Destiny Gift

by Juliana Haygert

  Okay, one step at a time. First, a shower.

  As I thought, I felt much better in a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved gray tee and my black boots.

  I walked into the living room, holding my breath, expecting to see Micah somewhere. I frowned at the empty area and entered the kitchen next. There, seated around a wooden kitchen table, were the Fates.

  I froze at the door as one of them gazed at me and smiled.

  “Hello, child,” she said. I swallowed, but couldn’t find my voice or anything appropriate to say. “You’re probably hungry.” She pointed to the counter behind her, covered with bread, fruits, cheese, juices, and several other goodies. “Help yourself.”

  Slowly, I walked in, grabbed a plate, and picked some of the goodies. “Where’s Micah?” I asked as I leaned against the counter.

  “Mitrus is walking outside,” the same one answered. The other two seemed to be meditating or simply not in this conversation. “He needs time alone to think.”

  Didn’t we all need time alone to think?

  I put my plate on the counter and took a deep breath, gathering courage. “What is going to happen next?”

  The Fate smiled. “You’ll stay here and rest. Soon, you’ll go back to New York, to your classes, and to your new job.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know, but I can’t answer your question.” She lost the smile. “My sisters and I can’t share our knowledge. The only thing I can tell you is that Levi and Mitrus will go on quests to find their scepters so they can become full gods again, but that you already knew.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” she said, standing. She walked to the coffee machine on the other side of the kitchen and took a steaming mug from it. With a new smile, she handed it to me. “It’s not mochaccino, but it’s coffee nevertheless.”

  Still a little wary, I took the mug from her. “What don’t I need to worry about?”

  She looked into my eyes deeply, intensely. “About you. About us. We won’t harm you.”

  “I wish it was easy to believe,” I whispered.

  She patted my shoulder. “You will.” She turned and sat back between her sisters. “Now go. Mitrus is outside and he wants to talk to you.”

  That startled me and I almost dropped the mug on the floor. I sipped from it, left it on the counter, and rushed out.

  I opened the front door and the chilly wind whipped my hair around my face. I held on to it and looked around. It was easy to spot him. Standing tall on a rocky parcel about forty or fifty feet from the cottage, Micah kicked the rocks around with his hands tucked inside his dark jeans pockets and his shoulders stuffed under the black shirt.

  I smiled, noticing he wasn’t wearing black pants for the first time since I met him. But as I took the first step toward him, I erased the smile from my face and frowned. I had to remember he was not who I thought he was. I had to remember he had done bad things and probably would do more.

  He turned to me as I approached him, his rough face serious and totally handsome with his hair messy because of the wind.

  “Hey,” I began, hoping my voice was steady, unlike what I felt. “Did you want to talk to me?”

  “Yes,” he said, but didn’t go any further.

  Honestly, I had no idea how I should behave in front of a god. I was worried I would say the wrong thing and he would cast one of those magical bolts and strike against me. Being a mortal, they were certainly fatal to me.

  “What is it, Micah … uh, Mitrus?”

  The corner of his lip tugged up. “Micah. Call me Micah, please.”

  I suppressed a snort. As if it would be easy to get used to this. “All right. Micah, what is it?”

  He took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m leaving.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I asked the Fates to take me away from here.” The muscles on his jaw ticked, and his neck looked strained. “I wanted to go while you were sleeping, but they wanted me to ask you for something first.” He pressed his lips together and I tried to process the information. He extended his shaking hand to me. “Your touch. Please.”

  I gaped at his hand. Seeing he was shaking and probably in pain, I almost grabbed it with eagerness, but the I’m-being-used feeling returned and I held on to what little pride I still had.

  “You’re leaving. So, what are you going to do when the pains get worse? Come knocking on my door?”

  He averted his eyes. “Not if I can help it.”

  Ouch. His admission that he wanted to stay away from me hurt more than I thought it would.

  I retreated a step. “Well, you can start enduring them right now then.”

  Swallowing the enraged tears that were threatening to roll down my cheeks, I turned my back to him and walked away.

  “Nadine,” he called me.

  I ignore him and kept on walking to the cottage.

  He caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me so I was facing him. His black eyes shone with something I couldn’t read.

  “Please, heal me,” he said through gritted teeth. Without warning, he cupped my face with his hands and the cold jolt spread through my skin.

