Maybe Fate: A Novel (New Adult Paranormal Romance) Read online

  -Maybe Fate-

  Cynthia Brint

  Copyright © 2013 Cynthia Brint

  All rights reserved.

  Maybe Fate is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  ..Going Forward..

  The story in these pages unfolds from the point of view of the two main characters.

  To keep things clear, I've titled each chapter with their names. It should make for an interesting experience and allow for multiple angles.

  Just like life, there is always more going on than we, ourselves, could ever realize on our own.

  I hope you enjoy!

  ~Cynthia

  Table of Contents

  A Prologue of Sorts

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  Chapter 17.

  Chapter 18.

  Chapter 19.

  Chapter 20.

  Chapter 21.

  Chapter 22.

  Chapter 23.

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25.

  Chapter 26.

  Chapter 27.

  An Epilogue of Sorts

  A Prologue of Sorts

  Nethiun

  The scent of smoke and oil permeated everything. It was a heavy scent, but one I'd long grown used to. I couldn't recall a time before its existence. It was... normal.

  Boring, but normal.

  The haze of clouds made the room difficult to see. That was never a problem for me, though.

  I knew the place like it was a part of me.

  Really, I mused to myself, it is a part of me, in a sense.

  “Nethiun.” The voice that spoke was languid, syrup dripping from a tilted bottle.

  Kneeling at the foot of the throne, a position I'd held for hours, I looked up. She was sprawled in the great chair, bare legs the color of coffee grinds bent over the side.

  She was staring off at nothingness, like she hadn't meant to say my name. I wondered what had caused her to speak to me at all. “Yes, Mistress?” I asked curiously.

  “Last night,” she whispered, lifting her arms. The long strands of lavender silk she wore dangled like spider webs. “I had a dream.”

  That, of all things, was not normal.

  “A dream,” I repeated. Lifting my head higher, I peered at the woman. It had been a long time since she'd fallen into such a state. It was an uncommon feat for the twaelin race. We do not sleep.

  Only my Mistress had that rare trait.

  “Yes.” she sighed, her legs kicking in one grand swoop until she was sitting up straight. “It was awful. Quite awful.”

  “What did you see, Mistress?”

  Her eyes flitted down to me; richer than blood, yet as dull as my own. They held no shine, light did not reach them. “Almost nothing. It was... an odd prophecy, I could make no sense of it. Only a feeling of foreboding, and a face.”

  Now I was intrigued.

  “A face... interesting. Were you able to recognize it?”

  Silently, she waved her hand in a wobbling circle before her. The smoke in the vicinity coiled, shaping together in one great motion to form a flat surface.

  Inside, we both looked upon the face of a young woman. “Her,” my Mistress said. “I spent days after the dream trying to divine her location, but I found her. This human, she's the one I saw. She was my source of dread.”

  A human, how delightfully strange. That was why my Mistress had waited to tell me. She'd been doing the leg work herself, working to discover this girl who'd appeared in the prophecy.

  This is interesting, to say the least.

  Gracefully, I unfolded from the ground, standing before my Mistress with my hand on my chest. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter 1.

  Gale Everette

  The droning voice was putting me to sleep. Even with my forehead on the cool wood of my desk, I was slipping away. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed up so late watching that dumb show about making cakes, I thought in silent cynicism.

  “Miss Everette?”

  Then again, it was pretty crazy seeing them stacking those things so high.

  “Miss Everette...”

  And those sugar statues were—

  “Miss Everette, are you sleeping?” My professor asked, finally yanking me from my drowsy daydream.

  Sitting up so fast it made me dizzy, I discovered my teacher watching me with a frown that could cut glass. It seemed the entire class was looking my way, honestly.

  One of the girls motioned at me, rubbing along her cheek pointedly. I got the drift quick, wiping away a smidge of drool while my face burned hot. “Uh, sorry, what was that Mr. Birch?”

  Lanky as a hat-rack and easily as tall, my professor raised one elegant eyebrow at me with practiced patience. “I asked if you could read back that last paragraph. Is that a problem?”

  “Oh, no!” Clearing my throat, I peered down at the open copy of the book 'Armadale' before me with fierce intensity. “Not a problem at all. Uh, sorry, give me... give me one second...”

  The silence as I scoured the pages for where I thought we had left off was painful.

  “Here we go,” I said triumphantly, glancing up at the stoic face of Mr. Birch.

  He didn't seem impressed.

  “Mmhm. Right.” Standing so that my chair screeched loudly, I hurried to read the paragraph.

  “'The only hope I have left for you hangs on a great doubt - the doubt whether we are, or are not, the masters of our own destinies.

