Fated (30 page)

The moment suspended, on pause, and I’m just about to break it, just about to make a run for it, when his eyes turn to slits of rage and he snaps the T-shirt toward the ground so hard I lose my grip. Sent sailing, soaring, flying through the air—so startled and flustered and helpless, I’m unable to use my wings to propel myself anywhere.

Then the next thing I know, I’m belly-up on the ground. Staring into a pair of cruel, nonreflective, icy-blue eyes, as Cade lifts his shoe high and slams it so hard I become one with the heel.

thirty-seven

“Hey—hey there. You okay?”

The voice sounds male. Concerned. A male who’s concerned about me?

It’s gotta be either the ghost of Django or Chay’s come to get me—those are the only two males who would care.

“Do you need a doctor? Come on, open your eyes and look at me,
please
?”

I do as he says. I see no reason not to. And I find myself staring straight into a pair of icy-blue irises.

I flinch at the sight, squirm backward, try to get away. But then when I see my own reflection gleaming back, my entire body goes soft once again.

“Whoa, there.” He eases me back onto the seat.

Onto the …
toilet seat
?

I sit up straighter, gaze around wildly, wondering what I’m doing here, in this stall, and why Dace is here with me.

I start to stand, but my head’s too dizzy, refuses to allow it, and it’s only a second later when I’m down again. Landing so awkwardly my foot kicks at something that rolls across the ground.

A jar.

An empty jar.

And then I remember. I remember it all.

“I have to go—” I push against him as hard as I can, which, in my weakened state, isn’t hard at all. Visions of Coyote, demons, and long-dead Richters flooding my mind. And when I get to the part where his twin licked slimy globs of gore from his fingers, I say it again and push harder this time. But for the moment anyway, he’s stronger than me.

“Relax,” he coos, voice hushed, soothing—a melody hummed solely for me. “There’s no rush. Take all the time you need to gather your strength, get your bearings again.”

“No. Really—I have to…” I look at him, having no idea how to explain. “I have to find Xotichl,” I say. It’s the first reasonable thing that springs to mind.

“Xotichl’s gone.” He squints in study. “The club closed a while ago. I was just making final rounds when I found you. What happened?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

“I…”

I merged with a cockroach—caught a ride next to your twin’s Calvin Klein underwear label—and after I watched him play with a demon coyote and snack on bloodied bits that could’ve been either animal or human, he fed glowing, white orbs to the walking dead—then crushed me under the heel of his boot …

“I’m not sure,” I say, willing my head to feel better, to stop spinning, and a moment later it does. “I guess I passed out, or something…” I cringe, hating the lie but knowing there’s no way I could ever present him the truth.

I start to stand, pretending not to notice when he offers a hand. “I need to call my ride.” I fumble for my phone, reluctant to bother Paloma and Chay at this hour, but they’re pretty much my only real option.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.” Dace follows me out of the stall, watching as I call Paloma’s number, then Chay’s—face scrunching in confusion when they both fail to answer. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Daire—why won’t you let me help you?” he says. My name on his lips sounding just like it did in the dream. Our eyes meeting in the mirror, mine astonished, his chagrined, when he adds, “Yeah. I asked around. Uncovered your real name. So shoot me.”

And when he smiles, when he smiles
and
runs a nervous hand through his glossy, dark hair—well, I’m tempted to shake my head and refuse him again.

Maybe he goes by the name of Whitefeather, but technically, he’s still a Richter. A good Richter—a kind Richter—still, I need to do what I can to avoid him. To ignore that irresistible stream of kindness and warmth that swarms all around him.

Need to cleanse myself of those dreams once and for all. We are not bound. Nor are we fated. I’m a Seeker—he’s the spawn of a Richter—and my only destiny is to stop his brother from … whatever it is that he’s doing.

But, more immediately, I need to get home. And there’s no denying I could do a lot worse than catching a ride with gorgeous Dace Whitefeather.

Dropping the phone in my bag, I reluctantly nod my consent. Heading out the door as I ask, “Are we the last to leave?” I survey the club, noting how different it looks now that it’s empty. Wondering if Cade’s holed up in his office, watching us from his wall of screens.

