Scattered Ashes Read online

  I honestly feel horrible I had to slap her. But the problem with Evan is this: like me she’s not human, but instead of being something ‘relatively good’, like a Phoenix, she’s something altogether different. Evan is a Wraith, and a baby one at that. And my darling, sprite of a friend can turn into your worst nightmare if she gets pissed off.

  Her skills include disappearing and reappearing like smoke, moving objects with her mind, and when she’s really mad, she can make everything she touches turn to ash. And she’s a baby. Usually, only the old ones have that kind of juice, but Evan is only one hundred and thirty years old. It’s supposed to take centuries to hone those types of powers, and she’s had to harness them in her little body for barely more than one.

  “I–I did. I was scared of you, and you didn’t deserve it. You snapped me back when I could have done something stupid, or fully lost it and hurt someone. You didn’t deserve for me to treat you like a freak when you already know how much of a freak I am.”

  Now I’m mad.

  “Evangeline Marie Black. You are not a freak, you little shit, so stop talking like that. You are special in the best ways possible. If I hear you talk bad about yourself again, I’ll singe all your hair off, so help me.” My quip shakes a laugh from deep in her belly, and she climbs down to the asphalt, returning quickly for a squeeze before wiping her eyes and nose.

  “Calm down, I got it. No need to murder my beautiful hair. That would be a crime against nature, or against the Geneva Convention, or something,” she gestures to her perfectly tousled blonde ringlets. God, I love this girl.

  “Oh!” she bounces right into the next subject, “I meant to tell you, I popped back to the gallery after letting Dad know the skinny of what was going on. I took care of the security cameras in the gallery as well as the surrounding buildings. I don’t know if there are backups to the digital footage or not, but the originals should be gone. Also, I made sure no identifying info is at the gallery, and since you go through a shell company for your royalties, I don’t think anyone can trace you through there.”

  Evan has experience covering shit up. As she should. Puberty rage plus a girl who can decimate an entire town in minutes? Not good. Her teen years were hell on wheels to say the least. Look in your history books at the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco.

  So not an earthquake. That’s where I met Evan. In the middle of all that fire and ruin, half out of her mind with rage and about to burn to death. I had to slap the shit out of her then, too.

  “What about you? Shouldn’t you be there now? Aren’t the cops still there?” I’m stunned she got so much accomplished so fast.

  “I gave my statement hours ago, dude. You took a fucking age getting here. Did you get lost or something? It’s on the news already.” Sometimes I still forget she doesn’t need to use the same modes of travel the rest of us do.

  “Not all of us can whisper around like freaking smoke, nerd. Some of us have to drive. Did any of the wounded make it?”

  She nods somberly. “The dude with the gut shot died in surgery, but I’m not at all surprised. It was a gut shot with a .50 cal; I’m amazed he lived as long as he did. The chick with the arm graze is going to be fine, no arterial damage, but I think the docs are going to repair the nerve damage after the initial swelling goes down. The guy that passed out near the exit is going to be fine; he just has a concussion. The other two ladies died from blood loss, but we knew before they hit the floor.” I nod my head, agonized at the massacre one little show caused.

  I can’t believe after all these years, after all the life I’ve sacrificed; I’m here running from that bitch again.

  One fucking art show.

  The shame I feel climbs my throat for every single human that was hurt or killed. I feel the burn of guilty tears in my eyes and nose. I feel the heat of a body sliding close to me.

  “Can we get inside now that you’re done with your little debriefing? I don’t want Ari out here even if it is in the middle of nowhere,” Rhys asks as he grabs my hand and drags me into the house. What is with the handholding? Granted it’s comforting and nice, but—

  “Stop grabbing me, jerk!” I grouse as I shake his hand off, “I don’t like being touched. Jesus.” I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. Am I blushing? I am. I am blushing like some stupid virgin girl in a historical romance novel. For fuck’s sake. I think I hate myself.

  Rhys looks back at me with an unreadable expression that slowly turns into a little upturn of his lips. Now I’m looking at his lips. Son of a bitch. Could I be any more fucking transparent? I have got to get out of here.

