Fierce Page 2

  Then she felt it … an aura that she could only define as hope. Like how she felt when she was just beginning a jewelry project, when the thrill of making a new piece hit. Before she was blindsided by her own limitations.

  A shadow moved behind the wall of water. She could swear it motioned her inside.

  She didn’t trust it, but just to prove she wasn’t a coward, she stepped into the pond. Her breath caught when she moved but the water didn’t.

  She pushed on, walked through the wall of white cascading water.

  The wet coldness prickled her skin. Her hair hung limp past her shoulders, and water dripped from the dark strands. The person, or spirit, whatever it had been that had waved her inside, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. A serene quietness invaded the space.

  “What do you want with me?” she yelled, hoping to prove she wasn’t afraid—or maybe that her fury outweighed her fear. Either way, she was here. Let them throw her sins at her like stones. She’d take it, and then she’d throw them back and remind them she hadn’t asked to be like this. The world had shaped and molded her into who she was.

  She moved up to the rock floor, stood there and sensed the brewing of a perfect storm; the calm of this place coming face-to-face with the emotional turbulence raging inside her. He had not loved her!

  The folded pictures in her pocket felt heavy like a rock.

  Slipping them out, never looking at them, she ripped them into shreds.

  “You want to blame someone? Blame him!”

  She dropped down on her butt. Her chest ached. The hairline fractures in her heart gave way to become real cracks. Then she felt them—the tears she’d vowed not to cry. Looking at the tiny pieces of photographs in her hand, she caught one glimpse of her daddy’s smile. She threw the shredded photos into the water, wanting them and the pain to go away. To stay away.

  The still water started moving in circles, slow at first, then faster. Fredericka’s breath hitched in her lungs. The wake of the water brought all the bits of papers into a little cyclone. Round and round they went until piece by piece, like a jigsaw puzzle, all those tiny bits of images came back together.

  She blinked, not believing it.

  Then the ebb and flow of the water brought the strip of four images back to her. Left them at her feet.

  Through tears, she saw the two smiling faces staring up at her. Her father and her at their happiest moment.

  Stunned and completely leery of the power it took to undo her destruction, she scooted back away from the images.

  Sobs, sad little hiccups suddenly filled the alcove of rock. It took several seconds to realize that noise came from her.

  A shift, a movement behind the wall of water brought her wet eyes up. Then a shape moved through the liquid divide.

  Ready to kick ass and ask questions later, she got up onto her haunches. But the person emerging was the last person Fredericka would hurt. She dropped back on her butt and looked up at Holiday.

  “Kylie said it was calling you,” Holiday said.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Fredericka found just an ounce of strength to pull herself together.

  The redheaded fae came and sat down beside her.

  “I won’t push you to talk about anything, but … I need to tell you that you have an envelope with what looks like a couple of letters in it, waiting for you in my office. And I just want to make sure that you’re okay. You were so upset and I—”

  “I’m fine. I always am.” For the first time, Fredericka looked around. As serene as the outside of the falls was, inside was even more beautiful. The sun came through the falls and cast flickering rainbows on the cavern walls. Colors danced and meshed and melded together.

  “What is this place?” Fredericka asked.

  Holiday looked at her. “You have Native American blood in you, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Why?” Fredericka asked.

  “The Native Americans used the falls for spiritual ceremonies. They considered it a private place. Very few people are called to visit. It’s believed that some descendants of those Native Americans are among the few who are called.”

  “What do they want with me?”

  “It’s different for every person, but … coming brings peace, or … prepares us for difficult times. It’s like a spiritual hug.”

  “I have my quota of difficult times. And I don’t do a lot of hugging.” Fredericka stood up and took a step to leave.

  “You forgot this.” Holiday held out the strip of images.

  Fredericka’s gaze shifted to the photos of her father holding her, laughing. “I don’t want them. I’ve torn them up once.”

  Holiday stared at her a little confused, then looked down at the photos.

  “It put them back together.” Fredericka motioned to the water and half expected the woman to accuse of her lying. She didn’t. “Does weird shit like that happen here all the time?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Too freaky for me.” Fredericka turned to leave again.

  “Fredericka?” Holiday called. When she turned around, Holiday had a slight frown on her face. “You should know that … that sometimes coming here brings on some special gifts.”

  “It’s not my birthday. So no thank you.”

  “That doesn’t seem to matter,” the fae said.

  Fredericka hesitated to ask. “What kind of gifts?”

  “It’s different for everyone, but … a very common one is … is being able to communicate with spirits.”

  “No.” Make that a hell no! “Tell them to keep their gifts, and their hugs. I just want to be left alone.” Fredericka ran off.

  * * *

  She went back to the workshop, only to remember she’d lost the key. Recalling the death angels had lied to her and said they’d had it, she was tempted to just break the door down. She stopped herself a second before she barreled her shoulder through the entrance. Just because she felt emotionally destroyed didn’t give her the right to destroy property that didn’t belong to her.

  Her emotions still spiraling, her phone dinged with a text.

