Fated (Fate of Love Book 1) Read online

  “But, I mean anyone could grab you, and—” He steps into me too fast, and I don’t know if he’s joking or not. My body reacts.

  I grab his arm, jerk him closer and slam my fist into his nose—eyes, nose and balls. Those are the targets from self-defense, and I nailed him.

  “Filii canis!” He grabs his face, making this long painful grunting sound, and backs up. “What the hell’d you do that for?”

  I feel kinda bad now because my hand is throbbing, which means his nose… Yep. Bleeding everywhere. Now I really hope I won’t have to explain to Taylor why we need to avoid our favorite coffee shop so I don’t run into him again. I shake my hand out a few times trying to loosen up my knuckles. “What did you say?” Maybe he’s not from here because part of that definitely wasn’t English.

  He’s still swiping at his nose trailing more blood onto the sleeves of his hoodie and showing no signs of answering. I decide not to press it since I was the one who caused all the blood.

  “Wanna tell me I’m fragile now?” Only as blood continues to flow, I begin to realize I may have over-reacted. A tad. Or a way, way, lot.

  “Uh, no. Thanks.” He pinches his nose and stares up for a moment, before bending over at the waist. He’s breathing heavy and slow like he’s trying not to throw up.

  I lean down to inspect because he’s obviously way too much of a wimp to be some kind of stalker or serial killer or anything I need to be worried about. “Stand up. Let me see.”

  He slowly stands up and our eyes catch. The feeling of calm balance swipes through me again making me stumble backward. His nose has finally stopped bleeding, but he’ll probably have a black eye tomorrow. He reaches forward but his hand stops before we make contact.

  “May I touch you?” he asks quietly and my brain is suddenly on overdrive.

  “What did you say?” I jump back. Why would he say that? How would he know to ask?

  I don’t know who this guy is, but the familiar way he’s looking at me snakes through me, and I shove his hand away not caring how good he feels. No one needs to be touching me. “No. And come closer if you want a knee in the balls.”

  He freezes for a moment before one eyebrow rises and a weird look crosses his face. It’s like pride. Almost like the first time I showed Crystal a painting. I have no idea what to make of his expression, but the tension I felt eases a little, and I’m back to feeling guilty for punching him.

  “Look, um… What’s your name?”

  He steps back, giving me a better amount of space. His voice is nice, and if I weren’t on edge, this conversation might be more of a conversation rather than stilted random comments followed by bloody noses.

  “Cas…” He clears his throat and his face goes blank for a moment. “Max.”

  He stares at me expectantly but as I step further away from him my desire to reciprocate lessens.

  “It’s been real Max, but I’m out. Sorry about the nose.” And now I’ve got to get out of here. He feels too...easy to be around. Familiar. And I’m not ready for that. Not now.

  I start toward home, clutching my sweater around my middle. I’m fighting the urge to glance back, but I don’t hear footsteps so at least he’s not following. And if he was staring with some kind of kicked puppy dog face, I might be tempted to go back.

  People don’t feel familiar to me. Definitely not guys. And not one who’s so delicate I nearly busted his nose. And another one who disappears into mist. Both feel like home. And I take it back. I don’t want to know either of them. Not now. Not in real life. Not as imaginary friends. The need in my body for escape has turned into something harder. More closed. More afraid. I both hate this fear and embrace it because being afraid keeps me safe.

  The drug store glows neon across the street, and I glance at the red flashing clock. It’s past midnight. Relief sucks some of the tension from my chest. I’ve made it one more day without getting high.

  VII

  Cassius

  I watch her walk away from me, listening to Max’s jumbled thoughts. His confusion throws me, and I can’t think with the dull throb in my nose and eye. Using my power as a god, I’m able to suppress him enough to get a few clear thoughts of my own. She glances back at me quickly before pulling her hair over her shoulder and running her fingers through it. She starts to braid, her fingers twisting and spinning the strands of hair.

  I should be angry that she punched me in the face, but I’m glad she did it now. If she punched me like that when I was in my real body, her fist would have shattered into a thousand pieces, and my cover would be effectively blown.

