Fleeing Fate (9 page)

Gràinne nodded, pain ghosting across her face. “You have my
word, I won’t tell anyone.”

The banshee left, closing the door behind her. Jakuta stared
at Gràinne, still unable to move, to even speak. After a quick glance at him,
she dropped her gaze, and his heart stumbled.

“Well.” Jasmina’s voice startled him. He’d forgotten she was
even in the room. “I think I’ll go down and let Ula know everything is okay up
here, but I want the full story, and soon.” She disappeared in her usual swirl
of gold-and-green lights, leaving silence behind.

Gràinne sank down on the edge of the daybed, still avoiding
his gaze, and pain sliced through his joy. Then she raised her hands to her
face, but not quickly enough to hide her desolate expression.

“Gràinne—” Without conscious thought he moved toward her but
stopped, shocked, when she flinched away from his reaching hands. “Sweetness…”

“By the Goddess.” Her voice was muffled by her palms and her
shoulders were hunched, bowed as though by a great weight. “How can I bear
this?”

Moving slowly, he approached her trembling form, stooped
down next to her, but held back from touching her, knowing she didn’t want the
contact. “What is it?”

She raised her face and his heart clenched at the pain
evident in her eyes. “I remember everything—everything. It was I who conspired
with the dragons, caused the Purge.” If he didn’t know better, he would have
thought it was anger making her voice rough, abrasive. “No wonder Eevul wanted
to destroy me. She was our queen, lost her husband, Galedron, to the
dragonfire.”

He didn’t know what to say, how to assuage such overwhelming
agony. How incongruous to think of Gràinne, as he knew her, betraying her own
people. It seemed wrong, fitted ill with the woman he’d come to know.

“Why?”

Suddenly still, eyes searching, she softly asked, “What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why did you do it?”

For a long moment she seemed frozen, not even breathing.
When she exhaled, it was long, uneven. “No one ever asked me that, wondered at
my motivation. All assumed I did it because I thrived on the fear and chaos of
war, that I assisted in the destruction of my clansmen to increase my own
power.”

“But the real reason was…?”

She inhaled, rubbed one hand over her face in a gesture so
weary his heart ached for her.

“Even I was tired of the fighting, the death. I was
supposedly Galedron’s chief advisor, but in truth he would listen only to Eevul
and she wouldn’t relent until our clan ruled all the land. But war was my
trade, and I knew we couldn’t win against a clan our equal in numbers and
allies. Galedron was crazed with bloodlust, power-hungry, wouldn’t stop until
the very last of our clan fell. His madness infected the other members of the
clan, until they cared not when entire cities were decimated and their own kin
were killed.”

Her gaze turned inward and she shuddered. “We had lived with
war so long it became a way of life to many, instead of a small part of the
natural cycle. I worked quietly for years trying to find a way to bring it to
an end, only to realize our foes were as badly infected by the lust for battle
as we were. Peace could not be brokered, because neither side wanted it.”

“So when the dragons approached you, you agreed to help.”

“Yes. The disease of war had to be excised from our land
and, extreme as it was, I knew their plan to be the only way.” Her eyes
flashed, her lips tightening into a stern line. “I planned to be on the
battlefield, to die with my clansmen, but knowing my reputation as a warrior
goddess, the dragons held me hostage in case I was setting them up for an
ambush.” He touched her hand where it lay, fisted, on her lap, but it was as if
she didn’t feel it, didn’t even remember he was there. “It is as though it
happened yesterday, the millennia spent as a banshee just a dream. How can I
live with this knowledge?” Suddenly her eyes blazed into his. “Why didn’t I
leave well enough alone?”

“That life wasn’t your choice.” How weak his words sounded,
even to him. “You weren’t meant to live that way.”

Gràinne rose suddenly, and by the time he got to his feet
she was fully dressed, the residue of the magic she’d used fading slowly,
leaving a shimmer in the air. “Wasn’t I?” The question echoed with despair. “I
wish I were still banshee, unable to feel, to remember, instead of this…this…”
She flung up her hands. “I don’t know what I am. No longer Badb, no longer
Gràinne, burdened by my own perfidy.”

There was something frightening in her tone, an edge almost
of madness, and Jakuta grabbed her shoulders, held her when she would have
pulled away. “You told me earlier that I should forgive myself for what I did,
actions far less noble than yours. Can’t you follow your own advice?”

The sound she made couldn’t truly be called laughter. It was
bitter, angry. “How long has it been, Jakuta, since you burned your palace?”

