Sweet Destiny (The Jessica Sweet Trilogy Book 3) Page 6

  “He wants to test them a little, see if they can’t be trusted. If they don’t come around, though, we’ll have to adjust their memories.”

  I nodded. Truthfully, I’d expected the Warlord to have given that order by now. The fact that he had chosen to give them a chance gave me a new respect for the man. Knowing Alex, though, there was still a fifty-fifty chance my friends would be whammied. Fun while it lasted though, right?

  I closed my eyes and breathed in my uncle’s scent, taking comfort in his presence.

  “Tell me this is just a dream, Harrier. Tell me I haven’t royally screwed up every good thing in my life.”

  Harrier rested his arm across my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze, but it was a while before he answered.

  “I’d be lying if I said it was all gonna be okay, little one. You’ve screwed up a shit ton and then some.”

  I swallowed a sob, and he squeezed my shoulders again before he continued.

  “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’ve destroyed it all. You, little one, have a lot of good in your life, and you’ve brought a lot of good into mine. Am I sorry that things aren’t working out with you and Raven? Not so much, no. I knew he’d break your heart, one way or another. I’m only wishing Malcolm had been able to take your Vampire to hell along with him.”

  A single tear slid down my cheek. It landed at the corner of my mouth where it settled in a salty pool. Harrier rubbed my arm.

  “You’ve still got me, little one, and your Aunt in there. The Danes and that silly little sister of yours that’s far braver than what’s good for her. Yeah, you’ve screwed up, and some of it royally, but you’ve got us, and we’re going nowhere. We’ll get ya through, on that you have my word.”

  I stared out the window, the light from the barn bathing the yard in a yellow glow. A grey tabby cat ran through the light and into the shadows near the brooder house. Harrier tensed, but I held him in place. “That was just Sampson. He’s one of my strays.” At least I thought it was.

  Harrier exhaled a tiny bit of tension away, but the arm around my shoulders tightened as he scanned the shadows beyond the locked door.

  “Will we ever be able to see a cat in my yard without fearing the worst?” I whispered.

  Harrier shrugged. “I doubt it, little one. I doubt it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  T he Warriors gathered in the War Room with Nox standing by in case Raven lost it again. Several weeks had passed, and though they had tried having him in meetings on his own, it didn’t work out so well. Things were a whole lot easier when Nox was there, at the ready.

  The males were silent as Mason paced. Current events had robbed him of his usual Zen state of mind. After refusing the Clowder’s initial demands to turn Raven over, the conversation devolved into exchanging threats and verbal volleys. In the end, there didn’t seem to be much choice. Raven had done murder, and they wanted him to pay.

  Going to the human authorities regarding Malcolm’s death was out of the question for so many reasons. The only punishment the Clowder would accept, as decided by their Elders, was that they follow the Old Laws. Mason understood, of course, and to avoid further conflict he would do just about anything. However, when told that this Old Law consisted of five full nights of torture for the accused, he couldn’t comply.

  Brandt assured him that they wouldn’t kill Raven—they weren’t Werewolves, for gods’ sake. They would simply bind and expose him to the entire Clowder. Each member, in turn, would express their grief upon Raven in whatever way they chose, physical or otherwise, within the statutes of the Law.

  Under any other circumstances, Mason would have told his Warrior to suck it up and deal. A man had died because one of his own couldn’t control his temper. That was unacceptable, and if this was the punishment required, then Mason would not stand in the way.

  However, Raven hung on a thin string the way it stood. Tying him up, torturing him? This wasn’t something Mason felt the male could endure. Not because he was fragile. Not even close.

  No, Mason feared for the Clowder. If they riled Raven’s beast to the point where it felt he’d had enough, there wouldn’t be a Cat Shifter left alive in Fallen Cross or the surrounding counties.

  So how to handle this?

  He’d tried negotiating with the Clowder, but it was a difficult thing to do when he agreed with them in principle. How could he deny them their rightful payment? And yet, there was no way to comply and still maintain the safety of the cats.

