The Three Fates of Ryan Love (9 page)

“She thinks she can decide your
fate
, but you don't believe in fate, do you, Son?” said the man . . . imposter . . . father . . .
ghost
 . . . ? “You never have.”

“People change.”

“Not that much. Answer this. Would you be so quick to believe her if she was a man?”

“Maybe.”

“I'm your father, Ryan.
My
lie meter is always going to work.”

The man who
must be
his father stared at him earnestly. “She's packaged herself just for you. Ryan Love's fantasy woman. Innocent, sexy, helpless, defiant. What did she tell you, Son? She took a big risk in coming. What does she think you can do?”

Find someone she didn't know, someplace in the north. Even in his own head it sounded nuts. And here he was, talking to his dead father in the middle of the afternoon. In front of a bunch of birds that had managed to freak him out.

What was wrong with him?

The birds fluttered on their railing like in a cartoon Ryan had seen when he was a kid. Their beaks opened and their wings ruffled. Birdy applause.

The disappointment in his father's eyes was all too familiar. It nearly sealed the deal. No way that look could be faked so accurately. This had to be his father, in spirit if not in flesh.

“It's going to come down to a choice, Son. She'll pit you against everything you value. Do you understand?”

Not even a little bit.

His father looked up, eyes very green in the pseudo-dusk. It seemed the shadows shifted around him, contorting his features and turning the caring gleam into something that made Ryan want to step back. The impression came from nowhere and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. But it cleared a trail through Ryan's consciousness, a corridor free of the clinging web of confusion and doubt.

Anger flashed in his dad's eyes, there and gone—but not so fast that Ryan didn't see it.

“Open your eyes, Ryan. Look what she's done to your life. You've lost your business—
our family's livelihood—
and your home. She's been here less than twenty-four hours and she's done all that.”

Ryan didn't like any of those words. And he fucking hated how they made him feel.

“It wasn't her fault,” he managed to say.

“What is
wrong
with you? Sabelle has broken the laws of God and nature alike by being here. If you could see clearly, you'd know that.” His brows arched with concern and Ryan
felt
how much he cared. “Son, gods and humans have been dancing together for all of time. It never ends well for the human. She's manipulated you. She's going to keep on doing that. You need an exit plan. I know you're not going to just dump her, no matter what I say. It's not in you. But before you get in deeper, know how you're going to get out.”

The birds fluttered some more, hopping and jockeying for a better perch, and Ryan could no longer remember why he was resisting.

“She'll make you think you're in love with her,” his dad went on sadly while Ryan fought against a cesspool of doubt and confusion. “Then she'll make you her slave and you won't even know it's happening.”

Ryan shook his head angrily.

A lone raven circled against the lavender sky. The others shuffled on the railing and chattered at one another as they watched. Ryan waved his hands at them. “Get out of here!” he shouted. All but the big one took off.

Ryan faced the man who shouldn't be his father. “You're just here to fuck things up,” he said thickly.

“Things are already fucked-up enough, Ryan.”

The black bird squawked with delight and took off with a noisy flapping of wings. As it soared away, the heavy fog in his head cleared. Relieved, Ryan turned back to the imposter, but he was gone.

Brandy gave a surprised bark and followed Ryan as he searched the yard, going around to the sides, peering over the fence into the backyard. There was no sign of his dad. Unsettled, he scooped the newspaper off the drive and headed back into the house.

On the mat just inside the foyer, he saw a postcard that had been slipped under the door, presumably after Ruby left this morning. He hadn't noticed it when he'd gone outside, but now he bent down and picked it up.

It was a picture of a famous landmark in Sedona, nestled against red rocks and blue sky. A street sign read
Cathedral Rock, Next Exit
. The words
Wa Chu
and two scribbled eyes were spray-painted across the sign. Ryan stared at it for a minute. He'd seen the graffiti before, but he couldn't remember where.

Frowning, he flipped the card over. On the back, someone had written in bold black marker:
SNOW
.

T
he bedroom was dim and quiet when Sabelle woke up. She was naked under the covers and the sheets beside her were cool. She turned her head and looked at the indent in Ryan's pillow and the empty space where he'd lain. The clock on the nightstand read 4:45 p.m. How long ago had he left her?

She stared at the ceiling, wondering what it meant that he'd let her wake up alone. Everything? Nothing at all? She was quickly learning that observing humans had done little to prepare her for acting like one.

So much had happened since last night—this morning. She could scarcely believe it.

But she was here now. She'd survived her escape, the explosion . . . her first sleep . . . her first . . . A shivery sigh escaped as memory of all she and Ryan had done in the pale light of dawn filled her. As longing to do it again wrapped her in silken chains.

She hadn't expected that. She'd imagined his touch, of course. Dreamed of it. But she'd never realized how deeply a kiss,
making love
,
could affect someone like her. She'd never thought this experience could change her.

Now she realized how foolish she'd been. Even after she returned to her
rightful
place in the Beyond, she would never be the same oracle who had left.