  Instead I’m bleeding. Again. Standing on the street. Again. In awe of a mortal girl who once seemed irreparable. A mortal who has grown from a cowering girl in the corner of a dark closet to someone with the comparable inner strength of a goddess.

  What happened to her since I walked away from that closet two years ago? Why is she suddenly in front of me again?

  And why won’t she tell me her damned name?

  It doesn’t even matter anyway. She’s not my assignment. Her little friend is. I have to remind myself of that. I’ve learned my lesson more than once about girls who are not my assignment. Venia. Collette, Arial, Rose and all the others. All the other women who tugged at my heart and reminded me of my worst mistakes.

  “Hey!” I yell down the street after Venia.

  She stops and spins, her boots creaking against the wet pavement. She doesn’t say anything and we watch each other in the neon glow of a drugstore sign, her arms crossed over her stomach and her foot tapping nervously on the cement.

  I stutter a couple times as I have no idea why I called after her. Nothing that makes sense anyway. Max is fighting me again because this isn’t his girl–the one he fancies–and it takes a minute to suppress him. He’s worried that I’ll ruin his chances.

  Venia begins to turn away from me and words fall out of my mouth. “It’ll all be okay.”

  My jaw tightens and the look on her face is like I was the one who punched her.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She takes a couple of long steps toward me, and I can feel Max’s face flush. Well I said it, so now I have to come up with something intelligent. Quick.

  “I know something’s bothering you. I just needed to say you’ll get through whatever it is. You’re tough. Which was the first thing I learned about you.” I point to my pulsing eye and she shifts her weight. Her head angles down and her hair slides in front of her face, but I can tell she’s smiling that awkward smile.

  She lifts her head suddenly and walks straight up to me, holding out her hand. I look down at it. My poor mortal body, Max’s body, can’t take much more. She wiggles her fingers.

  “I’m Zarah,” she says and grabs my hand to shake it. Her warm soft fingers slide along my skin and that familiar calm sensation pulses through me so strong my entire body stops. Everything around me slows enabling me to see each droplet of mist that hangs in the air around me. The feeling overpowers Max to the point that I forget that I’m part of him.

  Zarah’s eyes widen in shock and she yanks her hand from mine. The silence is long and awkward between us now that the connection is lost. Zarah grabs a chunk of her hair and begins braiding it again. “If you want. Meet me here tomorrow. Noon.” With that she turns and is gone, the midnight mist and fog swallows her up.

  < - - - >

  It’s exactly noon by the time I make it to the park. This spot is much brighter and more welcoming in the daylight, not to mention more populated. I wander through the paths for about twenty minutes before I see Zarah.

  On a little patch of grass are about seven people. Old, greying, wrinkly people and one young girl that I have to take a second glance to realize is her.

  Zarah stands a little off to the side shifting her weight from foot to foot like one would do before running a marathon. She’s wearing bright leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt that hugs her well. Her hands work through her hair expertly as she braids it down
her shoulder, and I smile before I can stop myself. She glances behind her before setting her face in that serious expression and leaning forward to stretch her calves.

  I stop walking for a moment as my own reactions to her collide with Max’s. He doesn’t want to look...I definitely do.

  I can’t get used to sharing headspace with someone like him. I’d give anything to be back in my own body.

  Jogging the rest of the way, I’m surprised by how out of breath a mortal body can get and I lean forward on my knees as I reach the small group. Max needs to start exercising or something.

  “Hey,” I stumble.

  “Good thing we’re not running today, you’d be done already and you’re late. That’s impressive.” I can hear Zarah’s voice thick with the sarcasm she seems to hide behind. But her voice also has a familiar undertone. All her words have this undercurrent of sadness and distance. A girl who uses strength as an external shield, not as part of her being. She’s completely different yet exactly the same as I remember her.

  “Sorry.” My plan is basically to say as little as possible. I have no clue what people like Max talk about. Or any people, for that matter.