  “It may be that mortal free-will can conquer mortal fate; and that going, as we all do, inevitably to death, we go inevitably to nothing that is before death.'”

  I had to fight back an extreme eye-roll, but my thoughts didn't bother reigning in the sarcasm. Yes, destiny and fate sure are current real-world problems. What a ridiculous thing to even wonder about.

  Shutting the book on my thumb to mark the page, in case Mr. Birch demanded more of me, I sat back down. Please please please don't ask me to keep reading, I begged mentally.

  My professor waited a second longer, then turned around to the blackboard. “Now, let's discuss what Wilkie Collins is talking about here.”

  Sighing in relief, I slumped in my seat and propped my cheek on my palm.

  English class was where I wanted to take a nap, not debate the insight of an author's opinion on if we could or could not change our futures by using 'free-will' or whatever.

  It's all pretty useless, anyway. Life doesn't give us the option to take control or change things, you just suck it up and deal with what it hands you.

  A concept like fate would be pointless when you don't get to choose how things go.

  I listened to my teacher bab
ble on until the bell finally rang. Gathering up my books, stuffing them in my bag, I scurried from the room without meeting Mr. Birch's eyes.

  Dumb. Really dumb. I thought college English classes would have more substance to them. This is just... a joke. Is Mr. Birch really teaching us anything?

  The most I could say about him was that he was, at least, conventionally handsome. Not that I really cared, I wasn't the type that flirted with my teachers.

  Or anyone, really, I mused sardonically. I liked to tell myself it just wasn't my thing. I wasn't the sort of girl who could simper and giggle for a bunch of boys in order to get a reaction.

  My mother, however, told me I was avoiding the 'wonder of social interaction' or some such.

  Shouldering my backpack, I slipped out of one of a side door, breaking into the late evening sunshine. I'm not avoiding anything.

  I wasn't a very good liar, even to myself.

  Bitterly, I dodged around a crowd of girls lounging on the grass. Who decides whether it's normal if I never mingle with boys, or go on a single date? I bet plenty of other college freshman are in my shoes.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  My roommate, Becky Rivera, was always giving me trouble about how little interest I had in going out to parties or downtown to the clubs. Then again, it was easy for someone like her—someone so cheerful and funny who seemed to have not a worry in the world—to have a good time.

  Someone who never worried about if they would have the money to just buy lunch that week.

  I kicked up my pace, heading towards the tiny bakery that kept shop in the campus commons. Leaves scattered across the ground, the October weather pleasant against my fuzzy green sweatshirt.

  The gentle chatter of other students muffled the sounds of my boots. There were a number of people killing time on their way between classes.

  I was used to the bustle, and normally, it never got me to raise my head. Walking with my chin down, focusing on my feet. That was my default. Yet as I crossed the path towards the door of the small bakery, I felt it.

  A chill went up my neck, as if I'd crossed over a wave of static in the air. It was disconcerting, making my muscles tremble. Stumbling clumsily, I caught myself on shaking legs.

  What the hell? What was that? Flustered, I fought briefly with the insatiable desire to look behind me. My internal debate warned me not to turn around.

  I had to know. I needed to know what—or who—had just set my pulse racing.

  This is fight or flight, isn't it? Wait, why am I even thinking like this? I'm in the middle of a crowded campus, what could be so dangerous here?

  Make a decision, turn or keep walking! You look like an idiot just standing here!

  Swallowing, I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. Not knowing what I expected to find, I skimmed my gaze over the milling people.

  And then I saw him.

  Maybe he shouldn't have stood out, maybe I was being paranoid. But there was just something... off about the young man who was perched on the stone wall lining the circular commons area.

  He was only a few yards away, blatantly facing me with a brazen smile plastered on his sharp face. Sunglasses hid his eyes, yet I was positive he was staring at me. It was as if I could feel it deep in my bones.

  My skin prickled, reddish hair whipping as I spun back around. Shit. Don't look at him. Hold on, why does it matter if I look at him?

  Having never been the object of such overt attention, or at least, that I knew of, I had no clue how to react.

  Sweating down my neck, I deferred on the side of auto-pilot and made myself stroll into the bakery.

  When the door jingled shut behind me, I breathed out in relief. What the hell was that about? Who was that? Who just stares at someone? I guess... I guess it isn't that weird... No, no it definitely WAS weird. Guys don't stare at ME.

  I'd never considered myself a pretty girl. Short, boring, never mind a mess of red hair that hated to be told what to do.

  I certainly wasn't winning any beauty contests.

  Cutting through the fog of self-deprecation, I was startled by the loud shout of the man behind the counter. “Gale! Right on time! Got your bag right over here.”

