Fated (Fate of Love Book 1)

by AJ Brooks

  I catch a crack in the sidewalk with my boot and stumble to the side, slamming my shoulder into a person that feels more like a brick wall. The person is a woman in a strange black dress.

  “Sorry, lady,” I say as my gaze makes it to her face and everything inside me goes cold as winter rain.

  I know this face. Another painting come to life. Of course. Because now that my tattoo is matching my necklace and magic knife given to me by some magic person, why wouldn’t another painting come to life? Only that painting disappeared from my apartment. I painted her on the canvas Cassius asked for.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. My voice seems clear, but the world is tilting around me.

  “I've been looking for you for a long time, my dear. I had to meet the artist for myself. She is very talented.” Her words are calculating but musical. “And you, should definitely not be able to see me…”

  “You should definitely not be real,” I counter and her stunningly smooth features twist into a smirk that turns my heart to stone. The world shifts and blurs around me because I’m high. I should maybe not be high while faced with someone who has this snaking, dark energy.

  I clutch the necklace to my chest on instinct, feeling my heart banging through my shirt. The moment went from absurd to very, very cold and serious.

  Her eyes narrow and her flawless face tilts into shadows as she gestures to the necklace hanging at my neck. “Well… Isn’t this interesting…”

  It takes everything in me to stand my ground as the world swims around me and prickles of cold pinch at my skin.

  “It appears we’re not playing fair.” She glides two steps closer, and I gasp, even though I’m desperate to hold on to some kind of stance. She smiles a smooth smile that both stuns me and makes my stomach crawl.

  I slide my hand into my pocket, fingering the knife even though I have no idea what I’d do with the thing. I’ve never used a knife except for things like spreading jam on toast, and I’m pretty sure that skill isn’t going to come in handy here.

  I take a few steps back when something cold passes by me, only this time I see more than just a flash of purple flesh, and decaying body… It gets close enough for me to shudder at its’ lifeless eyes. Bony, rotted fingers stretch toward me, but I’m frozen. Suddenly the creature is deflected backward as if it were shocked.

  The woman shakes her head lightly before her mouth curves into a sinister smile.

  “Oh, Cassius, you meddling fool,” she sighs. “It would seem that little trinket will protect you from the Unfated.” She begins to glide toward me.

  My boot-clad feet automatically take two steps backward. The alley swims, but she’s in sharper focus than the guy today or Cy.

  “But it will not protect you against these.” Her arm moves, and a long wooden staff appears in her hand in a swirl of smoke. She taps it on the pavement, the sound grated into my brain. A low rumbling growl pulls my eyes open, fear vibrating through my chest.

  Dogs. Holy. Shit. My dream. Dogs. Twisted beasts. Their faces are wild and huge, and they definitely don’t belong in the world I live in.

  E haze or not, I run.

  “I hardly think you should get too far, mortal.” Her laughter follows me on the wind, wrapping me up. I should look over my shoulder to make sure I'm not just tripping out.

  But real or not—I’m not taking my chances.

  “Cassius!” I scream. I’m not even sure why I call his name. Maybe because I heard her say it. Maybe there’s more hope left in me than I thought.

  I pull out the knife as I run, still having no idea what to do with it. As I sprint around one large tree at the far end of the park, my dream hits me. After I go around the next, I need to hit the ground, push the knife out with all my strength.

  Holy shit. My dream was a warning.

  “Cy!” I scream and a few people glance at me like I’m crazy, but I won’t be the first weirdo they see in this park. Or the last.

  I crash to the ground, and shove my arm out with every ounce of my strength and the blade sinking into the chest of the first dog. The animal explodes into smoke.

  “Cassius!” The sound shreds me as the fear consumes me, but I know he’ll come.

  After...

  Another dog comes around the other side of the tree, and I lie on my back and hold the knife between us just as Cy falls from the tree and snaps its neck.

  The smoke swirls around as the last bits of the dog disappears, and I rest my hands over my heart. Over the necklace, still clutching the knife.