  Mason posed this question to the Warriors seated around the conference table and waited for someone—anyone—to come up with a solution. So far, all he heard were metaphorical crickets.

  “None of you have any suggestions?” He threw his hands up in the air. “Nothing?” His own incessant pacing did nothing to calm him so Mason planted himself in his chair and waited.

  When no one answered, he banged a fist on the heavy oak table in front of him. “Damn it, Raven, what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know, Mason. I’m more than willing to accept whatever punishment you, or the Clowder, see fit. But you’re right in that the beast won’t stay quiet for that length of time.”

  “And yet, we have no choice. Refuse, and the Clowder will think we’re protecting you, and it will be war between us. Agree, and you’ll kill them all. Then we’ll have Clowders from all over the world coming down on us.

  Raven offered a guilty shrug but said nothing more.

  “I’ve got it!” Merlin, who’d had his nose buried in his laptop throughout the meeting, let out a triumphant whoop.

  “Finally,” Mason muttered. “What is it, Merlin? And it better be good.”

  Merlin scratched his head, then tucked a lock of his long, dark hair behind an ear as he pointed a pen at the screen.

  “I had Brandt send me the bylaws for this Vindicta ritual. Bitch is about a hundred pages long, and mostly in Latin, but this is exactly what we needed.”

  Raven growled, but Mason held up a finger to quiet him. “Short version, Merlin.”

  “Right. Okay, so buried underneath a pile of minutiae, is this sub-clause. Actually, it’s more like a sub-sub-sub-clause under the heading of…”

  “Merlin.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, it says here that if for some reason the accused is unable to withstand the punishment without dying or something, that a replacement could be offered up—with the Clowder’s approval, of course—to take the place of the accused. I would say that the safety of the Clowder, itself, should fall under these guidelines, wouldn’t you?”

  Mason leaned toward the Warrior as he spoke, turning the information over in his mind. Yes, this could definitely work, but there was just one problem. Leave it to Harrier to say out loud what they were all thinking.

  “Name me one bastard who would be dumb enough to endure five nights of hell for the likes of him.”

  The Warriors around the table shifted in their seats. Raven had been on the road to gaining actual friendships among them, prior to his recent actions, of course. Short of being flat out ordered, though, no one had that kind of loyalty to the male. No one but Mason.

  The silence hung thick in the air, and Mason didn’t need to look at the other males to know it would fall on him to choose someone. And yet, there was no way he could order anyone to do something like this. He simply could not put that on another male, though he knew if he asked it of them, any one would comply.

  It was up to him to put this ugliness behind them, and for that he would gladly take the marks. He stood to announce his decision, but a proper English accent interrupted.

  “Warlord, if I may.” All eyes turned to Nox as he spoke from his spot on the wall. “What if I stood in Raven’s place?”

  “No!” Raven slammed a palm on the table and turned to face his brother. “I won’t let you do that. I did this, it’s my problem. I can’t allow you, or anyone else, to take the punishment for me.”

  “It would appear, brother, that we have no choi
ce. I don’t see a lot of hands going up for volunteers, and let’s face it. The chances of the Clowder agreeing to this will be greatly increased if their people are able to look into the face of the man who killed their kinsman.”

  “You’ve done enough,” Raven growled. “I can’t ask you to do this as well.”

  “You’re not asking, brother. I’m offering. I have my own sins to atone for. This would be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  Mason nodded slowly, tapping his finger on the table as he thought. “He’s right, Raven. This is exactly the out that we need.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. Unless you can come up with another way, I’m presenting this to the cats.”

  When no one spoke, Mason said, “Good. Now go out there and do something productive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  R aven gave the heavy bag one hell of a beating. Nox had been with him for a while after the meeting but ran off saying he had to take care of something. This left Raven to continue his therapy on his own. That’s what Nox was calling it, anyway. Therapy.

