Chosen by Fate

by Virna DePaul

  NINETEEN

  Caleb bypassed the front entrance, which was being guarded by four pit bulls overseeing a steady stream of traffic. Instead, he decided to enter by the back, which was only being guarded by two. He wanted in and out as fast as possible, especially because he knew Wraith was going to fight leaving with him. That meant he needed the element of surprise, and it wouldn’t serve his purpose if he got into a fight with the guards and it alerted her to his presence.

  He took the drug-filled darts out of his back pocket and loaded them into his gun. They contained a tranquilizer that instantly knocked someone out when it pricked the skin. He’d have time to shoot both guards before the first even fell to the ground.

  That’s exactly what he did.

  He swung down from the roof, rolled the bodies into the bushes, knocked on the door, and waited for someone on the kitchen staff to open it. Swiftly, he pulled the man out and knocked him unconscious, then stripped him of his kitchen uniform. The man was quite a bit heavier than Caleb, so he pulled the white uniform on over his regular clothes and stuffed his weapons into his waistband and the uniform’s various pockets. Then he grabbed a dishrag and tray, kept his head down, and went after Wraith.

  He’d persuaded Mahone to let him come alone. In fact, Mahone hadn’t needed much persuasion. He knew as well as Caleb did that the chances of Wraith being here against her will were slim to none. No, she was here voluntarily, which was why Caleb hadn’t asked Dex or Lucy to back him up. Instinctively, he’d known this was between him and Wraith. She wouldn’t appreciate it if Dex or Lucy saw her in a compromised, weakened position. She’d hate him and would probably leave the team altogether. He wasn’t taking the risk of humiliating her, but he was going to get her the hell out of this place. Then she was going to have to deal with the very thing that had sent her running here in the first place—him.

  As soon as he got out of the kitchen, he found a secluded corner where a mage was humping a vamp and stepped out of the service-wear so he was back in his dark clothes. They didn’t even look up at him.

  Scanning the nightclub, Caleb got his bearings. He saw the layout of the room just as he had in his vision. With certainty, he headed up some stairs and in the direction of the room that contained Wraith. Just when he got to the beginning of the long hallway, however, a beefy hand clamped on his shoulder. Having expected some resistance, he maintained his control, turning as if he was an oblivious patron who’d simply taken a wrong turn.

  “Hold on, man. Where’s your pass?”

  “My pass?”

  The guy pointed at the sign: NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT PASS.

  “Oh.” He shrugged. Scratched his head. “I want a room. Where do I get the pass?”

  “Where do you think?” The guy jerked his head toward the bar and the cash register next to it, which was being manned by a young blond woman in a low-cut red sheath.

  Caleb nodded and shrugged. Gave his charming, good-oldboy smile. “You want to join me?”

  The man’s lip curled and he gave Caleb a hard shove toward the woman in red, who gave him a seductive smile.

  “Two thousand dollars,” she said.

  Caleb whistled. “Two thousand bucks? Man, that’s a lot of money.” He leaned in close. “You know, I don’t usually do this kind of thing. But a buddy of mine told me about this place, and I’m just curious. I’d like to see what goes on in there. How much would you charge me for that?”

  The woman smiled tightly. “Two thousand dollars.” She was obviously used to being sweet-talked.

  “How about I give you a tip instead,” he said, catching sight of the photo taped to her cash register. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, then flashed her his badge—discreetly, in case anyone else was looking. “You look like a regular working-class girl”—he looked down at her name tag—“Sheila. And I’m here looking for someone. All I want is to find her and get her out of here. If you let me go, let me do that, I’ll make sure you’re in the clear when my friends waiting outside come in and round everyone up. Do we have a deal?”

  Sheila’s eyes widened, and she studied him for several long seconds. He saw her gaze dart to the small picture he’d seen. It was of a little boy. Maybe five. One that had Sheila’s nose and dimples.