She breathed deeply; the idea of returning was bitter and hard to swallow. But she wouldn't be going back as she'd left—a slave to the Sisters. She'd be returning as a ruler. Everything she did now was to that end, to follow her destiny.

She'd won Ryan over. He would help her find the ones who could aid her in fulfilling the prophecy. He
had
to help her.

So why had he left her alone in his bed?

The house groaned and creaked as she listened for his voice. Tiny bits of grit peppered the window in a sudden gust. A bird squawked loudly just outside, but she heard nothing else.

Anxious, she found her borrowed clothes, scattered on the floor, and dressed.

A movement caught her eye as she reached the stairway. She looked up and saw a strange, small bug clinging to the ceiling, watching her with black eyes and a curled, vibrating tail. Another like it had wedged itself up in the corner. That one was so pale it almost blended into the shadows. With a shudder, she hurried down the stairs.

The first floor had the still, vacant air that she'd found upstairs, but she heard faint music and followed the sound to a closed door that led to the basement. As she descended, the music grew louder, the beat hard and driving. She knew what she'd find even before she reached the bottom.

The basement had long ago been converted to a recreation room. Carpet covered the floor, and plastered walls attempted to disguise the long rectangular shape and subterranean feel. But small windows up high and level with the ground outside and too-bright artificial lighting only accented the cavelike shadows. One end of the room held a U-shaped sectional—Brandy curled up in its bend—and television, the other end an assortment of free weights, a bench, a mat, and a punching bag that hung from a thick chain and a big hook.

Ryan was stripped to the waist, wearing black gym shorts and nothing else. His hands were gloved, his feet bare, and a whole lot of gleaming skin showed in between. His mussed hair and darkly shadowed jaw gave him an untamed look. Sweat shone on his skin and his face held a hard, distant expression. He hadn't heard her approach—how could he, over the blaring music? His focus was on the bag that he pounded in a steady, punishing rhythm. Sabelle watched for a moment, feeling the anger behind each powerful blow he delivered.

The song ended, and in the hissing quiet before the next one started, he looked up and saw her. For a moment, he only stared, sweeping her from head to toe with a look so masculine, so possessive, that things she didn't have words for melted inside her. Those eyes had seen every inch of her body, those hands had touched her in every intimate place. And his mouth . . . She pulled in a shaky breath.

Ryan glanced away without speaking. Distancing. She'd seen him do it too many times to mistake it now.

The trickles of doubt that had chased her downstairs began to pool inside her. How many times had she watched Ryan take a woman to his bed, only to kiss her good-bye the next morning? The final kind of good-bye. He never pretended it would be more than that, never tried to convince them that he wanted anything long-term or permanent. The women came to him anyway. They took what he gave and left with regretful sighs when it was over. Occasionally one would try to hold on. It never went well for them.

Where did Sabelle fit in that pattern? The exception? Or the rule? What had his thoughts so tied up now? Was he wondering how to get rid of her? She wasn't like his other women, though. When he'd realized how inexperienced she was, he'd backed off so fast, he'd made her head spin. He thought she didn't know the game. He thought she'd cry or cling if he tried to send her on her way with a parting kiss.

He thought wrong. She wouldn't cry. She'd fight to stay. She had a destiny, and whether he liked it or not, Ryan was part of that.

“Good morning,” she said, as if she hadn't seen that withdrawal in his eyes.

“Afternoon,” he corrected, turning the music down.

Sabelle crossed her arms beneath her breasts, contemplating her next move. That first, unguarded glance he'd given her said he wasn't as cool as he might seem. If he was pulling away, it wasn't because he'd lost interest. The best thing she could do was pretend it didn't bother her. Reverse psychology, humans called it. She hoped she could pull it off.

“What time did you wake up?” she asked casually.

“Maybe a half hour ago.” He shrugged. “Brandy had to go outside.”

He used his teeth to tighten the Velcro strap at his wrist and went back to punching. Sabelle wandered over to the stand of weights and sat down at the bench. She lifted one in a curl, like she'd seen him do before. She could only guess that Ruby might have been the last to use it, because it wasn't too heavy. Trying her hardest to ignore Ryan, Sabelle brought it up again. Ten, and she could feel her muscles begin to stretch. She switched to the other arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice darkly impatient.

She hadn't realized that the pause in pummeling the bag had signified his attention being diverted to her. She glanced over her shoulder and surprised another molten look.
Busted
, as his siblings would say. And he knew it.

Hyperaware of him, Sabelle got to her feet and crossed to where he stood by the bag. “I'm just waiting for you to figure out what
you're
doing,” she answered sweetly.

The statement hung between them, part challenge, part entreaty. His eyes narrowed, searching for hidden meanings. There were plenty of them to find, but he'd have to do it on his own.

The bag swayed from its hook in the ceiling; the silence stretched uncomfortably. Using his teeth again to pull the straps free, Ryan removed the gloves and tossed them in a bin nearby. Sabelle came closer, putting herself between him and the bag.

“You seem angry,” she said. “Why?”

