Destiny Forgiven Read online

  Destiny Forgiven

  Leia Shaw

  Copyright 2013 - Leia Shaw

  First Edition

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review without written permission from the author.

  To Mercy, with love

  Northern Wales - 2010

  They say the screams could be heard a mile away from the ominous fortress. His mind was strong. It took longer than anticipated to break it. But Marwolaeth Du was known for far worse than breaking the will of strong men.

  After many long months, the man who woke children at night with his terrified screams came out of Marwolaeth Du a changed man. A man with a soul as stained as the fresh ink on his skin.

  Act 1

  I wish love and duty were one and the same. I’ve never been good at making decisions.

  Maddox to Felicity in a letter, January 2003

  Felicity brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, fighting the cold in the drafty cell. She winced in pain when she clasped her hands together. Her captor had almost broken her wrist. Her nose felt enormous and she’d bet her eyes were black and blue. They’d banged her up pretty good.

  She was no stranger to pain. It was an occupational hazard of being a rebel. The rebel. Oh, they’d have fun getting information from her. The Sorcery Council was known for being harsh when it came to flushing out the rebellion.

  A shudder rocked her. The cold floor was seeping through her worn-out jeans and making her ass numb. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the constant dark. Trying to read the messages etched into the wall broke up the boredom at least, even if it did add to her terror. But she would not break down and cry. If this was her fate, so be it. She’d die for something she believed in. There was no shame in that.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d been there long enough to have missed several meals. She shifted her stiff body on the hard floor and groaned. Being a martyr sounded so much better on paper. Maybe her courage did outweigh her sense, like Dalton always said.

  Dalton. The reminder sent a twinge of pain through her chest. She hoped he was okay. How many of her friends had been caught when the mission had failed? Were they there in the same prison, only a few yards away? The walls were so thick she couldn’t hear anything outside the cell. She’d give the Council anything if they left her friends alone.

  There she was, being all brave again. Sometimes her heart steered her places her brain knew she shouldn’t go. Like into the recruitment camp that night. And now she was going to pay.

  The steel door opened and a guard entered, pointing a gun at her chest. “Get up. You’re going to see the Inkman.”

  Inkman? Well that didn’t sound so bad. What was he going to do? Scribble some notes about her?

  The gun was effective at getting her moving. Shapeshifters, unlike werewolves, were one of the mortal supernatural races, which meant she could be killed like a mortal – gunshot wound, sword through the heart, bludgeoning in the head, all that gory stuff. If only she could shift, she could’ve gotten the hell out of there a long time ago.

  She scratched at the metal band around her upper arm. It still ached where the hundreds of needles stuck into her skin – a magic device to keep her from shifting. Without her magic, she felt so empty.

  The guard led her down the dimly lit hallway. Overhead lights swung on wires from the ceiling, reminding her of a basement in a horror movie. The kind where sickos hacked their victims to pieces and kept them in jars in the refrigerator. Another shudder crept through her.

  He opened the door to a room containing only a table and chair. What appeared to be a one-way mirror ran the length of the wall. Was that where Inkman was taking notes?

  “Sit down.” The guard gestured to the chair. “Inkman will be here soon.” He grinned down at her when she sat. “And I suggest you behave. He’s not someone you want to mess with, shifter.” He spat the last word as if it tasted dirty in his mouth.

  Under the fluorescent lights, she got a good look at the guard. She was surprised to find him attractive. Someone she might have even considered going on a date with. Well, if he wasn’t keeping her starved and dehydrated and quite possibly about to torture her.

  Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. She stared at it, wondering if she should even bother to check if it was locked.

  She didn’t. Instead, she sat in the chair like a good prisoner, awaiting what fate had in store for her. At least it was nice to be outside of that dark, cold cell. She turned to glance at the mirror then did a double take. She barely recognized herself. Raccoon eyes, dried blood under her nose, a fat lip. Was it really going to end like this? Her throat closed up.

  Do not cry, Felicity.

  She blinked once and the urge was gone. With trembling hands, she tried to tame the strands of black hair sticking up on the top of her head.

  Trying to impress someone?, her subconscious sneered.

  She placed her hands in her lap. A girl should look decent for her torture, shouldn’t she?

  She sighed and shook her head. She was losing her mind already. They’d break her like a twig.

  The door creaked open. A man stepped into the room.

  The first thing she noticed was his bald head. Under his crisp green uniform, muscles bulged. And covering his scalp, neck, and bare arms were dozens of tattoos.

  Inkman. Now she got it.

  His lips were pursed in a flat line. The tendons in his neck were tight strings. His hands clenched into fists at his side. The man was a wound-up ball of angry muscle.

  She gulped, then finally looked into his eyes, afraid of what she’d find there.

  Big and round, deep brown with a spattering of yellow.

  Wait a minute. She squinted and looked again. She’d know those eyes anywhere. Hope started in her chest then flooded her with warmth, making her grin. Her mind took her back to the last time she’d seen those comforting eyes.

  “Let’s run away together,” Maddox said, jumping from rock to rock across the creek.

  Felicity sighed and sat down on the bank, dipping her bare feet into the cool water. Her heart ached for her best friend. His life was coming to an end at age twenty. “And where would we go?”

  “To the coast. A small fishing village.” He jumped to the opposite bank then turned around to do it again.

  “Do you even know how to fish?”

  His face fell. “Well, no. But I could learn.”

  “And what would I do while you went fishing every day?” She smiled, indulging his fantasy this one time.

  “Um.” He thought for a moment then grinned. “You would sing.”

  “Sing?”

  “You have an awesome voice.” He took a final leap then landed in front of her. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her to her feet. They walked, hand in hand, through the green meadow. The same meadow they’d spend years playing hide-and-seek in as children. “You could sing and we’d go swimming in the ocean every weekend.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Who am I, the Little Mermaid?”

  He laughed, then broke into a song from the movie.

  “I’m serious, Maddox!” She bit her lip to hold back a smile. “Life can’t always be fun and games.”

  “Who says?”

  “The world. The gods.” She sighed in exasperation. “Everyone!” When he continued to sing Disney songs, she added, “Your father.”

  He froze and she almost regretted it. His expression sobered.

  Then she did feel guilty. She placed her hands on his forearms and looked him in the eye. “I’ll miss you, Maddi.” Grief lodged in her throat. “I’ll miss you more than anything.” She b
arely choked out the words.

  He frowned down at her, his eyes full of sadness. Hesitantly, he touched her cheek. “Don’t say that. It’s not forever.”

  A pair of heavy hands slammed onto the table, startling her out of the memory. She looked up into those familiar eyes. Her Maddox was here.

  “Maddox.” She jumped up and reached for him.

  “Sit down, shifter!” His booming voice echoed off the empty walls and made her flinch.

  Eyes wide, she stumbled back, then fell into the chair.

  She peered up at him, a cold sense of dread sliding through her. Those eyes…the ones that had always represented warmth and fun, hardened and narrowed into cruel slits. This was not the Maddox she knew and loved – the lighthearted, mischievous boy she’d spent summers chasing and laughing with.

  No, this was a very different Maddox. One that made her chest ache and her knees tremble with fear.

  Gods help me.

  What the hell happened to him? Maddox had turned into her worst enemy.

  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.