Your Lycan or Mine? (Broken Heart Book 14) (3 page)

Jarod laughed. “Relax, Natasha. I promise not to drag you down the aisle.”

Ash noticed he didn’t deny his belief that they were mates. She didn’t know what stunned her more: The fact he’d suggested it or the fact she didn’t hate the idea.

“I have work to do.” Flustered, she grabbed her boots off the floor and started to yank them on.

“Are you sure you want to face the past alone?”

She didn’t bother asking how he knew why she was here. After all, he’d sent her this direction with all that talk of remembering where the first sacrifices were made.

“You really think my parents’ deaths are because of Lilith? That she knew I was the one who could keep her bound?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “They had you, the statue, and the prophecy. The problem is that Lilith struck before they could prepare you. And then the Convocation scooped you up.”

“Yeah. And what a joy that turned out to be.”

Jarod stepped closer to her and cupped her face. His concerned gaze met hers. “Do you need back-up?”

“I have to do this alone,” said Ash. “I’m not even taking Nor.”

“If you need me…” He trailed off, his gaze filled with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” she said, uncomfortable with his obvious worry for her. “Thanks.”

C
LAIRE GLASS WANDERED
among the garage-sale treasures. She touched votive candles, potholders, Matchbox cars, and a cookbook. Her fingertips relayed the differences in textures. Smooth. Soft. Bumpy. She could see the sizes and shapes of the items.

The colors were missing.

Gray permeated her once vibrant world. How she longed to see a red rose, a blue sky, and a green Starbuck’s logo. Had it been only a year since every happy thing in her life had been stolen? The man she loved. The wedding they’d planned. The new promotion she’d gotten.
Hmph.
Difficult to be an interior designer without the ability to see color. Even their dream house, which they’d only moved into the week before the accident, had been taken.

Without Henry or her job, she hadn’t been able to afford the mortgage payments. Now, she lived in a tiny apartment trying to make ends meet with disability and Henry’s life insurance money.

When she’d come out of the coma, the doctors told her that her cerebral cortex had been damaged. Cerebral achromatopsia was the result. She was lucky to be alive and luckier still that only her limited vision was the price paid for the same wreck that took Henry’s life.

Snap out of it, girl. Pity parties are so lame.
Claire rounded the corner of the table and looked at the items displayed on a rickety bookshelf. Her fingers danced along an assortment of Precious Moments figurines. She knew why she was so damned mopey. Today would’ve been her first wedding anniversary. Had Henry lived, they would be celebrating, maybe even taking the first step toward starting a family.

Her gaze swept the driveway, looking at the careless displays of toys, shoes, and tools.
What the—

Heart thumping, Claire leaned down and reached into the cardboard box labeled “Miscellaneous ~ 25¢ each.” The owl head was as wide as her hand and looked familiar. She could see groves in the neck where the head connected to another piece. It was a shame it wasn’t intact, but the broken statuary was still extraordinary.

She saw its color.

The owl head was a brilliant red. Claire looked around. If she could see color again, maybe her vision was getting better. What did doctors know? Miracles happened every day.

As her eager gaze bounced around the neighborhood -- staring at cars, at people, at lawns, she saw the dreary grayness she always did. She looked at the owl head again. For some odd reason, she only saw this object in color.

She stared at it, searching her memory. Where had she seen this before?

Natasha’s house.

Her best friend in junior high, Natasha Nelson, had shown her the odd statue during a sleepover. It had an owl head, a lion body, and a snake necklace. Natasha’s father studied ancient cultures and supposedly he’d found it on some kind of dig in Israel.

Just before Claire’s sophomore year in high school, her father took a new job, and the family moved to Ohio. She hadn’t seen or heard from Natasha in years.

She chuckled. This could not possibly be the same owl’s head.

What did it matter? She had proof that her vision was healing. Grinning like a lottery winner, Claire dug out her wallet and extracted a quarter.

Finding this little guy was like getting a message from Henry.
I’ll always take care of you, Claire. Always.
That had been the promise he reiterated every day of their lives together. It felt like the statue was his gift to her; a reminder that he was still keeping that promise.

T
ulsa
, Oklahoma

AFTER SEEING NOR
off at the airport, Ash had gone straight to her old neighborhood. She pulled into the gravel driveway and let the rental car idle. The house was abandoned, the yard unkempt, and the metal fence rusted and broken. Honeysuckle bushes were thick around the listing gate. In the backyard, weeds poked up through the high grass. Somewhere in that mess were the remains of her terrier’s doghouse.

