Destined (12 page)

So I sat there, in the shadow of a big elm, trying to control my thoughts. Aurox’s presence messed with my mind, and I didn’t know why.
Right now, right at this second, I don’t even care. Mom is dead. Whatever Neferet and Evil have planned for me, they can just back the hell off. Everyone can just back the hell off.
My thoughts felt mean and tough, but the tear that was sliding down my face told a different story.

Mom isn’t in the world anymore. She’s not at home waiting on the step-loser and puttering around the kitchen. I can’t call and have her get mad at me and then lecture me for being a crappy daughter.
It was a weird feeling, being momless. I mean, she and I hadn’t been close for more than three years, but still it’d always been in the back of my mind that someday she’d come to her senses, leave that idiot she’d screwed up and married, and go back to being Mama.

“She had left him,” I said. “I need to remember that.” My voice hitched, but I cleared my throat and spoke out loud again to the night. “Mama, I’m sorry we didn’t get to say good-bye. I love you. I always have. I always will.” Then I put my face in my hands, gave in to the terrible storm of sadness that had been building inside me, and I began to sob.

Aurox

The fledgling called Zoey—the one with the odd tattoos that covered not just her face, but her shoulders, hands, and as Neferet had told him, some parts of the rest of her body, too—made him feel strange.

Neferet had said Zoey was her enemy. That made Zoey his enemy as well. She who was his mistress’s enemy was a danger—that danger must be why he felt an oddness when she was near. Aurox noted the direction Zoey went as she hurried away. He should note everything about her. Zoey was dangerous.

“Neferet, I need to speak with you regarding the new classes that are being taught in Lenobia’s arena,” Dragon Lankford was saying.

Neferet’s cold green eyes turned to Dragon. “It was decided by the High Council that these fledglings stay, at least for the time being.”

“I understand that, but—”

“But would you rather have the Raven Mocker in your class?” Neferet snapped.

“Rephaim isn’t a Raven Mocker anymore.” The Red High Priestess spoke up quickly in her mate’s defense.

“And yet he calls those creatures, those Raven Mockers, brother,” Aurox said.

“Indeed, Aurox, that is a relevant observation,” Neferet said without looking at him. “As you are Nyx’s gift to me I think it is important that we listen to your observations.”

“What in the Sam Hill is the point? They
are
his brothers. He’s not tryin’ to hide that.” Shaking her head, the Red High Priestess met his eyes. Aurox saw sadness and anger there, though the emotions weren’t strong enough for him to feel them—for him to draw power from them. “You shouldn’t have killed that Raven Mocker. He wasn’t attacking anyone.”

“You think we should wait for the creatures to slaughter another one of us before we move against them?” Dragon Lankford said.

The Sword Master’s anger was more tangible and Aurox absorbed some of the strength of it. He felt it boil through his blood—pulsing—feeding—changing.

“Aurox, you are not needed here. You may go on about your duties. Begin here at the main school building and move around inside the perimeter of the campus. Patrol the grounds. Be quite certain none of the Raven Mockers return.” His mistress glanced at the Red High Priestess and added, “My command is to attack only those who threaten you or the school.”

“Yes, Priestess.” He bowed to her and then backed from the doorway and walked out into the night as he heard the Red High Priestess still defending her mate.
She, too, is an enemy, though my mistress says of a different kind—a kind that may be used.

Aurox contemplated the intricacies of those who opposed Neferet. She’d explained to him that someday soon all of these fledglings and vampyres would either submit to her will, or be destroyed. His mistress looked forward to that day. Aurox looked forward to that day, too.

He stepped off the sidewalk, moving to his right toward the edge of the main school building. Aurox kept away from the flickering gaslights. Instinctively he preferred the deeper shadows and darker corners. His senses were always alert, always searching. So it was strange that the tissue startled him. It was a simple rectangle of white. It floated on the wind, fluttering before him almost like a bird. He stopped and reached out, plucking it from the night.

So strange,
he thought,
a floating paper tissue.
Without conscious thought, he tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. Shrugging off the odd, foreboding feeling, he kept walking.

Her emotions hit him after he’d taken two more steps.

