Page 1 of Forsaken Fate

CHAPTER 1

Theo

For twenty years I’ve had to listen to how beautiful this woman was when all I could think about is how much I hated her. I could kind of see it now though. The dark arch of her brow against porcelain skin. Full lips in a permanent pout. Black lashes so thick you could hardly make each one out. I resisted the urge to brush away an unruly lock of hair that curved around her temple. The rest of her russet curls fanned out across the satin pillow where she rested.

Yes. Everyone else was right. She was beautiful. Leave it to Diana Dorran to make death look stylish.

I had to see her for myself. It would have been easier not to come. Only I knew what this woman was capable of. A spell. A trick. Had she finally succumbed to the darkest magic? I reached out, brushing my pinky against the back of her cold, waxen hand.

I let just enough of my wolf out, feeling the sharp edge of my fangs, drawing blood against my own lips. Using all my senses, I searched for the scent of her. That crackling energy that could fill the air in her wake. But she was gone. Really and truly gone.

No. This was no spell. This was real, sobering, final, death. Diana Dorran, wicked witch of the Midwest. Her magic had finally run dry.

A firm pat at the center of my back came with enough force to nearly knock me across her casket if I didn’t already have a ferocious grip on the arm rest. Doyle Burnett heaved himself into the space on the kneeler next to me. While there was no scent of Diana’s magic, the smell of Doyle’s wolf was strong.

“Hey, Doyle,” I said under my breath, tapping my fist against his.

“You’ve been up here awhile, man,” Doyle said. “People are gonna start to talk.”

I looked around. The line behind me snaked through the room, out into the lobby and around the parking lot of Ridley’s Funeral Home. I wondered how many of the throng actually grieved for Diana. Ten? Twenty? Those that came were Albany’s elite from every faction, both supernatural and mere mortal. The mayor. A former Vice President. Seventeen federal judges including a sitting U.S. Supreme Court Justice. There was even the head of two of the Midwest’s largest covens. My skin crawled. Besides Doyle, I was the only wolf shifter here. This would be a damn good place for an assassination. As the sitting Governor, Diana’s death left a power vacuum in New York. Things might be dangerous for a while.

Doyle and I pushed ourselves away from the kneeler together. I turned and steeled myself for the gauntlet of people in line behind me. I got downturned eyes, tilted heads and fake smiles as many reached out to clasp my hand in theirs.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Such a great, great, lady, your mother.”

“It’s such a tragedy. We’ll keep your mother and your whole family in our prayers.”

“You’ve been such a good son to her.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, straightened my back at every reference. I’d lost my mother, yes. But that was almost thirty years ago. The woman in that casket had no claim on me even though we shared a last name. That was my father’s choice, not mine. Never, ever mine. A political marriage only. A way to unite what was left of the Dorran pack to a powerful coven in the face of threats from the fae. A strategic move on Diana’s part to shore up alliances and finally hand her the ultimate seat of power in this state. We all did things to survive what was now becoming known as the Great Supernatural War.

To this day, I don’t know how my father stomached it. And now, my real mother…my father’s one true fated mate… would lie in a cemetery not far from here while they slid Diana into a marble vault next to my dad. I’d never get away with moving him where he belonged. Even in death, Diana could still take things away.

I followed Doyle down the hallway. He led me past the coatroom and out a side door to the parking lot. We ended up right behind the dumpsters and it was perfect. No gawkers, reporters, or false mourners back here. Doyle reached into the breast pocket of his dark brown suit and pulled out a flask. He offered it to me.

I took it, raised it in salute and downed two quick shots. It would be enough to take the edge off for about an hour and I could have kicked myself for not thinking of bringing my own supply. As it was, I could see the humor in the situation.

Doyle apparently did too because he picked that moment to slap me on the back again and break into his rich, deep bark of a laugh. His inability to keep it quiet had gotten us into trouble when we were kids. “Shit doesn’t ever change, does it?” he said.

It didn’t. It had been almost ten years since I’d been back in town. Not since the Supernatural War fully ended. Not since they’d opened the borders for good and driven out the fae and their army of enforcers known as the Ring once and for all. Albany was being rebuilt from the ground up.

Now, only a few states harbored anything close to a healthy population of shifters, if you could call it that. The “safe” states, where shifters and other magic users held political power were here, New York, Michigan, Ohio, California, Florida and Texas. Everywhere else, suspicion and bigotry still ran rampant. Though we’d entered treaties with the covens and the humans, it was an uneasy peace. There was still a massive refugee problem for those shifters and magic users who had been displaced during the war. Technically, I was one of them.

Doyle had keen gray eyes and a pointed jaw that gave him a devilish quality. He accentuated that by sporting a goatee and thin mustache. His laughing eyes were permanently creased now but thank God he was here. He knew. I didn’t have to explain to him who the real Dorran pack was. He was there when I buried my mother and sister after a rogue tiger clan loyal to the fae hunted them down and killed them all those years ago when the war broke out.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, toying with the idea of downing more of Doyle’s bourbon.

Doyle took the flask away from me then and caught up with me. When he finished, we each did another shot to kill the thing and it was enough to make my head good and light. It wouldn’t last nearly long enough though. Sometimes I wished I could just be human for a day.

“You really holding up okay, man?” Doyle asked.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I just hate these things no matter who’s in that box.”

Doyle nodded. “Still, I think people are expecting you to be in there with Grayson. Put up a family front and all.”

I had the momentary urge to let my wolf out and punch a dent into the dumpster in front of us. Doyle must have sensed it.

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