Her gaze wandered over the dilapidated house. The Convocation had purchased it and given it to her. She’d let the place fall to rot and ruin because the idea of coming back sent panic crashing through her.

Were the answers to stopping Lilith actually in there? And how could her adopted parents’ murders be related to what was happening now?

She felt frozen to the spot. Here was where her life had ended. A rebellious sixteen-year-old, she’d snuck out to go to a party and returned home to find her family murdered.

Ash tasted bile at the back of her throat. She’d never been back to Tulsa since the tragic loss of her family, much less this neighborhood. The only time she even thought about Oklahoma was when she popped into Broken Heart.

That awful night when she lost her parents and the Convocation rescued her, she was taken from the human world and thrust into the paranormal one. She wasn’t allowed to do anything but train. Weapons. Martial arts. Magic rites. Learning how to kick ass had given her focus, a way to work out her grief and her rage. Her first jobs had short leashes held by iron-fisted chaperones. After a while, the Convocation trusted her to go into the world, to do her job, on her own.

Ash shut off the car’s engine and shoved the passenger door open. What had she hoped to find here? Answers? Redemption? Hope?

She rounded the front of the car and walked to the gate. It was falling off its hinges. Honeysuckle wound through metal loops, reaching toward her like victims reciting last prayers. The sweet scent of the flowers made her nauseous. Staring at them, she drifted back to that night so long ago…

The sweet scent of honeysuckle wafted from the vines entwining the metal fence. She leaned down and tugged off a yellow blossom. Gently she pinched the stamen and withdrew it, licking away the pearl of nectar on its end.

Her mother had taught her how to do that.

Guilt crimped her stomach. She looked at the desecrated flower and wished she hadn’t plucked it, hadn’t stolen its honey. The yellow petals were already browning and curling inward. Sighing, she tossed it to the ground.

“That house is haunted.”

Ash whirled around whipping out her hip daggers. The poisoned tips of the blades hovered above the head of the one who’d crept up on her.

“Are those real?” The little girl’s sky-blue eyes were as wide as saucers. “Can I touch one?”

“No.” Ash slid the daggers into their holsters. “Don’t you know that sneaking up on people can get you killed?”

“It hasn’t yet.” The girl was dressed in overalls and a yellow shirt. Her feet were bare. Her brown hair was a rat’s nest with twigs sticking out of it. The overalls were dirty, too. Cobwebs stuck to her shoulders. “You gonna buy that house?”

“No.” Ash looked her over speculatively. “What were you doing in there?”

“I’m not allowed inside.”

It wasn’t a denial. Well, goddamn. Ash was trying to work up the nerve to go inside the home she’d lived in for nearly sixteen years and this little sprite had explored it already. She made Ash feel like a coward.

“I bet you’re not afraid of anything,” said the girl.

“You’d lose that bet.” Ash stuck out her hand. “Call me Ash.”

“That’s a weird name.” She grabbed Ash’s hand and pumped it. “Margaret Lynne Huntson.”

Huntson? Looked like her past knew she was arriving and had thrown a party. “Is your father named Rick?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

He almost kissed me. I almost fell in love with him.
“No,” she said. “I don’t know your daddy. I’m a good guesser.”

Margaret Lynne Huntson considered this possibility. Then she peered up Ash suspiciously. “What’s my mommy’s name?”

“Maggie?”

Margaret’s gaze re-evaluated Ash’s intelligence. “You’re not a good guesser. You’re just lucky.”

Wrong again, kid.

“My birthday was yesterday,” confided Margaret. “I’m officially eight years old.”

“That’s fascinating. Hey! Isn’t it almost dinner time?”

“Nope. You look like my Rock n’ Roll Barbie, only she has better hair.”

“Oh, yeah? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

But Margaret was bored with hairstyle insults. She chewed on her thumb. “What’re you doing here?”

Oh, for the love of humanity. Why couldn’t this kid just go away? “Ever hear of the Ghostbusters?”

“Ghostbusters don’t wear pink.”

“I do.” Ash squatted down and got eye-to-eye with her. “Do you know why this house is haunted?”

The girl’s eyes flickered. Once again, Ash felt like she was being judged. “Daddy says a girl lived here. Her name was Natasha. A bad man killed her parents and took her away.” She tilted her head. Dirt was smeared under her chin. “Do you think he killed Natasha, too?”

“Yes,” said Ash. “He did.”

“No, he didn’t.” Her declaration startled Ash. “So, are you gonna talk to the ghost lady?”

“What lady?”

“She’s in there. She calls me Tashie. I don’t think she’s mean,” said Margaret. “Just sad.” She ran to the fence and pulled off a honeysuckle blossom. “Hey, do you know how to get the honey?”

