Kindred of the Fallen

  Dedication

  A big thank you to the Universe, the Creator or the Goddess for everything.

  Thanks to my agent, Helen Breitwieser, for finding me and believing in Kindred. Christa Desir blew me away with her passion and editorial vision for this book. I’m fortunate to have a dedicated editor with such a keen eye. Thanks to Kanaxa for such a stunning cover that makes me smile every time I see it.

  Oodles of gratitude to my beta readers and cheerleaders: Carina S.B., Debbie M., Mary N., Christina P., Lisa B., and Laurin W.

  To my husband and biggest fan, I would be lost without you. Thank you for reading every word I’ve ever written and giving me honest feedback, even when I would’ve preferred it sugarcoated.

  Chapter One

  “No question you’re talented, but it’s not proof you can see anyone’s soul,” the man said.

  Serenity swiveled in her seat to face her newest client. He didn’t seem the type who’d want a tattoo—a conservative guy in a Mr. Rogers sort of way, sans the cardigan.

  “How do you do it?” he asked, flipping through drawings of tats she’d designed for others.

  She couldn’t explain how she sifted beyond someone’s exterior mask, reading a person until an image unfurled in her mind. Translated onto paper, the clients always felt it symbolized their soul. The perfect tattoo. “It’s a gift I was born with.”

  “I’ve seen enough sketches. I’m ready to see if everything I’ve heard about you is true. How do we get started?”

  She rose from behind her leather-topped desk and walked over to him. “Please place your palm on mine,” she said, extending her hand.

  The first time she touched someone was her only opportunity to tap into her gift and catch a glimmer of what had transformed the mediocre Dougie’s Tattoo Emporium into the blistering hot Soul Ink Designs, eviscerating the competition.

  He eyed her hand as his fingers drew closer until his clammy palm pressed against hers. A caustic ripple of energy crawled through her, itching beneath the skin. The vibrations of her core reacted differently to everyone.

  An image ballooned in her mind: a crimson tiger charging on a cloud of musical notes, fangs bared.

  Never would have guessed that, she thought as she stepped back. Assumptions based on a person’s exterior should’ve been buffed away by years of seeing the unexpected in another’s soul. Truthfully, it was tough to filter all judgment. Even for her.

  “I have the image. A drawing will be ready next week,” she said, returning to her chair.

  He laughed. “I waited two months for an appointment. I want to see it now.”

  Of course, he did. Probably expected her to whip out an elaborate drawing right along with pulling a rabbit out of her butt. “It takes hours to get the intricate details and coloring right. My policy is one week.”

  “Do something quick and rough to give me an idea,” he snapped. “No color required.”

  Rushing the process led to shoddy artwork and endless questions from the customer. “I only show polished designs. I know you’re eager to see your soul tat. In a few more days, I guarantee you’ll be satisfied with the finished product.”

  A corner of his mouth inched up. “I don’t think you can see my soul. I think this is one great con you’ve got going,” he said, oozing predictable skepticism.

  Only customers with deep pockets could afford her unique services, but such finicky clientele wanted gratification on demand, ridiculing anything they didn’t understand.

  Bringing her palms together in a Namaste gesture, she pasted on a neutralizing smile. “Our reputation speaks for itself.” She kept her tone sweet and light as whipped cream. “You won’t find what you’re looking for anywhere else. The design will be ready in one week.”

  He stood, tossing her sketches on the desk between them, and turned to leave.

  This impatient jerk wasn’t going to ruin their one hundred percent rate of customer satisfaction. “You’re a musician or a composer,” she said to his back.

  Gripping the leather chair, he glanced at her, eyebrows knitted together. “How do you know that?”

  Her best consultations were clean: no names and no chit-chat where someone tried to sell her on their public persona. “I saw it in your soul. Give me a week. You won’t be disappointed.”

  His eyes raked over her, then fell to the sketches strewn across her desk. “If you’re wrong, I know a journalist who’d love to do an exposé on this shop.”