  She looked at it, and muttered a curse. She’d forgotten she was supposed to meet Cary. She considered texting him back and claiming she had a headache. But no. If there was a time she needed a friend it was now. She started toward his classroom where they always met. Her heart ached and her head searched for a way to tell him what had happened. As she neared his office she envisioned his arms around her. So shoot her, she wanted … needed a hug. Not by a death angel but by a friend, a boyfriend, or at least a potential one.

  Cary was in the little office in the back of the classroom on his laptop. He looked up with a big smile on his face. His emotions were so opposite of hers that it felt awkward. Or would be when she spilled her guts.

  “You aren’t going to believe this.” Passion sparkled in his green eyes.

  “What?” she asked, pushing her issues aside, guessing his excitement was something about history. And for the first time, she resented it just a little.

  “Remember I told you that there were about five of my friends who wanted to go to Europe for six weeks but it was canceled because it was going to be too expensive? Well one girl has found a group deal and now it’s back on for the summer.”

  “This summer?” she asked, trying not to sound devastated, but wasn’t this summer supposed to be about them? She waited, wondering if he was going to say: And I want you to come with me. It would be hard financially, but maybe if she got the gig at the gallery and sold …

  “The flight leaves the day after school is out, so I won’t even have to miss work. Isn’t that fantastic?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s … I thought we were going to spend some time together this summer.”

  “We will when I get back,” he said.

  She pulled in air, pushing her resentment away, and nodded. This was Cary’s passion, the last thing she wanted was to become a clingy girlfriend who resented his hobbies and wanted his w
orld to only focus on her.

  Just because he wasn’t as excited as she was about moving their relationship forward, didn’t mean anything. Well, it did, and it stung, but it wasn’t a deal breaker.

  Was it?

  “Look at the pictures of the place she’s found for us to stay.” He pointed to his screen.

  She sat down in the second chair and stared at the images of the apartment, trying to get the pictures of her dad out of her mind. Blinking again, she focused on the screen. It was just an apartment, nothing special, but she still said, “That’s nice.”

  “Are you wet?” he asked, staring at her hair.

  She nodded.

  “How did you…?”

  Her mind raced, her heart still breaking. Could she tell Cary? She wanted to, but where to start? “I … was working in the workshop when Kylie came and got me. Holiday had…”

  “Workshop?” he asked. “Doing what?”

  “I design and make jewelry,” she said, but the thrill of what she did felt buried beneath the grief. Hidden beneath the memories of her past. Painful recollections that she wanted to disown.

  He looked confused. “You string beads?”

  Ouch! “No. I … some of them might have beads, but I do it with metal and wire. I weld pieces and I use silver a lot.”

  “Oh.” He looked confused. “So what does that have to do with you being wet?”

  “I … was just starting at the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?”

  “Of what happened.” Her chest tightened. Why did she feel insignificant right now? As if what she had to say wasn’t important.

  “What happened?” He looked at her hair. “It’s not raining.”

  “No, I … went to the falls.”

  “The falls?” he asked. “That freaky place on the property?”

  She nodded and wished this was easier.

  “Why would you go there?”

  “I was…” called, but she didn’t want to say it. It wasn’t important. And suddenly what was important bubbled to the surface and she swallowed to keep her tears back. “My dad died.”

  Cary’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. But wasn’t…?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I thought your dad was already dead?”

  She had halfway thought that, too, but she couldn’t remember telling him. “No.”

  “But you said something about growing up with Lucas’s pack, so I just thought that meant your parents were dead.”

  “No,” she said. And for some crazy reason her mind and heart gathered up all the details she knew about his parents. They lived in Dallas. His dad was a professor. His mom was a part-time nurse. He had one sister and she was going to college to be an accountant. That’s when it hit. She knew these things not because he’d told her, but because she’d asked.

  He hadn’t asked.

  He continued to stare at her. “But you aren’t close to him, are you?”

  Her sinuses stung. “I haven’t seen him in eight years.” She swallowed that pain and it lumped together with all the other knots of regret.

  “So I guess it’s not … that big of a deal, huh?”

  His words just sort of hung in the air, heavy. She tried to push back how hurtful those words sounded, but like the lump in her throat, it wasn’t moving.

  She shot up from the chair. “It’s a bigger deal than going to Europe for six weeks.” The words almost unleashed her tears.

  He stood, anger brightening his eyes. Then it faded. “I … I didn’t mean…” He brushed a few damp strands of hair off her cheek, then pulled her against his shoulder. She went, and didn’t realize how cold she was until she came against his warmth. The warmth of a were. She longed to have his arms around her. To feel comforted, to know someone cared.

  “I know you’re upset. I forgive you for lashing out.”

  He forgives me?

  He.

  Forgives.

  Me?

  She pulled back. “I don’t … need to be forgiven, Cary. You do.”

  “What?” His eyes brightened again.

  She shook her head and the reality of what they’d had these past few months—and what they hadn’t had—sank in.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Forget this.” She waved a hand between them. “Forget us.” She turned to leave.

  He caught her by her arm. The one with scars, and his grip was just the slightest bit too tight.

  “Don’t act childish,” he said.