  Everything in me unravels as I start to sob, and whatever’s left of the E in my system wants out. I roll onto my side and start to heave, only nothing happens.

  “Please don’t disappear,” I choke.

  “What did you do?” He kneels next to me, trying to see my eyes.

  I blink a few times as I choke on my own idiocy. Tears stream down my face, sobs wrack my body. “I was just trying to…escape…”

  His image flickers, his pity-filled features fading in and out of focus and something inside of me snaps.

  “No!” I jump to my feet and shove him. I beat on his chest, which is solid and unmovable, but it only half registers. “I’ve been in hell because of you!” I shriek. “You do not get to just disappear like that! Stop!”

  He takes my wrists with gentle hands.

  “Stop doing this to me,” I say over and over and he says okay each time in response. “Please, stop... Please...”

  “Okay. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispers as my talking fades.

  His arms tighten around me and once again my world moves in slow motion.

  “I’m not okay.” My words are a muttered breath against his chest and he wraps me up tighter, his body curving around mine, the muscles under my hands tensing.

  “I’m sorry, Venia. I’m so sorry.”

  I tremble, and my mind tumbles out of control as my paintings and the woman and everything catches up to me—him and the dream and the dogs, and my night and... My body starts to shut down, one chunk at a time.

  And I let it.

  XVIII

  Cassius

  Max’s face is full of so many conflicting emotions I can’t begin to decipher them, especially seeing as I can't look directly at him without turning to stone.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Who are you?”

  I sigh, looking up at the yellowing ceiling of the hallway. This guy’s ability to deal with trauma is lacking seeing as he comes from a line of doctors since the beginning of time.

  “I told you, I’m a friend of Zarah’s. As you can tell I need help.” I have no patience as Zarah shivers in my arms, clinging to my neck like I’m her life force.

  “Right. Yes. Come in. Lay her on the couch there.” He moves aside and I turn sideways to get us both through the narrow doorway. I attempt to spill her body onto cushions, but when I let her go she clings to me tighter.

  “Don’t!” she yells but doesn’t open her eyes, just digs her nails into my neck. “Don’t leave me, Cassius. You can’t leave me again.”

  Her voice is rushed and loud and manic. My heart crushes with every word.

  I make shushing noises and sink down into the couch with her. Max has pulled a t-shirt on but is glancing between us with a deeply distrusting glare. By bringing Zarah here, by letting him see me, I’ve involved him too. I’ve done the unthinkable and exposed myself to an assignment. But as I wandered through downtown Vancouver with a drugged out, terrified girl in my arms, I didn’t know what else to do.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Max speaks with a sharp tone that I’ve never heard from him. He’s angry, and I don’t blame him. This whole situation looks very bad for me. But nothing matters to me more than her safety.

  “She’s on a drug of some sort. She mumbled something about the letter E. You know what that means?” I ask honestly but am met with stunned silence.

  “What planet are you from, dude? E. Ecstasy. Makes you hallucinate and shit.”

/>   Max doesn’t like me, but at least he’s showing an emotion other than boring. Mortals are putting a new poison in their body every fifty years or so, sometimes every other year. They’re hard to keep track of. When I sat with Zarah in her closet we didn’t talk about the drugs.

  Zarah starts crying and shaking, practically crawling up my neck, and Max backs against the wall. “Why don’t you just take her to the ER?”

  “They’re after me,” Zarah babbles. “She wants to kill me. She wants my paintings. She wants to kill my paintings. But they can’t have it. I’m protected. They can’t have me. They can’t touch me. And it’s the same. The necklace. The knife. The tattoo. The same.” Zarah is talking so fast that those are the only words I pull from it. She’s been saying the same thing since I picked her up. Max frowns, and I shrug.

  “She’s tripping pretty good. Should we call her mom?” Max asks.

  Zarah’s still hiccupping out small cries of terror and mumbling the same things again and again, her unfocused eyes darting around the room.

