Rebecca Zanetti: Fated

This book wouldn’t exist without the help of many people who deserve a heartfelt thank you! So thank you to the following: Caitlin Blasdell, my amazing, talented and insightful agent; Megan Records, my wonderful, encouraging and knowledgeable editor; Jennifer Dorough, my hardworking, humorous, and talented critique partner; my beta readers and friends, Jessica Namson, Brandi Hall, and Tina Jacobson; the FF&P Critique Group and KOD’s Lethal Ladies, who gave me wonderful advice. And a very special thank you to Kathy and Herb Zanetti, my supportive in-laws, who entertained Tony and the kids so that I could write about vampires, werewolves, and fate.

“Mama! Mama, wake up.” Tiny hands clutched at Cara’s worn nightshirt, shaking with all their might. Cara’s eyes flew open, and her heart hitched in her chest. Terrified blue eyes speared her through the dusk of the morning. The little girl must have had another nightmare. “Janie, sweetheart, what?”

“They’re coming. They’re coming now, the bad men. We have to run.” Janie’s breath came in sharp gasps before she let out a high-pitched sob.

Cara shook her head, reaching out to enfold her daughter in a hug. She slowed her own breathing, the need to comfort her child overwhelming her. Poor Janie. Not another nightmare. She reached for her reading glasses on the table only to realize she’d fallen asleep with them on. Again. The newest edition of Botanical Magazine hadn’t been the barn-burner she’d expected.

She smoothed Janie’s hair down while silence echoed around them. Now more than ever, she wished Simon had lived, maybe he could have soothed their daughter’s fears. She flipped on the antique pink Depression glass lamp. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m sure it was just a bad drea—”

A loud crash came from the other room and Cara yelped. The sound of splintering wood propelled her to action. She leapt from the bed, yanked Janie into her arms, and sprinted for the master bath, barely missing the potted fern in the corner. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she locked the door and rushed toward the small window. She failed to unlock it before the thin door burst open behind her.

A broad hand stopped the door from clanging against the wall. At least six and a half feet of muscle-packed male filled the doorway.

With a cry, she dropped Janie to her feet and dodged in front of the four-year-old. The air caught in her throat and her ears started to ring as adrenaline spiked through her blood. This was not happening. She yanked her head to the side and forced herself to accept the situation. Accept that she needed to fight. She dragged oxygen into her tight lungs and searched the tiled counter for a weapon—her tweezers probably wouldn’t harm anybody.

She pushed Janie back against the wall. Retreating a step, she held one hand out to ward off the threat. His size made her gulp. Brown eyes raked her from his hard cut face, and raven black hair reached his collar with a freedom that disavowed any ties to the military—although he wore the requisite flack boots and dark jeans under a bulletproof vest. She’d seen the gear on a Discovery Channel special about soldiers.

The energy emanating from him stole her breath.

“Get out,” she said, shielding her child. Trying to shield herself from the feelings he threw at her. Anger, passion, and urgency all swirled together, mixing with her own panic and making her light-headed. Her knees wobbled, and her head began to ache. She usually blocked better than this. Or maybe his emotions were just that strong.

“We need to go.” His tone was water over sharp rocks, as if he was trying to gentle a naturally rough voice. Then his eyes dropped to her faded nightshirt to see the image of Einstein surrounded by shopping bags—”Quantum Shopping.” His top lip quirked up and a dimple winked. Her heartbeat slowed in response. Then he stalked a step closer, his hands at his sides, and her gaze flew to the gun on his hip, to the several knives secured in his vest.

Her heart leapt back into action. “You have the wrong house.” She glared up at his implacable face—a face cut from granite with a jaw made to take a punch. She’d have to jump to even come close.

The scent of spiced pine and male infused the room.

He shook his head. A pit the size of a large rock settled in her stomach as adrenaline slammed the room into sharp focus. Her breath came in short pants, and her scientific mind sought an answer. A way to take his massive frame down. She stamped down on the rising panic when nothing came to mind, and again searched for a weapon, spotting the tiny Fittonia “White Anne” in the terra-cotta planter. She couldn’t throw Annie at the man; the plant would never survive.

The intruder took another step to peer over her shoulder. “It will be okay. We have to go.” His large hand encircled Cara’s bicep before dragging her into the bedroom. Fear seized her vocal cords for a moment, and her mind scattered. Should she tell Janie to run? Could she slow him down long enough?

Then, with a muffled curse, he dropped her arm. A low growl emanated from him as he peered at his hand. He wiped it on his pant leg and grabbed her again. What had been on her shirt?

The phone near the bed caught her eye, and she lunged for it. He jerked her back, his hand warm and firm on her arm. Cara dug her feet into the carpet but their forward momentum didn’t slow, so she tried to yank away as he pulled her toward a basket of clothes at the foot of the bed.

“Janie, follow us,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Cara coughed out air. He knew Janie’s name. This wasn’t random. Fear choked her again. “How do you know her name?”

He pivoted until she smacked flush against him. Heat filled her, surrounded her. His hands settled on her arms, and his determination and intent beat at her. Damn it. She couldn’t block him—she sucked as an empath. Then he lowered his head.

“I know both of your names, Cara. Listen. My name is Talen Kayrs, and I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” Determined eyes captured her while he gave her a moment. “Take a deep breath. I can feel your power. You can find the truth here. You know I won’t hurt you.” His voice rumbled low. Soothing.

Her body softened from his tone even as her mind rebelled. Her breathing evened out. Danger radiated out of the man, but she could sense no intention to harm her. Or Janie.

Janie tugged on her waist. “It’s okay, Mama. We have to go. They’re coming.”

Cara stepped to the side and nodded. “Fine. We’ll leave. We can follow you.” If she could just get Janie to the car—

He grinned, flashing even white teeth. “You can’t lie worth spit. You have one minute to throw on clothes.” The sound of his rough voice shot nerve endings alive through her skin. But not from fear. He turned toward the door.

“No.” She again tried to wrench away while her body tingled where it met his.

“Then you go in your pajamas.” He grabbed the basket of clothes in his other arm while he towed her into the hallway. “Keep up, Janie.” The little girl stumbled behind, keeping her hands glued to Cara’s waist.