Fleeing Fate

by Anya Richards

  Suddenly still, eyes searching, she softly asked, “What?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why did you do it?”

  For a long moment she seemed frozen, not even breathing. When she exhaled, it was long, uneven. “No one ever asked me that, wondered at my motivation. All assumed I did it because I thrived on the fear and chaos of war, that I assisted in the destruction of my clansmen to increase my own power.”

  “But the real reason was…?”

  She inhaled, rubbed one hand over her face in a gesture so weary his heart ached for her.

  “Even I was tired of the fighting, the death. I was supposedly Galedron’s chief advisor, but in truth he would listen only to Eevul and she wouldn’t relent until our clan ruled all the land. But war was my trade, and I knew we couldn’t win against a clan our equal in numbers and allies. Galedron was crazed with bloodlust, power-hungry, wouldn’t stop until the very last of our clan fell. His madness infected the other members of the clan, until they cared not when entire cities were decimated and their own kin were killed.”

  Her gaze turned inward and she shuddered. “We had lived with war so long it became a way of life to many, instead of a small part of the natural cycle. I worked quietly for years trying to find a way to bring it to an end, only to realize our foes were as badly infected by the lust for battle as we were. Peace could not be brokered, because neither side wanted it.”

  “So when the dragons approached you, you agreed to help.”

  “Yes. The disease of war had to be excised from our land and, extreme as it was, I knew their plan to be the only way.” Her eyes flashed, her lips tightening into a stern line. “I planned to be on the battlefield, to die with my clansmen, but knowing my reputation as a warrior goddess, the dragons held me hostage in case I was setting them up for an ambush.” He touched her hand where it lay, fisted, on her lap, but it was as if she didn’t feel it, didn’t even remember he was there. “It is as though it happened yesterday, the millennia spent as a banshee just a dream. How can I live with this knowledge?” Suddenly her eyes blazed into his. “Why didn’t I leave well enough alone?”

  “That life wasn’t your choice.” How weak his words sounded, even to him. “You weren’t meant to live that way.”

  Gràinne rose suddenly, and by the time he got to his feet she was fully dressed, the residue of the magic she’d used fading slowly, leaving a shimmer in the air. “Wasn’t I?” The question echoed with despair. “I wish I were still banshee, unable to feel, to remember, instead of this…this…” She flung up her hands. “I don’t know what I am. No longer Badb, no longer Gràinne, burdened by my own perfidy.”

  There was something frightening in her tone, an edge almost of madness, and Jakuta grabbed her shoulders, held her when she would have pulled away. “You told me earlier that I should forgive myself for what I did, actions far less noble than yours. Can’t you follow your own advice?”

  The sound she made couldn’t truly be called laughter. It was bitter, angry. “How long has it been, Jakuta, since you burned your palace?”

  He saw the trap, but had to step into it. “Many centuries.”

  “To me, right now, the Great Purge happened yesterday. It will be a long, long time before I can contemplate forgiveness—if ever.” She pulled away from his grip, her face set in grim lines. But perhaps his pain also registered, for her expression softened fractionally and sadness glimmered in her eyes. “I have to go back, find my clan, see if any survived. I can hardly bear to be within my own skin. Perhaps going back to where I left off will help me make some sense of this life I have now.”

  All he could do was nod, not wanting to add to her burden by asking her to stay, offering to go with and support her, or telling her he would be waiting when she was ready to come back. Swallowing the words, the pleas stinging his tongue, he reached out to stroke her cheek.

  “Your goddess watch over you, sweetness.”

  He couldn’t manage any more than that and Gràinne didn’t seem to have anything to say in response. After a brief hesitation, she raised one hand in farewell and disappeared in a swirl of powerful magic.

  He’d known, he reminded himself, that if she were once more whole, complete, with all emotions intact, what she felt for him would fade.

  The knowledge didn’t ease the agony tearing at his heart. Blind, deafened by the enormity of his loss, Jakuta transported himself away from the Midnight Café, not sure he would ever be able to return.

