Faults in FateA Vein Chronicles Novella

by Anne Malcom

  Her palms continued to grow with power, with the need to hurt, to destroy. She tamped it down.

  “But penetration does not mean ownership, capisce?” She ignored whatever part of her called bullshit as she remembered how violently she’d thought of him as hers. “You wolves are an intense lot, hence the fact that I’ve not bedded one in my time on this hunk of rock. And this is why I won’t be doing it again.” She stepped forward, letting her magic whip around her in threat. “And this isn’t me playing hard to get, or the start of some adorable back and forth where you chase the girl and she finally surrenders and you live happily ever after. I don’t do happily ever afters. They give me a stomachache. And I don’t surrender.” She shot out another burst of power. “I do kill people who don’t listen to me. So you should probably do that—listen, that is—and then you should probably leave.”

  His eyes turned to a dark amber, still glowing but with something different, something that changed with every word Sophie uttered. There was pain in them, a considerable amount since Sophie hadn’t been gentle—but hey, he hadn’t either—but not an ounce of fear as she’d expected. Even the most hardened immortals blanched when she let the power, her true power, seep out from its cage.

  Isla hid it well, but Sophie knew it freaked even her out. And the vamp didn’t freak easily, or at all.

  He stood, and Sophie stepped back in shock. He shouldn’t have been able to do that. His legs should’ve been nothing more than Jell-O until Sophie wished it different.

  But there he was, standing, proving her wrong.

  He didn’t advance on her like she expected—and secretly hoped he would do. No, he merely stood there, staring.

  She gritted her teeth. She would not talk first this time.

  The silent challenge played on, both of them naked. It would’ve been quite comical if Sophie had been removed from the situation.

  She loved laughing at Isla and the tangles she’d gotten into with males of late. She’d always wondered why Isla had threatened to dismember her and feed her to sharks when she’d teased her.

  Now she got it.

  “You are a strong one,” he said finally, voice scratchy and low. “A fighter. Maybe even equal to me in a fight.” His aura wrapped around her. “But that does not mean I will not fight. Because now that we have coupled, there is no going back, mate. This is for eternity. Until death.”

  She swallowed ash at the certainty in his tone, the cold passion. He believed he was right.

  Fuck, I’m his mate.

  “Well, death might have to be the option behind door number two, because I’m definitely not knocking at the first one,” she hissed, flaring her palms in warning.

  He bared his teeth, not in threat but in some kind of gruesome grin. “Ah, not even my fighter witch will kill me. I know this.”

  She hated the certainty in his tone. Despised that he was right. Though not entirely. Yes, this Sophie wouldn’t kill him. The Sophie who loved Metallica concerts, combat boots, red lipstick, bad Chinese food, killing demons for sport, dismembering vampires and taunting slayers. One who also hated mushrooms and anything that was on the E! channel. That Sophie would not kill him.

  But the other Sophie, the one borne from the grave, with ancient powers that had come from death itself—there was no such certainty where she was concerned. Considering she would have to kill the aforementioned original and awesome version of Sophie to gain control, the wolf had no chance against her.

  He stepped forward, braving the power she shot at him for the advance. “You are mine. This does not change. And I will not leave you alone. Not until the earth crashes into the sun.”

  And on that vow, he was gone, snatching at what remained of his clothes as he left.

  Chapter Three

  “Witch, are you okay?” Isla demanded, draining her drink in one swallow, then draining Sophie’s untouched one. “Please tell me you didn’t go into the future and see me with bangs,” her vampire bestie demanded with horror.

  Sophie gave her a look. “Yes, because if I had ventured to the future lately—which I haven’t, by the way—the most horrifying thing would be you getting an unfortunate haircut,” she said dryly.

  “Um, duh, have you seen my bone structure?” Isla hissed. “Flawless, but not made for bangs. It would be the biggest tragedy to unfold like ever.”

  Sophie grinned and tapped the bar so two more drinks appeared. She made sure to snatch hers before the vamp could get any ideas. “Yes, and the war we’re on the brink of wouldn’t even factor in.”

  Isla waved her hand in dismissal.

  After she’d finished her drink—in two seconds—she put her whole focus on Sophie. Which was a bad thing. Isla was a huge narcissist, with little to no empathy or compassion. Which was why Sophie and her got on so well. But—and she would behead you for trying to tell anyone this—she was loyal to a fault and would fight to the death for those she considered friends.

  And she also saw a lot when she took it upon herself to look. She didn’t look often because she was selfish, and because she was all about fun. Seeing her friends upset was “a huge bummer, and I don’t need bummers.”

  “Something is going on,” she deduced.

  Sophie sighed. “Really? The rebel faction of immortals turning humans into gross hybrids and taking over the world? Or Hell freezing over and you falling in love, with a human slayer, of all people, and then somehow catching the eye of the king of your entire race, which may or may not mean a death match between two really hot guys.”

  The death match had been on hold for the last two months since the king was in Europe, giving them a break from his hotness and annoying certainty that he thought he could tell them what to do just because he was the king of all vampires.

  That meant Sophie had to tell Isla about the death spell.

  Which she’d do… tomorrow.

