In Rapture (Destined) Read online

  In Rapture

  Destined Series Volume 2

  By Elissa Daye

  World Castle Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WCP

  World Castle Publishing

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Elissa Daye 2012

  ISBN: 9781938961601

  First Edition World Castle Publishing December 1, 2012

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover: Karen Fuller

  Photos: Shutterstock

  Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

  Chapter 1

  Madigan’s Army 1543

  In the heat of battle, it was hard to tell where one beast ended and the other began. Grant dodged the claws that swiped menacingly at his head. The fight was fierce as Madigan’s Army of miscreants attacked the werewolves of the Lair.

  Grant could shift into any animal that was required of him because of the anamorphic magic of Serenas that ran through his veins. He was currently assuming the shape of a black wolf. He fought alongside man and beast alike, as the men who followed Marshal Madigan were both everyday men and various types of shifters. No one was turned away from Madigan’s Army, for they fought to protect their countryside from the terrifying rampage of the cold hearted werewolves of Narcissa, who were hell bent on destroying any living being in their wake. This pack of werewolves had extended their reach when they had started to recruit other werewolves who were hungry for power.

  Another snarling beast threw its body toward Grant, but his lithe limbs pushed him into the air fast enough to jump over the hurtling body. He faced the gnashing teeth of the rabid wolf before he saw Marshal Madigan’s sword cleave the beast’s head from its body. Grant shook the spray of blood from his coat and looked around him. Five wolves had beaten a hasty retreat, while six more lay limp and lifeless on the ground, moments before turning into their human forms. His eyes searched for the one that would bring him peace in the void that surrounded him, the one man who made him hunger for revenge, but Seamus Finnigan was nowhere to be found.

  Seamus Finnigan, second in command in the Lair, was the one who had taken from Grant the only thing he had ever cared about. It had just been a few years ago when his wife Maria had been abducted from their home. Maria had recently given birth to their beautiful daughter, Sophia, and had gone out to take a walk in the brisk morning air. She had wandered farther than she should have and was attacked by Seamus and his wolf pack. She had fought them off as best as she could, but they had made sure that she would not return as the same person. They had taken their time, torturing her before sending her back to Grant battered and broken, bearing the bite that had turned her into a monster.

  Maria’s wounds had healed quickly, but her heart had turned dark and bitter and the woman before him became much colder than the one Grant had known. It took years for the melancholy to finally rise to a feverous pitch. Grant had done his best to keep her locked up during each full moon, for those were the times that the darkness swallowed her whole and she shifted into the beast that had taken over her body. However, the moment she turned on their young toddling child his disgust and outrage forced him to give in to her demands to be released into the forest.

  He waited for his wife to return, hoping above all else that the evil lurking in her heart could be washed away with the moon’s rays, but when the sun hit the morning sky, she did not return. Two days later her body was brought back to him by Marshal Madigan, who had regretted to inform him that she had been killed by the Lair. The light had seemed to fade from Grant’s eyes and he became lost in the darkness. It was clear to the people around him that he had finally snapped. He had become enraged, revenge had eaten at his soul, and the only recourse he had was to avenge the death of his wife.

  The evil that plagued their lands had taken away any chance he had at bringing back the woman he had loved, and had left his daughter without a mother to raise her. In a heartbeat Grant’s life had changed. He had gone from being Lord Timberlin of Wickford Manor to being the right hand man of Marshal Madigan, as they traveled the country trying to put an end to the Lair that reveled in the destruction it left in its wake.

  That had been two years ago. His beautiful Sophia was now four years old and she resembled her mother so much that, most days, he dared not look at her. Truth be told, he spent very little time at Wickford, and only knew what his steward forwarded to him.

  “I’m sorry, Grant.” Marshal Madigan’s green eyes sympathized with the beast in front of him. Marshal’s grey hair and rough beard did nothing to age him, for his body was in perfect fighting condition. He was a rock of a man, with well-defined shoulders that held the world safely in place.

  Small yellow lights flickered around him as Grant’s body changed back to his human form. Unlike his werewolf counterparts, Grant did not experience change slowly, his coarse hair did not retract into his pores, and his bones did not contort back into his human shape. The magic that ran through his body allowed him to manipulate his shape within moments, and while it was a powerful magic, he had only demonstrated his abilities to the men he fought alongside of. Magic of all kinds was still feared in their world. However, their fight against the Lair had begun to create a slight tolerance for their kind, for the Lair did not distinguish between those of their own kind and those that did not have a single drop of magic in their blood.

  Grant turned to Marshal and grimaced. “Never fear, Marshal. One day he will be mine. These men here, they deserved to die as much as he does.”

  “You’ll be leaving us for a while?”

  Grant’s conscience nibbled to the forefront of his mind. Marshal had always had a way with the thoughts of others around him. He took a slow breath inward and faced his leader. “My heart is heavy, my friend. It is time for me to return to Sophia. I’ve ignored her for far too long.”