Ash’s stomach squeezed. “Why don’t you show me?”

“You just take this part out, very carefully.” Margaret gently tugged the stamen out and showed it to Ash. “Then you lick it.” Her little pink tongue darted across the fuzzy end. “Do you want to try?”

“Maybe later.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “That’s what grown-ups say when they mean no.” She tossed the flower to the ground. “I gotta go home now.”

Ash watched her run down the driveway and wondered how her bare feet could take the biting abuse of the gravel. She crossed the street and pivoted right, skipping down the sidewalk.

She was going in the direction of Rick’s old house. Three blocks up, two blocks to the right, and one block left. Did he still live there? Or had he just moved into the same neighborhood? Oh, hell. Why did she care?

Her gaze caught the discarded flower. Then she looked at the house.

It was time to face her ghosts.

T
HE FURNITURE WAS
gone
. Ash didn’t know why she thought it would all be here, dusty and disused maybe, but in place. In some part of her mind, she’d believed everything would be the same. Ash had wanted her memories to stay intact. She wanted confirmation that she had once been normal, sane.

But there was nothing here.

Just an empty house.

Still, she hesitated outside her parents’ bedroom. For a long moment, she stared at nothing, preparing her mind for the worst. Then she pushed open the door.

Late afternoon light filtered through the double windows on the right side of the room. From there, she could see the porch and the high grass of the front yard.

She felt nothing.

All the same, she edged to the left and opened the closet door. Empty. Like the room. Like the house. Like her heart.

No, not her heart. Jarod’s image flashed through her mind, and she knew he’d come to her if she only asked. And how could she discount Nor and her friends in Broken Heart? She might’ve been a loner once, but no longer.

Her adrenaline spiked as she walked to the center of the room and let her gaze take in the space. There was no evidence of the violence. The carpet and padding had been discarded, leaving only the scarred and stained wood floor.

For more than a decade, Ash had taken the awful memories out and examined them often over the years. The horror framed those moments like flaking gilt. But standing here now where the worst moment in her life occurred, the pain was nearly crippling.

Memories of that night floated through her mind. They scalded her even now…

Blood. On them, on the bed, on Tashie’s hands. She screamed and backed away, trying to process the horror. No, no, it wasn’t true. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.

“Jack?” She stumbled forward and reached out to her terrier. She wanted to grab him, wanted to drag him away from the carnage, but he felt wrong. Like a toy that had lost its stuffing.

He was dead, too.

Someone had killed her dog. Someone had killed her parents. She fell to her knees and emptied her stomach. The fermented smell of vomit mixed with the awful rusted scent of blood.

She greedily sucked in oxygen as tears squeezed from her eyes. Bile rose in her throat, and she tasted yeasty-sour beer. For a second, she thought she would puke again.

“Destroyer.”

She rolled onto her side and stared up at the thin creature with its round head and stick-like limbs. His eyes were red, his skin green, and his clothes tattered. He smelled like mold. He looked like death.

Her death.

“My queen said I could eat you, but you were not here,” he said in an incredibly beautiful voice—an angel’s voice that did not match his devil’s body. “So, I had a snack. Your mother tasted especially delicious—as I imagine you will taste.”

“Get away from me!” She tried to kick at him, but he merely laughed. He bent down and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her easily as if she weighed nothing. She flailed, trying to strike him with hands and feet.

“You do not look like much,” he said. “She should not be afraid of you.”

What was he talking about? And why had he called her Destroyer?

“Your death will please my queen, and she will repay my deed with all that I desire.”

With his hand squeezing the breath out of her, she couldn’t scream. Her limbs grew too heavy to move.

“Look at me, Destroyer.”

She lifted her eyes to his monster gaze. Her stomach cramped so painfully, she opened her mouth to cry out. Only a rasp escaped. The pain throbbed through her unmercifully. Every nerve ending felt on fire.

She could not break the stare of the creature holding her.

The pain welded her to the creature. She felt … connected. Now, she felt his shock, the coldness of his flesh, the fetid breath in his wizened lungs, and the double beats of two hearts.

Blue and white lights erupted from her skin. Tendrils elongated and stretched, wrapping around him.

“No!” he shouted. “No!”

Tashie felt as though she had shouted the words. She was fused to him. His evil tasted as horrid as the bile crowding her throat.

The beams glowed brighter and brighter. Through her terror and her graying vision, Tashie saw a strange, red radiance pulsing like a heartbeat. The small luminous globe radiated in the center of his being. It was so pretty. So warm. So alive.

