Visions of Destiny (Complete Series) Read online

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything if I had asked her not to do it,” he said out of the blue. “You know how she is.”

  A pleading note in his last words and another quick glance at her made it clear that he needed an answer. Daisy patted his shoulder, feeling very awkward.

  “I know, yes. She can be very stubborn.”

  A faint smile tugged at Jack’s lips. “Stubborn? My darling Lydia? No, not at all.”

  He glanced at Daisy and they both burst out laughing. Jack’s laughter faded very fast, however, and his gaze yet again returned to the balcony.

  Behind the French doors, Lydia was sitting deep in a chair. Her hands were clasped and resting on her lap. As Daisy watched, she tilted her head back. With her eyes closed and her lips just parted, she almost looked asleep. What was she seeing, Daisy wondered as her gaze returned to Jack. His nervousness was thick enough to cut with a knife. This was only another one of the reasons why she hadn’t wanted to host this particular party. Nothing guaranteed that the two couples present that night would be shown a future in which they were still together. The last thing Daisy wanted was to see any of her friends hurt.

  Holding in a sigh, she turned her eyes to the balcony again. She had avoided looking at Woods until now, but she found that she couldn’t anymore, her gaze drawn to him. She couldn’t see his face very well; turned down as it was, the light flowing out from the living room did little more than cast shadows over his features. She knew that he could see Lydia’s future as clearly as Lydia herself did, but he let nothing transpire of what the vision could be.

  Daisy almost—just almost—wished she could have seen, too.

  * * * *

  Lydia’s last sunset was a vision of radiant beauty.

  Her bare toes digging into the sand, where the sun hadn’t warmed it and pieces of broken shells were sometimes a little too sharp, she watched, with an eerie sense of finality, as the sun played with the ocean, progressively dropping closer and daring the waves to catch it—until they finally did, and pulled it down into their embrace, turning light and warmth to the coolness of dark. She hoped the waves held it tight and close so it wasn’t too scared.

  She hoped Owen would hold her tight, too, when he killed her and gave her life again.

  Renee, her boss, had waved her off when she had asked to leave work early that afternoon. Business was always slow on Halloween.

  She had been sitting in the sand for hours, her arms wrapped around her legs, facing the ocean. There had been surfers in the waves when she first arrived, and a few teenagers playing Frisbee down the beach, far enough that their shouts and laughter had only come to her with the help of the wind, and even then the sound of the rolling waves had all but drowned them out.

  As the evening progressed, the teenagers had left first. She imagined they had gone home, complaining to each other that Halloween was for kids and they were too old for this crap—only to put on elaborate costumes and find each other again at one of their houses for a party. She had done as much when she had been a teen. She had dressed as a princess, a pirate, a cat—the year she had been mad at her parents for six months, she had dressed as a whore—but she didn’t think she had ever dressed as a vampire. She had always thought the fake fangs were tacky.

  Only when the last crown of washed-out orange disappeared beyond the blue did she stand again, and brushed the cooling sand from her pants. Shoes in hand, she returned to her car, following the wet trails left by the surfers. She went back to the city, trying not to think about what she was doing as she drove to Owen’s place.

  As she parked in the driveway, her hands were clenched tight on the wheel. She had to make a conscious effort to let go, shift the gear into park, and shut off the engine. Even then, she found that she couldn’t move, and she closed her eyes to get a grip on herself. This was the right decision. She knew it was. She had known even before Owen had ever asked. It seemed crazy when she thought about it, but she felt like she had always known that, one day, she would say yes to him. One day, she would leave behind everything she had ever been, and become someone new at his side. One day, she would go to him, and he would make her a vampire.

  This day had come. She knew she was making the right decision. Just the same, she was scared. So much was going to change. She kept thinking of more ways her life would be different the next time she’d wake, more things she would lose and never be able to experience again. It would be worth it, though. She knew it would.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her door. Before she could step out, however, Owen was there, offering her his hand. She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, but took his hand nonetheless. Cool fingers gently closed over her own and helped her out. Her hand looked like that of a child in his. It always did, and it always made her smile.

  “You scared me!” she chided him. “How long have you been there?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders, and as usual his size made the gesture appear larger, somehow. At a few inches over six feet tall, he towered over her. He looked down at her with a lopsided grin.

  “I heard the car,” he said by way of explanation, and Lydia knew him enough to hear what he wasn’t saying. He had been expecting her and hadn’t wanted to wait a minute longer than necessary.

  Apprehension filled her all of a sudden, and she had to look away from him. Her gaze slid to the house behind him. Carved pumpkins stood at the end of each step leading to the front porch, glowing from the candles inside them.

  “I didn’t think you’d celebrate Halloween,” she said without thinking.

  Chuckling lightly, Owen brought the hand he still held to his lips for a quick kiss. “Because I’m a vamp?”

  He led the way out of the driveway, and she linked her arm with his.

  “No, not that. Because it’s not like you.”

