Destiny United (8 page)

She fumed for a good ten minutes before she started to
wonder what was taking him so long. Ten minutes later she was fuming again.
What was he doing in there? Buying the whole damn store? Did the witch have to
cook up the potion on the spot?

She growled in frustration. The room service had been a
great start to the day…er, night. Marcelo hadn’t even blinked when the twelve
dollar salad and six dollar bowl of soup had arrived. She would have ordered
the filet minion except that she was vegetarian.

But Marcelo’s attitude had been gruff and scathing. Again
she’d been left wondering why she was the subject of his resentment. This was
no way to spend her twenty first birthday. Tears filled her eyes and threatened
to spill down her cheeks. She was
supposed
to be
having a picnic dinner in her apartment with her boyfriend. She was
supposed
to be cuddled up against him, watching their
favorite movies drinking red wine. Instead she was being bossed around by an
arrogant, chauvinist male who had mood swings like a woman with PMS.

She should storm into the store and give him a piece of
her mind. Her body disagreed. It was glued to the seat, her muscles warring
with a sense of foreboding.

“You are paralyzed by fear.”

Marcelo had said it and damn him for being right.
Who does he think he is?
Even her boyfriend
wouldn’t dare say something like that to her. True or not, scorning her because
of her disability was not helping!

Laughter from across the street pulled her attention from
her anger. Her gaze moved from the door to the magic store towards the sound of
a group of rowdy people outside a bar.

A bar. She jolted upright in her seat. Techno music
poured from the club when the doors opened. Neon lights lit up the darkness
inside, setting a sexy mood. It called to her. Already her foot was tapping to
the beat of the song. She looked from the mystic shop then back to the bar.
Always reasonable, she weighed the pros and cons of slipping out for a little
drink. Pros: you only got one twenty first birthday. She wouldn’t even need to
use her fake ID anymore. And she’d been through a hell of a lot in the last
twenty four hours. Cons: Marcelo would be pissed. Really pissed. That was it.

I think we have a winner.

Glancing at the entrance to the store again there were no
signs of movement. So she slipped out of the car and raced across the street to
the bar.

With a deep breath she pressed open the door and was
immediately assaulted by the scent of sweat and beer. She wondered if it was a
bad sign that she found it comforting. Erin was only able to enter the bar
because she knew the panic would subside in a few moments. Pressed up against
the wall, trying to go unnoticed, she slunk towards the bar counter. It was too
early for a crowd, which aided in her rebellion.

“Irish Car Bomb,” she whispered to the tattooed
bartender.

He looked her over before demanding to see her ID. “Happy
birthday,” he said drily then flung her license back at her.

She downed five shots in a row, growing braver with each
one. In a giddy stupor she edged towards a group of young, harmless looking men.
They didn’t know it yet but they would be paying for her drinks. She slapped on
a flirty smile.

***

Marcelo impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter of Misty’s
Magic and Mayhem. The witch didn’t have a daylight potion in-stock. If Marcelo
had known it would take this long to make one, he would have come back later.
But the witch had assured him it would take no longer than five minutes. That
was thirty minutes ago.

Erin’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He expected to hear
her irate voice on the other end demanding to know what was taking him so long.
But it was a text. From her boyfriend, Jimmy. Marcelo had texted him from her
phone last night and told him she had a family emergency. Curious, he pressed
the button to read it.

Happy 21st birthday honey. Miss
you
.

Twenty first birthday? Why hadn’t she told him? Damn, he’d
treated her so poorly. An uncomfortable twinge in his gut caught him off guard.
Something wasn’t sitting right. He felt…guilty.
Guilt?
What the fuck?

Humans seemed to think it was important to celebrate the
day they were born. And since Erin wouldn’t be seeing her boyfriend today, or
possibly ever, perhaps she deserved some acknowledgment of her existence. With
a roll of his eyes he searched the store for an acceptable gift.
Curse me and my bloody beating heart.