  Chapter Ten

  Two years later

  Gràinne stood across the courtyard from the Midnight Café and watched people come and go. The tinted, double-height glass fronting the building let her see straight into the bar and games areas where patrons milled about, their faces transformed into strange, masklike expressions by the flashing neon lights. She could also see the outline of the loft above, intermittent movement in the tattooing area, but was too far away to see who was up there.

  Nevertheless she knew Jakuta was inside.

  A connection had been forged between them the night he’d saved her life, and in the months since he had never been far from her thoughts. She’d heard his voice in the gentle spring breeze, rolling summer storms, the beat of autumn rains, howling winter winds. Telling herself it was just gratitude, that the longing consuming her would fade hadn’t helped. Jakuta came to her in dreams. He walked, like a shadow, alongside her during the long journey back from what she thought of as a kind of death. Perhaps he was no longer a god of judgment, but she often found herself wondering what he thought of her, the deeds she’d perpetrated in the past, her efforts to once more find a place in their world. At those times, in her imagination, he was an unsympathetic figure, condemning her—just as she condemned herself.

  Yet she hadn’t been able to stay away. On the one-year anniversary of her rebirth she’d stood outside, as she did now, the yearning to see him so overwhelming she trembled with it. But it hadn’t been strong enough to overcome the guilt she still grappled with, the confusion engendered by being two people trapped in the same body. That night she’d been unable to go inside, although the pain of leaving without seeing him had torn at her afresh.

  But she was stronger now, more accepting of who she’d become, reconciled to what had been, and what might come. There were no expectations attached to this visit, she reassured herself for the umpteenth time. They had shared one night, and although it was the most important one of her existence she didn’t expect Jakuta to feel the same. But she knew, without doubt, she’d hurt him with the way she’d just disappeared. Now she needed to explain, to apologize. To end things on a better note than she had the last time. Perhaps even to gain his forgiveness. Doing so might help her move on, free her from the chains binding her to him.

  Rubbing damp palms together, she took a deep breath. Smoothing the front of her dress, she willed her hands to stop trembling and reminded herself standing out here wouldn’t solve anything. May as well go in, get it over with.

  Thus bolstered, she crossed the courtyard, hearing the quiet tap of her sandals on the cobblestones like the crack of gunfire.

  When she pushed open the door, the music and voices hit her like a slap. The flashing lights were blinding. For a moment she was disoriented, the urge to flee almost overwhelming the primal need that had brought her back to the café. Gathering her suddenly scattered determination, she twisted her way through the crowd, reflexively glancing up at the loft as she went.

  There was no sign of Jakuta at the railing above, and disappointment almost made her falter again, but she pressed on. Getting to the raised desk at the back of the café, she realized the goblin receptionist had been watching her approach, a scowl transforming her already slightly scary face into something overawing.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Her tone said there were a few things she wouldn’t mind doing, none of them pleasant, but Gràinne refused to be intimidated. She’d blasted more than her fair share of goblins back in the old days, wh
en the enmity between elves and the other races had been marked with constant warfare.

  “I want to see Jakuta. Is he around?”

  One sky-blue-dyed eyebrow rose dismissively. “For you? I doubt it.”

  Gràinne’s heart sank, but she kept her chin up, her gaze steady. “Check with him anyway.”

  The goblin’s thin lips twisted. “I’d rather not. Jay doesn’t need you coming around, messing with his head again. Why not find someone else to fuck up and leave him alone? He’s finally getting back to normal. The last thing he needs is—”

  “Ula.”

  His voice boomed, clear even over the music and laughter, and Gràinne swung around, looked up.

  Oh Goddess…

  She’d thought she recalled everything about him. Hadn’t her nights been filled with visions of him, her fingers tingling with the remembered sensation of his skin beneath her hands, her head filled with his scent, as though he stood beside her? How then did his regal beauty slam with visceral force through her body, stealing the breath from her lungs, making her legs tremble, as though she were seeing him for the first time?

