INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS)

INVISIBLE FATE

Copyright © 2014, Mary Arsenault Buckham

First Edition

ISBN
978-1-939210-07-4

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

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to those readers who kept faith with me as deadlines whizzed past. While writers may live in our heads, we also live in the real world and, in spite of best intentions and for a variety of reasons, a novel can be delayed. Hearing from readers who were looking forward to this next book in the series made it possible to create it. Thank you, each and every one of you
. You rock!

Acknowledgement

It takes a village to create a book and this book is no
exception. A huge note of appreciation to my amazing Street Team, Mary B’s ninjas, who, by being great Beta readers, helped so much in making sure the story held together. A special thanks to DA for copyediting, you are my Grammar and Comma Goddess. Also, a huge hug to Dianna Love for her support and lovely cover quote. And, of course, thank you to my husband who keeps me sane—which is a full time job—but is also willing to discuss vamps, Weres and shifters even in a public venue! Any mistakes or adjustments in detail for the purpose of fiction are entirely my own doing.

Chapter One

Bran guided Jeb Noziak down a dank, murky tunnel, deep beneath the streets of Paris, trusting the shaman shifter to follow, listening for the older man’s brea
thing, which was barely there. Jeb’s son Van lay inert across Jeb’s right shoulder, easy weight for Jeb’s shifter self, but anyone carrying the full weight of an unconscious wolf, even in human form was going to tire.

“Far to go?” Jeb asked, his words echoing through the damp darkness.

“No.” Bran kept his response short on purpose. He had his own troubles to deal with, like the blood continuing to seep from the gunshot wound on his shoulder. Unlike Jeb or Van, he didn’t have a shifter’s ability to recover quickly from physical wounds. And then there was Alex. Always Alex. He allowed one sharp, bitter smile and kept moving forward.

No saying what Van’s mental condition would be when he woke up having been drugged and wounded in the recent fight that left several Weres dead. Bran, as well as Van in his shifter form,
owned responsibility for some of those deaths. Plus Van had wounded his own sister. Was Alex dead, too?

If she wasn’t
, he’d be tempted to wring her neck.

How did one mule-headed witch create so much havoc in his life? Better question, how was he going to minimize the damage already done because of her rash actions and his inability to think, much less act rationally around her?
He’d learned that lesson watching the destructive relationship between his parents and vowed not to follow their poisonous patterns. Only a fool let a woman drag him deeper into impossible situations and no one had called Bran a fool since he was six. Now was not the time to start.

One challenge at a time. Contain Van in a place he’d be safe until they could counter whatever drug had been pumped through his system. See to both their wounds
sustained when trying to stop Van. Then discover what had happened to Alex.

It always came back to that one damnable witch.

Running his own multi-national company, which was still reeling from the recent death of its CEO, Bran’s cousin, and the publicity damage associated with that death, should be occupying all his focus. But, no, there was Alex. Her and the cock-up she’d dragged them all into.

He flexed his fingers. Clench. Unclench.
Keep moving forward
.

He had learned the hard way how to approach multiple crises.

Triage. The only course of action when the alternative was to run howling at the moon in rage, even if he didn’t have a drop of shifter or Were blood in his veins. Right this minute there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about the past or the immediate present. The future? Oh, yes, he planned to take care of the future. His way. The way of a warrior-trained mage and not one being led on a merry goose chase by one Alex Noziak.

He was s
o focused on his dark thoughts that he stumbled on the uneven rocks as he marched deeper into the stygian darkness. Somewhere, obscured in the bowels of stone and earth a roar sounded and receded. The ebb and flow of the Paris subway system snaking through parallel tunnels. The vibration echoing the clash within Bran.

He wasn’t even considering the underlying issue that brought him to this
, skulking around like a thief. He’d been under direct orders from the Council of Seven to report to them, several hours ago. Instead, he’d ended up in an Alex-created free-for-all that left a dozen preternaturals dead. Not just dead but killed in view of the entire Council.

