Page 5 of Gifted Destiny

Ansel mentioned someone had taken the fall, but everyone knows one death doesn’t matter when many are involved. Someone needs to answer for my childhood and threegenerations of grief and adversity. The executed man had been a scapegoat; the real antagonists sacrificed him when he became an inconvenience. This is true only if Agustin, my grandmother’s guardian, was actually targeted. He might have left because he fell out of love or grew tired of the library.

My fingers tighten around my cup, but I barely notice until Bren coaxes my knuckles to loosen. The hem of his t-shirt bears the signs of his abuse; it’s practically ragged from his fidgeting. His hand around mine is meant to comfort both of us.

Avery’s hands move to knead the tight muscles of my neck as he senses the turmoil inside me. Kodi’s gaze provides the emotional reassurance and comfort it has always offered when he stops bouncing around and focuses on my face for a few seconds.

“Although I owed Tremayne, I felt a compulsion to help once I understood the situation,” Ansel continues. “The library had been my sanctuary when I was a student. She doesn’t permit bullying within her walls, and she came to my aid more than once. I started teaching your mother to shift. Even after she’d found her form, however, she rebelled against becoming the next librarian.” The pain in Ansel’s voice is telling. Although many years have passed, he still struggles with these memories. “I tried to convince her, but I admit that I didn’t push her too hard. I was in love with her already, and I didn’t want her to turn against me.” He takes a ragged breath that reveals his guilt, sadness, and grief.

After a second to compose himself, he continues. “I’m still uncertain of what happened next. I believe Atanea received a message Agustin hadn’t left willingly. It might have suggested he was a prisoner. Whatever she learned, it convinced her to leave the safety of the library to search for him. Despite her mates' protests, she couldn't be stopped once she'd decided. Her mates decided they would rather die with her than remain here withouther. That’s exactly what happened.” Ansel’s tone is somber and Tremayne’s gaze is sad. Had he been close to my grandmother? Did he know more than Ansel?

I don’t blame Atanea because I can imagine myself following her example. If any one of my guardians were captured, I would try to free them, but those remaining wouldn’t let me try alone. The believability of the situation makes the tragedy more devastating. I’d like to believe I’d pay more attention to my child, but I can’t imagine being responsible for a child.

Our recent ordeal is still fresh in my mind as well. Kodi had been taken from me a few days ago. I’d tried to leave, but Garrett and Avery had gone in my stead. They’d all returned alive, but the parallels made dread coil within my stomach like a venomous snake. As if sharing my thoughts, Garrett takes my free hand again. His huge grip makes me feel safe.

“It was a trap,” Ansel relays in a dark tone. “They’d barely stepped off the Academy’s campus before they were attacked. Karasi might have been the next target, but she managed to retrieve the bones of her mother without incident.”

My access to the wisdom of the library offers helpful information. The bones of a sphinx can’t be destroyed regardless of how the shifter is killed. Our blood and bones contain power, and it’s safe to assume the remains protected Karasi. It’s a morbid thought.

“Karasi still refused to be the next librarian, though. She blamed the library for taking her family, and everything within here was a reminder of her life. I’ve continued to search for the truth behind Agustin’s disappearance, but I haven’t been able to find more than Atanea.”

“And you? You were here during that time, right?” My gaze focuses on the mage. He hasn’t said a word.

Tremayne’s eyes meet mine. “Atanea was a friend of mine, but she didn’t truly trust anyone outside her inner circle. AfterAgustin left, she pushed even casual acquaintances away. She reached out to me when she realized Karasi couldn’t shift, but I don’t know any more than Ansel. I understand your suspicion, but my relationship has always been with the library and not its librarians. This building is the reason I’ve stayed at Apocrypha, even though I’ve lost respect for the academy. My loyalty is to the library.” Honesty rings through his words and Sage verifies it. I’d thought he harbored a secret infatuation with my grandmother, but this doesn’t appear to be the case.

Satisfied with his answer, I turn back to Ansel. “Sorry for the interruption. Please continue.” He’s already suffering. My interrogation feels cruel, but I can’t ask him to stop. The library assures me again that she’s easing his pain for the time being. I have to believe this because I need his answers and help.

