A Hybrid's Destiny

Chapter 3

Tate searched aisle after aisle of the archive room, sniffing the air for Father Wesley. Where did that antsy priest get off to? His smell was faint, which either meant he just missed him and he wasn’t anywhere upstairs or the guy spent way too much time up here and his scent was unnaturally saturating into the woodwork. Tate made a face at the last assumption. That was just too weird. Yet, if the guy camped out up here, shrugging off his cleric duties and hiding within the rank, stale chamber, who was he to judge?

Maybe the guy was a bookworm and hated real people? Hmm. He picked the wrong line of work if that were true.

Just when he resigned to return to Aron and Sébastien, who he’d left scouring over scripts near the north end of the chamber, his eye caught a book, written with a Romanian title of Abominare Hibridă. Tate scowled as he pulled it from the shelf, even though he was quite used to being called an abomination as a hybrid, it still pricked at his nerves to hear or see it in full display. No one dared call it to his face, and no one in his pack back home ever gave him that disrespect, but he knew how others felt about being an odd cocktail of different supernatural species.

Seriously though, one would think that in this day and age, people would be a little more open minded. But hey, it’s understandable why either race balked when he entered the room. A werewolf is a beast of nature, signifying all that is living and breathing. Being a mix of something that symbolizes death, such as a vampire, it made sense that being tainted with a bit of darkness didn’t sit well with the wolf crowd. And since vampires despise werewolves because they are like the complete opposite of who they represent, the bloodsuckers get a little weirded out about him having part of their natural nemesis bleeding within his veins. Eh, it was a no-win situation.

Again, he didn’t give a f**k about what the bougie crowds thought of him. He is who he is and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

After flipping through the pages, seeing drawings that definitely didn’t even come close to what he looked like in his beast form, and reading information that must have been as outdated as the illustrations, Tate slid the book back on the shelf after rolling his eyes for the millionth time. “They claim I don’t have a shadow, huh? Bullshit.” Though, just to be sure, Tate looked to the side, checking for it. “Pfft!” He smirked proudly when he saw the dark silhouette.

He continued down the aisle, contemplating the idea of getting a book deal and starting a series about real hybrids just to keep the record straight. Eh, then again, he didn’t need some pimple-faced, wanna-be Van Helsings stalking him with wooden stakes and silver bullets. Yeah, no thanks.

Some humans could be just as scary as demons.

Nearing the end of the passage, Tate picked up a whiff of… coconut? He paused, taking in a deeper breath; his body growing more addicted to the aroma the more he inhaled. Allowing it to direct him, he followed the scent to the other side of the chamber, his heart slamming harder the more he drew nearer to the source.

This hunger felt new. The adrenaline pumping through his veins and thundering in his ears just because of a scent?

Did it excite me?

When he passed the end of the aisle, his eye caught a bounce of long, black curly hair, headed down the adjacent one. In quick pursuit, he turned on his heel and darted in that direction, his chest erratic as he stalked this… prey?

Stealthily, he shadowed her; his chin drawn low, eyes locked onto the woman as his mouth watered in anticipation for …what?

When his canines pushed from his gums, his question was answered.

But this also confused him.

He didn’t feed off humans. Well, live humans. The fridge back home was filled with plenty of human blood to keep him sated on a daily basis. And although he hadn’t had any blood yet today, that wouldn’t be any reason why he wanted to sink his teeth into this woman’s throat right now. He could go nearly three days without feeding and be just fine. But right now, he was acting… starved.

And there was a living, breathing buffet sauntering her sensual, delicious ass right in front of him, and his body ached to taste her!

Tate’s fists clenched. What the f**k was going on? He usually had more control than this! And he usually wasn’t one to chase after girls. They chased after him. Yet, here he was, desperate to get close, to touch her, to get lost within her scent.

And he…couldn’t… stop… s**t!

The woman must have sensed him because, in a sudden twist, she turned completely around to face him. That moment she did, his breath caught as their eyes locked as his whole world tilted off its axis.

Holy f**k, purple! Alive. Beautiful. Her eyes.

Drowning in those lavender pools, which were somehow digging into his chest, everything within his being knew without any doubt that she would be the life and death of him.

The books she had held in her hands flew around them like confetti as he blurred into her space. Latching onto her soft body, he pressed her into the shelf as he slammed flush against her. His entire body shot to life when they touched as if he had been in a dead sleep and suddenly awakened.

The woman gasped as his hands clasped both sides of her smooth, tawny-toned face. He did, too, caught off guard as his fingers tingled and burned with an electrical shock when they touched her.

Lost within the bounce of black curls that framed her gorgeous sweetheart face and cascaded the sides of her shoulders, he leaned in and dragged his nose along the soft tendrils, inhaling the rapturous coconut smell. His eyes rolled in ecstasy.

