Maybe Fate: A Novel (New Adult Paranormal Romance)

-Maybe
Fate-

Cynthia Brint

Copyright
© 2013 Cynthia Brint

All
rights reserved.

Maybe Fate is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For sneak peeks at upcoming novels and more, sign up for
Cynthia Brint's mailing list!

New
Release Mailing List! Click Here!

..Going
Forward..

The
story in these pages unfolds from the point of view of the two main
characters.

To
keep things clear, I've titled each chapter with their names. It
should make for an interesting experience and allow for multiple
angles.

Just
like life, there is always more going on than we, ourselves, could
ever realize on our own.

I
hope you enjoy!

~Cynthia

Table
of Contents

Nethiun

The
scent of smoke and oil permeated everything. It was a heavy scent,
but one I'd long grown used to. I couldn't recall a time before its
existence. It was... normal.

Boring,
but normal.

The
haze of clouds made the room difficult to see. That was never a
problem for me, though.

I
knew the place like it was a part of me.

Really,
I
mused to myself,
it
is a part of me, in a sense.

“
Nethiun.”
The voice that spoke was languid, syrup dripping from a tilted
bottle.

Kneeling
at the foot of the throne, a position I'd held for hours, I looked
up. She was sprawled in the great chair, bare legs the color of
coffee grinds bent over the side.

She
was staring off at nothingness, like she hadn't meant to say my
name. I wondered what had caused her to speak to me at all. “Yes,
Mistress?” I asked curiously.

“
Last
night,” she whispered, lifting her arms. The long strands of
lavender silk she wore dangled like spider webs. “I had a
dream.”

That,
of all things, was
not
normal.

“
A
dream,” I repeated. Lifting my head higher, I peered at the
woman. It had been a long time since she'd fallen into such a state.
It was an uncommon feat for the twaelin race. We do not sleep.

Only
my Mistress had that rare trait.

“
Yes.”
she sighed, her legs kicking in one grand swoop until she was
sitting up straight. “It was awful. Quite awful.”

“
What
did you see, Mistress?”

Her
eyes flitted down to me; richer than blood, yet as dull as my own.
They held no shine, light did not reach them. “Almost nothing.
It was... an odd prophecy, I could make no sense of it. Only a
feeling of foreboding, and a face.”

Now
I was intrigued.

“
A
face... interesting. Were you able to recognize it?”

Silently,
she waved her hand in a wobbling circle before her. The smoke in the
vicinity coiled, shaping together in one great motion to form a flat
surface.

Inside,
we both looked upon the face of a young woman. “Her,” my
Mistress said. “I spent days after the dream trying to divine
her location, but I found her. This human, she's the one I saw. She
was my source of dread.”

A
human, how delightfully strange.
That
was why my Mistress had waited to tell me. She'd been doing the leg
work herself, working to discover this girl who'd appeared in the
prophecy.

This
is interesting, to say the least.

Gracefully,
I unfolded from the ground, standing before my Mistress with my hand
on my chest. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Gale
Everette

The
droning voice was putting me to sleep. Even with my forehead on the
cool wood of my desk, I was slipping away.
Maybe
I shouldn't have stayed up so late watching that dumb show about
making cakes,
I
thought in silent cynicism.

“
Miss
Everette?”

Then
again, it was pretty crazy seeing them stacking those things so
high.

“
Miss
Everette...”

And
those sugar statues were—

“
Miss
Everette, are you sleeping?” My professor asked, finally
yanking me from my drowsy daydream.

Sitting
up so fast it made me dizzy, I discovered my teacher watching me
with a frown that could cut glass. It seemed the entire class was
looking my way, honestly.

One
of the girls motioned at me, rubbing along her cheek pointedly. I
got the drift quick, wiping away a smidge of drool while my face
burned hot. “Uh, sorry, what was that Mr. Birch?”

Lanky
as a hat-rack and easily as tall, my professor raised one elegant
eyebrow at me with practiced patience. “I asked if you could
read back that last paragraph. Is that a problem?”

“
Oh,
no!” Clearing my throat, I peered down at the open copy of the
book 'Armadale' before me with fierce intensity. “Not a
problem at all. Uh, sorry, give me... give me one second...”

The
silence as I scoured the pages for where I thought we had left off
was painful.

“
Here
we go,” I said triumphantly, glancing up at the stoic face of
Mr. Birch.

He
didn't seem impressed.

“
Mmhm.
Right.” Standing so that my chair screeched loudly, I hurried
to read the paragraph.

“
'
The
only hope I have left for you hangs on a great doubt - the doubt
whether we are, or are not, the masters of our own destinies.

“
It
may be that mortal free-will can conquer mortal fate; and that
going, as we all do, inevitably to death, we go inevitably to
nothing that is before death.
'”

I
had to fight back an extreme eye-roll, but my thoughts didn't bother
reigning in the sarcasm.
Yes,
destiny and fate sure are current real-world problems. What a
ridiculous thing to even wonder about.

Shutting
the book on my thumb to mark the page, in case Mr. Birch demanded
more of me, I sat back down.
Please
please please don't ask me to keep reading,
I
begged mentally.

My
professor waited a second longer, then turned around to the
blackboard. “Now, let's discuss what Wilkie Collins is talking
about here.”

Sighing
in relief, I slumped in my seat and propped my cheek on my palm.

English
class was where I wanted to take a nap, not debate the insight of an
author's opinion on if we could or could not change our futures by
using 'free-will' or whatever.

It's
all pretty useless, anyway. Life doesn't give us the option to take
control or change things, you just suck it up and deal with what it
hands you.

A
concept like fate would be pointless when you don't get to choose
how things go.

I
listened to my teacher babble on until the bell finally rang.
Gathering up my books, stuffing them in my bag, I scurried from the
room without meeting Mr. Birch's eyes.

Dumb.
Really dumb. I thought college English classes would have more
substance to them. This is just... a joke. Is Mr. Birch really
teaching us anything?

The
most I could say about him was that he was, at least, conventionally
handsome. Not that I really cared, I wasn't the type that flirted
with my teachers.

Or
anyone, really,
I
mused sardonically. I liked to tell myself it just wasn't my thing.
I wasn't the sort of girl who could simper and giggle for a bunch of
boys in order to get a reaction.

My
mother, however, told me I was avoiding the 'wonder of social
interaction' or some such.

Shouldering
my backpack, I slipped out of one of a side door, breaking into the
late evening sunshine.
I'm
not avoiding anything.

I
wasn't a very good liar, even to myself.

Bitterly,
I dodged around a crowd of girls lounging on the grass.
Who
decides whether it's normal if I never mingle with boys, or go on a
single date? I bet plenty of other college freshman are in my shoes.