  Looking up, my smile bloomed helplessly. Seeing the large baker, Josef, beaming my way with his massive arms hoisting my sack of stale bread; it returned a feeling of comfort to my world.

  Smoothing my frizzy strands, I moved over to meet him. “Hey Josef, thanks again for this.”

  “Not a problem,” he chuckled, handing me the big paper bag. “It'd get thrown out anyway. Someone's gotta feed the birds.”

  Hesitating, I flashed him a weak smile. “Yeah. Yeah, right. Anyway, thanks, I should get going.”

  “Stop in and grab a coffee sometime,” he chirped, hurrying to help a young girl at the counter. “Maybe someday you can tell me about how much them birds love my bread!” His laugh echoed behind me as I retreated to the door.

  I couldn't handle telling him that the bread wasn't just for the sparrows in the park.

  Above me, the bell gave a ring as I swept into the cool air. It felt good on my warm cheeks, especially when I saw the stranger still sitting at his post.

  His glasses shimmered in the red ball of the setting sun, but his grin was brightest of all.

  Unsettled, I slipped around the bakery, legs taking long strides to lengthen the distance between myself and him.

  Maybe he's waiting for someone else, and I'm just being crazy.

  Inside, my gut knew that was wrong.

  The crowd of students lessened as I approached the expanse of greenery that was the park by my college. I spotted someone jogging here or there, some kids were sprawled out on the hills, but otherwise it was much quieter than the commons.

  Dropping onto a bench, still on edge, I dug into the bread bag. It wasn't long before birds were gathering at my feet, even before I'd tossed a crumb.

  They'd gotten used to me over the past few weeks.

  What had started as my attempt to sneak food and avoid being hungry on my zero spending budget, became a weird ritual where I shared my haul with the sparrows.

  Munching on a slice, not caring about the mildly firm texture, I sighed.

  I wished I could tell Josef his bread was good, even when stale. But I couldn't handle that shame, watching his face when I revealed I'd been the one eating the old rolls and buns.

  Being essentially destitute was rough, but I didn't dare complain. My mother could only do so much on her own, after all.

  It was more than enough that she was paying to send me to school, something I had insisted against. That hadn't stopped her from sitting me down one day, guiding me through the process of applying for college.

  The best I could do was get her to let me pick the most affordable one; Endicott, a place that was only a few hours from her.

  I hated the idea of my mother living alone.

  Crumbling a slice of rye, I smiled at the little birds bouncing on the strip of pavement in front of me. With the sun setting, it was picturesque.

  The nape of my neck went stiff. Shifting, I looked out of the corner of my eye. There, sitting on the other bench some feet away, was my stalker.

  He's certainly a stalker, now. What the hell does this guy want? Maybe he's a student—wait, it doesn't matter if he's a student. The creep is still following me around!

  Covertly, I looked him up and down. He did seem young enough to be going to the College; at least a freshman like myself, if not a sophomore. He was still wearing sunglasses, even as the sun set. The long shadow he cast, even sitting, made it clear he was almost as tall as Mr. Birch.

  In the reddish hue of the fading day, the young man's light blon
de hair was turning orange. Nothing seemed overtly out of the ordinary about him. Even his clothes were just dark slacks, a crisp white button down.

  No jacket, though. That's a little odd, seeing how cold it's going to get as it gets later.

  Even in my sweater, I felt the chilly fingers of the Autumn wind arriving.

  Frustrated by how he was still just sitting there, smiling off into the air at no one, I bit the inside of my cheek. Maybe he isn't following me. It's possible. I need to figure it out, I'll just walk a bit more and see what he does.

  Inhaling deeply, my knees creaked when I stood. The birds, startled by me, exploded off into the air with bitter chirps at the feast being over.

  Clutching the bag of leftover bread tight under one arm, my backpack slung over my other shoulder, I walked further down the cobbled path.

  My legs felt heavy, wooden. I was positive I wasn't wrong. If intuition was useful at all, mine was buzzing with warning over the entire situation.

  But I needed to be sure. I didn't like making decisions without being sure, completely sure, that my hunches were right.

  I was almost as scared of looking like an idiot as I was of any real danger.

  Under my faded blue boots leaves crunched loudly. The sky had started shifting to pink, people were fleeing the park.

  A brisk wind tickled my long hair, giving me an excuse to brush it behind my ear. Now, I'll just peek back and see where he is.

  Twisting, trying to be casual, I glanced towards the benches. My temples were pounding from adrenaline, the intensity of everything winding me up like a yo-yo.

  Looking at where he should have been—where I expected him to be—I found him, instead, standing only a few feet away.

  Oh, shit!

  Stunned to discover him so close, so blatantly staring me down behind glossy glasses with his wicked smile, I gasped out loud.