The bag behind her finished a rotation and gently bumped her forward. Ryan was close enough to touch now. He smelled of clean sweat and Ryan, a scent she'd never tire of. One she'd miss when she returned to the Beyond.

He stared down his nose at her, the look icy, arrogant, and definitely pissed off. Something had happened. She didn't know what, but she needed to fix this before it spiraled out of control.

The bag bumped her again and she used it to close the distance between them. The first time had been overwhelming, wonderful, but like standing beneath a waterfall. All at once, everywhere. Sensations she'd wanted to savor had sluiced her senses and drowned her will.

But she understood the basics now. The way a caress could bridge the gap that words would only widen. She touched his chest, dragging her fingers over the taut, slick muscle, the damp heat of his skin, watching the trail she made as she went lower, to the tense ridge of his abdomen and that line of soft hair that intrigued her even more now that she knew where it led.

He caught her hand before she reached the waist of his shorts. Startled, she glanced up to find his face close to hers, eyes locked on her fingers. The moment had teeth and fury, neither of which she understood. But she grasped the outcome if she let it bite. She would never have the chance again.

She leaned forward, up on tiptoes as she caught his mouth with hers. The kiss was clumsy but what she lacked in skill she made up for with determination. She pressed her body to his, trapping their hands between them. Her other arm went around his neck and she held on as she pushed him off balance. He compensated by leaning in just as the bag nudged her again. Triumphant, she licked and nipped at his lips as he'd done hers last night, refusing to let him put space between them, denying his right to
distance.

“No,” he said against her mouth, but his lips had parted and his tongue brushed against hers.

Not the answer she wanted. Her entire body had heated and she refused to accept
no
. She tugged her hand free of his hold and used it to shove the waist of his shorts down. She heard a wincing breath just before the hard length of him popped free and lay tight against his flat belly. She curled her fingers around it before he could stop her. She stroked.

Ryan's head fell forward and he expelled a breath. A hot wave went through her as she eased away far enough to see down the long line of his body to the point where she held him. He was big, thick, hard, and so silky-soft at the same time. She dragged her thumb across the slit at the tip and Ryan caught his breath again. He watched, too, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

She tightened her grip and felt him strain against her palm.

“Like this,” he said in a tight voice that fed those fires inside her. He closed his fingers around hers and guided them over the silk-on-steel feel of him. Up and down the hard length, a little tighter, slower. Sabelle made a sound in her throat that echoed throughout her body.

“Jesus,” he breathed, taking her face between his hands and kissing her. Slowly, deeply, rougher than he'd been before. She worked his rigid flesh and stirred the embers that willingly burst into flames while he fanned them with white-hot kisses.

Lost in the hunger of it, she shivered as his fingers found the soft, vulnerable dip below her belly and pulled the buttons of her borrowed jeans free with a jerk that released them all the way. Her chest tightened, her nerves stretched. He yanked her pants down to her thighs and slid thick, hot fingers across her swollen sex. She made a sound. High, almost pained.

Her jeans kept her knees together when she wanted to spread them wide, give him access to all of her. She used her free hand to inch them down so she could kick them off. Immediately, Ryan pushed his leg forward and widened her stance, then rewarded her with ruthless, skilled fingers teasing over that piece of her that made her want to beg. She arched into his hand.

She still had her fingers around him, holding that tensile pulse, the hard shape, the indescribable feel. Emotions rushed her in swamping waves. The need to be still and capture this moment. The urge to rush its shores and have it all at once. She knew what came next and yet she had no idea how to get there. How to survive the total surrender it required.

She'd dreamed about Ryan touching her this way, but her imagination had lacked the
desperation
that laced her passion. It felt like she might die if he didn't touch her there, or there . . . anywhere . . . everywhere. The fierce desire inside frightened her and yet she couldn't turn away from it. Denying her own heartbeat seemed easier than denying herself Ryan.

He rested his forehead against hers, their labored breath shared between them. “You want to fuck, Sabelle?”

His voice was raw, his words subterfuge for a more complex question.

He thrust against her hand and slipped another finger inside her. Pressure, friction, demands that thrilled and terrified her.

“Answer me.”

He spoke in her ear, the order so dark and graphic it made her moan.

“Yes,” she said, a slave to his touch.

“Say it.”

“I want to fuck.”

Her face flamed as she spoke; her heart raced at her boldness. He pushed her shirt over her breasts and caught one nipple with his teeth, the bite careful and dangerous at the same time. Her head fell back and she moaned again. All the while, his fingers worked her, his mouth taunted, the rough shadow of beard burned and excited her. He was a torch; she was tinder.

She stroked his length from base to tip, squeezing. Maybe too hard, maybe just right. He hissed and thrust into her hand.

Muscles bunched as he lifted her like she weighed nothing. Two steps brought them to the wall. He pressed her back, molding her curves to his hard angles, trapping her between his strong arms. He took her mouth again, possessing it as he did her entire being. His kisses drugged her, destroying her ability to think as her emotions bowed to the onslaught.