The display shelves in front were for humans – more
specifically the humans who thought they were witches because they practiced a
religion called Wicca. The real witchcraft products were in the back. Although
witches worshipped the goddess Gaia, and derived power from her, they were
born, not made. Witchcraft wasn’t a religion. It was a bone-deep brand as thick
as thousand year old tree roots.

Shelves were lined with books on Wicca, the Occult, and
Tarot cards. Crystal and pentagon pendants hung on display stands. Crammed on
small tables were herbs, candles, so-called rune stones, and every cliché new
age novelty one could imagine. Marcelo picked up a six inch pewter fairy
figurine.
Humans spend money on this stuff
?
Shaking
his head he placed it back on the shelf.
Anything to make
their lives feel meaningful
. If they would just open their eyes they’d
see their God in more than overpriced baubles.

Finally he spied one pink rose in the corner, half hidden
by a stack of walking sticks. It was the exact color of Erin’s lips. Lips he’d been
dying to taste since he first saw her laid out like an offering on the hotel
bed.

“Oh, you found an Everlasting Rose,” the witch said with
a wide smile when he placed it on the counter. He didn’t care what an
Everlasting Rose was, it was pretty and that would do. “I blessed it so it will
never die.” Even better.

He spared the witch a slew of nasty comments about her
forty minute potion making and paid for the items with his mouth zipped tight. Relieved
to be able to travel in daylight and ready to get this favor over with, he
reached the curb where he’d parked the car. But Erin wasn’t there. The
stillness of the air held her scent and he followed it easily. It led him east,
across the street, and –

He spotted a bar, obnoxious music blasted from the open
doors. A low growl started deep in his chest then tore free from his throat
startling the pedestrians around him.
She dares defy
me!
He stalked to the door.

Inside the hellish bar, he found her sitting among a
circle of boys. The way they crowded her while she flirted in the center made
him feel something he hadn’t in a long time. Pure, unadulterated rage. He took
a deep breath.
Calm yourself. Just politely escort her
away and no one will get hurt.

Then one of the boys touched her leg. In less than a
second he was behind Erin, glaring down at the boys around her. Three of them
were smart enough to back up and look afraid. One was not.

Marcelo grasped her elbow, having to make a conscious
effort not to hurt her. “Come. We’re leaving this place.”

She looked up at him, a lovely smile already planted on
those pink lips. The smile even reached her eyes.
Damn
it!
She was really having fun with these…boys. His chest tightened in
disappointment. For some insane reason,
he
wanted to be the one to make her smile like that. Not a bunch of half-witted
frat boys who wouldn’t know their way around a woman’s body without a map.

“Already?” she said, her lips forming a small pout.

He wanted to kiss that pout right off her face.

“But Slash here,” she touched the boy’s arm, “was about
to buy me a drink.”

So alcohol curbed her anxiety? She smelled of gin and the
sweaty boy with bleached hair. Why did that infuriate him more?

Tightening his grip on her arm, he gave a little tug. “I
said we’re leaving.”

She narrowed her eyes in defiance. “No.” Alcohol gave her
courage as well? “I’m celebrating my twenty first birthday. Leave me alone.”

“Who are you? Her father?” Slash unwisely asked.
What kind of name is Slash?
“We’re trying to
have fun here so just –”

All it took was one intimidating step and a dark growl
and the boy was backing up. Now why didn’t that work with Erin?

“
Querida
,” he whispered in
her ear. He felt her shudder. “I suggest you leave with me now before I lose my
patience.” The hold on his temper was quickly fading. She would be smart to
obey him.

But she didn’t. She pursed her willful lips and turned
back to the bar. A clear message. Well, he would be sending a message too. He
swiveled her stool, grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his
shoulder, his arms locking around her legs. He got plenty of odd stares and a
few giggles as he carried her out of the bar, but no one tried to stop him. Was
it a reflection of today’s society or the fact that Marcelo looked like someone
you just didn’t want to question? He hoped it was the latter.

When they reached the street he marched straight towards
the car, ignoring the pounding on his back. Suddenly she stilled.

“Marcelo?”

“What?” he snapped.