  “What are your plans?” Marshal’s eyes sought his from beneath the silver helmet that covered his gray hair.

  “To find her a mother.” The thought put a bitter taste in his mouth. He really did not want to replace Maria, but Sophia needed a mother. Her maid was threatening to quit yet again, for reasons that Grant could never understand. How hard was it to take care of a small child? From what he had seen, Sophia was a quiet little mite. What trouble could she cause? He would go home and placate the woman and hope she would stay at least long enough for him to find Sophia a mother to oversee her care. He needed to find a permanent woman for her life, someone to give her the love he was incapable of giving.

  “I know a man who can find you a match quite easily for the right amount of money.”

  “I’ll not be purchasing any slaves any time soon, Marshal.” Grant shook his head in disgust.

  Marshal clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Not that kind of man, Grant. He makes matches. Some call him ‘Mr. Destiny’.”

  “I don’t care what they call him, if he can bring me a suitable mother for Sophia. Send a messenger to this man and tell him to meet me at Wickford Manor.” While many men would want to spend more time looking for a proper wife, Grant did not have that luxury. Grant bid Marshal farewell and started his journey back to Wickford Manor.

  Grant returned home and awaited the merchant that would find him a wife and suitable mother for So
phia. It took longer than he desired for the man to arrive, and by the time he did Grant was itching to return to the battle. He had heard that the Lair was attacking the countryside to the north, and his fingers itched to draw his sword, as many fought in their human forms long before they chose to abandon them for their beastly counterparts.

  When the merry bald man arrived at Wickford Manor, Grant was not convinced that he could find a woman so quickly, but he trusted Marshal Madigan with his life, so he ignored the doubt that invaded his mind. “I am in need of a wife. Marshal said you were the best at making such matches.”

  Bradford Marcus looked up at Grant as if sizing him up. “I’ve been known to make a match or two. Tell me, Lord Timberlin, what qualities are you searching for?”

  “Sophia has gone too long without the gentle care of a mother. I need a woman who can take my child under her wing, a woman who can accept her as her own.” Grant thought about the comfort his child had been denied these past two years and his heart felt heavy in his chest. He should have done many things differently for his child and he hoped he was not too late to make amends for his mistakes.

  “I see. Anything else?’

  “I would prefer her to be willing. I am not interested in any chit who is forced into this union…no woman pushed into it by the demands of her overreaching parents. I do not want a wife that is too young, either, but do not want one who has been around.”

  “So young enough to still hold her virtue high, but not too scared to live with a man who is hardened by the world?”

  Grant grimaced under the man’s scrutiny. He could not fault him for his honesty. “She will need to run Wickford in my absence, raise my child, and fulfill all the natural responsibilities of a wife, including the marital bed, so please make sure she is at least pleasing to the eye.”

  The bald man chuckled. “Of course, Lord Timberlin, the woman I have in mind would be pleasing to your eye, trust in that.”

  Grant handed over several gold coins to assist this mysterious man. “I will be away for a small period of time, as the battle takes me north. If the lady is willing, please stand in as my proxy, then bring her home to Wickford Manor.”

  “As you wish.” The man’s eyes twinkled when he left, which Grant had thought quite odd, but after Marcus disappeared from his sight Grant did not think any further on it.

  Chapter 2

  Tinley Village 1543

  The dream had come again…the same faceless man, the same room. The same exact feelings still consumed Malinda’s every waking moment. It was as if her soul was reaching out to him every night. She felt the trail of fire from his lips still burning into her flesh. Flashes of their intertwined bodies ran through her mind, each one rising and falling in syncopation as desire echoed between them.

  Malinda awoke flushed and almost out of breath, as the vivid dream felt much more like reality to her each time. She felt a deep throbbing down to her very core, so fierce it reminded her of the time she had dropped a rock on her toe. The blood had pulsed into the tip and beat a painful rhythm into her flesh. Oh how she ached for the unknown man in her dreams, and there was no cure for it, certainly none that she had any experience with. She looked over at the burning coals in the fireplace and stretched her sore limbs.

  Malinda sat up and cursed the hard floor beneath her. She had fallen asleep near the fire, as she had many nights since her grandmother had become ill. This room was closer to her grandmother, so that if she called out for her Malinda would hear her and be able to answer her quickly. She would have slept on the floor in her grandmother’s room, but she did not want to interrupt the healing sleep that her grandmother needed. It was good that she did not, for if she could see Malinda’s face right now she would think her a harlot. All the desires that were hidden beneath the surface were unseemly for a young lady. It was not natural to be so in tune with mortal desires.

