by Tally Adams
Now, the cause of her problems stood before her, looking perfectly composed and handsome in a plain black tee shirt and form-fitting jeans, apparently without a care in the world. It was too much to be borne. He had no right to look comfortable and at ease; not after the pain he'd caused her. Blind fury blotted her vision, clouding out rational thought. She wanted to tear him, limb from limb; to make him feel some small measure of the pain she'd suffered as a result of his actions.
Two steps closed the distance between them. His face was somber and slightly wary, but he held his ground at her approach. Without giving a sign of warning, she launched herself at him furiously, attacking with every ounce of strength she had. Years of frustration and humiliation lent power to her blows. She swung wildly, connecting with his entire torso in a barrage of rage-ruled violence. She wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp.
"Hey!" Paoli cried in surprise, raising his arms to protect himself from her sudden onset of bloodlust. "What the hell?"
"You miserable son of a bitch! What did you do to me?" she screeched, still pummeling away at his thick arms and chest, but doing little more than stubbing her own toes and fingers. He was hard and lean, and her blows seemed to have little effect on him, which only served to feed her anger to the point she didn't have enough control to stop herself. She swung for his face, determined to feel his perfect nose break beneath her fist; already envisioning a massive flow of blood from the damage she intended to do.
He dodged the blow easily and used her own momentum to swing her around. With an arm about her waist, he hoisted her off her feet and tucked her neatly under his arm as if she were nothing more than a wayward child. The movement was so unexpected, she just hung there starting dumbly at the ground for an instant, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Then, indignation joined her other emotions and she proceeded to claw at the imprisoning band of the forearm tucked around her ribs. When that didn't seem to have any effect, she kicked at his legs with enough speed to look like she was riding a bicycle in mid-air.
Low-level snickering reached her ears and she halted, horror dawning to push everything else away. Too late, she realized there were witnesses to the spectacle she was making of herself. She silently prayed it was just a passerby; someone she'd never have to see again, although the dread in her chest told her otherwise. She wriggled and maneuvered herself to peer around Paoli's arm, holding her breath and hoping she was wrong.
Sure enough, all three people she'd met last night were gathered around them in a loose circle. They'd been joined by another dark-haired man she didn't recognize. He was the one laughing aloud, though the others all wore suspicious smirks.
Heat crept across her cheeks.
"Shut up, Sekhmet," Paoli grumbled.
The man Lyric didn't recognize—apparently Sekhmet—raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just watching the show," he said, grinning unrepentantly. "I've never seen you work your magic with the ladies."
"Put me down," Lyric hissed, squirming ineffectually. Her back bumped against his leg when he turned slightly, ignoring her demand.
"Lycaon either knows we're here, or he soon will," Paoli said to someone she couldn't see from her position. "We need to start toward Louisiana. Can everyone be ready to head out in the next thirty minutes?"
There were some murmurs Lyric didn't catch while the group discussed it among themselves.
"We'll be loaded and ready. How about the two of you?" William said, and there was laughter in his tone that did nothing to alleviate Lyric's feeling of embarrassment.
"Don't worry about us," Paoli said lightly. "I always provoke this reaction in women."
He was a dead man, Lyric decided.
As soon as he released her, she was going to claw his face off. It was the one thought she held onto while he toted her across the parking lot and back to her room.
With a heavy, booted foot, he kicked the door closed behind them and just stood there with her dangling like a rag doll.
"Put me down," she demanded, swinging her feet for emphasis.
"I'm concerned about my personal safety," he said—and damn him—he sounded amused. "So, I think I'll hold onto you until you calm down."
"Then we'll be here forever," she hissed. "Because the longer this goes on, the angrier I'm getting."
To which he gave an exaggerated sigh. "If I put you down, are we going to have a calm and reasonable conversation?" he wanted to know.
"Yes," she snapped angrily.
"See, now why don't I believe you?" he asked in a voice of mock-concern.
"If you put me down right now, I'll be calm. I can't make any promises about two minutes from now," she threatened.
"All right," he agreed hesitantly. "But if you resume your attack, I warn you. I'm not above carrying you all the way to Louisiana if I must."
A moment later, he let her slide down the thick column of his well-muscled leg until her feet were back on the ground. She stood up and found herself pressed against him, very aware of his arm still at the small of her back. Her anger seemed to drain away to be replaced by something far more concerning.
For a heartbeat that seemed to go on forever, she just stared at him and he stared right back at her. He felt alarmingly familiar and comfortable, which filled her with enough nervousness to break the spell of the moment. With more effort than it should have taken, she stepped back, out of his embrace.
He let her go with only the slightest reluctance and watched her as she put considerable distance between them. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and understanding. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now," he said. He shifted his weight and leaned on the doorframe casually, assuming a relaxed posture.
