“Don’t be the hero,” Annette whispered to her. “Just…don’t be.”
Then she blinked, once, twice, and the blackness faded back into the light brown of her normal eye color. Annette collapsed into her chair.
Jane stood before her, her hand still on her side, her body tense, and her mind rebelling. “That’s not,” she finally managed to say, “the news I was hoping for.”
Faint lines appeared near Annette’s mouth. Lines that hadn’t been there before the reading. “If you don’t like what I see, then you shouldn’t ask to know what’s coming.”
Jane swallowed. “What was that bit about my father? Not cool, Annette. Seriously not cool considering I saw him die before my eyes when I was eleven years old.”
“The dead talk to me all the time.” Annette rubbed her temples. “And I didn’t say your step-dad came to visit me.”
Jane took a step back and bumped into her chair.
“You’re a born vampire, Jane. Sure, there are some truly random events that cause the birth of a human who is a vamp-in-waiting, but that random event didn’t happen with you.” Annette’s hand fell from her temple. “And I have to wonder…how long have you known that your birth father was a vampire?”
“He wasn’t.”
“Jane…”
“He wasn’t a vampire when he first married my mother!” Those words tore from her because…she’d seen the pictures. She knew what her father had been like…before. When her brother had been younger, there had been so many happy pictures of him and their parents. She’d seen those pictures.
Smiling. Laughing. Living.
“He was attacked. He…changed. He hurt my mother.” This was Jane’s shame. So much shame. “I figure it must have been right after the attack…he came home to my mother. I-I was conceived.” Don’t think about what happened that night. Don’t think about the pain and terror that had been in mom’s eyes when she talked about her pregnancy. Don’t.
“My brother said our father was a monster.” She hated this part of the story. Jane hadn’t known…but Drew had. “He would whisper that, over the years. Whenever I asked about my real father, Drew said it was good that he was gone. That dad was a monster. Only my mom kept telling me…monsters aren’t real. Almost every night she would say it. Monsters aren’t real.” Jane licked dry lips. “It wasn’t until much later that I realized she wasn’t trying to convince me. She was trying to convince herself.”
“I’m sorry,” Annette said, sounding as if she truly meant the words.
“So am I.” She was her father’s daughter. Conceived when he’d stopped being human. But her brother…He isn’t like me. That was why she wanted Drew to stay safe. To stay very far away. “It would really help things out if you would tell me exactly when and where I’m supposed to die.”
Annette held her stare. “It doesn’t work that way. Things aren’t…so clear.”
“It seemed clear enough when you were telling me that I was the end.”
Annette’s long lashes shielded her eyes. “I think it’s…soon, Jane. It felt soon.”
Hell. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see who killed me? Was it the vampire? Is Vincent the one I have to watch out for?”
Now Annette’s brow furrowed. “He was there. So was Aidan. They were both there but…I don’t know who kills you.”
She spoke so matter-of-factly. As if Jane’s death were just a done deal. To her, maybe it was. “I won’t let it happen.” Jane spun away from the other woman. “Thanks for this little glimpse into my future hell, but I will change it. I’m not going to become a monster.”
She was nearly at the door when she heard Annette’s sad whisper.
“You already are…”
***
Jane didn’t slam the door when she left the Voodoo Shop. Just as she hadn’t pounded furiously when she arrived.
Blowing out a hard breath, Annette slumped deeper in her chair. She wished Jane’s fate had been different, but wishing didn’t exactly change anything. It—
A faint creak sounded behind her.
In a flash, Annette was on her feet, the knife in her hand as she lunged toward the man who’d somehow slipped past her security system and into her shop.
“Easy!” Paris Cole said, his voice low as he dodged her knife strike. “I’m not here to hurt you!”
Her teeth clenched. Werewolves. Freaking werewolves. “Sorry if I don’t believe you,” Annette gritted out. “I don’t have the best track record with werewolves.”
His golden gaze darted between the knife and her face. “Your ex was a bastard to us both. I’m sorry I ever called him friend.”
Her grip tightened on the knife. “These days, I just call him dead.” Because he was. “How long have you been here?” Her stomach clenched as she waited for his response. Werewolves could move so silently. Paris wasn’t an alpha, but he was still plenty powerful, and the guy was Aidan’s right-hand. If he’d overheard her talk with Jane…