  “I don’t know how to reach her mother.” I don’t want to do that. The mortals will think she’s crazy. I almost think she’s going crazy, and I know what she’s saying is true. Well, the parts I understand.

  “Yeah. Her mom would probably freak. Mine would murder me. What about Taylor?” Max asks.

  “Taylor?” Right. Her friend. The one that I should have been paying attention to, if I still cared about my assignment.

  “Again, how do you know Zarah?” The skepticism in Max's voice is obvious. He dips his head to try and look at me, but I quickly look away.

  “Listen, this isn’t about me. Get a cold cloth. She’s sweating like crazy. Then call this Taylor.” I’m hoping that bringing the conversation back to Taylor will make Max listen.

  < - - - >

  Taylor, in a swirling tornado of blue hair, flies through the door not twenty minutes later. A person this tiny shouldn’t fill up a room the way Taylor does. Tight, black pants over skinny legs and straight attitude. Hell, even I shrink back from the force of this girl.

  “You assholes better not have laid a hand on her or I swear to–” Her voice cuts out suddenly.

  “Hol-y shit. You are real,” she whispers and my eyes widen but I don't dare look up. Please don’t let this girl blow everything.

  “What?” Max makes his way over to the couch handing me a new cold cloth because Zarah’s temp is burning up the towels in minutes. Her breathing is steadier now but she still mumbles or screams incoherently as she rests in my arms. This is getting high? It looks like hell.

  “The guy with the cracks. I’ve seen that painting of hers. I mean I thought it was amazing before but now that I see you, in real life I mean, it’s Ah-fucking-mazing.” She rambles and I stare at Zarah. Not an appropriate reaction. What kind of company does this girl keep?

  "Oh right, you can't look at us. Z mentioned that."

  "Um, she didn't mention that to me." Max’s words come out slow.

  Taylor’s attention snaps to Zarah like she just remembered what she was here for and she races to the couch, but I put out my hand to stop her.

  “She just fell asleep,” I say. “She’s had a rough night.”

  Taylor lifts Zarah’s legs and sits next to me on the couch, rubbing her hand along her friend’s shin affectionately. Taylor’s gaze turns dark and she looks at me and Max in turn.

  “Who gave her the drugs?”

  Both Max and I say "not me" at the same time—neither of us wants to face the wrath of this tiny thing.

  “Well how are you here? How is she with you if you didn’t give her the drugs?” Taylor’s voice is sharp enough for me to lean away.

  “I was sleeping. Ask him.” Max huffs and goes back to the kitchen. Taylor’s gaze shifts to me, and I crush my eyes closed.

  “I, uh, she called me. Wasn’t making any sense. I was worried so I went looking for her,” I lie to Taylor and she sits still before looking over her shoulder at Max. She stands up nodding to the door.

  I shake my head but she calls out anyway. “Hey, Max? Can you watch Zarah for a minute?” She turns to me. “What was your name again?”

  “Cassius.”

  “Cassius and I need to talk about some things.” This girl has serious gall.

  Max comes into the living room with hot tea and sets it down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to Zarah. For just a second I don’t want to leave her in the room. But Taylor pushes open the door so I do. I step out of Max’s apartment because learning more about Zarah is more important than being the one to hold her.

  As soon as we’re in the hall, Taylor swings at me. Her fist moves to connect with my face but I easily grab her wrist, twisting her arm behind her, careful not to use too much force.

  “You want to tell me why the attempted ass-kicking is happening?” I’m amused because I really like Taylor. She’s different from most people. Tough. Not afraid to do what needs to be done.

  She yanks her arms free and shoves my chest, but I don’t budge. In the commotion she catches my eyes and instantly my body solidifies to marble. Tricky little thing. When Taylor turns away I slowly return to normal, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders.

  “I had to prove Zarah’s theory. I knew if I asked you straight out, you’d lie about it. Like you did in there.” She points to Max’s door.

  “And what did you find out?” I cross my arms and she mimics me.

  “That she was wrong. You are real. But also she was right—you’re definitely not human.” Her tone takes me back. She says it like the theory is I’m Catholic and not a mythical being. No big deal.

