Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (108 page)

Didn’t add up.

Maybe it no longer mattered. Leastwise until whomever Samuel answered to came calling. There was no way his brother-in-law had masterminded this. Samuel was smart but a business man, no witch, no scientist. If and when someone did come looking for this den of children, he vowed he’d be ready for them. Just as he vowed he’d find a way to free all of these children.

He just wished he knew how.

His chest wound ached like a son of a bitch. His mind still struggled accepting the events of the night, hell, of the last three years. However Samuel had done this, he’d find out. If he knew his friend, there might not be witnesses, but there would be plenty of records.

He racked his brain for an answer as to what to do next to free all these souls.

“
One child a time,” a voice said.

Grant turned to the sound of Jacob’s voice, though he couldn’t see him. “Is the wolf gone?”

“
No. Until the souls are freed, it will exist in you.”

“
How? I can’t even begin to comprehend how I’m supposed to free these souls? How will we get these children back to their families? How can we even keep them alive, without knowing what Samuel was doing or who made all of this possible?”

Jacob didn’t answer. Grant took it as a silent shrug. Jacob didn’t know.

“
Will I ever know how all this happened?” Would he ever heal from these wounds?

“
Yes. Time heals all wounds.”

Grant opened his mouth to scoff, but realized Jacob had responded to a thought instead of to what he said out loud. “You’ve known more than you told her all along.”

“
No. But you know more than you realize. The souls are what matter right now, Grant. Just remember, you aren’t alone.”

Behind him, the stairs creaked. Grant stood up, one fist ready.

“
I thought I’d find you here,” Leigh said, and playfully smacked his fist away. “Talking to yourself in the dark?”

“
To Jacob.”

Leigh gave him a teasing look. “I know.”

Yeah. She would. “Nice mess I’ve gotten you into, huh?”

She folded her arms and smirked at him. Her hair was mussed and shadows under her eyes showed how tired she was. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Whatever he’d done to get so lucky, he’d better keep doing it, because he’d never be able to let her go.

“
Life is messy,” Leigh said.

“
I miss normal.” Grant said. “I wish I could give you a happily-ever-after kind of future.”

Leigh wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. “I’ve never been a fan of fairy tales,” she said. “Or of normal.”

“
Liar,” he teased, kissing her hair.

So many beds. So many golden threads rising up from them. Lives in his hands.

“
My dad is home,” she said after a moment. “Six years ago, he left to find work and never came back. My mom always swore he would, stayed true to him, and he finally did. For years she waited. Years that he’d been gone without any word.”

“
Your mother must love him a lot.”

She nodded against his chest. “Why does it have to be so rare? Why did Beatrice have to suffer so much at the hands of her own husband?”

“
I don’t know if I’ll ever have an answer for that, Leigh.”

Again, she nodded. “I’m glad she has Nick now. I would hate for her to face this alone.”

“
She won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulled back. “Grant, you can’t stay. You’re the only one who can free these souls. And you’re crazy if you think I won’t be going with you.”

She was right. He’d known it before she’d said the words, too. Maybe that was why, despite his fatigue, he felt so restless. Deep down, he knew he needed to begin the next leg of this journey. But to where? When? After facing everything else, how did he screw up the courage and strength for such a daunting responsibility?

“
It’s more than finding the souls, Grant. I think you have another search your soul needs.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. Once again, she’d seen right into his heart. She hadn’t forgotten about his past at all. And she clearly wasn’t holding it against him.

“
I don’t even know where to begin to look for Biyu.”

“
We’ll figure it out. We will find her. You deserve to know if you fathered a child with her, and if so, to know that child.”

Grant scanned the room once more. He’d longed for the search that had become his every waking moment to be over. In big part, it was. Tristan was home safe. It turned out that his nephew was only the beginning, though. The other souls, Biyu, so much more lay ahead. If he did have a child somewhere out there, more than anything, Grant wanted to protect him from the evil he’d seen tonight. Protect him—or her—with his life. Daunting, yes. But with Leigh at his side, anything felt possible.

Anything...everything.

The End

Praise for Fated

“
From Carolyn McCray comes a historical romance that will leave you hoping that for once, fate will be kind. You will be gripped from the first page to the last, caught in a love that spans eons and an ancient political intrigue whose consequence still reverberates today. This is truly a masterpiece that stays with you long after you’ve turned the last page.”

Emma Gilbertson

Reviewer

This Writer Bites Back

“
I was enthralled by this book—enthralled by the time period, the romance, the characters, and the historical events unfolding… Kudos, Ms. McCray!”

Tessa Blue

@TessaBlue

Author of
Children of the Lost Moon

“
Fated
is full of suspense. It does not let go… As usual, Ms. McCray’s style and writing are brilliant.”