  I turn to Evan and her brute of a companion. I examine him closely, taking in his wide stance, thick thighs, and sturdy motorcycle boots. His wavy, dark brown hair is pulled from his face into a man bun, making his jade green eyes pop. He would be considered beautiful, or at least I assume so, if I could see him underneath the mountain of a beard taking residence on his face. His appearance screams tough guy, with the copious tattoos on his forearms and thick gauges in his ears, or at least it would if I weren’t covered in ink myself.

  He has a hand on Evan’s shoulder and has steered her into the house. I’m not sure who he is or what he does here, but the manhandling is pissing me off.

  “What’s your name, buddy?”

  “West,” he grunts at me, crossing his arms in such a way it discourages further questions. Well, all it does is piss me off, and I go in full on momma bear mode.

  “Boy, you’re a regular Chatty Kathy. Do you have a last name, West? What do you do here? And more importantly, why are you on my best friend like white on rice? Cause, I gotta say, it’s not sitting so well with me.”

  “Don’t worry, Ari. West is just looking out for me, aren’t you, West?” she says in such an ominous manner, I’m a little scared for the poor guy.

  I look past the menacing little Wraith before me, and take in the interior of the safe house. An enormous stone fireplace dominates the great room, and the open floor plan leaves the kitchen and a library nook in plain view. The walls are log planked, and the décor is decidedly rustic with chandeliers made from antlers and buttery tan leather furniture is adorned with plaid throw pillows. The throw pillows speak of a woman’s touch, and I wonder if hired help decorated the house or if Evan put any time in the endeavor.

  There are two winding staircases on each side of the large opening to the kitchen. One staircase that looks to be constructed solely of pine logs and branches leads to the upper floors, and the other seems to lead down to the bottom level. The kitchen is a mix of planked wood, horizontal logs and hearty stone weaved intricately with the granite countertops and iron pendant lighting. The Viking stove is veneered in limestone and sits directly adjacent to the full copper farmhouse sink. Each of the rooms has large, unadorned picture windows looking out to the view below. The night is dark as pitch, but the moonlight reflects like a mirror on the lake at the base of the mountain.

  Evan wraps an arm around my waist and steers me down the hall towards the stairs to the bottom level. Coming from the bottom of the staircase is the sound of male laughter and what I’m assuming is a game room if the sound of clacking billiards balls is any indication.

  “Let’s go see Dad before we get you settled.”

  “Aww! Do I have to? Your dad hates me,” I complain, dragging my feet. Things just aren’t going my way.

  “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just angry you won the last round of sparring. Did you have to beat him so badly? He practically had to turn in his man card on that one.”

  A sly smile slides across my face. Yes, yes I needed to kick his sorry ass for thinking a poor, weak woman couldn’t knock his ass into next Tuesday.

  I hear two deep chuckles behind me and realize I said the last bit aloud. Oops. I glance back and West, whose face seems to be made of granite and frowns, has cracked a smile. I guess old John isn’t everyone’s favorite person.

  Evan’s father, John Black, is a hard man, but for better
or worse, I respect him. I’d be stupid not to. And while his motives and mind games might be centuries in the making, he loves and protects my best friend. He can be a chauvinistic bastard at times, but hey, he’s old, he’s earned his quirks. I’ll just have to punch some of his quirks right out of his fool head.

  “He’s the one who said no powers. It’s not my fault I train every day.” What I don’t say because it could get me killed to say is that I didn’t go full blast. I didn’t break a sweat. I handed a Wraith King his ass without a smidgen of effort. My thoughts are either he rigged it so I would win, the purpose for which I’m not sure, or he’s letting me know he’s weak. Either way, I’m not sure I’m going to like chatting with Evan’s Dear Old Daddy anytime soon.

  We reach the entrance of what is, in fact, the game room, and the conversation grinds to an immediate halt. One, lone, billiard ball, plunking into its rightful pocket is the last sound to be heard. Guess I sure do know how to make an entrance.