  Two minutes later, he flashed his admittance pass at the guy guarding the hallway and was directed to the eighth door down. Someone, he said, would join him shortly. He headed down, stopped in front of Wraith’s door, and didn’t bother to knock. He took out his gun, and with his grenade and gas canisters within easy reach, kicked in the door.

  Ramsey had just gotten started, and Wraith hadn’t allowed herself to scream. Then again, the small stuff he’d done to her barely warranted a whimper, let alone a scream, and it was seriously starting to piss her off. “Stop fucking around and just do it, Ramsey.”

  He pulled back his arm and hit her with the studded tails of the flogger, right across her stomach, and the impact caused her body to jerk up. He’d used some power this time, and a slight hiss had left her, but at the same time, tears had formed in her eyes. She could feel the damn moisture, and she wanted to spit.

  It wasn’t enough, she thought. For some reason, Ramsey was holding back. As if he’d changed. As if he could no longer dispense the pain she needed the way he had so easily years ago.

  “Why? Why even start if you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it?” Wraith whispered.

  Ramsey’s hand fell to his side, still lightly grasping the whip. “I don’t know, Wraith,” he said. “When I saw you, I could tell you were bad-off. I want to do it. I should be able to. But you’re different now. This is different. It doesn’t feel . . .”

  They both heard the crash at the same time. The door to the room slammed open just before Caleb stalked in. Without glancing at her, Caleb kicked the door shut with his foot.

  “What the . . .” Ramsey spun around, but before he completed the revolution, Caleb was on him.

  Ramsey’s head snapped back from the force of Caleb’s punch, and he staggered until he fell against the table that Wraith was strapped to.

  “Caleb!” Wraith yelled, but not to protect Ramsey, because she knew Ramsey to be a dirty fighter. Even so, when Ramsey pulled a knife out from under the table, Wraith reconsidered whether Caleb was the one she should really be worrying about. Caleb’s face was set in a killing rage.

  He didn’t look at her or acknowledge her in any way. Instead, he wiggled his fingers at Ramsey, who’d regained his balance. “Come on,” he ordered. “Let’s see what damage you can do when your prey isn’t tied up.”

  Ramsey wiggled his jaw and cocked a brow. “Happy to. But first, who are you to Wraith? Not a lover, of course.”

  Caleb scowled and inched closer. “Why the hell not a lover?”

  Glancing at her, Ramsey taunted, “Because if you’d been lovers, you obviously weren’t giving the bitch what she needed.”

  To her disbelief, Ramsey winked at her. Her shock made her hesitate, and the next thing she knew, Caleb roared and tackled Ramsey, his fists connecting to the man’s face and body one after another. Despite the wink, Ramsey fought back, and the two men dragged each other around the room until they fell to the floor and Wraith lost sight of them. Flesh hit flesh. She saw Ramsey’s arm rise and the glint of his knife more than once. At some point, the knife became covered with blood.

  “Caleb. Ramsey. Stop! This is ridiculous,” she repeated her words more than once even as she struggled against her damn wrist restraints. Finally, the room grew quiet.

  Caleb rose to his feet, his fierce gaze locked on hers.

  He was taking in deep breaths, not like he was exhausted, but like he was trying to control himself. Ramsey had cut his face in a shallow line that ran from the bottom of his nose into his ear. His lip was bloodied, too, and both eyes were already starting to swell.

  His gaze ran over her, over her body, and she wanted to scream. Because he could see the scars on her body now. Long ago, he’d
noticed the ones on her wrist. The ones on her throat. Maybe he’d even been anticipating the ones underneath her clothes. Because he didn’t look surprised. He surveyed her body with dispassion—no desire, concern, or tenderness in his eyes. Stepping over Ramsey’s body, he kicked the flogger out of his hand so it clattered against the floor. Then he picked it up.

