Fate's Return (Twisted Fate Book 2)

By Sasha Leigh

“Something is special about you. I don't know what they know, but you need to prepare. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

David’s words stayed with Alyssa, though she doesn’t remember hearing them, and has forgotten her brush with Death, the in-between, and almost all of her memories of the time that she spent with David. After a year of training, mourning the boy she loved and lost, Alyssa thinks she’s ready for anything. She’s fast, strong, and fearless.

But when strange things begin to happen, Aly thinks she’s lost her mind. How is she supposed to fight against what she can’t see? Nothing is as it seems, and she soon realizes everybody has a hidden agenda. The only question is: are they friend or foe? Who’s the faceless boy in her dreams, and why can’t she remember him when she wakes?

With new friends and danger lurking in the shadows, Aly doesn’t know who to trust. As her birthday draws near, she needs protection, but feels alone . . . Or is she?

When you can’ trust yourself, who can you turn to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sasha Leigh
• Release date: Oct 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310271748

Sasha Leigh

Sasha Leigh is a self-diagnosed dreamer. When she isn't stuck in worlds of her own making, listening to characters squabble for attention in her head, she's immersed in stories created by others. A lover of all things "weird", Sasha's world is considered complete when she has her daughter at her side, her sketchpad, notebook, and something to write with - even if it's just a piece of chalk. Working by day in the insurance industry, she spends her evenings and weekends devouring or writing new tales of magic, mythology, and all things supernatural (except dragons).

Book preview

FATE’S RETURN

By

Sasha Leigh

DEDICATION

For my mum.

Fate’s Return, A Twisted Fate Novel

Copyright © 2014 by Sasha Leigh

Published: October 27, 2014

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Design: Sasha Leigh

All Images Purchased for use at www.Bigstock.com

Logo Wings: Fiery Wings by blackmoon979

Exterior Photos:

Beautiful sexy blond girl studio shot by babaka

Interior Photos:

Set of Filigree Butterflies with Ornament for Design by mashakotcur

Vector illustration of Feather by Roman__

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.SashaLeigh.Weebly.com or @SashaLeighS.

CHAPTER ONE

Sweat rolled down my spine, cool against the burn of my skin, and pooled within the ridges of the elastic waistband of my black satin shorts. As I clenched my teeth around my mouth guard, I regulated my breathing and bobbed another right hook aimed at my chin, and then dodged to the left to let the ropes of the boxing ring help me to regain my balance. I turned to face my opponent and whirled as a left jab made contact with my jaw, forcing me away until the middle rung of ropes dug into the bared skin on my back. Still, I managed to slip the follow-up cross.

Janet pounced. I pulled my elbows in and started to roll, and brought my gloves up to my forehead so that her cross and jabs—the only punches she seemed capable of completing—were absorbed by my gloves and arms. Her dark hair, hanging down her back from a ponytail holder placed at the crown of her head, whipped around to tickle my cheek.

"You think that’s enough, Southpaw?" I laughed, still blocking. Why hadn’t someone told her coach to teach her a proper stance? Fighting against someone who kept their dominant hand in front was like fighting a one-armed beginner.

Fights turn around all the time. Janet stepped back, panting, seeming unable to do more than one thing at once—fight or talk—and she was choosing wrong.

Yeah? In the last round? When you are already losing?

"Ahh!"

Janet, easy to goad, was too distracted to think about her stance as she took the bait and tried to strike me with another cross. But her feet weren’t spread. Once I blocked her punch, I managed a rear Thai kick, throwing her off balance, and weaved to the right, landing a right shovel hook before stepping out of reach.

One-two, one-two! Her couch stood outside the ropes, pacing, and screamed for her to complete a combination. Janet!

She shoulder-checked and her coach pointed at me, his beady black eyes narrowed. His face, crimson, looked as though he was the one working up a sweat in the ring instead of us.

"One-two!"

With a shake of my head, I smiled through the strands of white-blonde hair hanging in my line of sight as my adrenaline surged. It felt like a zap of energy coursed through my entire body. I brought my hands up to cover my face and lowered my chin so that I could see her through narrowed eyes over the top of my gloves. Uh oh. Now what are you going to do?

I’m sure you’d love to know, wouldn’t you? She darted forward and jabbed, but I danced away.

I grinned, cocked my head to the side, and lowered my arms. Darting my eyes to her coach and back again, I asked, Don’t I already know? I sucked in air, letting my cheeks puff out as I mimicked the combo her coach was still screaming for her to complete. "One-two, one-two. Hee. Ha! Oooh."