The Council was the preternatural governing body tasked with not only maintaining order among the multiple preternatural
groups inhabiting the world, but keeping those beings a secret from the humans. Seven representatives of the most populous non-humans—fae, shifters, vampires, witches, demons, shamans and druids—who were the the magic users—with each representative elected for a lifetime position, attempting the impossible with draconian control. The Council held ultimate power among the law-abiding preternaturals, and spent ninety percent of their time keeping a tight lid on the not-so law abiding ones.

They also tended to
solve their issues with an all-or-nothing approach. It was easier to kill a suspected preternatural accused of exposing their world to the humans than to worry about the chance the accused might be innocent. They took the concept of ask forgiveness, not permission to the extreme. And they skipped the whole ask for forgiveness part.

Right now
, Bran was the accused. Identified as being involved with supplying his cousin, and others, with a designer drug that manipulated preternaturals. The ramifications of such a drug were deadly for everyone involved, human and non-human. Create a raging Were, influence assassin vampires, give a bitter fae a suggestion that hunting humans for food was no longer frowned upon, and the murky line between the current hidden preternatural world and rampaging chaos amongst the humans could be all too easily breached.

So what
did Alex do? Stage her rumble in the very public area of Versailles. No hiding dead bodies there. Dead non-human bodies.

What a cock-up.

Too bad the Were, who was Bran’s best link at proving his innocence, had been killed in the same skirmish that wounded Bran and left Alex’s fate unknown.

It was also too bad that Jeb,
Alex's father, was following Bran, and was also the shaman representative on the Council of Seven. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy.

Earlier in the week
, the Council’s leader, Philippe Cheverill, had been murdered. Rumors were that Bran was the killer. Or Alex did the deed because of Bran. So now Bran had been labeled as both drug dealer and murderer in the preternatural community.

And to think he’d had a handle on his life. Being around Alex created th
is kind of insanity.

So why did the thought of her truly being dead gut him?

Focus
. Plan a course of action to clear his name. Take the next step forward.

Jeb must have been thinking along the same lines as he paused and demanded, “Where exactly are we?”

“Abandoned line of the Paris metro system.”

“You come here often?” Jeb’s voice held that same sharp wryness Bran associated with Alex. No
gray areas for the Noziak family. Why wasn’t he surprised?

“Only when I need to go to ground,” he growled, then added
, “Literally.”

“Fair enough,”
Jeb mumbled, letting Bran know he wasn’t hiding how close his own temper was riding to the surface. But then this man had raised Alex and four shifter sons; being testy must be a way of life by now.

“We’re here.” Bran’s voice reverberated from the arched ceiling of the tunnel
, followed by a squeal of a metal door he wrenched open, one looking so rusted only an idiot would try moving it. “Duck your head as we step through the opening and watch out for the high threshold.”

Too late, as Jeb kicked against the concrete barrier. “Thanks,” he snarled, sounding more like his
usual self-controlled shifter self.

Nice to know
Bran wasn’t the only one tether-tensed.

Inside the room
, the stench of crumbling concrete, mold, and dried blood gagged him. It was his usual reaction to this space and he didn’t have half the sensitivity of a shifter’s sense of smell.

Bran paused, waiting for Jeb to move deeper inside as Bran reached to torch a wall sconce, handier than a kerosene lantern
, though there was one of those too, on a rickety table near several metal cots. Once the light flared to life, the room looked bigger than expected. Big enough to be a dormitory more than a room. Or the cell it was often used as.

Bran could tell to the second when the older Noziak noticed the sets of chains hanging from the concrete and rock walls. Jeb paused, his body bracing. “What is this place?”

Bran glanced around, aware of exhaustion clawing at him and the kick-start of pain along his shoulder, which he’d been able to ignore as long as he’d been moving. “A Were safe house.”

Since it was a group of Weres that Van had attacked, being in their territory didn’t necessarily bode well for the three of them.

As if Bran’s words triggered a threat, Jeb stepped farther away, planting his feet wide as if preparing for battle.

