Taken: Five Fates, #2

Prologue

The silver thread spun on Clotho’s wheel—beautiful, fragile, yet strong. She drew it out. Lachesis measured. When the time came, Atropos snipped.

Beneath the Tree of Life, gnarled roots formed an intricate cave, encircling Destiny’s sisters. Magic was palpable. At times deadly and others good. They are past, present, and future. They are the three Fates. Sisters who decide the destiny of humans and rumored to determine that of the gods as well.

They represent the phases of the moon: new, full, and old. Their image lies in that of the beholder. To some, they appear old, ugly, perhaps frightening. To others, luring sirens. To a select few and themselves, their true form holds. Long, flowing hair spun as fine as a silver moonbeam. Their midnight, starry eyes reflected the vastness of the cosmos.

To anger beings such as these never bodes well. To try their patience tests fate itself. Decades ago, one god dared to push them too far and the Fates’ prophecy came into being…

~ * ~

The Fates leaned in toward each other. Atropos shook with fury. He goes too far. It’s time we taught him a lesson. Kept him busy for a while.

What do you have in mind? Clotho asked.

A prophecy. Atropos cackled, her sharp cheekbones defined.

Oh, I like that. Clotho sighed contently, sitting back in her chair, steepling long fingers.

Five of them. Females. Born of a god and a—

Demoness! Lachesis shrieked, a flush coloring her cheeks. We must choose those he won’t suspect. She got up and touched a branch from the tree, contemplating.

Helios, god of the Sun, and…Aiesa, a demon of the night. He would never guess. A wicked smile spread across Atropos’s lips. They’ll have five female offspring—

Five? Clotho peered closer.

Yes. Atropos smothered a laugh. To keep him off balance.

We need balance, Lachesis said. There must be balance, good and evil.

They sat huddled together whispering as they plotted, altering fates. A stray word or phrase was heard: evil unleashed…harbinger of death to the gods…must find balance…if too late...

After some time, peace was restored under the Tree of Life as they went about their duties. The time was not right…but soon. Soon their plans would line up.

Word of the prophecy spread.

Night turned to day and day to night.

Prophecies, being tricky things, are born into existence, entrapping chosen souls with limited methods of escape. Whispered on the winds, long ago, one such curse kissed the morning rays and danced among its beams.

When darkness meets dawn, the time of the five near.

Beware in the dreaming for they come.

Bequeathed from the father, one common thread they’ll share.

In three lunar phases, all is revealed.

Fear what isn’t seen.

Death and destruction unto the gods will rain,

unless a balance is struck.

Fulfilling what is longed for most.

One

Centuries later…

One foot in this world, one in another. Layla dismissed the odd sense of spatial distortion that happened on occasion. It was easier to ignore than to address. Not that pretending the disturbance didn’t exist was easy. When she puffed out an annoyed breath, a strand of molten gold hair fluffed away from her face, and she shoved it back. To better hide from the Oneiroi that hunted them, Layla and her sisters had scattered across the planet. She made the lush glen deep in the mountains of Scotland home. The wild, untamed beauty and moodiness of the land fit her somewhat introverted personality. In the secluded expanse she maintained a thriving bladesmith.

The touch of her unruly hair had reminded her that she and her four sisters shared identical looks, all with molten eyes, sharp claws, and deep red lips with gold undertones, but she refused to wear the guise of a human as they did. Why would they cling to a glamour that covered all their beautiful features? Dismissing her wayward thoughts, she returned once more to what always drew her in—weaponry.

Flames curled around the six-inch steel clamped between her tongs, heating it. Her gaze fixed on the changing metal. Clad in leather ankle boots, her foot tapped in tempo with the heart-pounding bass that pulsed through the speakers. The chords caressed her, evening out the unease that stirred in her blood when she woke this morning. Lately, she’d found the heavier the music, the easier it was to work.

Absently, she swiped a bead of sweat away that formed at her hairline, broke free, and began a slow trek down her forehead. Despite the ventilation, it was always sweltering when she worked.

The door to her smithy opened, and cool air proceeded Zayden as he made his way over to her. His gaze caught and held on her newest weapon. Hers stayed on him. Stunning…there was no other way to describe the sexy fallen angel. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stepped away from her project, welcoming a much-needed break. Once again, she wondered if Eos, being a New Orleans transplant, knew the heart-stopping Cajun.

Layla’s lips pursed in appreciation of his thick, raven hair, disheveled from the wind and large gray wings tucked against his muscular frame. For the hundredth time she wondered why their attraction wasn’t enough. Relief spread as her gaze dropped to his empty hands.