  They’d tried pulling back on Nox’s influence a bit, but inevitably something would happen to set Raven off. Too many times he’d found himself on the verge of doing murder again. Someone would chew too loudly, or look at him the wrong way, and Boom! The beast would see a chink in the mental armor Nox had placed him in and sneak right though. There had been more than a few close calls, and if Nox hadn’t been nearby—well, Raven wasn’t comfortable thinking about what could have happened.

  So, in an effort to help tame the beast, Nox suggested Raven work out. A lot. The physical exertion went a long way to tiring the beast and kept it from being so quick to anger. They hadn’t tried backing off Nox’s control again lately, but Raven was certainly feeling a difference in his own restraint.

  The doors to the Club opened, and a glance in the mirrored wall showed Harrier entering the gym. The male grunted at him, but Raven ignored it, taking a violent swing at the bag instead. Sand puffed from a tiny rip in the bag’s seam, but Raven ignored that as well, attacking again with several jabs in quick succession. He followed this with a flying roundhouse kick that left a dusty fog in the air.

  “How many does that make this month?” Harrier asked, referring to the half dozen heavy bags Raven had notoriously destroyed since Thanksgiving.

  “Fuck you.” Raven hoped his response would deter further conversation, but no such luck. Harrier stationed himself at the bag next to him and began punching and kicking with every bit as much enthusiasm as Raven had been employing.

  “So, is it working?” Harrier didn’t look at him, just kept going with the kick and punch routine.

  “Is what working?” Raven said, following suit.

  “The therapy,” Harrier grunted through an exceptionally solid hook.

  “Does everyone know he’s calling it therapy? Sounds like I’m seeing a shrink.” Jab. Hook. Kick. Jab.

  “Nah,” Harrier said. “Most don’t care to know.” Hook. Hook-hook. Jabjabjab. Hook. KICK.

  “Have you seen her?” More dust flew from the seam as the tear widened under Raven’s abuse.

  “I keep an eye on her.” Harrier paused, catching the swinging bag in his arms. “Why?”

  “Never mind,” Raven said, giving his bag a solid jab that had the sand spilling onto the floor at his feet. “And why the fuck doesn’t Merlin get the fabric-filled bags?”

  “He bought these in bulk when they were the hot new thing, then stocked up again when he heard they were going out of vogue. They’re harder than the fabric ones, so more of a challenge for us.” Harrier assaulted the bag with a flurry of punches and kicks, then turned to Raven to find the male staring at the pile of sand on the floor as though it were a personal affront.

  “Why do you want to know about Jessica? You made your feelings quite clear a few weeks ago. She is persona non grata. Point taken, and for the record, the feeling is mutual.”

  Raven gave the offending sand a frustrated kick and moved to another bag, as far away from Harrier as he could get.

  “No really,” Harrier refused to let it go. “You go off like a gods damned maniac, kill a man for no reason…”

  “I had reason.”

  “No, you had an excuse. That’s not just cause, and that kid is dead now, because you can’t control you bloody temper.”

  Raven destroyed the second bag with his first side kick and roared in frustration.

  “You don’t fucking get it!” he bellowed, marching the length of the mirrors to shout in the larger male’s face. “He had his filthy paws all over her! She was mine damn it, mine! And she let him touch her as only I was supposed to do. She let that fucking furball inside her, and if that’s not just cause, then there’s no such thing!”

  “You really think that’s all it’s about? You think she just ran off and screwed the first guy to waltz through her door? That’s your problem, Raven. You don’t use the brains in your head. You’re one of the bravest males I’ve ever seen, but when it comes to people you are the dumbest son of a bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I trudged up the sidewalk through the snow, arms loaded with packages and bags. One trip to the mall and I’d managed to start and finish my Christmas shopping in one go.