Ansel nods, calling on the strength the library is feeding him. “As I alluded to earlier, Karasi blamed the library for her mother’s distance.” The pain in the shifter’s voice reverberates through the building around me. Sage’s guilt is so strong that it almost pulls me under. She regrets allowing my grandmother and mother to leave. The connections with my mates serve as my anchor and prevent me from drowning in her remorse.

“Karasi must have been pregnant when she retrieved her mother’s bones. Sphinxes can control their fertility, but something might have been muddled or destiny intervened. I don’t think the pregnancy was intentional because she’d confessed her worries about childrearing. She worried that her role as librarian would take precedence over any child she bore. She didn’t want to become her mother.”

So she died instead, I think, and the irony is painful. By fearing what she might become, she became nothing at all. The time has come, however. I must ask the question behind this entire conversation. My muscles tense with fear and anticipation.

“You think she might have been pregnant, though. Does this mean you slept with her? You could be my father?” I make the inquiry as direct as my embarrassment allows. I’ve been pondering the possibility all day. Fathers might be less important in sphinx lineage, but I was raised in a magicless world. My mother might be dead, but a second human contributed to my existence. Where was this human when my mother died? Where was he when I was born and captured?

Chapter 4

Zosia

Ansel’s gaze drops to the table. “We were lovers, and I was with her most of the time. She never told me that I was her only partner, however. I loved her deeply, and she knew it. It scared her because she didn’t think she had the emotional maturity to return my affection. I begged her to stay here after she learned of her mother’s death. I would have tried harder if I’d known she was with child, but she couldn’t be controlled.”

There was a time when I’d believed myself incapable of love, too, but I wasn’t. Did my mother love Ansel? Had she known she was pregnant?

“I’m sorry that our meeting was under false pretenses,” Ansel continues. “I wasn’t tasked with finding you, but I considered it my duty. It’s also why I have accepted my death without complaint. I am undeserving of a longer life. I didn’t protect your mother, and I failed to protect you.” His sorrow is deeper than guilt. He failed someone he loved, and he lost her because of it.

“After Karasi returned her mother’s bones to the library, she told me she was running away to be with someone else. She forbade me from following her or looking for her. The apparent betrayal made me bitter and angry, so I did as she requested.I remained close to the library because it offered me comfort. When Sage told me I was needed, I followed her instructions without thought. When I first saw you, utterly broken in the magicless hospital …. That was the first time I realized that I might be a father.”

The confirmation freezes me in place. The reality is more shocking than the possibility. This man might be my father. I'd considered him handsome when we first met. I don’t believe I felt attraction …. Had I seen aspects of myself? I search his face for a resemblance, but it’s slight and only apparent because I’m aware of it.

My brain seeks to calculate the difference between my mother’s and Ansel’s ages, but it’s a magicless notion. Large age gaps are common among supernaturals.

I’m so mired in my thoughts that Kodi’s outrage takes me by surprise. “You knew then? You knew at that moment when you saw her in the hospital, but you didn’t bring her here? Did you place her in the magicless orphanage?” My best friend’s anger thunders in my ears and vibrates through my chest. I’m accustomed to bitterness, resentment, jealousy, and pessimism, but the anger he projects toward the dying shifter is slightly out of character. This emotion isn’t an echo of its former self; it consumes him.

“Do you know what she went through there? The caretaker beat her just because she could. Stupid kids thought it was funny to trip her. One time, it was on the stairs. She broke her arm when she fell. Can you imagine how hard it was for her to use her braces with a broken arm? If I hadn’t been there, the idiot teenagers bent on proving their manhood might have molested her – or worse! She ate tasteless slop, endured endless bullying, and lived in a fucking closet! How could you leave her there?”

Although Kodi speaks nothing but the truth, I wince at the blatant airing of my dirty laundry. I don’t need assistance toappear more pathetic. My guardians’ emotions are so conflicted that I can’t separate them from the sorrow and guilt billowing off Ansel.

“I never wanted to leave her there,” Ansel croaks. “She would have been dead if I’d placed her anywhere else. I’ve regretted the decision every day since, but I had no choice. Walthers and Addington knew I’d been close to Karasi, and they watched me from the moment she left. When Zosia escaped from the dungeon, their surveillance increased. If I’d tried to hide her, they would have known; their influence and wealth exceeded my own. I hated myself for it, but she was safer in that place than she would have been anywhere else.”

Ansel lifts his head to meet my gaze. “I know I’ll never be able to make up for the pain you’ve endured because of my absence.”

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