So, no problems? She assumed, based on his flawless appearance, but wanted to make sure. She ran her business in the simplest way possible. Minimal contact. If she thought someone might have information to aid in her and her sisters’ quest for answers about their curse, only then would she arrange to meet. Otherwise, almost everything was handled via email, video chat, and Zayden.

At the sound of her voice, he angled his head, and she was caught by his somber gray eyes, framed in long lashes. Lashes she and every other female harbored a secret jealousy over. A slight curve lifted his full lips, and he slid an arm around her waist, pressing her close. Hard muscle, sexy male, and heavenly wings—what was the problem again? Oh, right…when they’d kissed that one and only time, she may as well have kissed her little brother, Nahl. Never again—they’d both agreed.

In spite of their agreed platonic relationship, she loved being wrapped in Zayden’s arms, his wings enclosing them in a cocoon.

Yep, not a hitch. Delivered all three weapons. He chuckled. I think two of your customers are already making plans for more.

Unable to resist, she spanned her fingers across his black silk shirt, stretching them higher to thread around the back of his neck careful not to graze him with her poisonous nails. It’d been a while since she’d had any form of simple contact. A hug even. Sometimes, the connection was needed.

You’re alone too much. His voice whispered over her head.

Brow scrunching, she tilted back to look at him. I like it that way. With a playful roll to her eyes she said, Besides, you’re lucky to be allowed here at all. Very few are welcomed into my inner circle. Consider yourself privileged. With a sigh, she stepped away, laughing at the tug on her long tresses. Hey, I have stuff to do.

A pang sliced through her heart at the desolation in his gaze. He knows I’m pulling away. They’d been friends for most of her time in the human realm. Theirs was a relationship not born of blood, but forged through trust, respect, and past pain neither would fully share. That was all right; they communicated on a level she and her sisters did, and for that she was eternally grateful, although, right now, she didn’t want him by her side…not with what she sensed coming her way.

She glanced out the window at the countryside that always soothed her. Scotland. She’d chosen to live in Glen Coe because of its haunting natural beauty and blessed lack of neighbors. Arriving after the Glencoe massacre, a brutal betrayal in human history, she’d made the highland glen her home. The pain of the slain screamed through time, bled into the soil and flowed through the waters of the River Coe and Loch Leven. Their unrest called to her, a betrayal uniquely their own. The trauma from her past warred inside her, at times too much to manage, it was then the fallens’ magnetic pull of devastation and struggle eased her own.

Her property spanned acres, and she rarely encountered another soul. To her, a seemingly familiar face could easily hold deception. Something she and Zayden understood well. The difference between them was what she preferred—pretended more like it—peace, while he sought redemption.

They’d found each other, two wounded souls, in acceptance and friendship. It worked. But now, she wouldn’t risk his life no matter how much she wanted to succumb to the familiarity and comfort he offered.

Zayden tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead before releasing her captured strand of hair. His sexy drawl sent chills over her skin. What are you doing, bebe? Cutting me loose?

She crinkled her nose. No, you know I’m not. Grasping his hand, she drew him back outside, needing a break from the heat of her shop. Cool air caressed her face and the long grasses brushed against their legs as they made their way over to the River Coe that ran close to her workshop.

Peace filled most of her days, thanks to Zayden’s assistance. I need your help with deliveries. Her back to the rolling water, she took in his strong jaw, wide shoulders, and eyes that had seen too much death caused by deceit. I value our friendship.

His hand tightened on her fractionally, his lips thinning for the merest of seconds before he ruffled her hair, looping an arm around her shoulders. I understand, darling. Just remember, even if it seems I don’t, I’ve got your back.

What? Her brows furrowed and she ducked her head, his statement ringing in her ears.

Grasping her chin, he re-directed her face back to his. If you change your mind, you know I’m available. A broad grin stretched across his face before he tweaked her nose.

Laughter bubbled up and broke free. Dismissing his earlier tension, she enjoyed the return to their easy relationship. She knew he hid things, that he had secrets. Regardless, he always had her best interests at heart. Maybe ’cause he’d told her that the last time they’d spent an evening under the starry night sky, drinking wine, and talking for hours. Odd. Why had that particular conversation come to mind now?

She loved her life here and what she had with Zayden—when he came around. Her quiet glen offered her everything she could possibly desire. He understood. She’d met him at one of his low points. He’d needed weapons, was hunting an enemy who she’d guessed was partially responsible for his fall from grace, and she’d aided Zayden. However, the depth of pain in his eyes stemmed from something else, something he wasn’t willing to share. She respected that.

Just as he respected the secrets of her past, her desire to live away from a populated area, and to have limited contact with her clients. Particularly the male ones. He’d offered to be her go-between. She had her suspicions that there was more to it. Maybe he was searching for someone? Or maybe it kept him busy, too busy to dwell on whatever pain ate away at his insides. Whatever it was, she trusted him. Something that was rare for her. The only other people she fully trusted were family.