  They had reached the wooden fence that enclosed the backyard, giving it complete privacy. It must have been six-feet high, and while Owen could probably see over it, Lydia could not. She had never been through the gate Owen was now unlocking, and in truth she had never really wanted to. Owen’s studio and his art were inside the house, and those were what had attracted her to him.

  “Not like me,” he mused aloud. With a gesture, he invited Lydia to go through the gate and followed after her, closing it behind them. “I guess it’s not, at that. I never cared much for Halloween, to tell the truth.”

  “Then what’s with the pumpkins?”

  He offered her his arm again, and she took it at once. Gravel crunched softly beneath their steps as they stepped forward on the path.

  “There aren’t many houses down this street,” he said, “but a good half of them have kids. They get a kick out of knocking on my door even if I don’t open it. I leave a basket on the porch. I’m sure they brag at school that they got candy from a vampire.”

  The path was lined with small solar lamps that cast pools of light on the white gravel, but it was the moon that allowed Lydia to make out his expression when she looked up at him. His green eyes were bright with amusement, and his smile was gentle. He truly was enjoying pleasing those kids, she realized, even if he would probably never talk to them.

  “For a recluse,” she said, teasing, “you’re far too nice.”

  He laughed, and she followed suit. She knew all this talk about Halloween was only a way for her to push back what she had come to do. He had to know, too, but he was playing along anyway. She wanted to ask him why—he’d never been afraid to ask the tough questions—but thought better of it. If he was granting her a few more minutes of reprieve, she would take them and make them last as long as possible.

  He continued to lead her on the narrow path, and now that they were quiet Lydia paid closer attention to their surroundings. The yard was shaped like a maze. The path of gravel, clear and easy to follow in front of them, turned and twisted, sometimes opening to the left or t
o the right onto a path that was entirely identical. On each side, bushes and trees seemed to glow under the moon, their silver leaves or pale flowers standing out starkly in the darkness.

  At a turn in the path, they came across a small pond, and Lydia slowed her steps. White water lilies floated on the shimmering surface of the water, but she was sure that she had caught a glimpse of quicksilver swimming beneath it.

  She had thought, when making her choice, that one of the things she would give up was walking through flowering gardens. She had been wrong. Her nervousness quieted down a little.

  They walked underneath an iron-wrought arch, and flowers in full bloom brushed the top of Owen’s head, dusting him with white petals. In the moonlight, the flowers almost seemed to have an inner glow. Their scent was heady, and for a few seconds Lydia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

  “If you think it smells good now,” Owen murmured, “just wait.”

  Wait until you’re a vampire, he meant, and Lydia braced herself, expecting her nervousness to return. It did, but it wasn’t as pronounced anymore, its razor-sharp edge now dulled like an old blade.

  They walked for a little while longer, and although Owen didn’t say anything else, she could feel his pride for what was, all things considered, another work of art. It must have taken a lot of work to find all these different plants that not only bloomed this late in the season but whose colors complimented the night.

  “This garden is beautiful,” she said when, after the tour was over, they stopped at the foot of a white, stone staircase that led up to a wooden deck.

  Owen reached over to pluck a petal from her shoulder and caressed her cheek with it. Its scent was as delicate as its caress. “I’m glad you like it. I have been waiting for a long time to share this place with someone.”

  She followed him up the staircase, and from the deck they looked back on the garden. Light seemed to reflect off pale flowers everywhere, and a gust of wind brought the combined scents to Lydia. This moment was a gift, she thought as she leaned against Owen’s shoulder. A moment of peace and beauty before her life ended—before it started anew. She shivered at the thought, although she couldn’t have said if it was in fear or anticipation. Owen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and rubbed her arm gently.

  “Would you like to go in?” And when Lydia was about to say she wouldn’t mind observing the garden a little longer, he added, “I wanted to show you a new series of paintings.”

  Despite her lingering nervousness, she perked up at the unexpected announcement. The last few times she had come to his studio, he had claimed not to have anything ready for her to see. Several pieces had been draped with lengths of fabric, and while her fingers had twitched at the thought of exposing the canvases, she respected Owen too much to peek.

  “I’d love to see them,” she said, barely containing her excitement. She was always curious to see what he would paint next, and so were the gallery’s customers.

  Renee had received requests to show his art from all over the country, and just two days earlier a gallery in New York had asked to exhibit his paintings and have him talk as part of an ‘artists meet the public’ series of shows. Renee had called him with the great news, and Lydia had listened to that call from afar. She had known how Owen would reply, but she hadn’t expected Renee’s utterly shocked expression when he had hung up on her.

  Renee had charged Lydia to talk to him about it and convince him. She knew that they were seeing each other, of course, although she didn’t know how far their relationship had progressed. On this, though, Lydia had no intention of using her influence on Owen. He had been miserable enough when he had had to make an appearance for the opening of his show at the gallery. Traveling to New York and needing not only to be present but also to actively discuss his work… No, she couldn’t imagine it happening. Renee wouldn’t be happy, but then that was the least of Lydia’s problems.