Tate’s nose continued to trail down the side of her face until finding the sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. Oh, that scent. It seemed to permeate on that spot, and drawn in like a bee to its honey, his lips feathered across it, his tongue tasting, fangs dragging across it as the temptation to plunge within her neck nearly overtook him.

When he heard her gasp again, Tate darted immediately to her mouth, claiming her plump, pillow-soft lips in an ardent kiss. A new rapture pulsed over him when their mouths touched, a feeling he hadn’t ever felt before, like his heart was sinking into his gut in a freefall. Feeling her shudder beneath him excited him even more, made his lips hungrier, his mouth more demanding, as he coaxed hers to open with the nip of his fangs.

But that was a mistake. He hadn’t ever bit a woman to the point of drawing blood before; this was new. This was… oh, he was so f****d.

Lust had taken over and he wasn’t thinking straight. For the moment that small drop of blood hit his tongue, he was completely undone. Growling, he sucked her lower, bleeding lip, caught in frenzy as he then drove his tongue within her mouth to deepen this kiss.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the woman shoved him away from her. He stumbled back a step, still eddying in ecstasy, not expecting her sharp, whipping hand as it smacked across his face.

“How dare you!” Her chest heaved, and Tate couldn’t help but marvel over the voluptuous curves rising and falling under her tight shirt. That’s when she whacked him again, actually smacking some sense back into his delirious brain. Instantly, his fangs retracted as he blinked down at her a few times.

Tate took another step back, hoping to be outside of reach of another attack, but he didn’t move too far away.

Oh, wow. She’s pissed, he assessed, noting her widened eyes and flaring nostrils. Even though he knew she was trying to look all fierce and off-putting, her whole act turned him on even more.

Smiling, “You didn’t seem to mind,” he purred. Tate couldn’t process everything happening, but the intense vibrations nicking every nerve in his body had taken complete control.

“Well, I do mind!” she spat. “And who does that?” Her tongue nursed at her lower lip that still seeped a little blood. He watched her roll over it a few times, mesmerized, wanting to taste her again. “Who just runs up to a total stranger and… and you know... who does that?!” Her hands flew up in exasperation.

“Me,” Tate growled, focused on her lips, taking a step closer. Dammit, he wanted to be the one licking that lip. She held up both her hands, warding him to back off. He paused, finding her eyes again. She looked caught between anger and desire, both emotions that only added to the lust mustering throughout his body. “I know you want me,” he hushed. It wasn’t his overconfidence talking, either. He could hear the erratic thumping of her heart; he could smell her arousal begging him to touch her.

“I don’t!” she choked. He raised an eyebrow at her weak confession, prompting her to raise her chin and square her shoulders. “I don’t even know who, or what, you are.”

“The name is Tate,” he introduced himself with a wink. Intrigued by her latter comment, “So, what I am?” he hummed, taking the bait. “What do you think I am?”

“Red eyes. Fangs,” she licked her lower lip again and he watched with jealous fascination.

But even his lust clouded when he realized he had exposed himself to this… he smelled the air. This human. s**t, his eyes must have shifted and he definitely knew his teeth came out to party. How could he have let himself be so out of control?

“Red eyes. Fangs,” he goaded. “So what am I?”

Shaking her head, he watched as her ebony coils bobbed, itching to weave his fingers within them. “No, I don’t get the vampire vibe from you,” she confessed. Tate observed as her facial expressions worked through whatever was inside her gorgeous head.

The girl obviously knew things, and it intrigued him why this human did. “Are you sure about that? I mean, I did bite you.” His gums hummed, fangs anxious for an encore. What the hell was going on with him?

I don’t bite people!

“Demon?” she crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up those wonderful breasts that caught his attention once more. After she cleared her throat, he had to force himself to keep eye-contact, not wanting to be slapped again. “Demons have red eyes and…and fangs.” After keeping her locked within a stare, she cleared her throat again and looked away. “Are you a demon?”

Tate chuckled. “Some people may think so about me. But no.” This girl was intriguing, with her obvious knowledge of the occult. Curious, focused, he smelled her again. It was hard to move past the coconut aroma that buzzed his brain, as well as stirred other parts of his body, but he managed to filter through. And he did catch something this time, hiding inside the edges of her humanity.

With all the meetings and associations he had because of his father, Raith, he knew that smell. It hummed over her aura like humidity would hang in the air before a rainstorm. “You’re a witch.” He said pointedly.