  Malinda rose from the floor, walked across the small house, and gathered up a bucket to bring in water from the well. She walked outside, pleasantly surprised with the beauty of the morning. The wind carried a soft sigh of contentment along its gentle breeze. Malinda let it pass over her with a small smile on her face. Strands of her long black hair swayed when the wind tickled the air around her. She struggled to confine the dark strands, but even the green ribbon she had used to clasp it behind her head could not contain the rebellious locks. She had attempted everything to straighten the curls to a simpler style, but they would not cooperate. Her green eyes flashed in amusement as the wind caught up underneath her skirt and tickled her ankles. It was a good day to be alive.

  After she brought in the water, she separated it into different containers. The water was used for several purposes each day: cooking, cleaning, and bathing. When she had finished this, she put more wood on the burning coals and started a fire to cook their breakfast. She boiled water and threw in some oats to make their mash for the morning. She then set about making the bread for the week.

  Mixing the flour and water together was therapeutic, and she finally put the remainder of her inner turmoil to rest as she focused on the task at hand for a change. She put the dough into pans so that it could rise before she set it in the small stone oven. Her grandfather had built the oven in the back of the tiny wooded hut with his own hands, the very same hut that he had first brought his wife to many years ago.

  Malinda smiled thoughtfully. Her grandfather had been a good man. When Malinda’s mother, Andraya, had returned home, pregnant and heartbroken, he had been the first to suggest that Andraya stay with them in their small home in Tinley Faire. It was tiny, but it was encompassed with love and, even though they did not own the land it sat upon, they owned every nail, every inch of wood, everything within the four walls. No one could have known that her mother would die of a broken heart moments after giving birth to her beautiful daughter. Her grandparents had done the best they could to provide for Malinda, and she had never really needed anything, for her life was brimming with love.

  When her grandfather had passed last year, it had been hard on both Malinda and her grandmother. He had been fit most of his life and had worked for the blacksmith of the Tinley Faire. His wage had gone to the Lord of Tinley Faire to pay the taxes on the land they leased. When he had passed, Malinda had used the rest of the money he had saved sparingly to see that the taxes were paid. She had also been using her skills as a seamstress to help earn more money, as well as helping with the animals in the area. She had been managing fine until her grandmother had taken ill. Malinda now had all the duties of the household to perform, as well as any projects that she had been commissioned for. It was getting harder each day to keep up with it all, and her keen senses told her that the lord’s steward would be hounding them for the property taxes very soon. If her dream yesterday was correct, he would be coming today.

  Malinda left a bowl of oats near her grandmother’s bed, knowing that she would awaken when she felt like it. Rushing the sick to awaken in the morning light was never a good idea. She quickly ate a bowl and then went about some of her daily chores. She had taken on tending to some of the master’s sheep from Malcome Little. His son had passed away last spring, so he was short handed. He was not able to give her money for her efforts, but he had been able to share some of their food and supplies. When the sheep were sheared, she was given a small amount of the wool to spin for her own supply. She had used that to create warmer blankets and wraps for her grandmother.

  Today, she was glad that Malcome was nowhere to be found. She liked to spend the quiet time among the hills, just her, the breeze, and the small bleats of the woolly sheep. She sat and opened her mind to the moment, letting the earth swallow her feet and the winds envelop her like a cocoon. When she entered into a state of complete tranquility, the whisper of a voice ran through her head. It was a child’s voice, so soft she would have missed it had she not been listening closely. “He needs you.” Malinda struggled to let her mind travel to where the sound started, but a warm tongue on he
r face shook her from her reverie. She opened her eyes to find one of the ewes looking at her with eyes that seemed to know more than her voice would ever be able to tell.

  “All right Bess. I get it. Time to bring you all in.” The ears that perked up, along with the small bobbing tail that answered her, told Malinda that the sheep understood her perfectly. It was quite strange how easy it was to communicate with the animals. Her grandmother had told her it was due to the magic of Lena that flowed through her veins: Adrianic magic, older than life itself. When she had been younger her grandmother had taught her everything there was to know about the Adrianic magic, a magic that every woman who was descended from Lena passed down to their daughters, a heritage that came with many powers and even greater responsibility. It was to be used solely to protect others who could not protect themselves, and was never to be used to get ahead in the world around them, for personal gain, or for profit. The women of Lena had many varied skills, from controlling the elements to telling the future. Malinda was a mix of all these things. She could harness the elements if she concentrated hard, but it took a lot of effort for her, for the elements were not what drew her closer. She was skilled in natural healing, could read a person’s aura easily, and could sometimes get an imprint from the past based on the aura a person left behind. She also could read animals well enough to help them, and often times could be found with many different animals following her around. She felt that her ability to understand the animals was her greatest power.

  Her grandmother had been a master healer, and had taught Malinda everything that she knew. Malinda absorbed everything she had been taught—every herbal remedy, spell, and prayer—but one thing had become clear to her: there was no cure for old age and a broken heart. Her grandmother’s health had plummeted since her grandfather had passed away, and Malinda felt helpless as she watched her grandmother get progressively worse with the passing of each day.