Destiny Forgiven (Shadows of Destiny) (2 page)

 

FELICITY:
Don’t give up so easily. Chip away at your father little by little. Like you did to get me to jump off Baylor’s Bridge in the dark!

MADDOX:
It’s not as easy as that. You’re a little girl, not a powerful mountain of a man with a mean streak that rivals a grizzly. Good thing you’re not or that would be awkward when I kiss you again.

FELICITY: Little girl?! Excuse me while I pick my eyes up off the floor. They just rolled out of my head.

Will you kiss me again someday, Maddox? Will it be soon?

MADDOX: I don’t know, sweet girl. But I dream about it every day.

IM exchange, February 2003
 

 

This prisoner was different. His father’s reaction had said as much. Maddox stood stone still in his office, staring down at the single sheet of paper on his desk that contained only three lines.

Name: Felicity Vaughn.

Position: Shifter rebel leader.

Race/gender: Shapeshifter. Female.

He’d never tortured a woman before. Was that what his father was concerned about? Did he think Maddox unable to maintain focus and the undying loyalty he’d sworn to? He could almost take offense to the blatant challenge. A deep breath cleared his head. Contempt was an emotion. Emotions were a weakness he’d nearly rid himself of.

“Keep your head,” his father had said during the briefing. “Remember who you are.”

A soldier of virtue – of truth and light. Unlike the rebellion, which would always be a black stain on the history of sorcery. That is, until he stomped them out. And that was exactly what he planned to do. No little girl was going to get in his way.

Resolved to put aside whatever irrational feelings could be dredged up by the presence of a woman, he left his office and made his way to the holding room.

The dark hallway and cold stone walls gave other men, even his guards, the chills. But to Maddox it was home – the only one he knew. The prisoners’ wails of pain and loneliness comforted him the way a soft blanket comforted a child.

At the steel door to one of the sparsely furnished holding rooms, he inhaled a measured breath, resting his hand on the latch. He was Inkman – feared and respected. Known for his cool head and determined focus. His colleagues whispered “soulless” behind his back, thinking he couldn’t hear them. What was a soul anyway but a fanciful notion?

Maddox Blackwell stayed outside the room. Inside, he was different. He was Inkman. Head of
Marwolaeth Du,
Fortress of Night. And he knew no mercy.

He opened the door to the room and his world rocked.

 

MADDOX: My father is desperate to turn me into his clone, but I suck at this politics stuff. I miss home. He says my home is the training center now. This place is depressing. Though there’s tons of hidden corridors and secret passageways. We’d have loved playing hide-and-seek here.

FELICITY: Can’t you play hide-and-seek from him? Ha ha. Now that makes a funny visual.

Email exchange, March 2003
 

 

A rush of warmth flooded his chest. The smell of wildflowers, of summer days spent soaking up the sun, flashed in his memory. Bursts of images that lasted only a fraction of a second – so short he couldn’t quite grasp them. A feminine smile, rushing water, high-pitched squeals of laughter, a cave lit up with flashlights.

He looked at the small brunette sitting at the table. Blue eyes stared up at him, squinting in recognition. Eyes that seemed so familiar, even among the dirt and bruises. A name. Cee?

He gave his head a small shake. No. These weren’t his memories. A trick. Was the woman a witch as well as a shifter?

Shaking off the momentary stupor, he strode across the room. Her gaze faltered as he drew closer. Fear. Satisfaction welled inside him and he almost smiled. That never got old. But then her determined gaze regained its hold on him.

A challenge. Interesting. Well she wasn’t a rebellion leader for lack of courage.

Stopping at the edge of the table, he drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. His stare alone broke the will of men stronger than this wisp of a girl.

Her eyes widened. “Maddox!” She jumped up and looked ready to fling herself into his arms.

He hissed in a breath then regained composure. Slamming his hands onto the table, he bellowed, “Sit down, shifter!”

Her eyes filled with confusion as she stumbled backward. Her knees hit the chair and she fell into the seat. Bottom lip trembling, she peered up at him in horror.