Shaking my arms, I bounced on the balls of my feet and laughed. It was obvious that Janet was trying to ignore her coach’s distractions as she shifted, pulling her arms up and spreading her legs, but it was too late. Losing all pretence for humour, I took two steps forward, and then feinted to the right, dipping to bend at the knees. With the full weight of my body, I lunged left, driving up with my right hand while using the power of my legs, and my fist connected with her jaw.

One-one-two . . . three! Whispering out the order, I torqued my hips, and completed my own combination: jab, jab, cross, left hook.

Dancing backwards before she could retaliate, it took a moment to realize she wasn’t going to. Instead, Janet raised her arm in the air, dropping her chin to her chest as she tried to suck air into her lungs. The tension began to ebb from my body and I lowered my hands, darting my gaze between our coaches.

"You’re not finished!"

Are you throwing in the towel, Janet? Gus asked, leaning over the ropes to hear her better over her own coach’s denial.

Janet looked at her coach and back to Gus, and then nodded. I’m done.

She focused on me and I sighed, allowing my body to relax. Would it be possible to have another last fight? I was just starting to warm up.

Let’s go, Janet, her coach ordered, scowling.

She nodded and glanced at me one last time before crouching to pass through the ropes he spread for her, saying, Good win, under her breath.

Seven people became five, and the main door slammed shut almost as loud as the coach could be heard reprimanding Janet as they left. I watched them go until their backs disappeared, feeling sorry for her, and lucky that Gus had said yes when I asked for training. With a coach like that, I’d only be motivated long enough to learn how to kick his ass for being an ass before throwing in the towel.

But loving to fight didn’t mean that I could fight.

There had always been prohibitions against matching up fighters in our town—that’s why it was such a small crowd. This match, like all the others I had participated in, wasn’t sanctioned. The authorities had always looked the other way, content to ignore it even though they wouldn’t change the laws to allow it. But some mother on the PTA had found out about the fights and called attention to it, even going as far as bagging the training. There are enough bullies at school without teaching children to fight, she had complained. Or shouted, or whatever it was PTA moms did to gain support.

For some asinine reason, mostly because he trained girls, Gus had been singled out, becoming the example for the gym owners in Hidden Springs.

Now, the restrictions parents had demanded for were being enforced. Gus had no choice: stop training fighters and use the gym for what it was meant for, or lose his livelihood. I was just grateful to have been given the chance for one last match, as unsatisfying as it was, before the ring was taken down tomorrow.

"A-wys-sa! You were per-fect!"

I rolled my eyes as Gus gushed with my praise, and then stepped back into my corner, resting my arms on the top rung so he could untie my gloves so I could take the towel and water bottle he held out for me as soon as they were off. Gus was a little old man with dark black hair and missing teeth that slurred his speech, and was either younger than he looked or deserved a record for being the world’s oldest living human still able to function on their own. Still, he was tough, his wrinkled skin hiding a lean muscle that he’d spent his youth honing in the ring somewhere fights weren’t just sanctioned, but celebrated.

I squirted a shot of the water from the bottle onto my head, shaking out my bob of shaggy, chin-length hair like a dog trying to dry itself off. After the exertion of the match, it felt good. I totally understood why athletes never appeared to drink the stuff they were handed—you can’t swallow if you can’t breathe. But even the effort it took to drag air into my lungs was a sweet kind of pain, reminding me that I was still alive.

"You are a nat-ur-al," Gus said, smiling.

Yeah? Lowering the water bottle, I squeezed a stream into my mouth and swallowed, nodding my head. Then get me another match set up. That wasn’t worth it, not for a final fight.

Gus’s smile turned sad. I’m sorry.

I looked around the gym, which was just big enough for a decent workout if you didn’t mind using out-dated machines located around a huge ring positioned in the center of the room, and bleachers that pulled out from the wall on either side. Some called it homely; I felt at home.

I know you are, Gus, I said, and winked. Stupid PTA moms.

I could—

Are you okay? My mother hurried from her seat on the bleachers to stand just outside the ropes once the door slammed behind Janet and her coach, looking worried. Her eyes roamed my body from head-to-toe to make sure everything was in its right place, but I doubted I had so much as a bruise.

Why didn’t Gus set me up with the same boy I had lost my first fight to? That would be more worthwhile. Fitting, even, since this time I wouldn’t stop until I won.

You did great, my dad said, smiling at me from behind my mother. He put his hands on her shoulders in what seemed to be affection, but I knew he was keeping her from climbing inside to complete a more comprehensive inspection for possible injuries.