Bran
nodded toward the door. “The Weres haven’t used this site for some time, but the door can be barred against them. If needed, it can slow them down.”

It took a moment for Jeb to digest that while Bran might not be his friend, he wasn’t yet the enemy. The key word being ‘yet’.
Jeb gave a chin nod toward the closest wall. “You planning the chains for Van?”

“
We both just saw first-hand what the drug they pumped into your son can do to a preternatural. It isn’t pretty.” Bran’s jaw tightened, his gaze looking to the distance, thinking of his cousin Dominique and what the drug had done to her the last time he’d seen her. Not only the drug, but the lure of power the drug represented. The preternatural who could control other preternaturals would be invincible.

With an abrupt shudder
, he pulled himself off that ledge. Dominique wasn’t coming back. That was the past. Now he had enough challenges to deal with, one at a time. His gaze re-zeroed in on Jeb. “The restraints might be the only thing holding Van back from hurting you, or himself.”

“Fair enough.” Jeb eased Van from his shoulder to the nearest bed, before
straightening to face Bran. “I’ll be straight. You helped my son so I’ll help you.”

Bran nodded. It wasn’t a
handshake, a let’s work together response, but a statement of fact. The shifter shaman owed him and neither were about to forget it.

But Jeb wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. He was just warming up. “I’ll assist
, but only so far. I’m still a Council member and owe loyalty to their decisions.”

“Even if they’re wrong?” Bran barked out the words. Mistake. Not smart to show raw emotions to another preternatural
, especially to someone on the Council.

Jeb
seemed to tense, his words razor-sharp. “I’ll repeat, but only once. I’m a Council member, which means I’m duty bound to make sure you appear before the board.”

Bran gave a quick, hard nod. “Understood.”

“I don’t think you do.” The older man’s words sounded suddenly weary.

“I know that I have to prove my innocence to the Council, which won’t be easy.” Understatement. Only an idiot created a public display of rebellion before approaching a governing body. For that alone
, the Council could have him killed.

Jeb said nothing. Not that Bran expected less. The man had allowed his only daughter to be sent to prison when the choice was between proving her guiltless of murder or revealing the existence of preternaturals to humans. The older Noziak might be a father but he was a Council member
, through and through. Best to remember that.

Bran deepened his voice. “I’m not your daughter expecting her father’s help.”

Jeb flinched as if struck.

Bran pushed on. “I have one goal. To prove myself to the Council.” One goal that he’d reveal to this man.

Jeb raised his chin for Bran to continue.

“Someone is setting me
…” he glanced at Van. “… and your son up to take the fall for the drug that’s being tested on preternaturals.” It’d also been used against humans but that wasn’t the Council’s business.

“That’s a big claim.” Jeb’s tone indicated a far-fetched one too. “What basis do you have to back such an accusation?”

“The individual responsible was the Were bison killed this morning.”

“If that’s true
, the proof you might have had died with him.”

Bran clenched
, then slowly eased his jaw. One step at a time. Didn’t have to be a full step, just a step forward. Anger wouldn’t help the process. “That Were might be dead, but someone’s above him on the food chain.”

“And you know who this
someone
is?”

“Not yet.”

The twist of his expression told Bran loud and clear what Jeb thought about Bran’s chances. No proof, no case. “You’ll have to take that up with the Council. “

“You
are
the Council.”

Jeb shook his head. “Only one member.” A granite hard glance shot Bran’s way
“You’re not a fool. You’ve been accused of both manufacturing and distributing this synthetic drug.”

“The same drug injected into your son. You do know that.”

Jeb nodded. “I’d guessed as much, which doesn’t make it any easier for me to trust you.” He paused, as though choosing his words carefully.

Bran straightened, both retreating into himself, and bracing
for more. “Then I’d best find the only other witness to prove that I'm innocent.”

“Other?”

“Your son is one. If he remembers who shot him full of the poison.”

From Jeb’s shuttered expression
, the older man clearly wasn’t going to hold his breath on that chance. “Who’s the other?”