  With his mouth open, he tilted his head back and took it from me. I could feel it—something powerful, something energetic—transferring into him, as if I had an unlimited supply of whatever it was especially made for him.

  I didn’t think he noticed, but he pulled me closer to him and, when he leaned forward with his eyes still closed, I gasped—not because of the energy he drank, but because of his strong body brushing against mine, his sandalwood scent playing with my senses.

  His forehead rested on mine and I held on to his elbows for support. A few seconds later, he let out a relieved sigh and opened his eyes. They didn’t have that strange shine anymore. Still, they were magnetic and I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t even move away. And Micah seemed relaxed where he was too.

  His eyes still on mine, he slid his hands down my neck and my breath caught. A kiss on my forehead surprised me, but not more than when he let go of me and put several steps between us.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  It was my turn to cross my arms. “You’re not welcome.”

  He nodded, looking at the ground.

  Without any more words or a look back, he walked away, to the beach on the farthest corner of the tiny island.

  And I couldn’t stop looking at him.

  The Fates walked out of the cottage toward me. Two of them continued their path past me, toward the beach, but one of them halted by my side.

  With her eyes on Micah, the Fate said, “Mitrus asked to leave for your own good.”

  I stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “He knows he isn’t a good man, a good god. He also knows your heart is a good one. Because of that, he wants to stay away from you.”

  Oh. He wanted to stay away from me because I was good, because he only associated with the likes of Imha and Omi. No wonder he wanted to leave. He would probably go running to the goddess of chaos, even after she betrayed him.

  My gaze found him again. He stood on the beach with the Fates, his back to me. I still couldn’t believe he was evil.

  The Fate’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, child. We’ll be back soon.”

  She strolled down the beach and halted beside her sisters. Then, the Fates joined hands, forming a circle with Micah in the middle. A second later, the four of them were gone.

  And I was left alone.

  Acknowledgments:

  The statement that it takes a village to write a book is truer than most believe.

  First and foremost, I want to thank my husband—for believing in me, for supporting me, for putting up with me, for pushing me to be better, for allowing me to dream while awake ... and for loving me. I also thank our daughter, just because she’s ours, and she’s cute and smart and funny and a bunch o
f other adjectives a mother can think of.

  I can’t thank my parents enough for also believing in me. Thank you. Thanks to my entire family: my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece, my mother-in-law, Chico, and the rest of the Grutzmacher “clan.”

  I mentioned my former teacher, Mariza Perobelli, in the dedication. I’ve been writing since that project (I was 13 years old). The day I decided to give this writing thing a serious try, I promised myself I would dedicate my first novel to her. I don’t know if I would have come across writing if she hadn’t “introduced” me to it. I believe I would, but now I can count many more years of practice and experience. Thank you.

  I want to thank my two “Megan”: Susana and Rafaela. Thank you for reading any stuff I write, for encouraging me, for asking for more (the best thing a writer can hear!).

  Then there is Jani Grey, my non-Megan reader. Thank you, Jani. I’m very lucky to have found her, and, even though she lives far away from me, I know she’s a true friend.

  A special thanks to my NA Sisters: L.G. Kelso, Carrie Butler, Summer Lane, Jaycee DeLorenzo, and Victoria Smith. And to Bailey Kelsey too, even though she isn’t a part of the NA Alley anymore.

  To the crazy-chicks Magan Vernon, Chelsea Cameron, and Alyssa Rose Ivy. Thanks for answering thousands of questions about self-publishing and encouraging me to do this.

  To the people who made this book better: Rochelle French, Aimee L. Salter, Kim Wollenburg. Thank you for your insight, for believing in this story, and for encouraging me to stick with it.

  There’s also Danielle Crabtree. Thanks for doing such a great job with editing. And Sarah Hansen and her mad cover design skills. I love her covers, and this one is no different!

  Last but not least, thank YOU, for reading my book. I hope you like it!

  About the Author:

  While Juliana Haygert dreams of being Wonder Woman, Buffy, or a blood elf shadow priest, she settles for the less exciting—but equally gratifying—life as a wife, a mother, and an author. Thousands of miles away from her former home in Brazil, she now resides in Connecticut and spends her days writing about kick-ass heroines and the heroes who drive them crazy.

  Visit her at: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | NA Alley