  Isla scowled and her fangs elongated in warning. “Careful, witch. Sarcasm is deadly.”

  Sophie tilted her head. “How is it you’re still alive, then?”

  She grinned, showing fang, despite the humans around them. Sophie had already cast a glamor over them to make them all but invisible. A lot less supernatural and a lot less hot.

  They’d get nothing done otherwise.

  “Well, an entire rebel faction is trying their darndest,” she said sweetly. Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it, rolling her eyes as she read it. Her fingers were a blur as she wrote a reply. “Thorne,” Isla said by explanation, throwing the phone down and locking her emerald eyes with Sophie’s. “Seriously, he can’t even be away from me for like five seconds since, you know….”

  “It became apparent that every supernatural being involved in a plot to overthrow a monarchy and enslave humanity wanted you dead?” Sophie asked dryly.

  Isla nodded. “Yeah. Like dude, I’m still undead. Get over it already, it’ll all work out.”

  Sophie quirked her brow. She had noticed how quickly Isla had replied at the slight change in her energy with the simple text.

  A small bout of jealousy sparked through her soul. She flinched inwardly. Since when was she jealous of a happy—or in Isla’s case, not entirely happy but entirely designed by fate—couple?

  Since never.

  Since a certain wolf had fucked the sense out of her and then declared her his, apparently.

  “Well, you have almost died more than usual,” Sophie said, getting herself another drink in an effort to push away unwelcome thoughts. Like large hands that morphed into claws, golden eyes, scarred physique. That kind of thing.

  Isla eyed her draining her drink with a knowing gaze. “Enough talk about my death. I’m simply bored of it,” she declared. “There’s something going down. I can smell it.”

  Sophie wondered if she had ‘I fucked a werewolf and liked it’ tattooed on her forehead for the world to see, or if, for once, Isla was being perceptive about something other than Alexander McQueen’s aesthetic for fall.

  Sophie
quirked her brow again. “The only thing you can smell is bullshit, since you’re so familiar with it,” she shot. “Stop trying to distract yourself from your responsibilities by making up problems in my life.”

  Isla scowled. “Making up problems?” she repeated. “I’m pretty sure the giant ball of crazy hocus pocus brewing in your hot little bod can be considered a problem. Especially when you start talking like that hot elf with the cool dress in Lord of the Rings when she got all creepy and power hungry.” She narrowed her eyes. “And if you tell Scott I made a Lord of the Rings reference, I will skin you alive.” She glanced down at her phone again as it buzzed. “And there’s also the small matter of you bopping back and forth in the space-time continuum and not even coming back with any interesting souvenirs or at the very least fucking up the future as we know it,” she pouted. “And I’m guessing there’s a coven of witch bitches sensing the shift in the force or whatever it is you have. They’ve already got more than a few bones to pick with you—”

  “Most of which are because of skeletons you created,” Sophie interrupted.

  Isla shrugged and pointed her bloodred finger at her exposed cleavage. “Vampire, remember? Murder is part and parcel. Plus, you almost always helped me.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes, hoping Isla was going to finish it there and get distracted by her own life, or at the very least her own reflection.

  No such luck.

  “They’ve been gunning for you for decades, Soph,” she continued. “You know it because you’re a badass bitch. Some of it could be because of a couple of very small and hardly noticeable explosions and civil wars I had a small hand in.” She held her thumb and finger millimeters apart. “But mostly it’s because you don’t toe the line, didn’t at Hogwarts or wherever it is baby witches learn their shit. And then you moved out of the great coven, abandoned the caldrons for whisky bottles and then started a business working with all immortals, no matter their beef with your sisters, and making a lot of bank off it.” She grinned. “All of this I approve of, greatly. And we both know anything I approve of usually spells trouble. For once, you don’t even need me for trouble. They’re power hungry, your bunch. Not unlike my family. We both have assholes who are related to us who want to use us for something or kill us. Just because the spotlight hasn’t been on you doesn’t make your threat any less important. It’s just because I’m a drama queen and take the stage.”

  Her eyes flickered with something foreign, something serious.

  Concern?

  “I’m worried about you, Hermione,” she said softly. “Almost as much as I’m worried about myself.”

  Sophie laughed off whatever uncomfortable form of premonition Isla’s words had brought forward. “You never worry about someone as much as you worry about yourself.”

  Isla flicked her hair, the serious expression giving way to the sardonic smile that was so much more welcome to Sophie. “I know, that’s why I said almost.” She tapped at her phone. “You want to expand as to where these powers actually came from? I think we skipped right over that part when we went to prophecies that didn’t make any fucking sense.” Isla screwed up her nose.

  Sophie knew she hated the prophecy that put her smack-dab in the middle of what was gearing up to be the greatest war of their times.

  Isla loved to be the center of attention, but hated being told what to do. Especially by gods.

  And there was a little inkling Sophie had that she was somehow smack-dab in the middle of all this too. Her powers gave her the ability to sense when her life was going to be threatened, and there was an aching certainty that her entire existence hung in the balance.

  Cemented when the wolf came into all this.

  Isla looked to the door, her scowl deepening. “Seriously,” she muttered. “I feel like I need to get a restraining order.”