Bending at the waist, I set my water bottle down and then stood tall, shaking the water from my head. I’m fine, Mom, I said and looked to him as if to ask, Was that enough?

Are you sure? ‘Cause that girl hit you pretty hard. Her gaze settled on my hair.

My dad shook his head and looked down to hide a smile.

Nope. Not enough.

Aside from forgetting the fact that I had won, meaning that I totally hit the other chick more often and a helluva lot harder than she had hit me, my mom didn’t know a single rule about boxing. To her, it was all about hitting and how badly the boxers could hurt each other. Still, bruises were taboo and she’d spent a lifetime perfecting the lash of her tongue to inflict the same amount of damage without the physical wounds. But standing next to my dad, who looked like he’d put the meaning behind fighting in his day, she appeared docile, almost complacent. For as far back as I can remember, they’d both been gentle souls and couldn’t have been more shocked the morning I’d announced that I wanted to learn to fight over breakfast. Not their little girl. No. Fight?

Not. A. Chance.

It was easy to wear them down, though, and I loved it. Kickboxing required flexibility I couldn’t master—did I mention I hate gym class?—while boxing was just . . . easier. Quick on my feet, I was filled with unburned rage. After just a few training sessions, Gus announced I was his prodigy and then threw me in the ring—against a boy. I didn’t win, of course, but it gave me the taste of competition.

A year of training, combined with a healthy dose of stubbornness, and now I didn’t lose. The workouts kept me distracted and the fights . . . well, they transported me back into the past, so real at times it felt like I was really there. Every blow that was exchanged was like I was given the chance to finally defend myself against the Elixir students that had attacked me and my boyfriend last year.

Every time I won, for just a moment, David didn’t die.

Suzie walked over to us from the washrooms, no doubt fixing her already perfect blonde hair and immaculate make-up. The girl was a mirror-a-holic and if vanity was a disease, she was its origin. We’d been friends since forever except for a year during which she’d discovered cheerleading and, by extension, popularity. I hadn’t liked her when she’d bullied others—like me and Tina—to keep her status. But now Suzie was Suzie again, still a cheerleader, but no longer a bully. And for the last year, it was like the one before that hadn’t happened at all.

So we’ll see you at home? My dad looked at Suzie and then me, but Suzie shook her head.

We’re heading to Deryk’s, Mr. Frank, she said.

We are? I looked down. I’m not dressed to be seen, Suzie. Lifting my arms, I let them drop to my side, and focused back on her. I cannot go to Deryk’s in a sports bra and shorts.

She dangled her over-sized tote that doubled as a purse from her finger and smiled. Why do you think I came prepared?

Because girls like you need to have a back-up for everything?

Instead of saying what was on my mind, I looked back over my shoulder to Gus, who winked, and then moved to spread the ropes so I could exit the ring.

Go have fun, he said. You earned it.

You could have made it a better match, I said, lowering my voice into a growl even though I continued to smile.

Janet is feather weight. That’s two weight classes up from you!

I rolled my eyes, but stood on the tip of my toes to kiss him on his cheek. I know. Thank you.

So . . . ? Suzie’s voice cut into our conversation and I rolled my eyes.

Sending one more smile to Gus, I turned and walked to where Suzie and my parents had grouped a few feet from the ropes to wait, and he went to hibernate in his office until we left. Knowing him, the minute we were gone and he could lock the door, he’d be sleeping in the ring tonight, dreaming about his favorite matches.

So what? I narrowed my gaze on Suzie.

Let’s go get ready! Suzie jumped up and down like a little girl needing to use the washroom, and waved the bag from side-to-side in front of her. Come on. I picked out a really great outfit for you to wear.

From my closet?

No! She laughed. "Mine."

Ugh. Why did I ask questions when I didn’t want to hear the answer?

I used to be like my mom: short and dainty, and as fragile as the last plate belonging to a set of priceless china. I hated Suzie for her long legs and model-perfect face, but over the last year—and most of it in the last few months—I had shot up to stand within an inch of her. On one hand, it was great since we could share clothes, but on the other . . . well, we could share clothes, and the only thing Suzie loved more than a mirror? The attention she got from using that mirror to make sure she looked fabulous, which meant there was much less fabric to her tops than what would be considered legal in polite circles.

With a sigh, I looked to my left to meet my parents’ gazes, and hoped for a flat-out refusal. They knew what Suzie was like, but no chance. They were way too easy-going and with my eighteenth birthday only weeks away, I was an adult in their eyes. If I wanted to go home, it would have to come from me.

Okay, then, Suzie said, grabbing my arm to pull me into the locker room. You need a shower.