  There was no expression on his face, no indication as to what he was thinking, feeling. Deep inside she’d thought she’d have all the answers she sought with just one look, but he was giving nothing away. It was she who was suddenly stripped of artifice, vulnerable, aching at the sight of his solemn face.

  All she could do was stare, feasting on him with her eyes, the reasons she’d given herself about why she’d come suddenly exposed for the lies they were. Just as she was exposed, her soul laid bare by need and the shocking realization of what she felt for him.

  As though he heard her thoughts, Jakuta’s eyes sparked and his hands tightened into fists around the railing. Gràinne reached back, steadying herself against the desk as his power reached out, flowing and crackling, to her. The magic within her rose, unrestrained—uncontrollable—as though in joyous acknowledgement. Flowing out, it mingled with his, forging a connection so strong, so perfect, tears blurred her vision.

  “For fuck’s sake, Jay.” Ula’s shriek came as though from a distance, startling but not enough to make Gràinne take her gaze from Jakuta. “Hervé will have your balls if you fry the lights again.”

  It was then Gràinne realized the speed of the music was fluctuating, the lights dipping and flashing. Jakuta didn’t acknowledge Ula’s words, but suddenly the tenor of his power changed, swirling and rushing, making Gràinne’s hair whip around her face, as the surroundings became a receding blur and he transported her out of the Midnight Café.

  When she caught her breath, looked around, she was in a lush, unfamiliar forest, standing at the edge of a clearing. The vegetation was dense with massive trees, thorny bushes adorned with succulent leaves and vines, thick as her wrists, draped over almost everything. Above the gap in the forest canopy hung the moon, huge in the clear night sky, turning the surroundings to a study in silver and black.

  “Why did you come back, Gràinne? Or should I call you Badb now?”

  Jakuta stood at the opposite edge of the clearing, beneath the outspread limbs of a great bulbous-trunked tree, his face in the shadows. She stepped forward, reaching with her magic, seeking the connection that had seemed so indestructible just moments before, her heart sinking when she found no trace of it.

  “No.” It came out a whisper and she swallowed, forced herself to speak louder, not allow her voice to tremble as it wanted to. “No. Badb is no more and, although I’m no longer banshee either, I choose to remain Gràinne.”

  “So, why did you come, Gràinne?”

  She wanted to lie, to give him the excuses she’d given herself, but the words stuck, unsaid, in her throat.

  “Why?”

  The leaves shivered, as though with the force of his quiet question, and she trembled too, hearing, feeling it deep in her most secret heart. Even without the tangible sensation of his power, it was there, reined in, but echoing in that single word.

  And she knew what he wanted, needed from her.

  Truth—unvarnished, raw, irrevocable as the love beating in her heart. The forest was still, silent, as though awaiting her answer, and fear of his rejection made her breath hitch. Although she knew it to be the right thing to do, it took all the courage she possessed to speak.

  “When I awoke it was as though my time as a banshee, even the time we’d spent together, had been a dream. But that dream changed everything I had once known, once been. All I felt was confusion, and guilt, and I fled, not knowing what else to do. It’s taken a long time for me to put the pieces of my life back together, to begin to understand the changes I’ve gone through.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you came back.”

  He was implacable, and she took a deep breath, stepped forward into the moonlight, let her magic reach out to him, filled with all she couldn’t bring herself to admit aloud.

  “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I heard you in the wind, felt you beside me, craved your voice, your touch, your presence. I have lived two lives, remember every moment, sensation, emotion and nothing, nothing, compares to what I experienced in your arms.”

  “It is the same for me.” Her heart leapt, until she realized there was no joy in his voice, and he remained in the shadows, his face hidden from her still. “But I didn’t think what we had together would be enough.”