Her jaw ticked at his confession. “And you’re a…a…” her words were lost for a bit as her eyes flicked all over him, as if trying to unravel his secrets with a more thorough examination. But when she made eye contact again with him, it seemed her exploration left her breathless, her cheeks flushed with a delicious rosy blush. He smirked at her reaction, enjoying how she feasted over his body, and then how her eyes heated with lust afterward.

Tate had to cross his arms to keep himself from diving in again, daring to repossess this vixen who obviously wanted him as much as he wanted her. Why is she holding back?

He hadn’t ever had library s*x, but he wasn’t opposed to a new adventure.

“I’m a... what?”

“Presumptuous!” She shot back. “That’s what you are. Highly presumptuous that I would even want to kiss you!” When she dropped to her knees in front of him, he nearly lost his s**t. His d**k twitched, hardening even more, before he realized what she was doing.

Shit, maybe I am presumptuous, he thought as he watched her scramble to pick up the books she had dropped on the floor. It was his turn to clear his throat, trying to rein his arousal before he lost control again.

Hunched beside her, he helped her gather them. Tate hadn’t bothered to look at the first few books he handed her, but the third book’s title drew his attention. Demons and the Underworld. His brows pinched as he looked closer at it.

“I don’t need your help,” she demanded, piling the ten tomes in a stack.

Abiding her wish, he sat back as he watched her continue, wondering how she managed to carry all these books in the first place. When they all were in order and she glanced over at his squatting form, Tate flashed her a sweet smile. “Can I at least carry these to wherever you’re going to read them?”

“I said I didn’t need help. I mean it, I don’t,” and she was true to her word. In a careful balance, she carefully lifted the bottom book upward, and slowly moved to her feet. “I think we’re done here.”

“We don’t have to be,” Tate purred. Something lurched in his gut at the thought of this being it. This being a goodbye. He wasn’t ready to let her go, yet. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not interested, ok?” she said. Tate knew better than to believe her. Her whole body betrayed her still. Yet, something shadowed inside her expressive eyes, pulling her lips into a lenient frown. This intrigued him more, wanting to know what had triggered this… sadness.

“Well, maybe I can change that? Your interest, that is,” he tried on his sweet smile again. “We can start over?” Pressing a hand on his chest, “Hello, my name is Tate. Nice to meet you.” He pointed to her, “And you are…?” Dammit, just give me your name.

“Not interested,” she said as she turned and began walking down the aisle. He huffed, running a hand across the back of his neck as he watched her escape. Glued to her sweet ass swaying ahead, he licked his lips and knew he couldn’t give up on this one, yet. Not until he’s had a taste, at least. He was sure that’s all he needed.

Tate tailed her, “Well, we can go with our common interests, then? Like, per say, demons? The Underworld?” He pointed to the precariously stacked books gripped tightly against her; she was obviously struggling with now, but he wasn’t going to ask to help her again unless she initiated it. He didn’t want to piss her off; quite the contrary. “Very interesting topic. One I’ve been quite immersed in for quite some time.” Nearly my whole f*****g life.

“So? What’s it to you?” Ah! She was having a conversation with him! It wasn’t much, but he was grabbing hold of the opportunity with both hands!

Tate smiled at her, the right side of his lips raising just a bit higher. “Well, I’m currently researching the nefarious,” he made the word sound spooky, “Dèanadair and his evil plan to take over the world, as most villains tend to aspire to do,” he added with a playful shrug. “I plan to stop him.” Tate lifted his chin in faux-arrogance.

“You? Defeat the Dèanadair?” She snorted, shaking her head. He didn’t let her lack of confidence in him bruise his ego. Well, not too much of it. The little witch didn’t even know who he was, let alone what part he played in it all. He simply smiled at her mocking gaze as she continued, “That demon’s locked within the nine levels of hell. Good luck with that if you can even find him.”

“Oh, we’ve recently found each other,” Tate addressed. “A nasty throw down. But the d**k bailed on me mid-scrap and making me need to go find his b***h-ass.”

“Impossible,” she said as she set her stack of books on the first table they came to. Tate jumped in to help the top three books from spilling over, but snapped his hand back immediately when she shot him a breath-taking set of feisty eyes. “He’s condemned to the Underworld until Judgement Day. There is no way he got out.”

Tate shrugged. “He did. I whooped his ass and he high-tailed it back to hell.” It was his turn to frown, “Other than me needing to kill him, he took some things of mine with him that I need to get back.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Only, the bastard sealed all the doors after he did, and now I’m trying to figure out a way in.”

“Sealed? All the gates?” Her beautiful brown brows pursed, and oddly, he was caught up in those now too. What was it about this girl? “What do you mean, sealed? Like, sealed-sealed?”

Tate nodded, “Yep,” his ‘p’ popped. “It’s what I’m trying to figure out now. How to get in.”