“Naw, my cousin Gabe is still here. Probably Marliz too, since they’re engaged. But Raul, my uncle, is always the last one out. Especially on the nights when Leandro leaves early.”

I wait for him to mention Cade, but the name never comes, and it’s not like I’m about to bring it up. “Sounds like you come from a really big family,” I say, wanting to learn more about that family—greedy for whatever he’s willing to divulge.

He holds the door open, exiting behind me when he says, “Feels like I meet a new member every day.” He laughs—the sound magnetic and deep, the kind of laugh you want to hear again and again. “I grew up on the reservation—my mom and I lived in our own little world, which didn’t leave room for much else. But when I hit my teens, I wanted more. And after some initial reluctance, my mom agreed to let me go to Milagro. That’s when I learned I had this whole other family.”

“That must’ve been … strange.” I peer at him sideways, the question more baited than it seems.

“It was.” He shrugs. “
Strange
is definitely the best word to describe it.” He falls quiet, stares into the distance.

“So you still live on the reservation?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going, remembering how Paloma failed to say either way.

“Only when I visit my mom. The rest of the time I rent a small room in town, paid for with what I earn working here.”

My stare hardens; I have no idea how to reply. Shocked that he’d go to all that trouble, work so hard for his creep of a brother, just so he could attend a school that hasn’t been all that accepting of him.

He meets my gaze, reads the unspoken question written on my face, but instead of elaborating, he stops beside a primer-gray Mustang—same car he drove at the gas station that day—saying, “You’re staying with Paloma, right?”

I nod in reply, duck my head low, and settle inside. Noting the interior is a little worn, a little worse for the wear, yet surprisingly neat and clean. And it definitely smells really nice—sort of earthy and fresh—like him.

“So, now that you know about me—what about you?” He starts the engine, backing out of the space and onto the street. “Or should I ask around to uncover that too?”

I stare out the window, tempted to say something glib, noncommittal, but he’s so kind and sincere, I go with the truth. “For as long as I remember, it’s been me and my mom. She’s a Hollywood makeup artist—though the job title’s a little misleading, since we spend most of our time traveling the world, only stopping in Hollywood between gigs.”

He swerves onto a rutted dirt road, the first of many, eyes slewed toward me when he says, “Sounds rough.”

I sharpen my gaze, searching for signs of sarcasm, insincerity, something—but coming away empty, which really surprises me. Usually when people respond like that it’s with an undertone of envy.

“I mean, I’m sure it had its good parts.” He recovers quickly, worried he might’ve upset me. “Still … never having a real place to settle, to call home … I’m not sure I could do it.”

“Sometimes it was tough,” I say. “Sometimes it got really lonely.” I settle deeper into my seat, wondering why I saw fit to confess that when I’ve never admitted it to anyone, much less myself. Quick to add, “Then again, when it’s the only life you know, then you don’t really know what you’re missing.” Not wanting him to feel sorry for me.

My fingers twist in my lap, watching as he considers my words. Gripping the wheel tighter as he slows to a crawl in order to navigate a particularly rough patch of road.

“So I’m guessing this is the reason everyone drives four-wheelers around here?” I grip the edge of my seat, cringing when the bottom of his car scrapes hard against the ground.

“I have an old truck I usually save for these roads. I’m a bit of a grease monkey. I like fixing up cars and other broken-down things. But since I didn’t plan on coming this way…” His shoulders lift, ending that topic as he segues to the next. “So tell me, for someone who’s traveled the world, what do you make of Enchantment?” He removes a hand from the wheel to tuck some loose strands of hair back behind his ear, and it’s all I can do to keep from reaching toward him—entwining my fingers with his.

I bite down on my lip, having no idea what to say. So instead I just stare at his profile—noting how it’s so perfectly chiseled it should be minted on coins.

“That bad, huh?” He shakes his head and laughs.

“Aside from school and Paloma’s, I really haven’t seen all that much.” I shrug, deciding to leave out my visit to the graveyard, the cave, and the time I went riding on the reservation with Chay.