"No, you can't," Lyric agreed, turning away to sit at the small table and give herself a minute to recover some of her lost dignity. When she sat down to face him, she felt relatively in control of herself again. Her eyes studied him without conscious thought, taking in everything from his combat-style boots to the perfectly molded jeans he wore. He was a big man; probably close to six feet. His shoulders and chest were broad, leading into a flat stomach and narrow hips. As she'd already learned, he was all hard muscle.
"I can't believe you're real," she admitted when he raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry at her perusal. She glanced around and gave a humorless laugh. "That any of this is real."
Paoli didn't move, but his expression became guarded. "I really had no idea you didn't remember," he said. "The events of that night altered both of our lives permanently. It never occurred to me you'd block our connection."
Lyric stared at him. "Excuse me?" she said. "I spent the last five years thinking I was insane because of that night. My entire life was destroyed because of someone," she threw as much accusation as possible into the word, "chatting away in my head. I had to leave my hometown because people kept acting like I was Typhoid Mary or something." Her anger was returning quickly and she was getting louder with every word she spoke, but she didn't care. "That's what the events of that night did to me. Please, tell me how it altered your life."
"I should never have allowed you to remain on your own after that night," he said bitterly.
Lyric almost choked. "Allowed me?" she demanded angrily.
"Yes, allowed you," he confirmed. "I did it against my better judgement, and it was clearly the wrong choice. Once you were bound to me, I should have kept you at my side, where you belong."
Lyric gaped at him. "Now you listen to me," she snarled. "No one allows me to do anything. This is my life, and I make my own choices. Only I decide where I belong."
Paoli opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again. They glared at one another from across the room; Lyric's brown eyes flashing anger while Paoli's blue ones were unfathomable.
"If you wanted to take me with you then, why didn't you?" Lyric finally asked, breaking the stalemate.
"You're joking, right?" Paoli said.
When she gave a sarcastic littl
e shake of her head, he groaned aloud in aggravation and looked away in an obvious bid for patience. His jaw was clenched and his hands were balled into fists. "Do you remember anything of our conversation that night?" he asked impatiently, facing her again.
"No," she said defensively, more in response to his tone than anything else.
Stunned disbelief showed in every line of his body. He gave a long sigh and briefly closed his eyes, either thinking hard or praying for patience. "You need to stop fighting back those memories," he said at last. "Our entire relationship was determined that night and you need to know what happened in order to understand."
She raised her chin defiantly and met his gaze. "I don't want to remember that night," she said stubbornly. "I lost my parents, my life, everything in that crash. Hell, I almost died! The last thing I want is to relive the worst moment of my entire life, thank you very much. And I don't need to remember our relationship because I'm not interested in having one with you."
Chapter Eight
His nostrils flared. "Well, too bad," he growled. "Because you're stuck with me, and you may as well get used to it."
Lyric gave an angry snort. "I don't know what it's like where you're from, but around here, people are free to do whatever the hell they want. Which means you don't get to decide I'm stuck with you and I don't need to get used to a damned thing."
"I hate to break it to you, but our situation is a little different," he ground out between clenched teeth.
"How do you figure?" she returned hotly.
"If you'd stop blocking your memories, you'd already know the answer to that," he said impatiently.
Lyric glowered at him but said nothing.
He pushed away from the wall and began to pace slowly, moving with such grace she was grudgingly reminded of beautiful, wild animals in cages. His energy seemed to fill the room, making the atmosphere feel charged.
He blew out a breath and clapped his hands together. "Okay," he said in a voice that suggested he was starting the conversation over. "What do you know about the Fates?"
She hesitated, thrown by the sudden change in subject. Then, with the suspicion he was about to try claiming they were fated to be together, she scoffed, "I don't believe in fate."
Instead of the return of temper she expected from him, he grinned. It was a mischievous, boyish grin that lit up his entire face. Her heart seemed to flip at the sight of it, which she didn't like at all. "You're so modern," he said. "Let me guess, you don't want to consider the possibility that someone else is in control of you, right?"
"No one controls me," she said.
Paoli continued grinning. "What if I told you that's completely false?"
"Then, I'd say you're delusional," she said sweetly.
Paoli threw his head back and laughed. It was a nice, rich sound, and it seemed very natural, somehow, as if he laughed often and easily.
Lyric watched him curiously, wondering what in the world he found so funny about the current conversation. "Are you going to clue me in on the joke?" she asked sharply, not able to shake the suspicion he was laughing at her, and not entirely sure she appreciated being the source of his humor.
Paoli sobered slightly and looked at her, his eyes still dancing with amusement. "Few humans realize they don't control anything about their lives. Humanity is actually controlled by the Fates."
"Bullshit," she snapped.
He looked at her in surprise, the line of his mouth softening. "After all that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, do you not realize there's far more to this world than most people know?" he asked, raising his brows in question.
When she simply stared at him speechlessly, he went on.
