Cursed by Destiny (WG 3) (15 page)

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I had just showered and was soaking my brick-bashed hands in ice when someone knocked on my door. I was surprised to find Misha there with a little elderly woman. She was dressed from head to toe in black and carried a giant wicker basket covered in red cloth.

He smiled. “May we come in?”

Although vampires needed to ask permission before entering another person’s dwelling, technically he didn’t have to ask since the guesthouse was part of his domain. Regardless, I appreciated his attempt at being polite. Maybe he’d started to come around. “Sure. Make yourselves at home.”

Misha stopped smiling when he saw my hands. He frowned as he examined them. I didn’t protest. It was the first time he’d shown any concern. “Would you like me to send for Emme?”

I was surprised he didn’t offer to heal me himself. Maybe it was because of the old woman’s presence. No, never mind—her watching would’ve probably turned him on. “No, I’m okay. I’ll be seeing Emme the day after tomorrow. If they’re still bothering me then, I’ll have her mend them.”

“You should still have them tended to whether they feel better or not.” He met my eyes. “If it pleases you, I would like to spend the day with you tomorrow.”

My hands slipped from his. I waited for him to say more, surprised by his kindness, considering his mood lately. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“Anything of your choosing.”

The tiny woman interrupted us by speaking quickly in Russian. Misha answered her and she extracted a tape measure from her basket. She looked at me and scowled. She pointed to my stomach and then my breasts and said something that made Misha laugh. Whatever it was I doubted I’d find it as funny. She grabbed me and turned me in a slow pirouette. For someone who looked ready to shatter a hip, she was a strong little thing.

She forced my arms up and measured my bust. “Misha, what’s going on?”

Misha didn’t answer me right away. He was too busy laughing as Little Miss Personality waved the tape measure in his face and babbled on about something. I don’t know what the hell she was so mad at, but she seemed to reach her breaking point when she measured my waist. The little twerp threw her hands in the air and yelled, her deeply wrinkled face contorting with rage. She took more measurements before screaming yet again.

Misha said something else to her that made her shake her finger at him. He flashed me a wicked smile as she placed the tape measure against my hip and let it fall.

She pointed right above my knee. Misha shook his head and said something else. She moved her hand higher and again he shook his head. This went on until she almost aligned with my happy place. When Misha finally nodded, she lost her mind and started shouting at
me
in Russian. Although I couldn’t understand her, I just knew she was swearing. The hand gestures and snarls gave her away. She threw her measuring tape in her basket and started to stomp away. Misha grabbed her by her long knobby fingers and whispered something softly in her ear. The woman turned from bitter old maid to love-struck maiden. She actually blushed and smiled toothlessly at him before skipping away.

I scoffed, annoyed at how easily Misha had won her over. “What the hell was that about?”

“She wonders what a nice girl like you is doing with me.”

“I’m beginning to wonder that, too,” I said, though I didn’t believe a damn word he said.

Out of nowhere, a scrawny little old man scurried into the guesthouse with a piece of paper and a pencil. His wiry white hair stuck out in a tuff, contrasting his dark skin. He gave me a warm smile before motioning me to a chair. As soon as I sat, he gently lifted my bare feet and traced them onto the paper. He then waved before leaving as quickly as he came.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Kitten, there will be a gala at the Den in two weeks to honor Alliance members who have had the greatest impact on the war. Representatives from
were
packs, vampire clans, and witch covens worldwide will be there. Our combined efforts have helped cripple the Tribe. Your capture, attempted escape, and our rescue of you alone resulted in the destruction of over four hundred Tribesmen. Not to mention that in the few hours you spent in Nicaragua, you helped destroy over a hundred of the enemy and prevented the birth of over twenty demon children. You have also aided in killing three Tribemasters that otherwise would have continued breeding. We are winning the war and it is time to celebrate.”

“So all this . . .
stuff
was to fit me for a dress for the gala?”

“Yes.”

I smoothed my finger over the sore knuckles of my opposite hand. “Misha, the Elders don’t want me at the Den. Anara especially hates me.”