  Doubt skittered up her backbone as he stalked out. Before the uncertainty could burrow into her mind, she plucked it from her thoughts. In the five years she’d spent building the reputation of the shop with her business partner, Dougie, she’d never been wrong about a client.

  Serenity stood and leaned on the window of the office. Gazing out across the Hudson River, she watched the sun fade below the New Jersey horizon. Her temples throbbed and the doomsday clock counting down in her head, to goodness only knew what, was louder than ever. After six weeks of nightmares, the relentless ticking, and her dead father haunting her, she was grateful for the strength to stand without swaying.

  Tick tock. Tick tock.

  The sky was a sea of clouds ablaze in fiery gold and carnelian, as if the world were about to end. Since the dreams began, she couldn’t shake the sense she was running out of time.

  Dougie walked in and hovered by the door as he folded his tattoo-sleeved arms. His brawny biceps popped below the short cuff of his clingy, black collared shirt. Embroidered on the chest was an artistic swirl of S.I.D. in ice blue, the signature logo she’d designed. Everyone working at the studio wore some variant of the top, like the body-hugging V-neck she had on, to give customers a cohesive, clean feel without resorting to full uniforms.

  “The secretary called earlier with a message from the lawyer—”

  “His assistant’s name is Sarah,” she said as calmly as possible for the umpteenth time, “and please stop calling my fiancé the lawyer.”

  Dougie rolled his eyes, crossing the room. “I can’t believe you’re going to marry that dipshit. What does the suit have that I don’t?”

  “Evan has been my best friend for as long as I can remember.” She sat in her leopard hair-hide chair. “He’s my lifeline to normal, whereas you have dating ADHD. Every week, there’s a different woman in your bed.”

  Scratching the strip of hair running from his pierced lower lip to his chin, he nodded in agreement. “But you didn’t deny he’s a dipshit.”

  “A long line of women have called you far worse.” She leaned back in the stiff chair Evan had picked to set the right tone for her high-end shop.

  There was no denying Evan had changed over the years, sacrificing his soft-hearted appeal and endearing integrity to join the engraved rank of partners on the placard of his firm, but she owed him so much, above all unwavering loyalty. “What’s the message?”

  “He knew you’d run late. Don’t worry about going home to change, he’s got you covered. Just meet him at his office since it’s closer to the party.”

  “Crap.” She’d forgotten about the party. Blocked out by her subconscious, no doubt, to save her from a grueling evening. With a sigh, she gathered her things, stuffing supplies in her messenger-style bag.

  “You can’t leave.”

  “Why not?” Serenity shot him a glance. “There are no more appointments today.”

  Dougie stepped up to the desk, a serious look on his face and hands raised in the air. His unmistakable “don’t get pissed” pose, which she knew too well since he lived by the motto: better to ask forgiveness than beg for permission. “Before you rip my—”

  “What did you do?” She threw her bag on the desk. “Spill it.”

  “You have on
e more appointment. This guy has called ten times in the last two weeks to see you sooner, asking if anyone had canceled an appointment he could take,” Dougie said in a rush. “He offered triple our usual fee to have an earlier consult with you. He said he wasn’t going to call again, it was today or not at all.”

  Oh great, just what she needed, another pushy, pompous customer. But still, the first time anyone had ever offered to pay three times their already hefty fee to bypass the waiting list. Talk about exceeding the point of absurdity. She had rules in place for one reason: to maintain the integrity and reputation of the shop.

  “No bribes. It’s not fair to the other customers. I’m not going to see him.”

  Dougie planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “He’s already here, in the front waiting. It’ll take ten minutes. Then you’re free to go play future trophy wife, and I promise no more bending the rules. Scout’s honor.” He gave the three-fingered Scout sign.

  She stared at him with narrowed eyes, refusing to let him know exactly how much the low blow remark had hurt. Future trophy wife. Now it’d be stuck in her head all night. “You were never a freaking Boy Scout and anything you know about honor you learned from the side of a Wheaties box.”