  Optimism and agonizing fear warred in her heart. She needed to see his expression and, not trusting him to come out of the shadows if asked, she cast a circle of light around the clearing, illuminating all he would hide.

  Stern. He was so stern, an air of watchfulness surrounding him, his eyelids lowered so even in the soft golden light of her spell she couldn’t read him at all. But one thing she hadn’t consciously noticed at the café suddenly stood out.

  “Your hair. Jakuta, what did you do?”

  He raised a hand, swept it back and forth over the short curling strands remaining on his head. “I cut it.”

  There was no reason why it should, but seeing him without his dreadlocks sliced her to the quick. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  For a long moment he didn’t speak, and she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he shrugged, a hard smile ghosting over his lips. “It seemed the right thing to do. I was in mourning, and even ancient gods can go a little mad with grief if the loss is great enough.”

  “You mourned me?” Her voice trembled almost as much as her legs, relief and hope making her lightheaded, clogging her throat. “You grieved, although I was alive?”

  Jakuta shook his head slightly, took a step out from beneath the tree. “I didn’t grieve because you lived. Knowing you survived was the only thing that made my existence bearable. I mourned because without you my life, my heart, is empty.”

  Lightning streaked across the sky, was echoed in Jakuta’s eyes, and the wind picked up, causing the trees to creak and rustle. The rush of his power was sudden, overawing in the way it found and latched on to hers, the way they twined together as though one and grew into something greater than either of them could be alone. Gràinne’s breath hitched, her heart soaring, heat rising from her belly to make her burn.

  But caution made her hesitate and say, “You don’t really know me—as I am now.” For she was different, altered by experience, by the meshing of the goddess and banshee into a being even she was still fighting to understand. Yet, even as she spoke, she stepped farther into the clearing, closer to him, drawn by a force too powerful to fight. “I may not be what you think I am, what you need.”

  He moved too, narrowing the gap between them, thunder rumbling almost immediately overhead. “You are for me, and I am for you. Feel the connection, the love flowing between us. Nothing you can do or say will change that.”

  The conviction in his voice sent a thrill of acceptance rocketing through her soul and her body swayed, caught in the yearning only he could bring to life. She’d gone back to her clan, struggled to find meaning to her experiences, a
place to call her own. Now, looking at Jakuta, already joined to him in one of the most elemental ways she could be, Gràinne knew herself to be home.

  He was directly in front of her, close enough for his lightning to tingle into her skin, the vibration of his thunder to set her trembling with desire. Her breasts grew tender and full, her body felt hollow without his. Power spiked, whose it was she couldn’t tell, but suddenly it didn’t matter who had created the primal, carnal thrust. Never had she craved another the way she hungered for him—wanted another as fiercely as this.

  They were not in physical contact but already her body shuddered on the verge of release, just from the combined play of their magic. He filled her with joy, arousal and more power than she ever thought to feel. And it wasn’t just magical power, but an even more ancient force—the response of a woman to the one man in creation who could fulfill her every need.

  “I am for you, Jakuta Dagbo.” She repeated it as a spell, an enchantment already cast and now reaffirmed. Raising her arms, she called the magic to take her clothing and with it shed all the doubts and fears that had plagued her until the moment he confessed his love. “You are for me.”

  “Forever.”

  She shuddered at his harsh interjection, the intermingled love and lust tightening his beautiful face. Knowing it to be true, she agreed. “Forever.”

  With a sound of purely male triumph he reached for her, dragged her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in a kiss so sweet, so heart-wrenching, tears filled her eyes. But they were tears of joy, which became lost in the storm breaking over them, rain falling as hard as she’d fallen for him.

  When had his clothing disappeared she wondered, the thought dissipating beneath the onslaught of his lips, the sweep of his hands, the heat and tension of his body. Wrapping her arms around him, she traced the marks on his back then ran her palms over his hair, cupping his head, holding him close, closer. The press of his cock against her belly made her ache to be filled, to once more know the bliss of his possession.