I’ll see you guys at home, I called over my shoulder, and waved. Thanks for coming!

Not too late! My mom yelled back, standing on the tips of her toes to wave back as the door closed.

Suzie laughed and I cringed. God, I hoped it wasn’t another party. I am so over the party of it all.

The locker room door clicked shut behind us and I pulled my arm free from Suzie’s grasp. What ‘plans’ have you included me in? I made finger quotes in the air and then rested my hands on my hips.

Suzie shrugged, looked around, and shuddered before settling her gaze back on me. Why don’t you shower at Deryk’s?

The building was Gus’s home, but the locker room was just as battered as the gym: old, mouldy, and a building hazard waiting to be shut down for its peeling lead paint, scratching in the walls, and faulty wiring. But maintenance came second to Gus’s clients, and the locker room filled its purpose with a single row of lockers, a bench, and two shower stalls in the back of the room. Washrooms were only available from the main gym, but those were unisex.

A party at Brenan’s house. Suzie grinned and turned to the wall of mirrors on the right-hand-side of the door to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Pivoting again, she said, He’s celebrating. Apparently he and Rebecca broke up for, like, good.

"Really? Why? I mean, they’ve been together since we were what? Freshman?"

She shrugged and held out the bag. Dunno. She cheated, I think. With . . . Zack? No, sorry, not Zack. It was Brian. She nodded. Yeah, Rebecca and Brian were totally caught cheating.

I shuddered. The thought of Brian, who seemed to think water and soap equated to the Ebola virus, made me want to hurl. How could anyone hook up with that? Shaking my head, I curbed another tremor from coursing through my body, and changed the subject to clear the image from my head. So why did you just lie to my parents? I asked, pointing at the closed blue steel door behind me.

I didn’t, she said. "We are going to Deryk’s. She set the bag down on the bench when I refused to acknowledge it. We just aren’t staying there."

I looked behind her towards the showers. They were even more grody to think about than Brian. A hot bath at home with a book sounded as exciting to me as a party did to her, but explaining that so she would understand would be impossible, though knowing that wasn’t enough to stop me from trying.

With the nails of my left hand, I found the edge for the tape on my right, and began unwinding it without looking away from Suzie. I’d rather just clean out my locker and head home.

"You are not going home to be alone, she warned, her eyes narrowing like a homing device. Not today. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute until at least tomorrow morning."

I’m fine, Suzie. You don’t need to babysit me. Do you think my parents will leave me alone if I go home? Really? Leaning forward, I scoffed, and then began removing the tape wrapped around my left hand. If I’m lucky, they’ll let me chill with a book in the tub, but I’m probably looking at a night of movies.

Alyssa—

I. Am. Fine. I repeated through clenched teeth. Go. Be with your boyfriend.

You’re fine? Really? She shifted her weight and put one hand on her hip while she stuck out her foot, and gestured at me. Is that why you chopped your hair off this morning without going to a salon? Because you’re fine?

Damn. They’d been talking about me. And here I thought they were watching my final match.

Aly?

It’s just hair. I shrugged, refusing to meet her watchful gaze that saw way too much. Bending my head, I twisted at my waist, and threw the rolled-up tape into the open garbage can. As I turned back, I said, You know I wanted to cut it since forever ago, but my mom wouldn’t let me. Besides, I went to the salon to fix it.

But why today?

I shrugged again. Okay, so maybe she had a point. I woke up this morning with a heavy heart that begged for distraction, but I didn’t regret losing the waist-length burden, like somehow cutting it off to my chin in layers had lightened the weight from within. Looking in the mirror, I fingered the caramel streaks I had added and smiled. I liked the way it looked. Why not?

She sighed and opened her mouth to speak.

You’ve seen me at my worst, Suzie, I said, cutting her off. Do you really think I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t feel fine?

Biting her bottom lip, she studied me, and then shrugged. I don’t know.

Oh, come on! Reaching out, I slapped her arm and smiled. I’m fine, and . . . I love my hair. Cutting it wasn’t a cry for help, okay? Trust me. I rolled my eyes. Go to Deryk’s and visit your boyfriend like I know you want to, while I clean out my locker and head home to soak in the tub so I don’t feel like ass tomorrow.

She narrowed her eyes. You’re sure you’re okay?

"Yes!"

Fine. She picked up her bag from the bench and stood straight. But I’m coming over first thing in the morning to check on you.

Whatever.

I’m serious.

Uh huh. We both knew Suzie’s idea of first thing switched time zones it was so unrealistic.

I really wish you’d come, she said, trying one last time to convince me.