  “Come on.” He dropped his hand. “The dude has been waiting for thirty minutes. Please.”

  Dougie used the P word as often as a federal holiday rolled around. He probably assured the guy she’d do the consult and now worried he’d have egg on his face. It’d serve him right.

  “I’m done for the day. He needs to make an appointment like everyone else. You’ll just have to go out there and apologize for your presumption.”

  “Pwetty pwease,” he said in an Elmer Fudd voice, which nearly made her crack a smile, but she held firm. Then Dougie pushed his lips out in a childish pout and batted his lashes.

  Helpless against his silliness, she chuckled. “Fine. Just this once, but you have to give me a break about the engagement and ease up on Evan.” Adjusting to the weight of the new ring on her finger was more than enough without Dougie’s snide comments. “Deal?”

  Humor drained from his face. “Deal,” he gritted out. You would’ve thought she’d asked him to swallow glass. “But if that fool breaks your heart, I swear I’ll break his—”

  “There’ll be no breaking of anything. And Evan isn’t a fool.”

  Dougie strolled out of the office. When he reached the hall, he called out, “You still didn’t deny he’s a dipshit.”

  Shaking her head with a smile, she hoped their friendship would last despite his wicked sense of humor and not sour like so many others had. She faced the window to get centered before Mr. Moneybags came in. Nothing wrong with being rich, but she loathed it when people acted as if their wealth entitled them to special treatment.

  The interminable tick tock, tick tock punctured her thoughts. She rubbed her forehead, massaging in deep circles. Little good it did against the headache hammering her brain. Too bad the windows didn’t open, she’d kill for a breeze. Or an oxygen mask. Why wasn’t the a/c pumping out more air? It might be September, but she was burning up.

  A tingle danced over her body, raising the hairs on her arms. A gust of heat slammed into her, surged through her skin, beyond her flesh, stirring the quintessence of her being. Energy swirled in her torso, electric embers stirred ablaze. An underlying current that had grown more vibrant since the dreams now bustled with vigor.

  A loud rap at the door startled her and she jumped. In the doorway stood a sinfully handsome man with lush dark hair. A dazzling smile swept across the most stunning face she’d ever seen. Not pretty-boy model perfect, but so savagely beautiful she salivated.

  This was her client?

  The stranger sauntered into the office. His charcoal suit had clean lines and hugged his firm, athletic body. He strolled around her desk and right up to her with casual, confident ease, like they were longtime friends.

  Customers didn’t come behind the desk or invade her personal space. Not in her territory, where all the power resided quite literally in her hands. She wanted to move back or shoo him to a chair five feet away, but she could only gulp, feet welded to the floor.

  He extended his hand, but her first and only chance to peek into his soul couldn’t be squandered on a premature handshake. Even though instinct prodded her to touch him.

  “Hello, I’m—”

  “No! Don’t tell me your name.” Serenity glanced at his outreached hand, then back up at the heartrending face that made her legs shake. “Didn’t Dougie explain the rules?”

  Looking down at her, he lowered his hand. Something playful or mischievous tugged at the naughty curve of his mouth. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

  He stepped closer, his insanely masculine, incredibly sexual body bearing down on her. He even smelled divine. Spicy wilderness with sweet hints of cardamom and sandalwood.

  Raw recognition poked at her memory as if she knew him, but she’d never seen him before. This was certainly the type of man one didn’t forget. Rivulets of sublime energy emanated from him. In all her days, every person she’d come across had lacked this distinctive quality. His body purred with a charged current, foreign yet familiar, comforting and unnerving her at the same time.

  “You need to sit,” she said, suddenly lightheaded, her voice faint. When he quirked an eyebrow, she added, “So we can begin the consultation.”

  “Certainly.” He brushed around her and sat in her chair.

  Her chair! Only inches away. The audacity of him. Her heart thumped so hard and fast she could barely breathe. “Not there.”

