Dark Destiny(2)

Why do you insist on suffering?

The voice was deceptively beautiful. Male. Gentle. A soothing blend of masculine exasperation and charm.

I feel your pain; it is sharp and terrible and pierces my heart like an arrow. Call me to your side. I will come to you at once. You know I can do no other. Call out to me.

There was an underlying whisper of power, of compulsion.

You know me. You have always known me.

The voice brushed at the walls of her mind like the flutter of butterfly wings. It whispered over her skin, seeped into her pores and wrapped itself around her heart. She breathed the voice into her lungs until she needed to answer, to hear it again. To call out. To obey. She needed that voice. It had kept her alive. It had kept her sane. It had also taught her things—hideous, murderous things, but necessary.

I feel your need. Why do you insist on silence? You hear me, just as I feel you when your pain becomes too much to be borne.

Destiny shook her head, a firm denial against the temptation of that voice. The movement sent her thick mane of rich dark hair flying in all directions. She wanted to rid her mind of the deceptive purity of that voice. Nothing could induce her to answer. She would not ever be trapped by a beguiling voice again. She had learned that lesson the hard way, sentenced to a living hell she dared not think about.

Destiny forced air into her lungs, controlling her emotions, knowing that there was a chance the hunter could trace her through the sharpness of her despair. A movement in the nearby shadows had her whirling around, crouching low, a dangerous predator ready to attack.

There was a silence, and then once again movement. A woman moved up the steps of the church slowly, coming into Destiny’s line of vision. She was tall and elegant with flawless coffee-cream skin and hair the color of bittersweet chocolate. Her hair curled in every direction, a riot of shiny spirals spilling down to her neck, framing her oval face. Her large brown eyes probed the darker shadows, searching for signs that she was not alone.

Destiny used preternatural speed, slipping deep into the recesses of the corner alcove, back away from the church doors, using stillness to her advantage. She froze in place, hardly daring to breathe.

The woman walked to the double doors, stood for a moment, one hand resting on the edge of the open door. She sighed softly. “I came here looking for you. My name is Mary Ann Delaney. I know you know who I am. I know you come here sometimes—I’ve seen you. I saw you tonight and I know you’re here.” She waited a heartbeat. Two. “Somewhere,” she whispered aloud, as if talking to herself.

Destiny pressed her body so tightly against the side of the church, her skin hurt. They were both in terrible danger, but only one of them was aware of it.

“I know you’re here; please don’t run away again,” Mary Ann said softly. Despite her thick jacket, she rubbed her arms to ward off the cold. “Just talk with me. I have so much to say to you, so much to thank you for.” Her voice was low, gentle, as if she were speaking to a wild thing, coaxing it to trust her.

There was a terrible tightness in Destiny’s chest. She was choking, suffocating, hardly able to breathe.

She waited a heartbeat. Two. Drew deeper into the shadows. She could hear the sound of her own heart beating. She could hear Mary Ann’s heart following the rhythm of hers. She could hear the beckoning invitation of the ebb and flow of blood rushing through veins. Calling to her. Intensifying her terrible hunger. Her tongue felt the sharpness of her lengthening incisors. She trembled with the effort to control herself, to stop the inevitable.

This woman was everything that she was not. Mary Ann Delaney. Destiny knew her well. She was compassionate and brave, her life dedicated to helping others. A light seemed to shine from her very soul. Destiny listened to her often—her lectures, her group discussions, even her one-on-one counseling sessions. Destiny had appointed herself Mary Ann’s unofficial protector.

“You saved my life. A few weeks ago, when that man broke into my home and attacked me, you came in and saved me. I know you were hurt—there was blood on your clothes—but when the paramedics came, you were gone.” Mary Ann closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the terror of waking up to find a furious man standing over her bed. He had dragged her out from under the covers by her hair, punching her so hard and so fast she had no time to defend herself. He was the husband of a woman she had helped escape into a sanctuary and he was determined to get the address from her. He had pounded her into a bloody heap on the floor, kicking her and then stabbing at her with a large knife. She had the raw scars on her arms where she had tried to protect herself. “I didn’t tell anyone you were there. I didn’t say a word about you to the police. They thought he must have tripped over the overturned furniture and fallen awkwardly and broken his neck. I didn’t betray you. There’s no need to worry; the police aren’t looking for you. They don’t know anything about you.”