He saw the trap, but had to step into it. “Many centuries.”

“To me, right now, the Great Purge happened yesterday. It
will be a long, long time before I can contemplate forgiveness—if ever.” She
pulled away from his grip, her face set in grim lines. But perhaps his pain
also registered, for her expression softened fractionally and sadness glimmered
in her eyes. “I have to go back, find my clan, see if any survived. I can
hardly bear to be within my own skin. Perhaps going back to where I left off
will help me make some sense of this life I have now.”

All he could do was nod, not wanting to add to her burden by
asking her to stay, offering to go with and support her, or telling her he
would be waiting when she was ready to come back. Swallowing the words, the
pleas stinging his tongue, he reached out to stroke her cheek.

“Your goddess watch over you, sweetness.”

He couldn’t manage any more than that and Gràinne didn’t
seem to have anything to say in response. After a brief hesitation, she raised
one hand in farewell and disappeared in a swirl of powerful magic.

He’d known, he reminded himself, that if she were once more
whole, complete, with all emotions intact, what she felt for him would fade.

The knowledge didn’t ease the agony tearing at his heart.
Blind, deafened by the enormity of his loss, Jakuta transported himself away from
the Midnight Café, not sure he would ever be able to return.

Two years later

Gràinne stood across the courtyard from the Midnight Café
and watched people come and go. The tinted, double-height glass fronting the
building let her see straight into the bar and games areas where patrons milled
about, their faces transformed into strange, masklike expressions by the
flashing neon lights. She could also see the outline of the loft above,
intermittent movement in the tattooing area, but was too far away to see who
was up there.

Nevertheless she knew Jakuta was inside.

A connection had been forged between them the night he’d
saved her life, and in the months since he had never been far from her
thoughts. She’d heard his voice in the gentle spring breeze, rolling summer
storms, the beat of autumn rains, howling winter winds. Telling herself it was
just gratitude, that the longing consuming her would fade hadn’t helped. Jakuta
came to her in dreams. He walked, like a shadow, alongside her during the long
journey back from what she thought of as a kind of death. Perhaps he was no
longer a god of judgment, but she often found herself wondering what he thought
of her, the deeds she’d perpetrated in the past, her efforts to once more find
a place in their world. At those times, in her imagination, he was an
unsympathetic figure, condemning her—just as she condemned herself.

Yet she hadn’t been able to stay away. On the one-year
anniversary of her rebirth she’d stood outside, as she did now, the yearning to
see him so overwhelming she trembled with it. But it hadn’t been strong enough
to overcome the guilt she still grappled with, the confusion engendered by
being two people trapped in the same body. That night she’d been unable to go
inside, although the pain of leaving without seeing him had torn at her afresh.

But she was stronger now, more accepting of who she’d
become, reconciled to what had been, and what might come. There were no
expectations attached to this visit, she reassured herself for the umpteenth
time. They had shared one night, and although it was the most important one of
her existence she didn’t expect Jakuta to feel the same. But she knew, without
doubt, she’d hurt him with the way she’d just disappeared. Now she needed to
explain, to apologize. To end things on a better note than she had the last
time. Perhaps even to gain his forgiveness. Doing so might help her move on,
free her from the chains binding her to him.

Rubbing damp palms together, she took a deep breath.
Smoothing the front of her dress, she willed her hands to stop trembling and
reminded herself standing out here wouldn’t solve anything. May as well go in,
get it over with.

Thus bolstered, she crossed the courtyard, hearing the quiet
tap of her sandals on the cobblestones like the crack of gunfire.

When she pushed open the door, the music and voices hit her
like a slap. The flashing lights were blinding. For a moment she was
disoriented, the urge to flee almost overwhelming the primal need that had
brought her back to the café. Gathering her suddenly scattered determination,
she twisted her way through the crowd, reflexively glancing up at the loft as
she went.

There was no sign of Jakuta at the railing above, and
disappointment almost made her falter again, but she pressed on. Getting to the
raised desk at the back of the café, she realized the goblin receptionist had
been watching her approach, a scowl transforming her already slightly scary
face into something overawing.

“What can I do for you?”

Her tone said there were a few things she wouldn’t mind
doing, none of them pleasant, but Gràinne refused to be intimidated. She’d
blasted more than her fair share of goblins back in the old days, when the
enmity between elves and the other races had been marked with constant warfare.