  She didn’t know if she’d still have a job when she showed up at the gallery with fangs. By law, she couldn’t be fired just for being a vampire, and in any case she knew that Renee had nothing against vampires per se; two vampires in addition to Owen were amongst the roster of artists whose art she exhibited and sold. Still, a large part of Lydia’s job involved running errands during the day. If she couldn’t do what she was supposed to, she didn’t see how Renee would be able to keep her on board.

  They were halfway across the deck when Owen stopped her and tilted her face up toward his with a finger beneath her chin.

  “Lydia…” His fingers ghosted over her face, tracing her nose and lips. “I don’t want you to be nervous.”

  She forced out a quiet chuckle. “That’s going to be hard.”

  His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and she leaned into the touch.

  “No, it really is not. If you’re here, then you’ve decided to go through with it, yes?”

  This was it, she realized. Her throat constricted. This was the moment when she could say she had made a mistake and walk away. He would know she was chickening out of it, but it would be better than not being sure.

  Except…she was sure.

  “Yes.”

  Owen nodded as though he hadn’t expected anything different—as though long seconds hadn’t passed between his question and her quiet answer.

  “Then that’s all there is to it. The important thing is that you want it. The rest will sort itself out in time.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” She was unable to keep an edge of accusation from her words.

  Owen inclined his head. “Yes, it is, because I’ve gone through the same thing. I was as scared as you are now. I wondered if I was making a mistake just as much.”

  She wanted to protest—she didn’t think she was making a mistake, she was sure of herself and of the decision she had made—but Owen continued softly and she was loath to interrupt him. He was sharing more about his siring than he ever had when she had asked a few hesitant questions.

  “And I didn’t even have the assurance that my Sire would love me. She only cared about my paintings; there was nothing more to our relationship.”

  A hint of old pain crinkled the corners of his eyes and drew his eyebrows closer. Lydia couldn’t stop herself from reaching up and smoothing the unhappy lines with her fingertips until his forehead was smooth again, his eyes, clear.

  “You and I…” He pressed his hand on top of hers, holding it to his face. “We have more, don’t we?”

  She nodded fervently. Although she did admire his artwork—it was an integral part of him—it wasn’t all she saw when she looked at him. There was a lot more to discover behind the topmost layer of paint. His gentleness, for one thing, never ceased to amaze her. For such a large man, his movements always seemed to be very deliberate, and even cautious. It was as though he were trying not to hurt anyone by accident.

  Slowly enough that she had time to lick her lips and feel her heart thundering in her chest, Owen leaned down to kiss her. His mouth played against hers, soft and tender, slowly coaxing her lips to part until he could slip his tongue inside her mouth to meet hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised herself up on the tip of her toes and pulled him closer to her. A little moan rumbled at the back of her throat as he caressed her tongue and then her palate. She soon lost herself in the kiss, and when he pulled back she was trembling and gasping for air.

  Even after the kiss ended, she remained against him, drawing strength from his body as she held him close. His fingers played in her curly hair, twirling a strand and tugging gently until she was finally ready to let go. She took a step back—a small step—and raised her face up to him.

  “Would you like to see the paintings now?” he asked in a soft voice.

  No impatience tinted his words. She could say no, and they’d stay outside a little longer, walk through the garden, talk, maybe kiss again. She could push back the moment
a little longer yet. And just because she could, she didn’t need to anymore.

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and slipped her hand into his. He led her inside through the French windows, and she quickly recognized the living room. She had been in there before, though at the time the drapes had hid the windows and the garden beyond them.

  The brightly lit room was different, however. The sofa, armchairs, and coffee table had been lined up against the walls, clearing a large area in the center of the room. There, eight easels had been set in a wide circle. Canvases of various sizes were set on each one, all of them covered by a length of fabric. Lydia stepped into the circle and looked around her, already impatient to discover what beauty Owen had created. Her heart was beating faster again at the thought that she would be the first to see these new creations. She always liked to pretend that, until someone else saw them, they were her little secret. Hers and Owen’s.

  She looked for Owen, wondering why he wasn’t unveiling his work to her yet. She found him by the coffee table, where two champagne flutes waited next to an uncorked bottle.

  “Just how sure were you that I’d come tonight?”

  Owen filled a glass with what looked like sparkling gold. “I was hopeful,” he said simply. “And if you hadn’t come…” He shrugged. “Well, a bottle has never scared me.” He raised his glass in a toast but didn’t drink from it. “Would you like some champagne?”

  “In a moment, maybe.” She gestured to the closest painting. “Can I?”

  Four long strides took Owen to a different painting. “This one first,” he said. “Ready?”

  Without waiting for her answer, he pulled the square of fabric off without flourish and dropped it so that it pooled at the foot of the easel. Lydia’s first impression was that it was a museum scene, focused on a statue in the center of the canvas. She soon realized she was wrong, however. As graceful as the woman was, she also radiated life and energy, and seemed ready to leap off the canvas at any moment.