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

Part 2 - friends or foes

Part 2

-11-

friends or foes

"Rem!"

She rises from her place at the table, surrounded by more books. Internet searches, phone calls to find more trails, reading, translating. She's almost ready. Ready to track down C. She's not forgotten about her father, Dathan, but first, she'll take care of her other family, then track down the sperm donor. Losing Lena cools her blood every time she thinks of her. That one single night of love, her only night of love, hangs heavily on her heart.

"Yeah?"

"We have company," says Fritz, walking through the kitchen with a shotgun and his .45. "Black SUV. Three occupants. I can't get a good bead on them with the binoculars, not local. Rental."

She snarls, baring her fangs and snatching the guns from him.

"Basement. Hide."

Calmly, Fritz takes the handgun back, but leaves her with the shotgun.

"I was a cop. I'm not letting you go at this alone, Rem. You're my daughter. You might have been gone for almost 15 years, but you're still my girl."

Remy moves to the large bay window that overlooks the front yard where all cars have to drive to if coming to the house, her eyesight giving her a crisp, HD picture of what and who has come to visit. A short tomboy emerges from the driver's seat, a blonde woman—both in their 40s and a young man, maybe in his 20s. His hair is longer, and he moves—with some flare of something familiar.

"Fritz, flank them from behind. I'm going to talk to them," whispers Remy. That sixth sense of hers kicking in—telling her something is about to happen, but what, she isn't sure.

Fritz's face changes, regarding his daughter with caution, but then he gives her an easy nod.

"Stay safe."

"You too."

Remy reaches out, turns the doorknob. The weight of the act bears down on her shoulders, eases the door open, and steps out into the cloudy day. All her senses ramp up to the Nth degree, body a live wire of emotions. She's tired of being hunted, and they will never attack her home again.

"I come in peace," says the tomboy. A smile plays on her lips, her hands up in an easy surrender. "I won't hurt you if you don't hit me with a frying pan or shoot me with the gun; deal?"

"Do you have to be so damn sarcastic?" asks the blonde, her glare speaking volumes. "Hello, Remy. I'm Amy Astin." She raises a hand and waves in a friendly manner. "This is Jo Wheaton, and this is Trystin; he is Dathan's son. Your brother and he's just like you."

Remy's heart stops at that word.

Brother.

Someone like her. Just like her.

Her blood.

Her equal. Her feet move without thought or volition. She vaults over the railing and drops to the ground, shotgun still in hand, and walks to Amy, sizing up the older blonde. Then her gaze falls on the young man.

He smiles, the glimmer of fangs, just like hers, peek from behind his cotton candy lips. Bright violet eyes twinkle behind thick lashes.

"Hi, Remmiah. I'm Trystin," says Trystin.

"He's got your eyes," says Jo. A flicker of something passes over Jo's face.

Remy can't breathe. She stares at the face of a smiling, healthy, happy young man of maybe 19. Or he could be 100, for all she knows. His hair is longer, wavy with streaks of sunset red and tangles of gold, and yes, he has her eyes. Darker than her own, but the same violet. His skin is café latte in color.