Destined for Eternity Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  About Susan Illene

  Acknowledgments

  Destined

  For Eternity

  Dark Destiny Series

  by Susan Illene

  Destined for Eternity

  Copyright © 2018 by Susan Illene

  All right reserved.

  This book, whole or in part, may not be copied, scanned, or reproduced by electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying or the implementation of any type of storage or retrieval system) without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. Please do not participate or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials. Purchase only authorized editions.

  www.susanillene.com

  ISBN-10: 0-9863361-8-1

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9863361-8-8

  Model image obtained for the creation of this novel’s cover was licensed for use from Josh McCullock photography. Cover design by Victoria Miller.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed within its pages are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not meant to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, undead, or mostly dead is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Sarah and Rachel for being such a great support.

  Chapter 1

  Cori

  When one runs a business, they’re always happy for more customers, but the reception area of Cori’s tattoo shop was packed almost beyond capacity. People sat in every available chair and even more milled around the place. Several young women stood together at the wall next to the large front windows, checking out the designs displayed there. For the last few weeks, the shop couldn’t keep up with all the folks coming in to get tattoos. Cori had finally had to put in a television set so her customers had something to do while waiting their turn.

  She stood behind the counter and rubbed her aching back. “I can’t believe how busy we’ve gotten lately.”

  “It’s a good thing you hired me when you did,” Ginny said, standing next to her as she cashed out the latest client. “I’ve never done so many tattoos in such a short time.”

  “It wasn’t always this way.”

  Business had started picking up at the start of the New Year. It was more than welcome after a major lull before that. But by the end of January, Cori realized she and her only other employee, Asher, could not handle the workload by themselves anymore. Not to mention she was due to have a baby at the end of May and needed someone to cover for her while she took time off.

  She’d interviewed several humans first, but none of them fit in well. Her criteria had been strict. They had to bring something new with their work that would attract a different set of clients, yet they couldn’t stand out in a way that would draw the wrong kind of attention, and they had to be tough enough to hold their own for those times when trouble brewed. In Fairbanks, Alaska—a haven for supernaturals—peace rarely lasted long, especially since the world had found out humans weren’t at the top of the food chain. There were beings far more powerful and dangerous out there.

  After two weeks of interviews with no luck finding a new employee, Ginny had strutted her way through the shop door, arms covered in vine and flower tattoos. Her body was petite with curves that would turn any man’s head, and she had shoulder-length purple hair (her natural color) with light purple freckles on her fair cheeks. She definitely wasn’t human, which didn’t fit Cori’s rigid criteria. The pixie, a breed of fae, stood no more than 4’10” high and looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over. There was no way anyone would take her seriously or want her to work on them with her otherworldly appearance.

  Then she produced her portfolio, which had some of the most amazing work Cori had ever seen. It was vivid and mesmerizing. Ginny had just relocated from Tulsa, Oklahoma where things were getting uncomfortable for supernaturals. She had twin daughters—Aislin and Dinara. They were five years old with the same purple hair and had become targets for those who didn’t care if children were young and innocent, only that they clearly weren’t “normal.” In Fairbanks, they would be more readily accepted because of the higher concentration of sups. The schools in the area comprised about ten percent of children from werewolf and fae families.

  Hearing the pixie’s story weakened Cori’s resolve, especially since her daughters came along with their mother for the interview, adorable in their purple pigtails and polka dot dresses. Their mom needed to work to support them.

  But what finally made the decision during the interview was when a heavyset, drunken man came into the shop. He’d demanded a tattoo right then, but they had a policy against working on intoxicated customers. Alcohol tended to make them bleed more and some regretted having the work done later, so Cori didn’t allow it. He became furious when she refused him service, nearly smashing the reception counter.

  Ginny couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but she picked that man up over her shoulder like he was nothing, flung the front door wide open, and threw him out onto the sidewalk. When he tried coming back into the shop, she punched him so hard he flew six feet into the air, not waking up until she tossed him into the dumpster behind the shopping center. Everyone had watched in wide-eyed shock.

  She strutted back toward them and responded, “I might have an eighth of troll blood in my DNA.”

  Trolls were ugly, vile creatures with gnarled features that stood even shorter than pixies. Most people couldn’t stand them because, in addition to their unpleasant looks, they weren’t all that nice, and they weren’t very particular about their food sources. Almost anything—or anyone—was on the menu. They were gross and difficult to tolerate.

  “You don’t look like you’re part troll,” Cori said after she got over her shock.