“Whether the Elders like it or not, you are an Alliance member—just like the vampires, witches, and werebeasts. And you are respected. Anara was the one who recommended I send you to the nest. He knew your skills would be needed to ensure victory.”

I pursed my lips. “Sending me somewhere where I might be killed is different than welcoming me into a sacred place among
weres
.”

Misha stiffened. “You fight with us and therefore have earned a place among those invited. It would be a tremendous insult to the vampires to show you anything but hospitality.”

Aric would be there, married by then. The thought of Barbara standing alongside him as his wife drove the last knife into my heart. “I’m not going, Misha. I can’t.”

“You can, and you will, Celia. You and your sisters will be recognized among the honored guests. Don’t allow that mongrel to rob that from you.” He turned on his heel. I didn’t know whether his derogatory comment was meant for Aric or for Anara. I was resigned to believe it was directed at Aric. After all, Misha had caught my broken expression, the one that overtook my visage every time I thought about my wolf.

I returned to my small living room and slumped on the chocolate-colored couch. Moisture dripped from the green ceramic bowl I’d soaked my hands in and the chunks of ice had almost melted. I knew I should continue my therapy, but thoughts of seeing Aric raced through my head. If I decided against attending the gala, Misha wouldn’t force me. While I recognized our friendship remained strained, I knew he’d never intentionally hurt me. And seeing Aric married would destroy me.

CHAPTER 12

A sonic boom followed more yodeling in Mandarin. I peered through the thick glass of the library window. Ying-Ying had the naughty Catholic schoolgirls dancing with their arms up as she hovered around my assigned Lexus. The good Catholics didn’t appear happy as they twirled around the car to the beat of something Ying-Ying. Like me, they knew better than to risk riling my yogi. She was kind of like the Hulk—but not green and not as charming. Ying-Ying was psycho in a good mood. Nobody wished to see her angry.

Every time she drifted over the hood, lightning crashed over Tahoe and sparks of peach and pink swirled from the water and onto the car. I turned back to Misha. “Are you sure this is necessary?”

He didn’t look up from the chessboard. “Considering beings spawned from hell itself wish to annihilate you, I believe magical reinforcements are in order.” He lifted a knight. “Especially given that your beast grows restless if restricted and you find my bodyguards . . .”

“Annoying? Obnoxious? Rude?” I offered.

The edges of Misha’s mouth lifted, but he ignored my jabs at Hank and Tim. “The shields will help block any magical attacks while you’re off premises and keep you secure until help arrives.”

Misha placed the knight in front of one of my pawns. I knew the little guy was screwed, but not sure why. I couldn’t play chess; I barely managed checkers. Misha considered it an important skill, so I let him try to teach me. “I don’t get why you want me to learn this stuff.”

That earned me a full smile. “This
stuff
has helped leaders like Napoléon conquer Europe.”

“I just feel bad for the little guy.”

“Napoléon?”

“No, the pawn.”

“Kitten, the pawns are necessary sacrifices to win the game.”

“It’s just so unfair. Why doesn’t the knight or the king ever try to protect them?”

“They are more important and need to be spared. Do you not consider the president worth protecting, say, over a vagrant?”

“A vagrant would feel just as much pain if he were shot.”

Misha scrutinized me carefully. His hair cascaded over a silver-colored sweater that accentuated his powerful gray eyes and swathed his strong physique. He hadn’t said much since he’d left the guesthouse earlier. When he asked me to join him for a round of chess after dinner, I thought it was to finally iron out our differences. He’d spoken only a few words. I tilted my head, trying to figure him out.

Misha could be so very hard, like his body. I sometimes wished his master status would allow the gentleness of his soul to rise to the surface. But that wasn’t possible. Any sign of weakness invited an attack from another master. That meant bloodshed until only one master stood victorious.

I watched him take my pawn following my oh-so-strategic move and tucked my legs beneath me. “What’s up with the queen?”

“She is the most versatile.”

“She also seems to be the one in charge, even more so than the king.”

“A strong woman is capable of bringing even the most powerful male to his knees.”