Sadness—deep, pressing grief. And guilt. There was guilt there in her feelings, too.

Aurox knew it was the young fledgling High Priestess—the Zoey Redbird. He told himself he approached her only because it was wise to observe one’s enemy. But as he got closer—as her feelings flooded him—something unexpected happened within him. Instead of absorbing her emotions and feeding off them, Aurox absorbed them and
felt.

He didn’t change. He didn’t begin to morph into the creature of great power.

Instead, Aurox
felt.

Zoey’s grief drew him forward, and as he stood in the shadows that surrounded her and watched her sob, her emotion flowed into him, gathered and pooled in a small, quiet, hidden place deep inside his spirit. As Aurox absorbed Zoey’s sadness and guilt, loneliness and despair, something stirred within him in response.

It was utterly unexpected and completely unacceptable, but Aurox wanted to comfort Zoey Redbird. The impulse was so foreign to him that it shocked him into moving instinctively, as if his subconscious directed his body.

He stepped out of the darkness at the same moment she moved, pressing the palm of her hand to a place in the middle of her breast. She blinked, obviously trying to see through her tears, and her eyes found him. Her body straightened and she looked on the verge of bolting.

“No, you need not leave,” he heard himself saying.

“What do you want?” she said, and then she hiccuped another small sob.

“Nothing. I was passing. You were weeping. I heard.”

“I want to be alone,” she said, wiping at her face with the back of her hand and sniffling.

Aurox did not realize what he did next until he, along with the girl, were both looking at his hand and the tissue he’d pulled from his pocket to offer to her.

“Then I will leave you, but you need this,” he said, sounding stiff and foreign to his own ears. “Your face is very wet.”

She stared at the tissue for a moment more before taking it, then she looked up at him. “I snot when I cry.”

He felt his head nod. “Yes, you do.”

She blew her nose and wiped her face. “Thanks. I never have a Kleenex when I need one.”

“I know,” he said. Then he felt his face flush hot and his body go cold because there was absolutely no reason why he should say such a thing. He had no reason to talk to this fledgling enemy at all.

She was staring at him again, with an odd expression on her face. “What did you say?”

“That I must go.” Aurox turned and moved quickly away into the night. He expected the emotions she had made him feel to fade, to flow from him, just as the emotions of others had after he’d absorbed them, used them, cast them aside. But some of Zoey’s sadness stayed with him, as did her guilt and, most peculiarly of all, her loneliness stayed with him pooled in a deep, hidden abyss in his soul.

CHAPTER NINE

Zoey

I stared after Aurox for a long time.

What the hell?

I blew my nose again, shook my head, and looked at the wet, wadded mess of Kleenex in my hand. What game had Neferet’s creature been playing? Had she purposefully sent him out here after me to offer me a Kleenex and mess with my already totally messed-up head?

No, that couldn’t be right. Neferet didn’t know that Aurox giving me a Kleenex would remind me of Heath. No one would know that except Heath. Well, and Stark.

So it had to just be a weird coincidence. Sure, Aurox was some kind of creature of Neferet’s, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the effects of girl tears. He was a guy—at least I was pretty sure he was a guy. And anyway, he might not be one hundred percent one of Neferet’s mindless minions. He might be an okay guy—or at least he might be kinda okay when he wasn’t changing into a killing machine that looked like a bull. Hell, Stevie Rae had found a good Raven Mocker. Who knows what—

And then I realized what I was doing. I was Kalona-ing him. I was seeing goodness where there was none.

“Oh, hell no! I am soooo not going there,” I chastised myself aloud.

“Not going where, Z?” Stark walked into the courtyard, a box of Kleenex in his hand. “Hey, looks like you were snot prepared for a change,” he said, gesturing to my wadded mess of a tissue.

“Uh, I’ll take another one. Thanks,” I said, plucking a couple of tissues from the box and wiping my face again.

“So, where are you not going?” He sat down beside me on the bench. His shoulder brushed mine and I leaned into him.

“I’m just reminding myself not to let the crazy stuff that goes on around here make
me
crazy—or at least crazier.”

“You’re not crazy, Z. You’re going through some hard things, but you’re gonna be fine,” he said.