  The bastard had split her skin. He could tell, even though there was no open wound or blood in sight, but because of the light pink lashes around her torso and stomach that even now were fading. It should have calmed him down, the reminder that she was immortal. That she couldn’t die. That any wound she suffered was only temporary. But Wraith’s need for pain was obviously far from temporary, and that made him want to kill someone. Not her, but whoever and whatever had forced this upon her. So that the only thing she felt good enough for was this.

  He hurled the whip across the room so it thudded against the far wall before falling to the ground. As he continued to stare at her, he had to give her props. She stared back. Even bent the knee of one unrestrained leg and cocked it so she looked sexually uninhibited and inviting.

  “So you want in on the action yourself? You didn’t have to knock him out, you know. Ramsey’s used to sharing.”

  He glanced down at the were, barely resisting the urge to drive his boot into his face. He looked around, then caught sight of some leather rope. He tied the were’s hands and feet until he was trussed like a pig, then grabbed a pillow off the bed, took off the case, and stuffed it in his mouth. With the other pillowcase, he shoved it over the were’s head and secured it until he looked like a kidnapping victim out of a low-budget B movie. He tossed him in the corner, hard, out of his way, but not out of sight or mind.

  “How’d you find me?” The thought that he wasn’t alone must have just dawned on her because she suddenly looked frantic. “Are you here with—”

  “They have no idea where you are. Mahone does, but he knows you’re here on your own.”

  “So why didn’t you listen to him? You’re ruining my fun.”

  “Is that really what it is to you, Wraith? Because you didn’t look like you were having much fun to me.”

  “You’re wrong. If you didn’t notice, Dex and I got into it pretty well. It confirmed I really have been out of commission for a while. I’m here to rectify that.”

  “This isn’t the type of action you were giving to Dex. Or the type you were thinking of when you propositioned me at the wedding.”

  She turned her head away. “I told you. I was playing you. Now get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re coming with me,” he said, his tone resolute.

  “No.”

  “You don’t belong here, Wraith. You’re worth more than this.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me what drove you here. What drove you here before.”

  She remained stubbornly silent.

  “I know you can feel pleasure. It comes with the pain, yes, but why this? You give yourself no chance whatsoever. Why not try to lose yourself in the pleasure instead of the pain?”

  She looked at him then, her face twisted into a kind of grief she rarely let him see. “Because pleasure is as much a fantasy as everything else in this life. It’s not real. It’s not who I am or what I’m meant to be. Not anymore.”

  “So you’re saying what? The pain is your destiny? What you’re meant to experience?”

  “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “That’s bullshit.” His flat statement seemed to take her by surprise. “You’ve got a condition, Wraith. Who the hell knows why? But you didn’t ask for it, and you don’t deserve it any more than the vampires asked to have to suck blood, or I asked for my visions, or someone asks to get cancer. Yeah, you have to live with it—but you don’t just live with it, you relish it and then you even seek it out.”

  He thought, just for a second, that he might have gotten through to her. Her eyes seemed less filmy, and it must have been his imagination, because he thought they sparkled blue before she blinked and they got hazy again. She scowled at him. “I told you to get out.”

  They both glanced at the heap that was Ramsey as he began to shift and struggle.

  Caleb sighed. “Fine. We need more privacy anyway.”

  “Yes, we can discuss this later—”

  “No, Wraith. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What do you—” She saw the syringe in his hand and stopped cold. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s meprobamate. When we first formed the team, I did my research. It’s one of the tranquilizers that works with wraiths. No side effects whatsoever.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t—”

  “I’d have preferred a pill if I’d known you’d take it, but this’ll be fast, I promise.”

  She began to struggle in earnest now. “No, Caleb. You son of a bitch, stop. Don’t!”

  But he did. She was out within three seconds. It took far longer for him to get himself in control so he could dress her and get her out of there.

  TWENTY

  Lucy shut her phone and threw it on her bed so it bounced, then hit the floor. Neither Caleb nor Wraith were answering their cells. Not that she could blame them.

