, now, we get it.” Dakota smiled at her. “Six and going on sixteen, huh?” he asked her, and then reached for her hand.

  “Bye, Mommy! I’ll see you after school. I love you so much!”

  “I love you, too.” It was her voice, but somehow felt like someone else’s words. She reached down to accept a hug and then watched as they made their way down the driveway.

  Anastasia walked back into the house and took a deep breath. The scent of jasmine and vanilla filled her lungs. It smelled like home to her, and yet she was almost positive it wasn’t. Dishes filled the sink from breakfast and Anastasia headed over to wash them.

  Once she’d loaded and started the dishwasher, she made her way back upstairs and walked down the hall into Annabelle’s room. Pictures that the little girl had drawn covered the walls.

  She lifted a small frame holding a photo of the three of them at the zoo, and caught herself smiling. If she focused hard enough—she could almost remember that day, but it was foggy. Like a dream that you couldn’t quite recall.

  Her brain shouted at her, telling her not to be fooled, that none of this was real, but she pushed the voice down.

  She gently set the photo back where she’d found it, and turned to leave the room. A reflection in the dresser mirror caught her eye, and she jumped back.

  Before her stood a warrior. Bloody, bruised, and dirty; a sword glinted in her hand. The Anastasia in the mirror reached for her, and she backed away. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Dakota told her it was only a dream based on the book she was writing. As long as she continued believing that, then maybe this horrible sinking feeling in her stomach would disappear, and everything would begin to feel normal.

  Unless this was Vincent all over again.

  When she slowly opened her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief when a regular reflection looked back at her. Her face was clean and bruise-free, and she wore her pajama pants and a clean white T-shirt.

  “Is this you, Vincent?” She screamed into the empty house. “Just another one of your fucking mind games?” Anastasia punched the mirror in front of her and the glass shattered.

  “Fuck!” She pulled her hand back and looked down at the broken skin. Her knuckles throbbed. That certainly felt real. “Agh!” she screamed. Cradling her bleeding hand, she made her way downstairs.

  If all of this was real, if everything she’d ever known as her reality was really fiction, then why did she still feel like everything was going to fall apart?

  20

  Terrenia

  Dakota

  Dakota stared down at his hand-drawn map and nursed his cup of Terrenian whiskey. The Brutes had moved past them quickly and headed toward the mountains. What the hell were they doing? Gathering more weapons?

  As far as he knew, no other villages had been attacked recently. Which, according to Tony, was the longest time between attacks this world had seen in recent years.

  So, what was the game plan, exactly?

  Dakota turned when a knock sounded against the wood of the door. “Come in.”

  “Hey, honey.” His mom stepped into the living room of his cottage and shut the door gently behind her. “How’s it going?”

  Dakota took another drink. “It’s going. Just trying to figure out what game Vincent is playing.”

  She took a seat next to him at the table. “When was the last time you got some sleep?” Just as she had when he’d been young, she fussed with his hair.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  She eyed him. “You and I both know that isn’t true.” She got to her feet and walked into the kitchen. “Tea?”

  “Sure.”

  Dakota went back to staring at the map as his mom began heating water over the fire still burning from his dinner.

  “Any news from Carmen?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “She still can’t sense Ana.”

  “We will find her, honey.” His mother came to stand beside him.

  “Let’s just hope it’s not another five years before we do.”

  After a few moments of silence, his mom set a steaming mug in front of him.

  “Anastasia is one of the toughest, bravest people I have ever met, and I know that she is going to be just fine. You have to give it the time that is needed to formulate a good plan, and on top of that, you have got to get some rest. You will be no good if we find her unless you’ve slept.”

  Another knock at the door and Dakota called, “Come in.” Seemed his house was the popular place tonight.

  “Can I come in?” Tony peeked through the door and Dakota’s mom smiled and waved him in.

  “Of course. I was just making some tea, would you like some?”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.” Tony smiled, and his mom blushed.

  Dakota laughed lightly and turned away. They had been flirting around each other ever since she and Dakota arrived in Terrenia, and although it bothered him at first, his mother deserved to be happy. She had suffered so much in the last four years, and if Tony could bring her peace, then who was he to stand in their way?

  “How are you doing, Dakota?” Tony took a seat beside him at the small table.

  “Just dandy,” Dakota said. Tony cocked an eyebrow and Dakota smiled softly. “I just miss her, Tony, and I’m more worried than I have ever been.”

  “She is tough, Dakota; she will be fine.”

  “That’s what Mom said.” Dakota laughed.

  Tony watched Elizabeth as she worked in the kitchen. “She’s a wise woman.”

  “She is,” Dakota agreed.

  “Here we go, boys.” Elizabeth brought over another mug of tea, then sat next to Tony.

  Dakota took his first sip, and the taste of chamomile and whiskey slid over his tongue like a blanket. Chamomile was always Dakota’s favorite as a kid, perfect for those nights he’d have trouble sleeping, too worried about Ana next door.

  “So, tell me of the Anastasia you grew up with,” Tony said, setting his mug on the table. “I only know her from when she arrived, and I suspect she was a bit more guarded with us than she was with you.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth started on a laugh, “Anastasia used to sneak into our house in the middle of the night, and the two of them would have sleepovers—the innocent kind,” she added with a wink. “We would check, but we knew she didn’t feel safe anywhere else, so we kept her where he couldn’t get her. George trie
d to get her out of that house so many times, but she was so afraid.”

  “I wish I could strangle the bastard who hurt her.” Tony clenched his fists. “I will get Vincent. He will pay for everything he has done to you all.”

  Elizabeth lightly touched his hand and smiled warmly. “Once they graduated, she and Dakota roomed together while going to school. Mitch and Monica had refused to pay for college, so Anastasia worked to afford classes.”

  “She was amazing,” Dakota said, taking another drink. “Funny, smart, honest, and was the kindest person you’d ever met—or rather, is.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Even he was starting to refer to her in the past tense, as if she was never coming back. When he opened his eyes again, the room began to tilt, and he gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling.

  “Dakota?” His mother asked, concerned.

  Dakota’s eyes began to lose focus, and the room continued spinning. He looked down at his hands which were nothing but a pigmented blur now.

  “How much whiskey did you put in this tea?” he asked, and then passed out on the table.

  21

  Elizabeth

  “I’ll get him.” Tony lifted Dakota and carried him to his room. When he came back out, Elizabeth greeted him with a smile.

  “There really wasn’t that much whiskey in there.”

  “He’s exhausted. I’m honestly surprised he was able to stay up as long as he did.”

  Tony reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Elizabeth’s heart caught in her throat. Tony gave her butterflies in a way she hadn’t felt since George had been killed.

  “I enjoy being around you,” he said softly.

  “I enjoy being around you, too.” She lifted their mugs and carried them toward the kitchen.

  “I will wait,” Tony said, and she turned to look at him. His bright hazel eyes were wide but focused on her face.

  “Wait for what?”

  “Until you are ready.”