Awaiting Fate Read Online Free Page B

and every curve of her body, he never thought to ask her anything about her past, primarily because he knew Landon had kept her stowed away.
    Her brother treated her like a child even though she was one hundred and two. By all accounts, she was still twenty. In comparison, Jocelyn, who was merely twenty-one and had just recently been thrust into the immortal world, knew much more about it than Olivia because of Landon. Cain hated that Landon had sheltered her so much because, despite the fact his intentions were for her wellbeing, Cain felt Olivia’s hurt at being kept out of werewolf affairs, Guardian business and the reality they all lived with—that a war between good and evil was undoubtedly nearing.
    Although, recently, Landon allowed her a glimpse into the real world, Cain feared it too late. He often sensed her disbelief over reality, which was quickly followed by remorse. He wanted to ask so many times why, but held his tongue in fear she’d flinch at his intrusion.
    The question that continued to plague him was why she’d left. He didn’t want to believe it was because of him, but his heart continued to tell him otherwise.
    Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes tightly, hoping the action alone would magically block out the sense of defeat threatening to take hold. Not for the first time he thought: if he would’ve known the last time he saw her would be the last until he found her again, he would have looked at her longer, closer and most importantly, he would’ve held her. He would’ve run his fingers through her hair as he inhaled her scent and kissed her for the very first time then maybe she wouldn’t have run away. Then again, if he knew it would be the last, he would have never let her go, not without him.
    He shook his head to dispel the thought because the past was lost, and there was no use rehashing it. It would only serve to make him believe the present could be changed when it couldn’t. The only thing that could be altered was the future: what he did when he found her.
    Closing his eyes, he relived their last moments together, just the day before she left. They’d sat outside in her garden and talked. Before he’d left for the night, looking thoughtful, she did something she had never done before. She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hugged him tight. He enclosed her in his embrace, bending over and angling his head so he could bury his face in her hair. Inhaling the scent of her, he’d smiled against her, thinking that one action in that single moment was a sign, a sign she was ready to know the truth about them. Because of it, he had decided to confess she was his. Now, looking back he knew better. It had been a sign, but not the one he thought. It had been her goodbye.
    Hating the realization, it made him feel like a bigger idiot. Anger coursed through him so powerfully, he had to find a way to release it without unleashing his demon. In his state, the demon would take over, and his ability to think rationally would vanish. He’d never find her then.
    He did the only thing he could think of. He stood, and punched his fists through the wall repeatedly. When he was done, the entire wall laid at his feet, utterly destroyed.
    Staring at the mess he’d made, paying no mind to his bleeding knuckles, he pushed his thoughts elsewhere. He forced himself to fantasize, the only thing that seemed to calm him, if only temporarily. Going back to the same fantasy, the moment he found her. He imagined she would be overjoyed, run toward him, and hug him. He would tell her how much he missed her, and he loved her, and finally he would muster the courage to tell her she was his, then he’d kiss her for the very first time.
    That was just a fantasy though. There was no way to know how she’d react. Odds were, she’d run again because she’d run once.
    Of one thing he was sure: he would find her. He’d find her because he had to. And when he did, he’d never let her go.

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