What have you been working on?

Why? Hoping to add to your personal arsenal? She shook her head. Not this one, Z. This sword is client specified and I’m not parting with it, not until I have to.

Weapons, that they shared an affinity for. A thrill raced along her spine in anticipation of showing him, despite her teasing words, what she’d recently finished. He helped her test them whenever he was around.

A masculine brow arched high. Are you saying the weapon will suit me? This I have to see.

Making his weapons had been particularly fun since he could harness fire. As an angel, he used to have a sword of fire to call upon whenever he needed it. His fall from grace caused a slight problem with that, and he was no longer able to call forth his sword.

On the other hand, the fire affinity… He’d retained that, and she’d harnessed it through him and into his custom swords and knives—ones he had to physically carry around as opposed to the one he used to manifest.

No, not this one. She sighed in pure pleasure of crafting the unique weapons. That was one of her abilities—to design most anything. She could also infuse the powers of the beings who ordered them into the weapon. Ice, fire, poison, invisibility, whatever particular talent they had. The drawback was she’d have to work with those clients in person.

As a small child, she’d struggled to feel safe, even amidst her boisterous, loving family. Throughout the years, she’d learned more and more about weaponry and her confidence had grown. She’d been grateful for it.

Come on, sweet. Zayden tugged on her hair, drawing her attention. Show me what you’ve made before I take off. His eyes darkened, and shadows moved through the gray depths.

What isn’t he telling me? Her breath caught as a strong sense overtook her, and she knew without having to ask that their time would be limited. It looked like Zayden’s bought with destiny was about to begin.

~ * ~

Zayden had gone, and with him, all sense of ease. Determined to work through the foreboding inching along her skin, Layla plucked several of her favorite blades from her wall. Outside, they gleamed in the sunlight. Ice and fire, the two deadly weapons she wanted to play with. The fire fueled her passionate side and responded to her curious, impulsive behavior. Ice sided with her analytical side and was the one she preferred. Both needed to be in harmony.

Several wooden round targets were set up randomly throughout her wild acreage. Gripping the steel in her hands, she connected on a deeper level with them as she took off running, the long grass brushing against her jean clad calves.

Sprinting across the rough terrain from the river she dove over a large boulder, rolled to her feet, and darted through tall pines. Out of the corner of her eye, a target loomed in view. The ice blade flew. A satisfying thwack indicated she hit her mark; the crackle that followed confirmed the ice froze the round solid. Pushing off the uneven ground, she alternated lunges between two trees until she clasped her arms around the highest branch on the right. Air whistled with the release of the fire blade she launched at the target several meters over the tree line. Flames burst on impact, devouring the round she’d surrounded by rocks prior to positioning them days ago.

Shimmying down, she raced to the frozen target, delivering a roundhouse kick, shattering it. An immortals life came to an end by fire or decapitation. Shattering into a million pieces would qualify as decapitation.

With a small smile she retrieved her weapons and cleaned up the mess she’d made. With each addition to her arsenal the piece of herself that was scarred so long ago shored up just a little more. She just needed a few more weapons. This had to be the balance the prophecy boasted that would ultimately break her curse. While she released some steam through her play, but with the edginess remaining, she went inside and lost herself in orders for clients, tirelessly producing weapons in her smithy.

Sliding the hot steel from the coals, she struck the hammer home. The distinct email ping from her laptop tickled her spine in the temporary silence that followed. Again, the uncomfortable stretch of spatial distortion dusted ice over her skin. This time, unlike the usual sense when she received spelled emails from Shoeld, something crawled along the backlash. An oily substance, dark and evil, preyed on the outskirts of her mind, reaching, stretching, wanting to consume her. Images from her childhood swarmed her mind. Teeth clenched, she fought, raising instant walls.

Even with her quick defenses, the brush of the Oneiroi—dream gods—slid through her thoughts. So young, so long ago, they’d neared. Please, not today. She’d been warned, as had her sisters. She’d been threatened. Had felt them. Cursed, she and her sisters were hunted. Prey to the Oneiroi.

Memories shot into her head, one after the other, too fast for her to track, leaving her open. Vulnerable. Shaken. She released her grip on her tongs and collapsed to the ground, her hands clutching fistfuls of her hair, loosened from the tie that bound it.

With her gaze darting to every shadowy corner, vulnerable windows and door, her skin erupted in goosebumps in wariness of a possible threat. Moments past. The loud thumping of her heart against her lungs kept time. No danger surfaced. Gods, no. It was internal.

The spacious room that was her sanctuary became an inferno, giving birth to a dark seed inside her, pulsing to life. Tentacles of dark power took root, elongating for purchase, and her back bowed from the unbearable pressure. Fissures of pain flowed and her breath pushed out in short pants, a keening cry escaping her lips as she fought to regain control.