  Sophie glanced over to the hulking man making his way over to them. Every single female eye—and half of the males—were on him as he reached them, and then when he entered Sophie’s glamor, the humans blinked in confusion for a few seconds before resuming their boring lives.

  Thorne’s eyes hadn’t moved from Isla the entire time, as if he might topple off the side of the earth if he didn’t keep his gaze on the vampire.

  And then his lips brushed the side of her neck in a decidedly intimate way that made even Sophie squirm. There was something about the two of them that radiated an energy that was hard to weather. Something so ancient, something so strong.

  Sophie was happy for her friend, despite all the blood and gore that was coming with the courtship—it was Isla, after all—but she hated that all this had made her inspect the decidedly empty and blackened heart she’d carried around for the past few decades.

  Not quite empty, something inside her whispered, taunting her with golden eyes.

  “Sophie,” Thorne greeted in his gravelly voice.

  She grinned away her unease. “Hey, Buffy.”

  His jaw instantly hardened and Isla’s smile widened. She lived—kind of—to piss Thorne off. Though her act didn’t fool Sophie. The vampire had it bad.

  “You were not supposed to crash girls’ night,” Isla snapped. “It’s like an ancient law.”

  Thorne eyed his woman. “Don’t give a fuck about ancient traditions, baby,” he murmured. Sex lingered in his voice, an invitation for Isla only. Eyes for Isla only.

  Isla was the only thing that kept the human’s heart beating.

  Sophie had the ability to see concrete and unbreakable ties between people, and this was the strongest she’d ever encountered. If this was severed, not only would each of their immortal lives end, but the world quite possibly would too.

  Talk about pressure.

  Isla immediately jumped off her stool, snatching her Chanel. “I know I always say chicks before dicks, but you haven’t seen his dick. It really is something special.” She gave her a wink. “Catch you on the flipside, motherfucker.”

  Then either Thorne or Isla dragged the other out.

  Sophie watched them leave, unease swirling inside her.

  Then she put her attention back to the two fresh drinks in front of her. The best way to get over the end of the world was to get drunk.

  After five more drinks, the end of the world thing didn’t seem as important as before. But she couldn’t get the wolf dilemma from her head. Or her vagina, which missed him.

  The werewolf mated her. And not just in the biblical sense of the world. Werewolves and demons were the only supernatural species who had one true ‘mate’ that was designed to be theirs and only theirs for the rest of eternity.

  Sophie always kind of got it with wolves, pack animals and all that. Demons, she didn’t. That meant they were capable of love, and they came from Hades himself. It was somewhat of a contradiction. Though she had yet to meet a demon who cared about anything other than collecting souls, so maybe it was a myth.

  Wolves, on the other hand, were notorious for their devotion to their mates.

  For eternity.

  And she had inadvertently mated with one.

  She couldn’t even commit to a nail polish color for one day, let alone a partner for… forever.

  A wolf partner at that.

  Great, so she’d thought the only bad consequences of being easy were the stage-five clingers who all became her stalkers on account of her being excellent in bed.

  Pregnancy was never a worry since being a witch meant contraception was a simple spell that required little to no energy.

  And then even when the immortals she’d bedded became obsessed with her, she’d merely erased their memories of her. Slightly harder than the contraception, considering she made an impression and wasn’t easy to forget.

  She’d tried it already with this wolf, but it was like trying to push a mountain into a Mini Cooper. Not gonna happen, and also just embarrassing.

  No, even her ever-growing magic was no match for the werewolf mating instinct. That was something so natural, so ingrained into their bei
ng, she’d have to practice the darkest, blackest magic in order to pry herself from his soul.

  It would mean damning herself to the order of the big bad witches with ties to the Devil.

  She hadn’t ruled it out just yet.

  And she couldn’t tell Isla. No way, no how. Her vampire bestie wasn’t about to judge her for getting biblical with a guy she didn’t know the name of considering she’d done it on the daily with men throughout the centuries—well, before she got all gross and loved-up with her slayer, that was.

  No, Isla would likely judge her on the fact that the one-night stand was a werewolf. One who had recognized her as his mate, and by boinking him, she’d cemented their connection without knowing it until it was too late.

  Great. Because I couldn’t keep it in my pants, I’m bound to a werewolf for eternity unless one of us dies.

  Sophie had no idea what time it was when she stumbled into her elevator. She knew how many drinks it had been, though.

  No, that was a lie. She had no idea how many drinks it had been, but she did know it was the perfect amount. Nothing seemed like a big deal anymore. Potential end of the world and largest war the immortal community had ever experienced? Great way to get rid of frenemies plaguing her life.

  Witch coven gunning for her submission and perhaps even her imprisonment? Easy peasy, set the whole place on fire and watch them burn.

  Werewolf seemingly set on the fact that she was his lifelong mate? Hire a good dog catcher. Or put rat poison in his kibble.

  Everything was simple, apart from using the elevator. It took her three tries to make contact with the buttons, and then she pressed all the wrong ones. But she got to her floor eventually. She needed a code to get in, since her loft opened straight off the elevator.