Suzie—

Okay. She raised her hands in front of her and then got side-tracked by the mirror. As if we hadn’t been in the middle of talking, she straightened the hem of her black halter over the waist of her skinny jeans and matching black knee-high boots.

I’ll see you in the morning, I said, and turned to my locker, but before I took my first step, her arm reached out to snag me into a one-armed hug.

Call me if you need me.

Okay, but like I said—

Yeah, yeah. You’re fine. She stepped back and began edging towards the door, walking backwards. If that changes, you better call me or I’m going to be pissed.

I promise. I nodded, biting my cheek.

She turned and left without another word. I blew out the breath I’d been holding and rolled my eyes as I faced my locker again. I was annoyed at her pushiness, but happy for her concern.

It’s not like she didn’t have cause for concern. Today had been destined to suck, and it had nothing to do with the end of being able to train or fight. Sure, I was depressed about that, but I’d pushed through each passing minute of the day for entirely different reasons.

Sitting on the bench, I rested my hands on my thighs, and stared at the empty space in front of me.

Two days ago had been the anniversary of the last time I’d seen Tina, and yesterday the marker of the day she’d moved away without saying goodbye. I hadn’t heard from her since, and I hadn’t seen her mom or sister, Des, who both just seemed to have . . . disappeared. No more school. No more work. Just gone.

But that wasn’t what had me feeling down.

David had died protecting me a year ago today. The details had grown hazy, but the guilt had remained despite what others told me to feel: grateful, loved . . . cherished. How do you feel cherished by someone you couldn’t see? Hold?

For the first few months, I could recall every moment of each memory. David dominated my dreams during those months, and every second I was awake devastated me until I felt like I couldn’t breathe in a world where he didn’t live. But the memories were fading, the crispness of their clarity growing fuzzy until all I remembered was how I’d felt with him. The tingling lips, racing heart, and shortened breath as butterflies danced through my nerves. What if I lost that? What if, like the memories we’d built, my feelings faded?

I’d have nothing left, not even a photograph.

It was selfish to think, but his death had brought something good back into my life—Suzie. Today was also the anniversary of our renewed friendship, spurred by the aftermath of David’s passing. She’d been my rock. Between the media coverage—I’d actually been dubbed The Survivor—and Suzie’s popularity, my world had blown up. Now I missed my social invisibility. The quiet I enjoyed was gone, but I’d suffer a bullhorn in my ear if it meant I could have David back. It wasn’t possible, though, and since that day, I’d lost my faith in God and love and happy endings. David’s death meant none of those things were possible. He was gone.

My phone began to ring, pulling me from my thoughts, and I jumped. I opened my locker and reached inside to pull it from the darkness, and slid my thumb across the screen at the same time as I registered the name showing up on the display. Tucker’s Arcade.

Raffy or Mike? I asked in lieu of hello. I know it’s not Gabe since he’d rather spit at the phone than use it.

A few weeks ago Gabe had driven all the way to my house from the arcade to deliver a message because he hated phones so much. I tried to explain that using his car to drive over was less efficient—a total waste of gas and unnecessary pollution—but he’d shrugged. Then, without so much as a smile, he’d driven away.

A laugh shot through the phone, deep and amused.

I sighed. Raffy.

You got it, Babe.

What’s up?

I overheard this couple eating at the arcade today, and I wanted to know if you’d help prove something with me because I had a hard time believing what they said.

Uh huh? I rolled my eyes and braced the phone between my ear and shoulder, and began sorting through my locker. What’s that?

Well . . . he drawled. They have this long distance thing going on, and the girl was complaining that he acted like she left his mind when she left his sight—

Out of sight, out of mind, Raffy.

Okay, whatever. He tried saying being apart made him want her more.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Looking up to the ceiling, I counted to ten in my head, and then said, Seriously, Raffy, what’s your point? Other than wanting to annoy me with clichés?

He came up with a plan so that it would be like they are with each other every day. Phone sex or sexting or Skyping or whatever. Do you think that would work? Keep the relationship alive? He snickered. I don’t believe it, but then I figured you might be skeptical, and would maybe want to prove it? With me, of course.

What? My hand paused in the air as I reached over to throw the things I no longer wanted from my locker away. Is he asking me what I think he’s asking me?

We should try it, you know, having pho—

I’m hanging up now. I tossed my things into the garbage and reached up to grab the phone.

Wait, wait, wait, he rushed, and I paused. I phoned you for a reason.

"What do you want?"

What are you wearing?

"Ugh. Gross." I shook my head and ended the call as his self-satisfied laughter erupted over the line. If the world relied on us to repopulate it,