  Tuesday night’s snowstorm dropped several inches of the white stuff in my yard, leaving the majority of it sparkling in a crystalline blanket of relatively undisturbed beauty. Only my footprints on the sidewalk and the path of kitty prints from the barn to the patio marred the flawless scene. While I hadn’t bothered to shovel the walk, I had taken a moment to clean off the picnic table and move the cats’ food and water dishes off the ground so they had a comfy place to eat.

  Inevitably, thoughts of my little feline friends had me thinking of Malcolm, and the little baby growing inside me. What would it be like? Would it even be human? Considering my own mixed up DNA, the poor child was destined to be a bouncing bundle of genetic potpourri.

  Swallowing back hormonal tears, I banged my way through the screen door, stomping snow off my boots on the porch before heading into the house and dumping my heavy load on the kitchen table.

  Piper was due within the hour, and Alex was coming as soon as he got off work at Harry’s Body Shop. Christmas was right around the corner, and I hadn’t even hung a wreath. My friends felt a decorating intervention was in order, their way of trying to make me feel better. What I really needed was one of Alex’s famous margaritas, but thanks to Baby M, I wouldn’t be enjoying one of those for another seven months or so.

  The sound of snow crunching in the driveway announced Piper’s arrival, and I hurried to tuck my parcels away in a closet in the living room. My expanded Christmas list resulted in a lot of stacking and cramming. Still, I managed to get the closet door closed before Piper burst into the house singing Jingle Bells at the top of her lungs.

  “Jessica!” Piper called. “I’m here!”

  I met her in the kitchen and held my hand out as she unwrapped herself from her scarf, hat, coat and extra sweater. My home tended to be on the warm side, so I wasn’t surprised to see her shedding so many layers. I grabbed my coat off of the chair where I’d dropped it and took the entire lot to the coat rack at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Brrrr!” Piper shivered, rubbing her hands together and giving an exaggerated shake. “It’s colder than a witch’s titty out there!” I threw arms around her in a big bear hug and laughed at her choice of words.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, and she hugged me back even tighter.

  “We’re going to get through this,” she promised. “All of it. And in the end, you’re going to have the most beautiful, loved and impossibly spoiled child this town has ever seen.” I nodded into her hair, and she gave me a big squeeze before releasing me and heading to the stove.

  “First things first,” she said, reaching for a saucepan. She did a general sear
ch around the kitchen until she found everything she needed for hot cocoa, insisting that I sit. She had it covered. I planted myself at the table and she said, “Now, tell me about the mall.”

  “It’s the mall,” I said with a shrug. “And it’s Christmas, so it was exactly what you would imagine it would be. Noisy, crowded, and annoying.”

  “You mean, filled with Christmas carols, happy shoppers and huge sales, right?”

  “Tomato, tomahto,” I laughed, as Piper pulled mugs out of the cupboard and stirred the chocolaty concoction on the stove.

  “Any word from Raven?” she asked. She watched that saucepan like it was going to do tricks or something. I had a feeling she was avoiding eye contact.

  “Nope,” I said, “and that’s fine. I’m done, Piper. I can’t forgive what he did. I don’t want to forgive what he did.” I rubbed a hand absently over my belly, hoping I was speaking the truth.

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Piper said, filling our mugs with steaming liquid and joining me at the table.

  “Do tell,” I pushed my mug out of harm’s way to cool for a bit.

  “Here’s the thing. I’ve been doing a lot of research about this kind of thing, where someone goes berserk with jealousy or gets in a fight when they’re drunk in a bar.”

  “So, what have you learned?” I was trying not to be annoyed. I really was.

  “Well, they call it a crime of passion, where the person just loses control and goes ape shit and ends up doing something they really regret later. I think that’s what happened with Raven. I think he was so upset about your, well…” Piper gestured at my stomach, “that he lost it, and I’ll bet he’s really sorry about it now.”

  “Have you met Raven?” I asked, unable to control the sarcasm. “He may have lost control and killing Malcolm might well have been a crime of passion, but I know damn well he meant to hurt him, at the very least. He meant for Malcolm to suffer and that’s giving him the benefit of the doubt.”