“I want to see Jakuta. Is he around?”

One sky-blue-dyed eyebrow rose dismissively. “For you? I
doubt it.”

Gràinne’s heart sank, but she kept her chin up, her gaze
steady. “Check with him anyway.”

The goblin’s thin lips twisted. “I’d rather not. Jay doesn’t
need you coming around, messing with his head again. Why not find someone else
to fuck up and leave him alone? He’s finally getting back to normal. The last
thing he needs is—”

“Ula.”

His voice boomed, clear even over the music and laughter,
and Gràinne swung around, looked up.

Oh Goddess…

She’d thought she recalled everything about him. Hadn’t her
nights been filled with visions of him, her fingers tingling with the
remembered sensation of his skin beneath her hands, her head filled with his
scent, as though he stood beside her? How then did his regal beauty slam with
visceral force through her body, stealing the breath from her lungs, making her
legs tremble, as though she were seeing him for the first time?

There was no expression on his face, no indication as to
what he was thinking, feeling. Deep inside she’d thought she’d have all the
answers she sought with just one look, but he was giving nothing away. It was
she who was suddenly stripped of artifice, vulnerable, aching at the sight of
his solemn face.

All she could do was stare, feasting on him with her eyes,
the reasons she’d given herself about why she’d come suddenly exposed for the
lies they were. Just as she was exposed, her soul laid bare by need and the
shocking realization of what she felt for him.

As though he heard her thoughts, Jakuta’s eyes sparked and
his hands tightened into fists around the railing. Gràinne reached back,
steadying herself against the desk as his power reached out, flowing and
crackling, to her. The magic within her rose, unrestrained—uncontrollable—as
though in joyous acknowledgement. Flowing out, it mingled with his, forging a
connection so strong, so perfect, tears blurred her vision.

“For fuck’s sake, Jay.” Ula’s shriek came as though from a
distance, startling but not enough to make Gràinne take her gaze from Jakuta.
“Hervé will have your balls if you fry the lights again.”

It was then Gràinne realized the speed of the music was
fluctuating, the lights dipping and flashing. Jakuta didn’t acknowledge Ula’s
words, but suddenly the tenor of his power changed, swirling and rushing,
making Gràinne’s hair whip around her face, as the surroundings became a
receding blur and he transported her out of the Midnight Café.

When she caught her breath, looked around, she was in a lush,
unfamiliar forest, standing at the edge of a clearing. The vegetation was dense
with massive trees, thorny bushes adorned with succulent leaves and vines,
thick as her wrists, draped over almost everything. Above the gap in the forest
canopy hung the moon, huge in the clear night sky, turning the surroundings to
a study in silver and black.

“Why did you come back, Gràinne? Or should I call you Badb
now?”

Jakuta stood at the opposite edge of the clearing, beneath
the outspread limbs of a great bulbous-trunked tree, his face in the shadows.
She stepped forward, reaching with her magic, seeking the connection that had
seemed so indestructible just moments before, her heart sinking when she found
no trace of it.

“No.” It came out a whisper and she swallowed, forced
herself to speak louder, not allow her voice to tremble as it wanted to. “No.
Badb is no more and, although I’m no longer banshee either, I choose to remain
Gràinne.”

“So, why did you come, Gràinne?”

She wanted to lie, to give him the excuses she’d given
herself, but the words stuck, unsaid, in her throat.

“Why?”

The leaves shivered, as though with the force of his quiet
question, and she trembled too, hearing,
feeling
it deep in her most
secret heart. Even without the tangible sensation of his power, it was there,
reined in, but echoing in that single word.

And she knew what he wanted, needed from her.

Truth—unvarnished, raw, irrevocable as the love beating in
her heart. The forest was still, silent, as though awaiting her answer, and
fear of his rejection made her breath hitch. Although she knew it to be the
right thing to do, it took all the courage she possessed to speak.

“When I awoke it was as though my time as a banshee, even
the time we’d spent together, had been a dream. But that dream changed
everything I had once known, once been. All I felt was confusion, and guilt,
and I fled, not knowing what else to do. It’s taken a long time for me to put
the pieces of my life back together, to begin to understand the changes I’ve
gone through.”

“That doesn’t explain why you came back.”

He was implacable, and she took a deep breath, stepped
forward into the moonlight, let her magic reach out to him, filled with all she
couldn’t bring herself to admit aloud.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer. I heard you in the wind,
felt you beside me, craved your voice, your touch, your presence. I have lived
two lives, remember every moment, sensation, emotion and nothing,
nothing
,
compares to what I experienced in your arms.”

