Fate Fights - Fate Series 3 - Book 3 (A J*A*D*E*S/s*t*a*r*s novel)

Fate Fights - Part 1 - Fresh Eyes

Fate Fights

Fate Series 3

Book 3

CeeJay Marie

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Part-1

-1-

fresh eyes

His name is Ciaran, and he fancies himself an angel.

All right, half-angel, but many of his conquests think he's pretty angelic after he's had his way with them. No, he doesn't have wings. Instead, he has violet eyes and deep silver hair, which he typically keeps longer. It curls at the ends, and he thinks he looks pretty dashing wearing it this way.

There are whispers of others like himself; he always put this off to an impossibility, but Ciaran knows he had a feeling in, not in his bones but deeper than that, his soul. He's spent the better part of his life hunting demons and darkness, yet at the same time seeking out the other sliver of his soul, the lightness at the end of the darkened tunnel of life.

Ciaran may well have found her. Her name is Remmiah Roma, and somehow she is part of the gypsy family that he's never been able to infiltrate. One of the world's tightest knit groups, the Rom, the pricolici, more secretive and closed off than even The Kindred. The shape-shifting wolves are part of his bloodline as well. His on and off search for her has led Ciaran here. To a five-acre clearing in the middle of the woods, surrounded by Elder Oak and their Alpha leader, and he thinks, maybe, just maybe, that he's have found her.

And a boatload of trouble to boot.

-2-

two halves of a whole

Ciaran watches as the girl crouches, ready to spring, every muscle taut and ready to uncoil and unleash her fury at the man before her. Her dress flutters around her in a silken halo. Her bare feet planted solidly. Then Ciaran can see it. The firelight throws refracting colors off the fur that now covers her lower legs. He feels a heated pulse racing through his veins as his eyes light on that shift-that unheard of transformation that died away in the Rom DNA centuries ago seems to be alive and well in this little girl. Excitement roils in his belly, seeing this transformation that hasn't happened in years, hell, in centuries.

Shoving his way through the pulsing crowd that has also seen what he's seen, excitement rivers through his veins. She's pricolici, a shapeshifter. It's impossible. Ciaran has seen pricolici before, but that had been well over a century ago, and their transformations were always full, not partial, and so controlled. They became animals while still holding onto their intelligence; they were still animals. But her, she's controlling it, she's telling the change what to do, and the change isn't overtaking her. It can't be, can it? What is he thinking? He's a Nephilim, and that's supposed to be impossible, too. Who had ever heard of children of man and angels actually being real? What is this, a Sci-Fi show?

His thoughts shift away from the action as she, the child, Ciaran, keeps thinking of her as a child because she's damn young. So young! Sixteen? And beautiful in that rugged, "I'll beat you senseless if you screw with me" way that has always, always, made him want to tear a girl's clothes off. His mind rockets back to her now as she sizes up her prey, the gorgeous creature that challenged the old man who is Alpha of the Rom clan that has forever interested him, but he's never been able to get close enough to one to get to know them.