With a quick spin she jumped us and rocketed past, into the cold and away from any risk of hurting me. The door swung back and forth on its hinges, squealing, and I pounded on his face and chest with my hands as I did my damnedest to whale on him with my knees and feet.
He seemed unimpressed.
So I bit him.
With a shout of pain, blood pouring from his cheek, he rolled off me.
I plowed into the stall door, forcing it open, and grabbed the shovel waiting by the wall.
He was back on his feet. With a growl of my own I swung the shovel and just missed his head. “Damn it!”
“Come on,” he coaxed me, reaching his hands out on arms spread wide. He wiggled the fingers closest to the wall.
Pietr and Max learned that as a distraction technique.
I knew it, too.
So when he came at me with his other hand, I struck.
He screamed as the shovel’s blade pinned his hand to the wall for a heartbeat. Caught, he struggled, and my stomach twisted when he pulled free in his panic and rage. Two of his fingers dropped to the hay bale below.
“No more scrrrewing around—” he growled, face contorting, teeth growing into wicked ivory points.
Tugging the shovel free, I connected with his shoulder…
… As his fist connected with my head.
My world went black, and the last thing I heard was the shovel falling to the straw.
And his breath, hot in my ear.
* * *
When my eyes opened again, I was greeted by darkness. Something dry and coarse plugged my mouth and tasted the way an old gym shirt smelled.
I’d been gagged.
I tried to pull the thing out of my mouth, but my hands were stuck behind my back, lashed together. I tested whatever held them and felt the fine hairs on my wrists tear away as I twisted.
Not rope. Duct tape? Rope I might cut or untie. But duct tape? It held the world together.
This was bad.
I focused on my surroundings, trying to get some clue about my location. In movies, a victim can sometimes get word out to rescuers about their location by dropping subtle hints.
Granted, I was not tremendously gifted at subtlety, but I was determined to maintain hope.
I’d already survived so much, it’d be tremendously disappointing to not make it out of this most recent scrape, too.
In the movies there is often a ransom note or a ransom phone call. And smart negotiators ask for proof of life. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life.
Plus werewolves.
I was so utterly screwed.
Focus, Jess, focus.
It was chilly where I was. Drafty. I squinted and tried to make out some detail. But in the dark it seemed there were none.
Damn it. Jessie Gillmansen, waiting on rescue.
Again.
This was not good for my self-esteem.
Marlaena
Gabriel found me not far from the motel in an abandoned lot so overgrown the weeds stuck through the snow. “You’re a bit more complicated than most of the girls I’ve dated,” he admitted, scrubbing a fist across his forehead. “Some girls like candy, some are into flowers or jewelry—but you don’t seem to care about any of that.”
I watched him, a sense of dread growing in my gut. I noticed his hand was bandaged. My hands settled on my hips, fingers curling into fists.
“But we’re not dating, are we?”
“We sure as Hell aren’t.”
“And it seems there’s nothing I can do to change that.…” He looked at me from the corner of his eye and I thought he was handsome and bright, but all this—our circumstances? They were tremendously cruel.
He wanted me, but I didn’t want him. I wanted Gareth, but he didn’t want me. Or maybe he did.… I doubted even Gareth knew what he wanted. And so it continued, a frustrating circle of wants and denials. Of misplaced love and loads of loss.
I said the lamest two words in the English language. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah. Well. I don’t even know when your birthday is—you realize that? No one in the pack does. That’s how distant you keep us all. But I’ve been running with you for more than a year, so I must’ve missed it at some point. I think that sucks: missing birthdays. We don’t get many, so we should celebrate each one.”
“Gabriel.”
He looked at me, hope lighting his eyes at the sound of his name.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I know. You’re amazingly self-sufficient. But, as you’ve pointed out, needing and wanting are different things. And I noticed something. Something you seem to need.”
I blinked, having no idea what he was talking about.
“I’ll admit, I couldn’t get exactly what you need, but I think I’ve actually found the means to an end. I think this gift I’m about to give you—”
My nostrils flared, and I pulled in the surrounding scents and found one that was familiar. My eyes popped wide open.
“Will provide you with a way to get the thing you really need.” He jogged a few yards away and dragged her back—Jessica Gillmansen, bound and gagged and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
He grinned at the look on my face.
Jessica growled, a big bruise discoloring the side of her face. Beautiful. She thrashed, but really, what threat was she to any of us?
Gabriel threw her at me, and I let her land on her knees. Her eyes rolled at the impact, and she glared at me, hate hard in her brown eyes.
“So,” Gabriel said. “Do you like your present?”
I reached down and ruffled her hair, enjoying the way she fought to avoid my touch. “It’s perrrfect.” And suddenly everything came slamming together like the pieces of some bizarre puzzle. My wants and needs—those of the pack … the pelt I’d found buried …
Our options had just opened wide again. And all because of Gabe making a bold move. “I don’t like it—I love it. And I know exactly what I’m going to do with it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This list’s going to be short because I was juggling so many things I didn’t have as many folks involved in the creation of this novel as in previous ones.
First, a big thanks to my readers. You all rock! You’re the reason I get to spend my time imagining hot werewolves and the trouble they get into. You’re the reason I get to do so much traveling and speaking (and why I enjoy checking my e-mails so much). I hope you love this book as much as the rest (or even more).
This time around I only used three betas. It certainly wasn’t because my other betas weren’t ready or worthy (they are amazing and very talented); it was simply a timing issue. I screwed up on my time line. There’s a lot of juggling that goes into a series of books published so closely together! So, a big thanks to Alyson Beecher, who always dives in no matter what time I send a manuscript and always gives great constructive criticism. A huge thanks to Karl Gee, who managed to listen to the whole book in several different stages of development (often while commuting or driving a tractor)—your input was amazingly helpful. And thanks goes out to Anthony Mincarelli, who read the thing while dealing with timing issues of his own and reported “I love it” when everything was said and done. Sometimes as an author that’s exactly what you need to hear.
My thanks also goes out to my editor, Michael Homler, who somehow always makes publishing seem less crazy than it really is; my agent, Richard Curtis, who is tremendously helpful and wise; my sales rep, Bob Werner, who is excited about what I do and a tremendous asset; and all of the amazingly helpful and gifted staff at St. Martin’s Press. Thanks also to Paula for her copyedits. This publishing house is the perfect home for my werewolves, and I’m so glad!
ALSO BY SHANNON DELANY
13 to Life
Secrets and Shadows
Bargains and Betrayals
Shannon Delany lives and writes in upstate New York and enjoys traveling to talk to people about most anything. Find 13 to Life extra
s at www.13tolifeseries.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DESTINY AND DECEPTION. Copyright © 2012 by Shannon Delany. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
The Library of Congress has catalogued the print edition as follows:
Delany, Shannon.
Destiny and deception : a 13 to life novel / Shannon Delany. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-62446-0 (trade pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4299-2556-3 (e-book)
[1. Werewolves—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Mafia—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.D3733De 2012
[Fic]—dc23
2011032803
e-ISBN 9781429925563
First Edition: February 2012
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