"The Fates, you see, are three sisters who control the birth, life, and deaths of all humans. Each person's journey is forged like a thread on a loom by the three Fates." He stopped and gazed at her intently, then took a deep breath and plunged on. "Your thread ended the night we met. What I did connected you to my own thread, which is different, since I'm not human."
Lyric thought about what he was saying. A sinking feeling pulled at her insides. "Do you mean," she asked quietly, her heart seeming to stop in her chest. "I was meant to die that night?"
"Yes," he said simply. "And I changed the Fate's plan for you."
She shook her head slowly, not wanting to believe him. "You're lying," she accused without heat, because she could tell he wasn't lying, which meant everything she'd ever believed was wrong.
"You know I'm not," he said.
The very idea of some mythical beings already having her life laid out was beyond repulsive. "But, what about God?" she threw out desperately. Somewhere in the Bible, she was sure it said people had free will. Didn't that mean this stuff about the Fate sisters was wrong? Or was it possible the Bible was wrong? It seemed sacrilegious to even think about, but was it possible?
"What about Him?" Paoli asked.
"Does He even exist? The Bible doesn't mention any of this," she said. "And what about free will?"
"Free will simply means humans aren't programmed robotically. They're free to think and feel. As far as what isn't mentioned in the Bible, giraffes were never brought up, either. Does that mean they don't exist?"
She had no answer to that.
"There's much more to this world and cosmos than was ever written in a single book," he said. "Most people never learn that because the Fates remain in control of them. You're an exception since I took over where they ended your life."
His words hit her with an almost physical force.
Where they ended her life.
A feeling of light-headedness swept over her. For the briefest moment, she thought she might faint. Her fingers gripped the table edge almost painfully and Empusa's words swam into her consciousness. The only way for it to happen is for the vampire to intervene when the human was fated for death and alter Fate's plan for them.
That's what he'd been trying to tell her, she realized. She hadn't grasped the full meaning. According to fate, she was no longer living. She should have died with her parents. Every day since that night had been another day she was never meant to have. Paoli had stepped in and altered her destiny by literally connecting her to his own.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that, or what it might mean. It made her feel almost like her very existence was interloping on him; invasive, somehow. Like an unwanted houseguest that just won't go away.
It took a few minutes, but she managed to calm the clanging in her head. Cautiously, she stared at him, wondering. "How does all this affect you?"
His face was crinkled with concern, but he hadn't moved any closer to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, leaning forward just a little.
She nodded quickly. "I'm fine. Please answer my question."
He stood up straight but continued to watch her closely. "Since your fate is now twisted with my own, it's a fate shared," he said.
She frowned. What did that mean?
"Our destinies are now one in the same because as far as the Fates are concerned, we're a single life force. Whatever my future holds, so does yours and vice-versa. If you were to die, for example, so would I. Your death would be the end of my immortality."
A stunned silence stretched out. The enormity of his words crashed over Lyric and almost made her dizzy again. "What?" she gasped. "Why would you take that kind of chance?"
Paoli's gaze met hers and held it. "Because I wanted you for my very own."
She just gawked at him. Words utterly failed her. Her mouth went dry and all the air seemed to have been sucked from the room.
"Don't worry," she heard him say, his voice sounding far away. "I'm not planning to ravish you, here and now." He looked at his wrist, pretended to check a watch he wasn't wearing, then looked at her with feigned sadness and shook his head. "Not near enough time for that at the moment."
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in a perfect 'O'.
Who said things like that?
She had no
idea how long she just sat there, staring at him in utter disbelief before she realized it and snapped her mouth closed again. Trying to disguise her shock with a poorly-executed fake-cough, she looked away and fidgeted in her chair. When the heat finally died away from her cheeks, she dared to face him again. "So where does all of this leave us?" she asked awkwardly.
Paoli flashed her his confident, boyish smile. "It leaves us ready to go in about ten minutes. Meet me in the parking lot." With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him with a gentle click.
Chapter Nine
Paoli stood outside the room for a second, fighting the urge to go back to Lyric and drag her into his arms. Only the knowledge that she was more likely to scream bloody murder than melt at his touch kept him from doing just that. Right now, she was scared and confused, feeling lost and overwhelmed. And angry. That was one emotion he hadn't been prepared for. He'd already seen the strength of her mettle the night he found her; broken and dying on the side of the highway. Her temper, however, came as a surprise.
Over the years, he'd pictured their reunion countless times. He'd imagined her smiling and grateful; shy and deliciously awkward; or his favorite, wanton and needy. Never once had he considered angry and vengeful. It complicated his plans, for sure. Not that he couldn't get around her anger, but it would take patience he wasn't sure he had. Five years was a long time to wait, after all.
"How did it go?" William asked with a grin, walking toward him with Emily at his side.
Paoli glowered at the question, then shrugged unconcernedly and fell into step beside them as they walked by. "She'll come around," he said.