  Ginny pulled her mussed hair back into a loose French braid. “Luckily, all I inherited was their strength.”

  That was good to know.

  The interview had continued, and they’d left the angry man to find his own way out of the dumpster. He’d tried pressing charges later, but the incident was caught on surveillance cameras, so the police didn’t give them any trouble. Cori normally could have handled the guy, but she had to be careful now that she had a baby in her belly. She appreciated the idea of having a woman on her staff who could hold her own—human or not—and hired Ginny on the spot.

  They’d gotten along well over the past two months since then and the shop had been expanded, using available space that had opened up next door. With a little help from supernatural friends to speed up the remodeling, they were able to add two more booths for artists to work, a separate customer bathroom apart from the small one in the back, and widen the reception area. Ginny helped through the whole process, as well as taking care of clients. Except fo
r the rare person who had an issue with supernaturals, all their customers loved her fun nature.

  A soft thump inside Cori’s stomach drew her attention. She rubbed her belly, marveling at how fast it was expanding since she’d become pregnant four and a half months ago. This wasn’t like her first pregnancy when she’d only been twenty years old—with a daughter she’d lost later in a tragic accident with her ex-husband. This time she was thirty-one, and her child was only partly human. Everything felt totally different.

  Cori appeared closer to seven months, but that was because the gestation period moved faster for supernatural children, particularly ones with angel blood in them. This little boy or girl—she and Bartol had chosen not to find out the gender until their child was born—would arrive sometime at the end of May. That was a little over six weeks away. Cori was nervous, but she had a vampire doctor who was giving her the best care possible. Having said that, the last baby born with nephilim blood was over fifty years ago. They didn’t have a lot of precedents to draw upon, and she doubted every pregnancy of this nature went exactly the same.

  The shop door suddenly flew open with such force it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. Everyone froze at the sight of the short woman with bright orange hair who entered. She hadn’t bothered to use any glamour to cover up her gnarled features or razor-sharp teeth. One of the customers screamed, and others started backing away slowly as if they faced someone armed with a machine gun. Trolls didn’t need weapons to look dangerous or intimidating. Give them a fork, and they’d be as vicious as any serial killer.

  “Dammit, Bambi,” Cori said, moving around the counter to come closer to her visitor. “You’re scaring people.”

  The troll let out a huff and gestured toward the television. “Don’t ya be lecturin’ me, young lady. Now turn on the news!”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it afore I get mad!”

  Ginny already had the remote in her hands, changing the channel. As she turned the volume up, gasps rose up around the room. Cori swung her gaze toward the far corner where the television hung. Her eyes widened at the scene on the screen. What they were seeing was like something out of a movie.

  “We be doomed,” the troll said ominously. She was such a drama queen with a knack for ruining the English language.

  But no one was paying attention to her anymore. On the screen, three figures in dark capes walked along the sidewalk in downtown Chicago with dark smoke surrounding them. Everyone who they came near froze in place. They reached the front of a large building with lion statues—according to the newscaster it was the Art Institute of Chicago—and the doors swung open of their own accord. The first footage came from a cell phone recording that had to be someone across the street based on the angle. The news station switched to a surveillance recording inside the institute next as the figures entered the lobby.

  People screamed and began running, but the thick, dark smoke caught them one by one. They fell and disappeared underneath its cloying weight. Before long, everything was covered in the sinister gloom, blackening out the cameras. Ninety seconds elapsed before audio and visual returned. People rose from the floor, groggy and confused. The figures in capes had disappeared, as well as priceless works of art. A list of some of the missing paintings and statues followed, but Cori didn’t recognize many of them.

  “Those were demons,” Ginny said.

  Cori pulled her eyes from the television. “But I thought they were all sent back to Hell months ago.”

  Her mate, Bartol, had been among those who’d battled to stop the invasion. There’d been a standoff in London back in December where many people had died, but they’d vanquished the demons. She’d thought they were safe from dealing with them now.

  Ginny shook her head. “That’s what they wanted us to think, but there have been two other major robberies like this in the last week. Each in a different country, so I don’t think anyone has put it together yet.”

  “How do you know then?” Cori asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ve got cousins in Europe where it happened.”

  “The girl be right,” Bambi agreed. “The demons ain’t all gone, and they surely be plannin’ somethin’ worse than ever!”

  Chapter 2

  Bartol

  Bartol was immortal and powerful. Yet most of the time these days, he didn’t feel any stronger than a child. Even with magical abilities that humans would envy and more than eighteen hundred years of living, none of it made a difference after what he’d been through in the last century. One thing a man learns after he’s been tortured and half his face burned into a horrendous scar is that no one is immune to pain or trauma.