As the witch sunk into the chair, her expression also took a fall. “Shit.” Tate mused that she wasn’t feeling sorry for his predicament. Something else was bugging her about what he had just said. Was she trying to get into hell too?

Ribbing her, he baited, “You trying to book a southern holiday to the real ‘Land Down Under’, too?”

By the way her wary eyes and pursed lips regarded him, he knew she was contemplating what she wanted to share. It took a moment, but she did reply, though her tone felt guarded. “I’m looking for a demon myself. Though I’m hoping he’s still topside, I am afraid he could be hiding out in the Underworld.” She added, “When I was scrying for his location, I got a pretty good idea he’s underground.”

Tate’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Which demon?”

Her fingers ran down the stack of books in front of her until she found a specific one. Since it was nearly at the bottom of the pile, she began clearing off books to get to it. Tate moved in quick and lifted the pile with ease, giving her immediate access. She squinted at him, and he gave her an apologetic smile, preparing for her wrath, but she simply smirked and grabbed the book she was after. He set the books back on the initial pile as she flipped through the pages of the one in her hand, finally settling on one and laying open on the table. Her slender, manicured finger pointed to it.

“This guy. He’s the nefarious demon I’m chasing.”

Tate’s eyes popped when he looked down at the picture. The depiction, like those horrid hybrid likenesses in the book he perused earlier, were definitely an author’s interpretation of the real deal, but the similarities were uncannily right on. “Hey, that’s my guy too,” Tate admitted, glaring at the asshat. Piece of s**t was going to go down! “That’s the Dèanadair.”

“No. This isn’t the Dèanadair.” The witch shook her head as her finger slid to the name written in a swirl of gold and black calligraphy. “His name is Jonnach. He’s one of the Dèanadair’s henchmen.” She looked up at him. “Was it Jonnach who you were fighting?”

“Yeah, that was him, I’m pretty sure.” Tate nodded, though his face pinched in confusion. “So what you’re saying is, this guy here is not the Dèanadair. That there is some other demon out there who is the Dèanadair?”

“Like I said, there’s no way you fought the Dèanadair here on the surface world. The god of the Christians has locked him, indefinitely, in the Underworld.” She pointed at Jonnach, “Why did you think he was the Dèanadair?”

“f**k,” Tate growled, his hands bracing his hips as his mind reeled. He needed to get to Aron and Sébastien, quick. “Excuse me,” he added quickly as he turned to leave.

“No wait,” she said, grabbing his bicep. Tate shuddered, his shoulders feathering as his nerves flushed with electricity. Looking down at her hand, panicked about what this meant. At first, he had assumed he was just hella horny and lusted after her blood. But this… no f*****g way! This! Was it possible? His eyes widened as he stared at her, his heart rising back up to manic levels.

Shit! Was she his… mate?

Being a human, she wouldn’t know what this meant. Then again, as a witch, maybe she did? Did she know enough about werewolves’ mates and a vampire’s Beloved?

Did she feel it, like he did? Did he want her to? f**k, he didn’t want a mate. After all this time, he had become accustomed to the fact that he wanted to be a loner, and he embraced that life. Besides, if things went bad with his fight with the Dèanadair, he’d most likely die and he didn’t need to string anyone else along in that fate.

“What?” he managed, his voice hoarse.

“Maybe… maybe we can work together? You seem to know my guy,” she tilted her head toward the open book, “and we both need to get into the Underworld.”

No, this was not a good idea. Not anymore. s**t.

But she had a point. The witch seemed to know a lot about the Underworld, the Dèanadair, and this dickhead Jonnach. He needed all the help he could get so he could get Nevaeh, Levi, and the nal jealot back. He’d just needed to… be careful around the witch. Keep it all business. She seemed to want him at arm’s length anyway.

It was better this way. For both of them.

“On one condition,” a mirthful grin feathered across his lips.

“And that is?” she shot an incredulous look, no doubt wary of what his request will be.

“Tell me your name," he smirked as she rolled her eyes.

“Jaelyn?” A man came around the corner, shuffling manuscripts in his hands. His eyes squinted at Tate, his hands clenching down on what he was holding. “This guy bothering you?”

Tate bristled at the arrival of another male, nearly growling at him, instantly territorial. f**k. He had to work back these emotions. If he wasn’t going to claim her, he had no right to go all possessive boyfriend on her! However, this isn’t what helped calm him from ripping the guy’s eyes out for looking at her. The similarities between both of them stood out; the eye color, the facial features, everything, and he knew the two had to be related.

Siblings, perhaps?

Tate's grin deepened when he poured over her gorgeous face once more. “Jaelyn,” he let the name roll off his tongue with a content hum. “Beautiful name for my little witch.”