“It is the same for me.” Her heart leapt, until she realized
there was no joy in his voice, and he remained in the shadows, his face hidden
from her still. “But I didn’t think what we had together would be enough.”

Optimism and agonizing fear warred in her heart. She needed
to see his expression and, not trusting him to come out of the shadows if
asked, she cast a circle of light around the clearing, illuminating all he
would hide.

Stern. He was so stern, an air of watchfulness surrounding
him, his eyelids lowered so even in the soft golden light of her spell she
couldn’t read him at all. But one thing she hadn’t consciously noticed at the
café suddenly stood out.

“Your hair. Jakuta, what did you do?”

He raised a hand, swept it back and forth over the short
curling strands remaining on his head. “I cut it.”

There was no reason why it should, but seeing him without
his dreadlocks sliced her to the quick. “Why? Why would you do that?”

For a long moment he didn’t speak, and she thought he
wouldn’t answer. Then he shrugged, a hard smile ghosting over his lips. “It
seemed the right thing to do. I was in mourning, and even ancient gods can go a
little mad with grief if the loss is great enough.”

“You mourned me?” Her voice trembled almost as much as her
legs, relief and hope making her lightheaded, clogging her throat. “You
grieved, although I was alive?”

Jakuta shook his head slightly, took a step out from beneath
the tree. “I didn’t grieve because you lived. Knowing you survived was the only
thing that made my existence bearable. I mourned because without you my life,
my
heart
, is empty.”

Lightning streaked across the sky, was echoed in Jakuta’s
eyes, and the wind picked up, causing the trees to creak and rustle. The rush
of his power was sudden, overawing in the way it found and latched on to hers,
the way they twined together as though one and grew into something greater than
either of them could be alone. Gràinne’s breath hitched, her heart soaring,
heat rising from her belly to make her burn.

But caution made her hesitate and say, “You don’t really
know me—as I am now.” For she was different, altered by experience, by the
meshing of the goddess and banshee into a being even she was still fighting to
understand. Yet, even as she spoke, she stepped farther into the clearing,
closer to him, drawn by a force too powerful to fight. “I may not be what you
think I am, what you need.”

He moved too, narrowing the gap between them, thunder
rumbling almost immediately overhead. “You are for me, and I am for you. Feel
the connection, the love flowing between us. Nothing you can do or say will
change that.”

The conviction in his voice sent a thrill of acceptance
rocketing through her soul and her body swayed, caught in the yearning only he
could bring to life. She’d gone back to her clan, struggled to find meaning to
her experiences, a place to call her own. Now, looking at Jakuta, already
joined to him in one of the most elemental ways she could be, Gràinne knew
herself to be home.

He was directly in front of her, close enough for his
lightning to tingle into her skin, the vibration of his thunder to set her
trembling with desire. Her breasts grew tender and full, her body felt hollow
without his. Power spiked, whose it was she couldn’t tell, but suddenly it
didn’t matter who had created the primal, carnal thrust. Never had she craved
another the way she hungered for him—wanted another as fiercely as this.

They were not in physical contact but already her body
shuddered on the verge of release, just from the combined play of their magic.
He filled her with joy, arousal and more power than she ever thought to feel.
And it wasn’t just magical power, but an even more ancient force—the response
of a woman to the one man in creation who could fulfill her every need.

“I am for you, Jakuta Dagbo.” She repeated it as a spell, an
enchantment already cast and now reaffirmed. Raising her arms, she called the
magic to take her clothing and with it shed all the doubts and fears that had
plagued her until the moment he confessed his love. “You are for me.”

“Forever.”

She shuddered at his harsh interjection, the intermingled
love and lust tightening his beautiful face. Knowing it to be true, she agreed.
“Forever.”

With a sound of purely male triumph he reached for her,
dragged her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in a kiss so sweet, so heart-wrenching,
tears filled her eyes. But they were tears of joy, which became lost in the
storm breaking over them, rain falling as hard as she’d fallen for him.

When had his clothing disappeared she wondered, the thought
dissipating beneath the onslaught of his lips, the sweep of his hands, the heat
and tension of his body. Wrapping her arms around him, she traced the marks on
his back then ran her palms over his hair, cupping his head, holding him close,
closer. The press of his cock against her belly made her ache to be filled, to
once more know the bliss of his possession.