  She pats my shoulder and I straighten up. “What’s this we’re doing?” I gesture to the rest of the people on the grass who continue to stretch out their sagging limbs.

  “Tai Chi.” Zarah shrugs.

  “Um, what?”

  “Tai Chi, it’s the ancient Chinese art of–”

  “I know what it is. I would not have pegged you as the Tai Chi type.” I laugh and she glares. Tai Chi is all about calm and balance. I can’t stop thinking of her with the boots and ripped jeans and Fuck-the-World t-shirts. Paired with the eyeliner and crazy contacts, I cannot be the only one who would come to this conclusion. Meaning she should not look as offended as she does.

  “Well, if you don’t want to join that’s fine,” she says stiffly and I get this strange urge to make her smile, to see what it looks like on her. Her whole existence is seriousness and pain. Even in that closet so long ago, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her really smile.

  “No, it’s not that. I’m up for some re-balancing of my Chi.” I wink at her and tuck my thick knitted cap into my back pocket. Or Max’s hat into Max’s pocket. I get so confused when I’m mortal.

  Zarah shakes her head and widens her stance. “I can’t believe I asked you here.”

  There’s a trace of vulnerability in her voice that digs at me and tightens my insides. “Why?”

  “Tai Chi… It’s my solo thing. Not even Taylor knows I do this.”

  “Your best friend?”

  Zarah shoots me a disbelieving look. “How do you know that?”

  Both Max and I freak out a little but I force a shrug. A flash of Max’s memories spin through his head and I catch a couple of them.

  “That little thing with the pink hair, right? I practically plowed her over at the coffee shop. You seem close.” I do my best to brush it off as Max’s head goes berserk. He doesn’t want me to blow his cover. I should. I should tell Zarah right now and maybe she’ll set these two up and I don’t have to. Zarah can do the vetting. I could show up at the last minute shoot him with my arrow and be done with it. I’m lucky that Max can’t hear my thoughts like I can hear his, because there are a lot of insider details running through my mind right now about how I can use this situation to my advantage.

  “Oh, okay.” Zarah studies me closer and I toss this ridiculous idea around. “Anyway...Tai Chi is just a tool for me. Helps me get rid of the pictures in my head. Which is why I like to do it alone.”

  “Pictures?”

  “I’m an artist.”

  I’m about to ask more when the tiny Asian man at the front of the grass patch begins to speak in broken English. I don’t catch a word of it, and wish he’d speak in Mandarin. I understand Mandarin. I struggle to just try and copy the people in front of me, or watch Zarah as she twists and bends.

  “I didn’t really plan my outfit well this morning did I?” I ask trying to widen my stance for a move and Zarah gives me one of her half smiles. I have no idea why anyone would ever wear pants this tight.

  “In your defense I didn’t tell you what we were doing.” Zarah’s tone is biting. I like this side of her and for the first time I’m glad I came to meet her. I feel my own guard drop a little and momentarily I forget why I’m here.

  “Riiiight. So this is your fault then?” I wink and point at her, trying to be light and fun like Curo would be. He would berate my game, as the mortals call it, and call me a complete failure. But I have to be closer to a smile from Zarah. That’s all I really want now.

  “But you're wearing the same pants as last night. So…” She winks back, making my stomach jump. I’m distracted by that shy awkward half-smile of hers just as Mr. Chan has the group do this weird swooping twist thing, and I lose my balance.

  It’s insane how things slow down as I fall so I can hear each of my thoughts distinctly but still hit the ground just as hard. The loudest thought is don’t crush the frail lady in front of me. In mid-fall, I do this spin thing that may look more like a flail. I miss the lady but my shift in course sends me rolling off the grass and flat out on the thick gravel covered cement.

  Zarah’s at my side in an instant and her smile isn’t half. She’s almost in tears she’s laughing so hard as she reaches down to pull me up. So, I got a smile out of her, but in return left part of my arm on the pavement and picked up most of the gravel now embedded in the skin I still have.