The sense of accomplishment he’d normally feel in frightening a prisoner escaped him. His gaze locked on that lip. Something clenched in his chest – like someone had plunged a hand into it and squeezed his heart. A feeling so uncomfortable he growled, fighting back a wave of panic.

Deep breath.
Remember who you are.

He sneered at the girl. No wonder his father had been concerned. This woman was meant to test him.

 

 

FELICITY: I just joined the rebellion! I start training tomorrow. I’ll rescue you from your father’s evil clutches. Just tell me when.

MADDOX:
Swoon
. My hero!

Email exchange, April 2003
 

 

The look of pure hatred as Maddox sneered down at her made Felicity’s heart sink. What had happened to her Maddox? What horror could have created this…person with cold eyes and a nasty smirk? Her mind wandered past the door to the room, through the lonely hallway, and back to her cell. She shuddered to think what he’d been through.

There was one fleeting moment when he’d first walked in that she thought she saw a flash of recognition. It had left as quickly as it had come.

Gods! Maddox.

A tear fell from the corner of her eye and made a trail down her cheek. It splashed onto her hand, which trembled in her lap. How many years had she spent mourning him? The last letter had come eight years ago. She’d searched for him, tirelessly. She’d even traveled to America to try to find him. Every night for months, she’d cried herself to sleep. A few years ago, she’d reconciled herself to the fact that he was dead. It was the only way she could move on. But it’d hurt. And now that pain started again – a twisting in her chest. It conflicted with the burst of joy that he was alive. Alive, but dead at the same time. Now she didn’t know how to feel.

Maddox made a sound of disgust. “Stop your tears, woman. You’ll get no pity from me.”

That was becoming abundantly clear. She needed a plan. She was known for her quick thinking and logical reasoning. But now she couldn’t even form a coherent thought, her grief so thick she almost choked.

“You don’t remember me?” she asked in a voice smaller than she’d intended.

His eyes narrowed then scorched her with contempt. “How could I remember you when we’ve never met?”

She dropped her gaze, his hate-filled glare too painful. Breathe, she coached herself. Think rationally. Form a strategy. She’d led dozens of missions, infiltrating the enemy, stamping out small groups of terrorists. She could do this. It was just another mission.

Step one: stay alive.

Maddox leaned over the table. His fingers reached out toward her face. She backed away but he caught her chin and forced her head up to look at him.

His touch had always brought comfort. Now it scared her. Her gaze wandered over his face, ignoring his cruel but familiar eyes. She considered his bald head. Maddox had always had a thick head of rich brown hair that flopped around his ears. It had been his most charming feature. That and his carefree smile.

“You know why you’re here,” he told her. “Spare yourself the pain and cooperate.”

She gulped. Stay alive, she reminded herself. “What would you like to know, Maddi?”

Anger flared in his eyes and he drew back his fist. She turned her head, squeezing her eyes shut and waited for the pain. When none came, she dared a glance.

He stood in front of her, his fist posed at his shoulder, shaking. His nostrils flared with each breath as he gritted through his teeth. “
Don’t
call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped and she looked down. The man was as unstable as a toddler teetering on the edge of a cliff. “What would you like me to call you?”

“You don’t address me. You answer my questions and maybe I won’t kill you.”

The threat made her flinch. She’d never imagined death at the hands of her best friend. She’d figured it’d be a safe house raid or being blown to bits in some explosion.

Now she’d better get used to the idea that Maddox would hurt her. No, not Maddox. Inkman. Maddox was gone. Or maybe buried deep. Should she bother to hope?

He straightened and backed away a few steps. “How many shifters are in the rebellion?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done a head count.”

“Give it your best approximation.”

She shrugged. “A hundred?”

He considered her a moment. It wasn’t a lie – just an omission of the truth. Shapeshifters were only a percentage of the supernaturals that made up the rebellion. But they were gaining some allies now that the sorcerers had targeted others in their war against the Underworld.

Maddox, no doubt, had been trained to sniff out a lie. Seeming content with her answer, he snorted. “Just a hundred? And you think you can take us down? The Council, with five hundred men at our disposal?”

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