I blinked back at him. “Are we still talking about chess?”

Misha ignored my question and instead he brushed his hair away from his face. “Tell me about your parents,” he said.

My legs slipped back to the floor. “What do you want to know?”

“How they came to be as one.”

I gripped the chair arms and forced myself to relax when I felt my claws protrude and dig into the heavy mahogany. “My mother was born in El Salvador. She was the youngest of seven children and moved to the States when she was about four.”

“An immigrant?”

I nodded.

“Like me?”

I smiled without humor. “No. Not like you. Being the youngest, and educated here, she became the most Americanized. She embraced the culture, fell in love with the music, and lost her accent completely. Her skin and eyes were lighter than the rest of her family and she was often mistaken for a Caucasian American. She was kind and funny.” A hint of anger found its way into my husky voice. “But her family didn’t like her much. I think they were jealous she managed to fit in so well while they continued to struggle.”

Misha abandoned the game and leaned back in his chair. “Success often breeds envy.”

“So it seems.” The subject of my parents was a touchy one at best. I forced myself to continue, reasoning that it was okay to tell Misha. He was a friend, right? “My mother met my father at Rutgers University their freshman year. My father was prelaw and my mother was a criminal justice major. They started talking and realized they had a lot in common. It wasn’t long before they began dating.”

“How did the families react to their union?”

“Not well. My father was of German descent and grew up in a small town near Lancaster, Pennsylvania. His family didn’t know what to think of my mother. They were all light skinned and fair haired like Emme. My mother had wavy brown hair, olive skin, and green eyes.”

Misha smiled. “Like you.”

I bowed my head. “Yes. Taran remembers us looking a lot alike. But despite how my father’s family reacted, my mother’s was much worse.”

“In what manner?”

I didn’t answer. My nails had slowly punctured through the wooden chair. I splintered the wood trying to extract them. “God, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it—”

Misha’s tone softened. “Do not worry about something so expendable. Please, finish your story.”

Tears burned across my irises despite my feeble attempts to halt them. “Th-they thought she had betrayed her race and disowned her. Shortly after my parents graduated, they married. My mother became pregnant with me right away. When my mother’s family found out, one of her crazy aunts showed up at her door and cursed my parents with short lives.” I stared at the pawns that were cast aside. “They died when I was nine.” I wanted to stop talking then, but I just couldn’t. Everything spilled from my lips in one breath. “She also hexed all of my mother’s unborn children. But the curse somehow backfired and . . . and made us what we are.”

Misha studied me closely. “Do you know the words your aunt used when she cast the spell?”

I considered his question. No one had ever asked me that before. “My mother said it was something like ‘Your children will devour blades and weep like weak and sickly runts. Animals will hunt them and pierce their flesh with fang and claw. They will burn with fire and hide from shame for nowhere will they find strength or love or kindness.’ There was more—” I brushed away my last tear. “But I forgot the rest.”

Misha frowned. “I’m surprised your mother shared the severity of the words with you.”

My head snapped up. “She wanted us to know. She felt we should always believe in ourselves regardless of what others might say or do.” I stood abruptly. “I’m glad she instilled that hope in us. It got us through the cruelty we were showered with all through school and helped us survive after they died.” I didn’t like how Misha regarded me with pity, and my harshening tone made it clear. “Don’t look at me like that, Misha—none of it matters now.” Still, the recollection had burned a hole through my chest.

Misha stood. “If something has caused you pain, I cannot merely dismiss it because you ask it of me.”

I hadn’t realized how much discussing my parents had upset me until my throat developed an ache I couldn’t swallow. I needed to leave. “I’m really tired. I’m going to bed.”

Misha placed his hands against my shoulders and slowly pulled me to him. His expression wasn’t one of lust, but of something entirely different. He opened his mouth to say something, only to close it tight. I thought he was about to ask me to join him in bed. Instead he released me and linked our hands. He continued to watch me as he escorted me back to the guesthouse. The moment we arrived on my doorstep, he kissed my forehead and returned to the main house.