  Furious with herself, she sat on the edge of the bed and dropped her face into her hands. What an idiot she’d been. It had been a brief moment of weakness that had prompted her to talk to Mahone about needing “special training” with Caleb. She’d realized it more than twenty-four hours earlier, but hadn’t fully accepted it until right around the time Mahone had been meeting with the others in L.A. She’d hustled over there, hoping she could catch him before he mentioned it, but the instant she’d gotten to the room, she’d known. If she hadn’t heard them talking about it, she would have known by the expression on Wraith’s face.

  Jealousy and longing and desperation all rolled into one, but they were capped off with something even worse—resolution. She’d known how Wraith would react to the suggestion, known she’d view it as yet another sign that she wasn’t meant to have love, especially not in the form of Caleb O’Flare. In fact, that was exactly what Lucy had counted on.

  The guilt ate away at her.

  If she’d truly loved Caleb and thought he could feel the same way about her, she wouldn’t have felt so bad. As part feline, she’d been taught to be sexually empowered, that she had a right to pleasure in all its forms including love. Her race’s sexuality was a burden to her, but their capacity to love was something she’d always been proud of. Still, felines always knew when someone was interested in them or not.

  Lucy had known Caleb would never love her, even believing her to be a full mage. And if she was really honest with herself, she’d questioned her feelings for him, as well. She was attracted to him, for sure. Respected him. Admired him. But was that love? A first crush, more likely. And for that, she’d become just another barrier Caleb was going to have to climb over in order to get Wraith to accept her feelings for him.

  Lucy had no doubt that Caleb was going to try and climb those barriers. But there’d always been doubt that he’d be successful. How was she going to rectify what she’d done? After all, it wasn’t as if love potions were real. She couldn’t make someone fall in love . . .

  Standing, Lucy practically squealed as a thought occurred to her. She had the ability to ease someone’s pain, but it was usually a temporary measure and one most effective when she was in close proximity. That was how most of her magic worked. She’d never had much luck with spells; maybe it was worth another try.

  But it wasn’t like she carried around a spell book with her.

  Frowning, she paced and told herself to think. To remember some of the generic spells she’d learned from her teachers. There were a few verses that kept coming into her head, but she had no idea what they meant. All she knew was that they were meant to bring someone something good, because those were the only spells sh
e’d allowed herself to be taught.

  Any kind of goodness would help Wraith, right?

  Sitting on her bed cross-legged, Lucy closed her eyes and placed her palms together, prayer style. She concentrated on feeling her breaths entering and leaving her body, then murmured the verses, tying in Wraith’s and Caleb’s names, along with a few improvisational lines. She repeated the words over and over until she lost track of time.

  Finally, she opened her eyes.

  There. That was the best she could do. Maybe she’d been a bitch for not trying it sooner, but it wasn’t as if she’d had much practice with these kinds of things. Or feelings.

  Drained from the use of her powers and the events of the day, Lucy fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. She was just falling asleep when an intense cramp suddenly exploded in her abdomen and then lower. Biting her lip to keep her cries of pain in, she reached for the licorice in her drawer and chewed several down. They gave her some relief, but she knew the easing effect wouldn’t last long.

  She was going into heat, and the timing couldn’t be worse.

  The only way to stop the agony of the heat was to have sex, and since she had no intention of doing that, she was going to have to go into those clubs at a time when she was at her most vulnerable.

  Curling into herself, she closed her eyes and waited. The fever took her first, then the shakes. When both eased, they were only to be replaced by a dull, aching throb throughout her body, one that made her feel empty, as if her body was caving in on itself without anything to support her. Caressing herself helped, but again only temporarily, and if she gave in to that urge, tried to reach orgasm herself, her pains would only get worse.

  A couple of hours later, she was writhing on the bed, wishing she could somehow cast a spell to reduce her own pain. Or better yet, she thought hysterically, die. Death would be better than this. Better than being a mindless, sex-crazed creature who couldn’t control her bodily urges. Nothing could be worse than that. Nothing.