M. Koleva

Fated

by

Carolyn McCray

Start Reading

More Works by Carolyn

Contact Information

Copyright Information

Table of Contents

* * * * *

PROLOGUE

The air was heavy with un-spilt rain as the warrior surveyed the battlefield, a deep frown spreading. It seemed that the gods themselves laid down a thick cover of clouds to block the horrendous sight below. The smell of death hung in the still air. Hidden within the thick forest just south of the conflict, the commander’s concern grew. This was to be a day of Spanish victory. The moment when Spain finally threw off the yoke of Rome’s supremacy.

Gripping the pommel of the saddle, the commander realized that Caesar was a more potent enemy than any had thought before. The Roman’s burgundy-crested centurions pushed the line farther and farther up the Spanish hill. As the morning sun struggled through the dark clouds, the legionnaires’ bronze armor sparkled as if encrusted with exotic gems. Despite fighting uphill on soil very far from their home, it was as if Julius’ legions were kissed by the gods.

The Romans had been on a forced march for over a week, yet these glittering soldiers were making quick work of the Spanish countrymen defending their land.

“
Torvus!” a shout rose from the north.

The warrior acknowledged the summons, but took little pride in the name. Latin for “reprimand,” the name Torvus was a questionable honor given to this hard-edged foreigner. Like the Romans, Torvus was born far from these lands. Instead of originating from the south like the legionnaires, the commander came from the North, a fact that Torvus’ red hair could not hide—not amongst the sea of raven hair that graced the Spanish.

As much as the warrior’s pale skin stirred distrust in these peasants, they knew the Northerner’s blade would be needed against the Romans. Torvus had spent weeks preparing the troops—trying to instill the grit and fortitude they would need this day. Despite the warrior’s stern words and harsh training, the Spanish still faltered back another few steps. Torvus groaned. No amount of discipline would save this day. The Romans could smell victory with every inch they crept forward. Their swords arced higher. The archers grew bolder with each volley.

Worse, these peasants were trapped in a war not of their own making. Pompey— Spain’s former governor—might have been of Roman descent, with his flowing white robes and rigid nose, but he had treated these peasants fairly. After Caesar executed Pompey for treason, this region of Hispalis had resisted Julius. The balding general had ruled Spain years ago, and these peasants wanted nothing more to do with Rome’s excesses. They sought freedom and independence.

Torvus strove for something very different. No, this Northerner fought because there were Romans across the battlefield. Any day to kill Romans was a good day.

Orphaned so many years ago by the Empire’s attempt to subjugate Scotland, Torvus needed no other reason to take up arms against the Romans than that they breathed. Bile stung the back of the commander’s throat at the mere glimpse of the gold banner of Rome. Especially this one named Caesar, who thought himself the next Alexander the Great.

A runner, no more than a boy, panted as he skidded to a halt beside Torvus’ towering stallion. “The regent has ordered that you engage battle.”

Torvus’ frown deepened. The warrior’s battalion had been held in reserve to sweep in from the east and trap the Romans between the main battlefield and their route of retreat.

It was too soon to commit this reserve. Once unleashed, this strategy could not be retrieved. Did the Spaniard not know of Caesar’s prowess? The Roman had conquered far greater hosts then this meager Spanish assembly. And these troops were no more than peasants. The regent had even freed slaves just to swell their ranks for this battle.

Julius did not win with his strong fighting arm or his skill at the bow. It was common knowledge that even if Diana were standing over his shoulder, Caesar’s arrow could not strike a mark.

No, it was the general’s mind that separated him from his contemporaries. Torvus had studied him. This Caesar thought like none other. He took nothing for granted. The Roman assumed the battle would turn foul and always had a contingency.

Despite his arrogant manner, Julius was most humble in his strategy. Many of the Roman’s enemies, both foreign and native, had thought the moment ripe to strike, only to find Caesar three strides to the left, with his own sword raised for the mortal blow.

Torvus knew that to underestimate the Roman was to lose before the battle even began. That is why the warrior had insisted on keeping a large number of troops in reserve. They must have a contingency of their own. Torvus eyed the west. Caesar was equally well prepared. The legendary general had held back a number of his African horsemen. Those cavalry could easily be sent to reinforce their rear.

But it was not Torvus’ place to question the regent. The warrior had sworn an oath of obedience, and the Northerner was not one to break a vow. Yet in the center of the warrior’s marrow, Torvus knew to hold back. This battle could drag on for hours. Let the enemy tire. The Romans had marched a hard seven days from Corduba. The countryside villagers had given the Romans grief by stealing their supplies, stampeding their horses, and generally making them wish they had never entered Hispalis. The regent needed Caesar to feel safe in victory so that the Roman would commit those foot cavalry to the front line.