  As I’m hauled to my feet I feel a stab of sympathy for Max. He’s going to wake up tomorrow with a foggy memory, black eye, and missing a chunk of his arm. I hope he doesn’t question his sanity, like the last time I inhabited a mortal body and spent the entire time fending off nervous breakdowns.

  Max, for how spineless he seems, has an odd understanding to him. While he’s terrified of Zarah, he seems to be pretty in control of all his other faculties. He seems to want Zarah to like him. He’s adaptable to the point of being a complete pushover.

  “Are you okay?” Zarah asks after she has enough air to speak, but she’s still fighting not to laugh. Thoughts of Max vanish as I’m brought back to the park, and Zarah.

  I’m about to say fine then I look to my arm and see the blood. My vision blurs and everything suddenly becomes very slanted. Her arm goes around my waist and she pulls my good arm across her shoulders. The same thing that happened last night happens again. Her touch makes the world slows down to the point of time standing still. My thoughts and fears are all washed over with calm. I feel...good.

  We both stop and look at each other. I drop my arm from her shoulder and she instantly reaches for her hair, braiding it fast. I watch her until she shifts and clears her throat, pushing a smile onto her face.

  “Don’t like blood, do ya? I don’t live too far from here. We’ll get you cleaned up. With how pale your face is, I’m thinking that even if you’re a total creeper, I can take you.” She smirks, and I’m glad to avoid talking about what just happened between us, because I would never know where to begin.

  < - - - >

  Falling hurts, and so does losing a good chunk of flesh in that fall, but holy Hades it does not hurt as much as what Zarah’s doing to heal me.

  “Ow!” I flinch, sitting on a wooden plank that I assume acts as the kitchen counter. I yank my arm from her grip and glare. Her lips purse and she takes my elbow in her hand again. She’s leaning next to me on the counter plucking out the stones before dousing it in liquid made of pure burn making me yell out again.

  "What the...That hurts." I can't tell her I have no clue what she's doing to me. She'd suspect something was up if Max had no clue what this seemly everyday torture solution is.

  “Of course it hurts, dude. It's alcohol. We’re out of peroxide. Just chill. Breathe or something.” She’s shaking her head and digging at another stone. I take her advice and stare across the room at a small abstract painting hanging on the wall, one
of many in the tiny loft with the great view. I breathe deeply and focus on the time-standstill that happens whenever she touches me until she has my arm cleaned and bandaged.

  “How do you know all this healing stuff?” I ask.

  “Healing stuff? I’m not a Shaman. I may have had to patch myself up a few times after a wild night.” Her gaze flutters to mine but that’s the only eye contact I’ve gotten. “But seriously, my mom’s a bit of a klutz. Spastic arty type. You know.”

  I smile down at her. I don’t know. I have no idea what that means. But I love her speaking in that happy, joking tone. Like I’ve accomplished a goal. Which is really absurd. I’m just about to open my mouth to say I don’t know what she’s talking about when a different painting, hanging on the far wall, catches my eye. I slide off the counter involuntarily.

  My heart starts pounding, and my eyes get wide. How did I not see this when I walked in? Zarah notices my reaction and looks over her shoulder to follow my gaze.

  “What?” The word is sharp from her tongue.

  “Who painted this?” I push past her to the canvas and point at it.

  Her eyebrows pull lower. “I did. Why?”

  She speaks slowly, as if I’ve left her completely confused. But I’m the one that’s confused because I know this painting.

  “Who is this?” I ask her, even though I know who it is.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “But she feels powerful. She feels kind. I don’t often paint people that make me feel good.”

  Zarah snaps her mouth shut, as if she said too much. I go back to studying the figure in the canvas. Tall and slender. Skin as smooth as always. Delicate features on a face with no eyes. A face I know better than my own mother’s.

  “Nona?” I mutter and Zarah shifts next to me.

  “What did you say?”

  I grab the painting off the wall and hold it between us awkwardly.

  “I want this painting. I mean, can I have it? I mean, I’ll buy it off you.” I stammer it all out and Zarah’s eyes bore into me looking like she has a thousand questions she doesn’t want, or doesn’t know how, to ask.