  He lounged back in the seat, getting more comfortable, sensuous smile deepening. Alluring blue eyes, dark and exotic, locked on hers. “Where would you like me?” he asked in a liquid velvet voice that poured over her thick as warm butterscotch.

  A hot flush set her face on fire. Evan. I’m getting married to Evan. She repeated the words in her mind like a prayer to protect her from this complete stranger. When she swallowed, she realized her mouth had been hanging open. How long had she been gaping at him?

  He gazed at her with such intensity another sweet flush of heat fluttered over her entire body. She needed to do this consultation and get him the hell out of her office.

  “Never mind.” The sooner this was done, the better. She shoved her palm toward him. “Please place your hand on mine.”

  His fingertips skimmed hers, his warm hand sliding toward her arm until they were palm to palm. A delicious tingle licked up her spine as his long, thick fingers curled around her, his thumb kissing the inside of her wrist where her pulse throbbed.

  A moan blossomed in her chest, but she killed the mutinous noise with a harsh clearing of her throat. She’d worked under pressure before, though nothing as sweet as this. She shut her eyes, determined to do her job and ignore the titillation of his touch stirring her mind into a tizzy. Distraction wouldn’t derail her now. Focusing on the silken ribbons of energy caressing her from scalp to sole, she cleared away all thoughts.

  An image blasted in her mind, bright, scorching: him holding her, lips pressed against hers, drawing her close in an embrace.

  She yanked her hand away.

  “Is that it?” His brow wrinkled. “What did you see?”

  Not a damn thing she could mention. Something had gone wrong. She hadn’t been focused. How could she get centered with him looking at her like that? Like he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off of her for even a second.

  Oh no! She hadn’t seen his soul. No visual interpretation she could capture in a drawing. No soul design. A biting rush of panic grated her insides. She glanced around the office, roping her thoughts together to come up with a solution. Her gaze homed in on the sketches on her desk. Show him the drawings. Stall for time. She scooped them into her hands, scrambling to put them in some order. “Let me show you what I’ve done for others.”

  The chair creaked as he stood. When she turned to hand him the s
ketches, they collided, scattering the illustrations onto the floor. They bent at the same time. Their heads knocked together with their lips coming dangerously close. The gripping visual of him kissing her, holding her, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, waltzed into her head sharper than a memory.

  Heart racing wildly, she staggered back. “I can’t work with you.”

  “What?” He rose and stared at her. Those piercing eyes refused to let her go.

  “I mean,” she stammered with no clue what to say. “My services aren’t for you.”

  She stumbled to the other side of the desk to get away from him, trying not to trip over her tongue. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry I wasted your time. You’ll get a full refund.”

  “Not necessary,” he said, following her. “I haven’t paid yet.”

  That’s right. Clients gave a deposit after they approved her sketch, usually thrilled she’d done such a fabulous job. She was completely losing it.

  “Can we stop going in circles and sit for a moment to discuss this?”

  They’d gone around the desk twice already.

  She hurried to the door. “There’s nothing to discuss. I don’t want to work with you.” She cringed at her candid tongue and blatant rudeness. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you the soul design you came here for. It’s been a long day. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have somewhere I need to be. Dougie shouldn’t have overbooked my schedule.”

  “If we could speak for a minute, I’m sure we could work this out.” He radiated debonair coolness that must’ve made most women swoon.

  “There’s nothing to work out.” Idiot. She’d blown her one chance to read his soul by daydreaming about something that could never happen. Her first botched consultation. She yanked the door open wide, desperate to get rid of her only disappointed customer in five years. “Dougie will give you the name of another shop.”

  He stopped in front of her, blocking the doorway. “But I want you.” Definitive certainty steeled his voice, stilling her. For a split second she questioned exactly what he’d meant.

  “You wouldn’t be happy with my work. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for something. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She backed away, avoiding the magnetic grip of his dark gaze.