“I hope you’re right,” I muttered and then another, even more depressing thought struck me. “Um, did you tell the rest of the guys not to treat me all weird because of my mom?”

“I didn’t have to tell them. They’re your friends, Z. They’re gonna treat you like they care about you, not weirdly,” Stark said.

“I know, I know I just…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know how to sift through and put into words the pain and guilt and terrible alone feeling not having a mom had left with me.

“Hey.” Stark stopped and looked down at me. “You’re
not
alone.”

“Are you listening to my thoughts? You know I don’t like it when—”

He took my shoulders in his hands and gave me a little shake. “It doesn’t take an Oath Bound Warrior’s link to know you’re feeling all by yourself. I don’t know any other kid whose mom is dead, do you?”

“No. Just me.” I bit my lip to keep from bawling. Again.

“See, it’s not tough to figure you out.” He kissed me then. Not with a hot, open mouth, I-want-in-your-panties kiss. Stark’s kiss was soft and sweet and reassuring. When his lips left mine he smiled into my eyes. “But, like I said before, you’re gonna come through all of this just fine and
not
crazy because you’re smart and strong and beautiful and basically covered with awesomesauce.”

I giggled unexpectedly. “Awesomesauce? Did you seriously just say that?”

“Hell yes I just said it! You
are
awesome, Z.”

“But awesome
sauce
?” I giggled again, and felt my stomach begin to unclench. “That’s the dorkiest thing I think I’ve ever heard you say.”

He clutched his chest like I’d just stabbed him. “Z, that hurts. I was trying to be romantic.”

“Well, at least you tried,” I said. “Please tell me you didn’t make that word up all by yourself.”

“Nah.” He gave me his cute, cocky grin. “I heard a bunch of third former girls say I was covered with it when they were watching me shoot my arrows in the arena last hour.”

“Reallly?” I raised a brow and gave him the stank eye. “Third former girls?”

The cocky part of his grin faded. “I meant to say
unattractive
third former girls.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what you meant to say.”

His eyes sparkled. “Jealous?”

I snorted and lied. “No!”

“You don’t have to be jealous. Ever. Because you’re not just covered with awesomesauce. You’re what awesomesauce is made of.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“Promise?”

“Yep.”

I leaned against him. “Okay, I believe you, dork.” I rested my head on his shoulder and he put his arm around me. “Can we go home now?”

“Absolutely. Your short yellow limo is loaded and waiting for you.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. Hand in hand we walked toward the parking lot. I snuck a sideways glance at him. He looked pleased with himself (and totally hot). Obviously his dorky word game had been part of his plot to pull me out of the pit of depression I’d felt myself falling into.

Stark would have felt it, too, and not because he was “listening” inappropriately to my thoughts—because he was my Guardian and my Warrior and much, much more.

I squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

He glanced at me, smiled, then lifted my hand to his lips. “No problem. Just wait ’til you hear the word I’m thinking up to describe your boobs. This time it’ll be totally made up. I don’t need the help of any unattractive third formers for this.”

“No. Just no.”

“But you might need more cheering up.”

“Nope. I’m a-okay. Boob talk is
so
not necessary.”

“Well, remember that I’m here if you need me,” he said, grinning again. “Ready, willing, and able.”

“That’s a comfort. Thanks.”

“All part of my Guardian job description,” he said.

I lifted both of my brows this time. “Did you actually get a job description?”

“Kinda. Seoras said, ‘Take care o’ yur queen or I’ll be finishin’ the wee scratchin’ I started on yu,’” he said, sounding freakishly like the ancient Scottish Guardian.

“Wee?”
I shuddered, remembering the bloody knife wounds that had been slashed all across his chest. How could I ever forget? Even if they weren’t still fresh pink scars, despite the healing power of my elements and my blood. “Wee is definitely not how I’d describe them.”

“Ach, well, lassie. It wasna much more than pussy scratches.”

I felt my eyes go wide, and then I punched him on his arm. “Pussy!”

He rubbed his arm, and in his regular voice said, “Z, it means cat in Scotland. Really.”

“You.” I scowled at him. “Are a guy.”