  4

  Looks Can Be Deceiving

  RHYS

  As I reach the bottom stair behind the girls, I feel the frisson of a threat in the room, the hair on my arms standing on end.

  Oh fuck.

  Aurelia might have limited precognition ability, but as her Soldier, I have a fully developed sense of when shit is about to hit the fan. Before she can move, I drop the duffel and step in front of her. Standing to my full height, I block whatever attack may come with my body, my arm reaching back to clutch her to me. If we need to escape, she’s coming with me; I don’t care if I have to throw her over my shoulder like a fucking caveman. I just got close to her, and I’m not giving it up for any of these fucks. I refrain from drawing a weapon, not that it would do any good, but it is a near thing. As I am in the presence of a King, drawing a weapon would be a one-way ticket to a death I wouldn’t be able to regenerate from afterward.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the runaway Oracle and her boy toy,” a voice rumbles out deep and as rough as gravel, but with a spark of humor. The man attached to it is not tall nor is he short. John Black’s features are nondescript and almost boring. Medium brown hair, medium brown eyes, slim straight nose, thick straight eyebrows. Even his name is unremarkable. To the eye, he’s nothing special.

  But looks can be deceiving.

  His daughter, Evan Black, and her Guardian, West Carmichael, may have been my friends for many, many years, but I had yet to meet John Black. Even if West has been in his employ for the last three centuries. And while John still owes me a boon, meeting him hasn’t been high up on my to-do list. It may have to do with the battles I fought against the Wraiths when I was still a member of my Legion, still under the thumb of our Primary, Iva. Or it could be that my family, my brother in particular, was tasked with killing John’s wife. Dealer’s choice.

  My brother did not succeed in his endeavor, however, and Olivia Black survived the attack on her home. I sold out my own brother to the enemy because I didn’t like the sanctioned murder of an innocent woman in her home, in her bed while she was sleeping.

  Killing is not our purpose. Ever. So I put a stop to it. I may have also helped Aurelia escape, but I hadn’t been in the Primary’s pocket for a long time before I was tortured into accepting our binding.

  Delivering my brother to the Wraiths seemed like my only option at the time. Phoenixes are supposed to be good. We are supposed to send souls on to be reborn. Not change the future, not kill the innocent, nothing but helping souls on.

  Iva’s been changing the game for centuries, twisting it, and us as a species, into something ugly. I threw a wrench in the spokes of her evil wheel by letting Olivia Black live and in turn, Evan was born.

  Despite the boon John owes me, despite the fact he's been protecting Aurelia for me for a century and a half, until today, I still hadn’t clapped eyes on the old bastard.

  “John,” I make an abbreviated nod with my head in deference instead of the full bow expected of me, my arm still clutching Aurelia to my back, keeping her out of the way. No way in hell am I taking my eyes off him or the seven men scattered through the room like land mines, no matter what Evan said about proper protocol. Each man has the appearance of leisure, lounging on couches, leaning against the pool table, sitting on bar stools with beer bottles in their hands, but I know differently. One, maybe all, of these men are not my friend.

  Safe house my ass.

  Just as I think the dam of tension will break and kill us all, John rises quietly and calmly from his stool and strides over to me with his hand outstretched for a handshake. John takes my hand in his firm grip and slaps my shoulder in greeting. His mouth that was in a hard line turns up into a smile and each of the seven men in the room relaxes their posture to one of true leisure.

  The most disconcerting is the breath of relief I hear from West. When I was counting threats, like an idiot I didn’t count him. While he’s also been my friend for the better part of a century, I’m not altogether sure which way West would lean if it came to blows between the King and I.

  “I’m glad you got out safely. Though I’m not sure it was a question you would make it with both of you there,” he says with a warm smile, nodding to Aurelia.

  She moves from my grasp, standing just to my side, but cautiously just behind me. I look back at her and see her face is carefully blank, her wide full lips slightly parted on an indrawn breath. She’s standing relaxed and loose, but after years of watching her, I can tell it’s more in preparation to strike rather than a gesture of good will. Her eyes flick from John’s to mine. In the nearly mint green gaze, I can see a hint of unease, and I know I’m right to be wary of old John. I keep my body relaxed while my mind tenses, my spine tingles, and my wings ache to break free.