  My jaw drops and her arms tighten across her chest.

  “Listen, Cassius. I’m not going to lie to you. So please don’t lie to me. Whoever you are, whatever you are, I don’t give a shit. I give a shit about that girl in there and what you’re doing is messing her up. So stay visible and do something to help her or disappear like she says you do and don’t ever come back. She’s had a hard enough life without whatever crazy you’ve got going on.”

  I slump back against the wall and my heavy chest collapses further against my heart. This is like déjà vu. This isn’t the first time I’ve been warned away from mortals before. I slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on my crossed arms. I hear Taylor move to sit beside me, our shoulders touching and her legs stretched out across the hall carpet.

  “She’s seriously messed, Cassius.”

  “Call me Cy,” I lift my head for a second and try to smile. “And, I know. She’s not supposed to see me but she always knows I’m there. I’ve tried to stay hidden, believe me.”

  Taylor jabs my arm with her finger and grins. “You shouldn’t really be creepy shadow stalking people, Cy. It’s just not cool. Seeing as creepy guys is why she’s so messed up.”

  My head snaps up fully. Taylor knows. But how much did Zarah tell her? “What does that mean?”

  “She suffered some pretty rough shit with her dad. I don’t think it’s my place to talk about it.” Taylor shifts beside me and her face twists into a look of pain, as if the things she knows are too horrible to talk about. That’s because they are, and while I never wanted to think about Zarah’s past again, I have the urge to push Taylor. To find out what she knows.

  “Well, Zarah isn’t exactly talking. She’s starting to lose her choice to hide this. Her decisions are severely lacking as of late.”

  Taylor sighs and plays with a strand of bright blue hair.

  “Birth mom ditched her, stepmom died, Dad went off the deep end. And now she doesn't even think her mom is shitty because she’s not actively shitty. Like being subconsciously shitty is forgivable...”

  “Right.” My voice is rough as sandpaper on my throat. What are the odds that Zarah’s story is so similar to so many of the other women I’ve helped?

  Fate is slapping me in the face, mocking me, but with what? I think of Mother and her cryptic answers. O
f the Moirai and their riddles. I’ve never hurt anyone the way these women have been hurt, so why am I letting myself go through this again? Why am I always finding them but am never sent to them as an official assignment? Why do I feel this level of guilt for someone I don’t know?

  And now with Zarah, it’s not just guilt. I feel for her something different. It’s deeper. More connected. Closer to my heart. It’s been too long since I let myself care this much, and it did none of us favors in the end.

  Taylor and I sit in complete silence, letting the tension of our thoughts fill the space between us. This bothers her as much as it does me. We catch eyes, and I turn to stone again.

  "Sorry," she mumbles staring across the hall at the peeling paint. "I don't mean to look. This is so messed up." Her defensive stance pushes out anything that scares her, but behind it all a completely different person lives there. A deeply feeling person. This tough girl and her uncrackable shell reminds me a lot of someone I know well. Me.

  “It's okay. I’ll just go invisible if you keep doing it."

  Taylor's head whips around in shock and she freezes me in marble again before shutting her eyes.

  "Shit!"

  As soon as my body softens, I stare at the carpet. "Don't worry about it. Do you know anything about Zarah's artwork?” I change the subject, needing to relieve some of the pressure in my chest.

  “Only that it kicks ass.” Taylor smirks sounding as relieved as I feel to switch topics. “And a lot of it is about you.”

  I push myself to a standing position and reach down to her. She takes my hand.

  “Thanks, Taylor. Must be hard to see her like that. I barely know her and it’s killing me.” Only it doesn’t feel like I barely know her. It feels like I’ve known her forever.

  “It’s kind of romantic, you know?” There’s a lilt in her voice that sounds off and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “What is?”

  “She creepily paints you with her eyes closed, and you creepily shadow-stalk her from another world.” Her smile brightens. “It’s kind of epic. Like you knew each other in another lifetime.”