Lying on the ground, unmoving, re-centering, she quaked from the shock of imminent possession. What she faced in her youth had been only a precursor of things to come.

Temporarily free she paused—something lurked within. Holy hell, the prophecy’s begun. If she didn’t find her key to break the curse in time, she would go dark forever.

Layla pulled herself up, hugging her knees. Her sister had beaten the curse.

Will I?

Two

Mist swirled gently around Thaull’s feet, gathered strength, and swept up in wider arcs. The subtle kiss of the tiny water molecules usually soothed and refreshed his tumultuous mind. Not today. Their world was shrouded in the effervescent curtain, suspended in the spirit realm, while also hovering amidst Shoeld.

Eager to leave the glen by his cousin, Dest’s, home, Thaull slid a final blade into the leather strap that crossed his chest. Cool mist danced around them, failing to shroud the worry emanating from Dest.

We’ll get her back, all of them. Ary will be…well. Unsure of the condition Dest’s sister would be in, Thaull tripped over his word choice. They both understood the challenges Ary and the other clanswomen faced.

They had to get her back. Aside from her being family, her unique ability to shield an entire clan from sight could result in unparalleled destruction if lost.

And Rylesse? Does she have any objections? Dest’s quiet voice pierced his thoughts.

Thaull frowned as he faced his cousin and closest friend. Why would my grandmother object to our rescue? He extended his hand to briefly squeeze Dest’s shoulder. As the leader of their clan, his grandmother desired their return. Ryleese offered to send anyone we need to free them. However, it’s best we went alone. He shrugged, aware his cousin would understand his simple explanation. Low numbers and stealth will yield a more successful extraction. What he failed to tell him was the Siva blade had been stolen. One crisis at a time.

Half Fae and Phantom, Thaull reveled in the strength and gifts of his clan, while deeply mourning the loss they’d faced. Not long ago, he’d come to terms with the death of his father, Kinden. He witnessed the sadness of it daily in his grandmother’s, eyes. Even with his gift of precognition, he was unable to stop his father’s death. Nor did he foresee it. His grandmother said it was written; he wouldn’t have been able to change it. Fate had other plans, and sometimes they had to accept them. He burned at the idea of the Fates controlling him, while at the same time, he accepted the inevitable circle of life.

As each day passed, the bleak grip of the soul-divide encompassed him further. The loss of his father was a fatal blow. Being connected to his grandmother and cousins helped in maintaining his tether to his emotions, his integrity. How long until it ebbed without his mate’s life energy to ground him, he was unsure. Time ticked with each chip of disconnect at his soul.

What he could control, he vowed he would. Those entrusted in his protection he would fight for with every fiber of his being.

He loved their world, but sensed his time with his clan would be limited in the future. It worried him. Greatly. I’m just on edge.

Dest nodded, dragging Thaull’s attention back to the present.

Identical glacial blue eyes met his, determination and worry were the only emotions marring his cousin’s angular face. I am too. Let’s bring them home.

Unwilling to trace lest they missed signs of their clanswomen, they sprinted, staying shrouded in the spirit realm, invisible to the other creatures. Forests teaming with life ebbed, replaced with sparse vegetation. The terrain yielded to the stench of death, decay, and the raucous roar of debauchery as they neared the boisterous Taluz clan.

As planned, he and Dest hovered on the outskirts, pausing by one of the square, stone dwellings that allotted a partial view of the bonfire in the clearing ahead. Hulking red and black scaly demons gorged on food and drink.

Thaull curled his upper lip as words filtered around him of their unjust recounting of the attack. A crumpled form lay by the loudest demon. Syril! His gut wrenched. Bound and barely conscious, she lie there, her pale blonde hair and skin marred with shadowy bruises—a stark contrast to the darker demons.

At his side, Dest stiffened, his anger a tangible force. Thaull’s gaze slid over the woman to her hands bound behind her back. Magically enhanced cuffs. Of course. There wasn’t any other way they could restrain them. Where were the other two? Distancing his mind from all emotion, his warrior instincts swelled to the forefront. They needed to strike hard and fast. That was how the women would survive the two visions he’d seen. One had fatalities. He was unwilling to risk that path.

We’ll circle around, locate them all, then bring them into the spirit realm. But only once we find all three of them or it will be fatal to the ones left vulnerable. A pall settled over both of them at the weight of death he heard in his own voice.

After Dest’s nod, they prowled forward. Thaull instantly spotted Blaze not far from Syril, but Ary was nowhere in sight. He opened his senses, testing the fates of those around him, searching for a glimmer of her essence. Brutal violence and possession blasted him