She reached for it. Not with her hands, but with her mind. She plucked it from him as if she were picking a ripe apple from an old tree.

He released her. She collapsed to the floor, inhaling in shaky breaths. She felt electrified.

Her gaze landed on the heap lying a foot away.

Tashie crawled to where the monster had fallen. She gripped a shoe and yanked, but there was no need. It was no longer attached to anything. Just like her. No longer attached to anything.

Tashie was gone, and Ash was born.

She’d earned the title Destroyer during her years with the Convocation. Ash had never, ever taken the form of the ghoul. That was the one soul she’d never regretted eating. Now she understood his references to the queen and knew he spoke of Lilith.

Was it possible that the demon had known Ash would one day be the key to keeping her locked in hell? After all, Ash did play a part in Lilith’s original banishment, though it was the vampire Phoebe and her half-demon mate Connor who ultimately vanquished the female demon.

Ash checked the rest of rooms, saving hers for last. It was stupid to walk around and remember. Her parents had loved her. And the last words they’d ever heard from her was:
I hate you.
They said she couldn’t go to Rick Huntson’s party. Only she defied them and went anyway. Guilt squeezed her stomach again. The loss of her family was a heavier burden than any other she carried.

Ash walked into the kitchen, which no longer had its appliances. The counters were filthy. The wallpaper hung in tattered strips. The linoleum floor cracked and peeled with years of neglect.

She entered her bedroom and paused.

Even without her bed and desk, it was smaller than she remembered. Dust exploded from the brown carpet with every step she took. And there to the left of her bed, the infamous window—the one she had used to sneak out. If only she hadn’t … maybe she could’ve saved her parents.

As she walked toward it, she felt the release of magic. Her hip daggers came out automatically, and she spun around in a circle.

“Tashie.” Heart pounding, she looked to her right and saw her mother—or rather a green-edged reproduction. The visage of her mom stood near the window, hands clasped in front her, her eyes focused straight ahead.

A spell. Of course her parents would know about magic and parakind. They’d kept their secrets so well. She wondered if she’d never been attacked by the ghoul and imbibed her first soul if she could’ve lived a normal life. She couldn’t comprehend being anything other than what she was. Wishing for things that could never be was a waste of energy.

Ash looked down and saw her feet encased in a green glow. She’d stepped on the trigger. It worked the same as pushing a button on an answering machine. When you pressed it, the message appeared.

“Obviously, your father and I are dead.”

Pragmatic to the core, Mom.
Ash smiled fondly and tried to pretend that she didn’t feel as if she’d taken a sword blow to the gut.

“We tried to give you a normal life, but we tried to protect you, too. Maybe too much. We wanted to tell you about your powers when you turned eighteen. If you’re watching this, then it’s too late for any of that. You probably know about the Vedere prophecy and about keeping Lilith locked away from the earthly plane. At least we can help you there.

“We separated the statue into three pieces to make it difficult for Lilith to find. There must be three sacrifices, and once blood has been spilled in Lilith’s name, the statue made whole will become Lilith’s vessel. She will be free, and our world will die.”

Mom paused. She cleared her throat. “Go to the attic. In the back right corner, you’ll see a board that doesn’t quite match the others. Underneath it is a box that contains the snake necklace. Good luck, sweetheart.”

Her mother looked to the right and then Ash’s father appeared. With his receding hairline and thick glasses, he looked like an absent-minded professor—which, of course, he’d been.

He smiled and waved. “We love you, Tashie. Please know that no matter what passed between us, we loved you more than our own lives.”

He placed his arm around Mom right before their images flickered and disappeared.

Ash stared at the empty space. Too late. She’d gotten their message too late. Not long after she’d killed the ghoul, the Convocation rescued her. She awoke in their facility, disoriented and frightened.

Ash stepped back and then forward again. She jumped up and down. It was no use. The magic had dissolved. Her parents were gone. She squelched the rising need to weep. No! She had shed her tears. She’d learned to control her emotions. Emotions made her weak, made her lose focus.
Heart of stone, mind of steel.
That had been her mantra for ten years.

Frowning, Ash examined the room. Usually such spells were cast so that only the person for whom the message was intended could trigger it. Once delivered, the magic dissipated.

So how the hell had Margaret Lynne Huntson activated the message meant for Ash?

With this thought circling, she went to the hallway and pulled on the rope that opened the hatch. The ladder unfolded from the door and she climbed into the dust-filled attic. There were no windows up here, no light. Ash whispered a glow-spell and white sparkles filtered into the small, dark space.

She hurried to the right side. Finding the board was easy because it had already been removed.

The box was gone.