  She felt her own eyes grow bright. “Childish?” She wanted to call him a self-absorbed, history-loving dog and to tell him to mind his paws, but she didn’t. Because that would have proved him right.

  With pride, the kind that came with being a were—a were who already had shame to hide—she lifted her chin and met his eyes directly. “I tell you my dad died and you say it’s not a big deal? I came here needing … something, support or just understanding, but you obviously don’t know how to offer that.” She inhaled. “See you in class on Monday, Mr. Cannon.”

  Chapter Three

  The next morning Fredericka parked in front of the soon-to-be gallery. After she’d left Cary’s last night, she’d decided against coming today. She’d wanted to curl up in a little ball and forget everything. Her heart and spirit were just too broken, but at a quarter to nine this morning, her spirit raised its ugly head and refused to give up without at least trying.

  Fredericka Lakota wasn’t a quitter.

  She ran to the office to get another key from Holiday then ran to gather her things. When she grabbed the display board and saw her nickname, her heart took another dip. She almost didn’t bring it. Then because the black backdrop gave her work a more professional flare, she grabbed it anyway. She wasn’t going in half-ass. Screw the pain! If she let it overtake her, she’d drown in it.

  If she was going—and she was—she was going in to win this, to convince Brandon Hart that she deserved a spot in his gallery.

  Now, staring at the old house on Main Street, she noted the place looked a little run-down. Or maybe not so run-down as abandoned. The lawn needed cutting and the property needed something to make it look inviting, or maybe commercial. Several of the older homes on the street had been turned into shops, but this place still looked like a residence—an empty residence.

  According to the flyer Holiday had given her, he planned on opening in two weeks. The guy had better get his ass in gear.

  She cut her engine off. Her phone dinged with a text. At least the dang thing was still working. Reaching onto the seat where she’d left it, she read the message.

  I’m sorry. Come see me, please. It was from Cary.

  Her chest tightened. Should she give the guy another chance?

  Her gut said no. Her heart said yes. But was her heart just lonely? Oh, hell, now wasn’t the time to think about that.

  Getting out of the school’s car Holiday had been so kind as to loan to her, she reached into the backseat to pull out the small suitcase on wheels that held her display board and jewelry. Feeling nervous, she walked up to the porch. The sound of suitcase wheels bumping and rolling behind her seemed too loud, as if the whole world held its breath with her.

  A cold breeze stirred her hair as she stepped up onto the porch. The door, left slightly ajar, creaked, reminding her of the sound effects for some scary movie. She inched closer. Should she knock or just walk in? Now a bit closer, she peered inside. Several glass display cases had been set up and the walls were lined with shelves—a perfect place to exhibit art. But she didn’t see Brandon Hart. Then again, she was early.

  She considered going back and sitting in the car, but then after a second glance around the room she spotted a woman looking out the back window. How had she missed her? Could Brandon be a woman?

  Fredericka stuck her head in a little. “Hello?”

  The woman, around thirty years of age, with long sandy-blond hair, turned around so fast her hair spun in the air. Surprise widened her bright green eyes.

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry. I’m Fredericka. I … was supposed to meet Brandon Hart here at ten? The door was open.”

  The woman stood silently for several long, uncomfortable seconds before she found her voice. “That’s my brother. He … he’s in the backyard working on his art.”

  “Should I come back in fifteen minutes?” Fredericka asked.

  “No. Come in. I’m … Linda.”

  Fredericka picked up her case and eased in, looking around as she moved. In the corner of one room were eight wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. One of the artists’, Fredericka assumed.

  The chimes started moving and the soft ringing sounds filled the room.

  For all the gallery lacked on the outside, the inside looked good. Fresh paint brightened the walls and the floor had been polished. The shelves against the wall appeared new. The refurbishing smells hung in the air, stinging Fredericka’s sinuses.

  “Should I set up my stuff for him to see?” Fredericka motioned to the top of one of the glass display cases.

  “Sure.” Linda twisted her hands together as if nervous, which didn’t make sense, since Fredericka was the one about to be judged.

  A rhythmic thud came from the backyard. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of art Brandon did and if that was him making that noise. But not wanting to come off as nosy, she pulled out her black display board and fit the small hooks into the board, then started pulling out her jewelry. As her gaze passed over the name scrawled across the bottom, she pushed the hurt aside.

  While the sounds outside continued, the house grew too quiet. An awkward kind of silence thickened the air. “Your brother said he was interviewing other jewelry artists. I’m hoping he’ll appreciate my work.”

  When Linda didn’t answer, Fredericka looked around. The woman was gone. But damn, she moved soundlessly. With Fredericka’s were hearing she didn’t miss much. Fighting a chill, the wind chimes started up again. The sound was almost sad.

  She hung her last necklace—even rearranged the placement of one pair of earrings. Looking around to make sure Linda hadn’t returned, Fredericka inched closer to the window, wanting a peek at the man who would judge her. Her breath caught when she saw the sculpture. The wooden horse stood at least six feet tall. Carved to perfection, each dip and valley on the animal showed bone and muscle.