  He was well aware that everyone wanted him to get over his past and move forward, but they had no idea of the difficulties he faced even trying to socialize with a small group of people. Never mind figuring out how to be a mate to a woman who needed more of him than he could give. He was honestly trying, and he’d gotten somewhat better in recent months, but the psychological damage done to him, including having all his intimate memories altered into nightmares, made it difficult to be “normal.” Every day was a battle to resist the urge to hide in his cabin and shut everyone out the way he’d done in those early months after returning to Earth and freedom.

  The afternoon was sunny and clear when Bartol flashed—a method of travel somewhat like teleportation—to the nerou training compound. He hated going to the place, but at least he could appreciate the weather outside. Spring had arrived in Alaska, and the cold that had chilled his bones to the marrow during the winter had finally begun to recede. It was finally above freezing, though still cool compared to southern parts of the United States. As an immortal, temperatures shouldn’t have bothered him very much, but after a century in the icy bowels of Purgatory, he felt it more keenly than most. His time there had changed him in far too many ways.

  Bartol walked across the open yard, searching for signs of activity. The compound, consisting of dormitories, classrooms, a gymnasium, and a dining facility was surprisingly quiet. This was a place for the nerou—beings with angel, human, and sensor blood in them—to train. About fifty of them resided there, but their nephilim instructors often broke them down into smaller groups for various training exercises. Usually, at least a handful of students milled about outside, especially on a nice day such as this. Bartol had never seen the place so empty and found it a little unnerving.

  He’d arrived to check on a particular nerou—Tormod—the only one of the group with a quarter demon blood in his ancestry. The young man was fortunate the angels let him live, considering his tainted heritage, but since he was a small child when they’d taken him from his parents, they’d let him live so that he could have a chance to prove himself.

  Tormod’s father had a dark history with the angels. As a daimoun—half angel and half demon—Yerik was particularly dangerous, making him a threat that Heaven’s minions couldn’t tolerate. They’d sent one of their warriors to execute him some centuries ago, but that battle didn’t go in their favor. The archangel lost the fight and died. The daimoun lived, having to go into hiding from Heaven’s henchmen for centuries until coming back out recently to help free his son and the other nerou from Purgatory where they’d been held their whole lives. With no easy way to dispatch him, Yerik had received a different sort of punishment for killing the archangel and spent a year on a harsh, distant planet. Of course, they didn’t care that he’d simply been defending himself, but while he was powerful and more on the wild side than most, he was hardly among the worst of supernaturals. But he walked a fine line before Heaven decided to throw legions at him to get rid of him.

  That was the sort of background Tormod came from, and he had to constantly prove he was an asset and could do good things in the world. Unfortunately, he’d been showing his darker colors recently after a run-in with a powerful demon—one who’d captured his mind and controlled him for days, making him do terrible things. He’d been slowly recovering from the
ordeal, but he was no longer the enthusiastic man who enjoyed a bit of mischief. If he didn’t improve quickly enough, or if he committed an unforgivable act that got others hurt, it could put him on the chopping block. The angels wanted an excuse to get rid of a hybrid like him.

  Bartol had started guiding him exclusively since last fall to give him the individual attention he needed. It helped Tormod to have that kind of one-on-one mentoring from a nephilim, and he’d been showing great potential to become one of the best enforcers for supernaturals once he graduated training. But after the demon had warped the young man’s mind, they’d had to keep him closeted away for nearly a month before he showed signs of awareness and recognition. Then the next couple of months after that they’d had to bring him out little by little in doses he could handle. Understanding psychological damage himself, Bartol had known what would help, but it was a rather slow process. Both the instructor and student had a long way to go before they’d be considered anything close to “recovered.”

  One by one, he searched the buildings in the compound for Tormod or anyone else. He eventually found Eli, a dark-skinned nephilim who many claimed appeared similar to Denzel Washington, sitting at his desk. Among the youngest of the nephilim at four hundred and twenty years old, he tended to be more in touch with the modern world than the rest of them. He was one of the trainers with a specialty in psychiatry he used to aid the students in their mental health. Bartol avoided him as much as possible since the man had a fondness for going after anyone he thought needed “fixing.”

  “How are you?” Eli asked, looking up from his desk. He had piles of file folders and notes before him. The whole office was an eclectic mess. No doubt he studied each and every individual, cataloging their behaviors for his own curiosity.

  “Fine,” Bartol answered curtly. “Where are the others?”