  “All it takes is one lucky shot, even I know that,” she says. I think she’s referring more to her win over John than Thad’s quick demise, deferring to the king.

  “Well, either way, it’s good you got out of there. From what Evan and West told me, soon after you left, the place was swarming with Soldiers. After you’ve cleaned up, I think we need to have a discussion about how safe you guys are here. Please, make yourselves comfortable and we’ll meet back down here when you are ready.” No shit, dude.

  I nod my head, realizing we’re being dismissed. She may hate it, but I grab Aurelia’s hand, tugging her in front of me as I wind our way back up the circular staircase behind Evan and West, grabbing her bag as I go.

  The real problem comes when we get to the door to our room. Evan, being the consummate matchmaker, hopeless romantic, and all around pain in the ass she is, has decided Aurelia and I are rooming together. She indicates this by pointing between both of us, then to the door we’ve stopped in front of and says, “This is you.” While I have zero problems with sharing a room with Aurelia, I cringe in preparation of the yell I’m almost positive I’m about to hear.

  “You’re fucking with me, right?” Aurelia asks in a low voice. I’m not sure she realizes she’s still holding my hand or not, but if she hasn’t I’m not going to tell her.

  “There are only seven rooms in this house, even with the Murphy beds in the office and the pull out in the game room. There are thirteen people here. I know the house is big, but where in the fuck do you think they’re all going to sleep? Plus Dad has a rule about Guardians and their charges sleeping in the same room. I’m even bunking with West,” Evan shrugs, barely glancing down at our entwined fingers.

  “Speaking of the plethora of men, what in the fuck are all these people doing here? When I said ready the safe house, I did not mean call every warrior and their brother to come guard us. I meant turn the lights and the hot tub on and get some booze. What the shit is going on?” Aurelia is almost stammering she is so mad at this point.

  “I’m going to have to tell you about it later. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re still covered in blood. Go take a shower, please. When you’re done, come find me. I’ll be in the loft,” Evan quips and flounces away as i
f Aurelia wouldn’t tackle her where she stands.

  It takes everything I have not to bust up laughing right there in the hall. Aurelia’s head whips to me as she burns me with a glare, and she releases my hand to push her way into the room.

  And that’s when Aurelia sees red. An enormous California King four-poster bed dominates the room; it’s ornate posts and top covered in billowing gauzy white fabric. The heavy, equally ornate side tables hold vases of flowers and glass bowled lamps. Across from the bed is a stone-faced, gas-burning fireplace with a fire already burning in the grate. Even in July, the mountains are cold in Colorado, especially in the evenings.

  What’s worse, the lights have been dimmed, and there are candles burning on almost every available surface. It’s like the honeymoon suite of a Harlequin romance novel threw up in here. And I’m obviously not the only one who thinks this if Aurelia’s low menacing growl is any indication.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yells, her hands in fists. I can tell she’s working very hard not to throw sparks or flame up and burn this whole house down. After the day she’s had, I have to commend her on the effort. Or I would if the thing she’s so pissed about wasn’t being in a room with me.

  “Don’t blame me. I didn’t do the room assignments,” I throw my hands up in surrender.

  “Whatever. She’s right, I need a shower,” she huffs and snatches the duffle out of my fingers, slamming the attached bathroom door as she goes.

  That could have gone worse.

  RHYS - 1855

  I should have said something before now, I thought as I watch Aurelia’s rising blush, but it never crossed my mind Lucien would betray me this way.

  Aurelia was a tiny slip of a woman – barely over five feet – but her personality made her so much taller than any meager inch she may have possessed. Her golden skin – so much darker than the pale humans in the next town – was still stained a delicate, glowing pink. In all the years I’ve known her, I didn’t think I had ever seen her blush, and the thought of Lucien inciting such a reaction from her set my teeth on edge. In my mind, she was mine. I knew it was stupid to think that way – about a woman who hadn’t paid me even a lick of attention – but I’d loved her for so long.