“Well, I know it pretty well, and I’m more than happy to volunteer as your guide—just say the word. It’s not nearly as bad as you think. There are some truly enchanting places, if you know where to look.”

I nod as though I’m already considering it, but as tempting as it is, I know I can’t do it. After tonight, I have to do whatever I can to avoid him. Getting to know him is not a viable option. I have a job to do—one that’ll require all of my focus. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by a boyfriend—or even a boy that’s a friend.

The rest of the drive passes in silence, but, strangely, I have no need to fill it and neither does he. It’s only when he pulls up to the big blue gate that he turns to me and says, “This is it, right?”

I reach for my bag, intending to give a quick thanks for the ride and be on my way. But when our eyes meet again, the words melt on my lips.

He holds the look. Holds it with such intensity, no matter how hard I try, I can’t break away.

Everything my head is telling me:
Open the door—say your good-byes—and get the heck out of this car!
—is in direct conflict with what my heart is saying:
Stay—talk—hang out for a while—give it a chance—see where it leads …

His blue eyes gleaming, lips parting and curving, as a slant of moonlight creeps through the window and finds its way to the top of his head where it glows like a crown.

The sight of it forcing me to shut my eyes, shut out the whole glorious sight of him. Needing to see if I’m merely drawn to his beauty, since it wouldn’t be the first time. But when I turn the focus from my eyes to my heart, when I tune in to what it tells me—well, the impression I get is the same as the first time I saw him that day at the Rabbit Hole and again at the gas station, then today at school, and earlier tonight when I ran smack into him in the club …

A swarm of kindness, followed by the deepest, most unconditional love—all of it directed at me.

“Daire…” he says, voice husky and thick.

The lilt of my name on his lips causing me to sway toward him. Ignoring the warning in my head, in favor of the yearning in my heart. Lured by the invisible magnet throbbing between us.

“Daire,” he repeats, the words barely a whisper. “Someone’s here.”

My eyes open wide and I turn to find Jennika glaring into the window.

thirty-eight

“Why’d you have to embarrass me like that?” I follow Jennika down the walkway and into the house as the rumble of Dace’s engine fades into the distance. Admiring the way he held his own, kept so steady and calm, but those icy-blue eyes told a whole other story—he couldn’t wait to be gone.

I’ve seen it before. An angry Jennika is a scary Jennika, and she was—correction,
is
—undeniably angry.

But I’m angry too. And unlike Dace, I’m not the least bit intimidated by her.

“Seriously—why’d you have to be so incredibly rude?” I throw my bag on the kitchen table and head for the sink, where I retrieve a blue handblown glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and down it in three easy gulps in an attempt to calm myself.

“Oh, well—excuse me for
embarrassing
you and acting so
rude.
Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.” She shakes her head, clearly not meaning a word of it. “Maybe you can tell me just exactly what is going on around here? Maybe you can explain how you’d like me to react upon finding you parked in a beat-up wreck of a car with a boy who’s up to no good—at one thirty in the morning—on a
school
night, no less?”

I lean against the counter and stare hard at my boots. Struggling to get a rein on my emotions—arguing with her won’t solve a thing. But I’m far too annoyed to take my own advice, so I lift my chin and say, “Well, for starters, you really didn’t have to yell. That was completely uncalled for. And for another thing, you really didn’t have to jump to conclusions.
Nothing
was going on. It wasn’t at all what you think—you misread the whole thing. I only just met him today! He gave me a lift, nothing more. But instead of trusting me, you just go off on a rant and assume the worst. Way to go, Jennika. Seriously.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to
trust
you?” She fumes under her breath, surveying Paloma’s home as though she’s suspicious of everything in it, most of all me. “How can I
trust
you when you go for days on end without returning my calls? How can I
trust
you when you renege on our deal?”

I sigh. Roll my eyes. Hardly able to believe we’re back to this—the same argument we’ve already had over the phone. Twice. But apparently she’s gearing up for round three, and once she gets started, she’s hard to contain.

“That was
one
time, and it was only for
three
days, as you well know—”