“If you don’t put me down, I’m going to puke.”

Mierda!
He swung her down
so hard she yelped. She bent over leaning on her knees with her eyes closed and
took a few deep breaths. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Her body jolted upright. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Then I can yell at you.” He sent her his most
menacing glare – one that had cowed much larger men. “I thought I told you to
stay in the car!”

She rolled her eyes. “Good grief, Marcelo. I’m not a
dog.” Then she turned on her heel and sauntered away, her hips swaying side to
side.

Walking away? From me?
He
marched forward to stay in stride. “A dog would be less trouble than you.”

“I think I should be offended by that, but I just
realized how funny your name is.” She giggled and he scowled down at her.
“Marcelo…” she muttered, “rhymes with jello.”

She’s drunk
.
“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” she insisted.

He sighed. No point yelling at a drunk, especially not
about being drunk. Then she tripped over her own feet and Marcelo had to catch
her before she landed face first on the sidewalk.

 “All right. I might be a little tipsy.” She giggled
again.

“You’re flat out drunk. Which is irresponsible at best
considering the danger you’re in.”

With a dramatic, drawn out groan she turned to face him.
She probably didn’t even realize she was at her car. “Danger, danger, danger.
Blah, blah, blah.” She made her hand open and close like a mouth as she
exaggerated the taunting words. “Don’t you ever talk about anything – Ow!”

Marcelo snapped his gaze to her face. “What? What is it?”

Her eyes glazed over as she dropped forward, bending at
the waist and clutching her stomach.

“You’re going to throw up? That’s what you get for –”

She screamed. An ear piercing, horrifying shriek filled
with pain and agony. When it was over she almost fell to the ground gasping for
air. But Marcelo was at her side. Taking her weight with an arm around her
waist he grabbed her chin and tipped her head up. Her eyes were unfocused and glossy.

“Is she okay?” someone called from across the street.
Oh, now everyone is concerned about her?

“She’s fine,” he snarled. “She just lost her favorite
earrings.” He shoved her into the passenger seat then sped off down a lonely
side road.

 In the car her screams were muffled but she writhed
around uncontrollably. At the first empty parking lot he pulled in, tires
screeching, and stopped the car. He scooped Erin’s upper body into his lap,
laying her head on his knees.

“Shhh…” he whispered, brushing the hair away from her
face. “Can you talk to me?”

She whimpered and moaned and thrashed her head.

“What’s hurting you,
querida
?”
He stroked her head as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

The screams had stopped but her face crumpled in agony.
He tried to remember human anatomy. Was she having an epileptic fit? Did an
organ burst?

“
Cosita
,
tell me.
What is it?”

For a brief moment she seemed coherent. “Pain,” she
rasped.

He was about to ask if she could show him where it hurt
when the strangest thing happened. Her ears lengthened – the tips pointing
upward the slightest bit. Then she screeched again, and in her mouth two tiny
fangs formed in place of her canines. Blood flowed down her throat making her
cough and sputter. He tried to tilt her upright but her body contorted, arms
and legs growing rigid beneath him. She had been skin and bones before, but
only a minute later she gained at least ten pounds in muscle. Her limbs were
long and lean instead of the pitiful sticks they’d been.

Pointy ears, small fangs, long lean limbs.

Meirda!
“You’re…you’re
fae.”

She gave him an odd look right before she passed out.

“One day you will be a princess, my lovely Aila,” a silver
haired woman said. “You have an important part to play in the world.” The woman
placed a plastic tiara on the little girl’s head. She giggled with delight.

“When Mari?” she asked spinning in circles as her frilly skirt
whirled around her.

“On your twenty first birthday.” She smiled in the magical way
that made the girl feel at ease.

The little girl smiled back. But then the old woman’s face
started to change. It became darker, with angry flames in her eyes. Black hair
grew in place of the woman’s silver, then sprouted along her chin, and soon the
little girl was staring into the face of a monster. “You’re fae,” the man
rumbled. Fangs extended from his mouth. “You’re fae.” His voice echoed and the
girl screamed in fright.