Currents of Destiny

By Shanon Grey

After a rogue wave turns Bobbi Moore’s world upside down in more ways than one, she finds herself indebted, not once but over and over, to a wounded war veteran who keeps disappearing as readily as he appears. Grappling with the changes that life is throwing at her, Bobbi is determined to follow the currents of the fate laid before her. But destiny has other plans, ones that cannot be ignored.

Having returned from the war a changed man, Mac finds solace in his photography, until he captures a surfer being swallowed up by the sea. Without thinking, he fights the deep to recuse her, intertwining their paths tighter and tighter, until he must decide whether or not to relinquish his past for their future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanon Grey
• Release date: Jul 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005674366

Shanon Grey

Shanon Grey weaves suspense and action with mystery and romance. Under contract with Crossroads Publishing House and TOVA Publishing House, her books are available in e-format and print at most booksellers.Shanon spent most of her life on coasts, both the beautiful Atlantic and the balmy Gulf. A major hurricane taught her the fragility of life and the strength of friendship, family, and starting over. She found out that her son had salvaged notes and pages of her original novel, Capricorn’s Child, which she thought had been destroyed along with everything else. (Ironically, a neighbor found her marriage certificate in a tree.) She plans to resurrect her original novel one day.She now lives in Georgia, trading the familiarity of the coast for the lush beauty and wonder of the mountains, where her husband fulfilled her lifelong dream—to live in a beautiful cottage in the woods, where inspiration abounds.Having dual careers, one as an author and the other in IT Security, affords her, in her dual personas, to meld expertise from many disciplines and venues into stories that keep her readers coming back for more.Jerry Hampton, the companion attendant to the alter ego, Shanon Grey, provides the discipline and order to the creativity. She also provides the artistry that does into covers and accompanying materials for web sites, events, and book signings.Stay up to date on other Shanon Grey books and events by visiting her website at: www.ShanonGrey.comYou can also visit Shanon Grey on Facebook or Twitter @ShanonGrey.You can write her at [e-mail] would love to hear from you.

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Currents of Destiny

by Shanon Grey

Copyright © 2019, Shanon Grey

Published by Shanon Grey at Smashwords

TOVA Publishing House

P.O. Box 155

Sharpsburg, GA 30277

Warning: E-books are not transferrable. All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author, except for brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews about this work. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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 are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com, or your favorite retailer, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places, or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

Also by Shanon Grey



The Shoppe of Spells

Book One: The GATEKEEPERS Series

Meadow’s Keep

Book Two: The GATEKEEPERS Series

Pennyroyal Christmas

A Ruthorford Holiday Story

Glynda’s Dare

Twisted Fate

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Coming Soon from Shanon Grey

About the Author

A Note from Shanon Grey

The Shoppe of Spells

Meadow’s Keep

Pennyroyal Christmas

Glynda’s Dare

Twisted Fate

Acknowledgments

I was born and spent most of my life in and around the area of Hampton Roads…uh, Tidewater…Coastal Virginia. The name may change, but the cities within will always hold my heart. It is with that love that I placed the location of my story in Virginia Beach. So many people in that area shaped my life, inspired me to be my best, and encouraged me to follow my dreams.

To my fellow First Graduating Class of LTHS classmates: You accepted an outsider and have remained loyal all these many, many years. You continue to give me the warmth and caring you always have and, with that stability, I am not afraid to fly.

To my editor, Serena: You continue to have an eagle eye; yet, you always use diplomacy. Thank you so much.

To my sister, Becky: You still put up with my distractions, even encouraging them, knowing I’ve got my head in a story.

To my husband: You just are—loyal, loving, having my back always. I love you.

To my children: You inspire me every day. I adore you.

To all of you: I wouldn’t be here without you. You are my stories.

Thank you.

Dedication

While I was finishing this story, I lost a dear friend, Nanci Campbell Tatem, to cancer. We had chatted not that long before, as was her way, encouraging me to finish this new book, telling me how excited she was for me. Then, she was diagnosed with cancer and heading to treatment, full of determination. Suddenly, she was gone. I am still in shock. I expect to hear from her any moment. She was such a cohesive force of life for so many. I am so blessed to have known her and called her friend.

Then, from the time I finished writing to the time I finished editing this, COVID-19 took its hold on the world. As of this moment (3/14/20) the worldwide statistics are a total of 156,433 cases, 5821 deaths, and 74,466 recoveries. In the USA, cases are 2836, deaths 57, and recovered 49. The number of cases keeps increasing. We (USA) are in a state of National Emergency, the emergency declarations spreading from state to state, as well. There is only one state unaffected (W. VA). I can’t say where this is going, but it won’t just stop. Say a prayer for humanity. Practice social distancing. Wash your hands. This truly is the time we find out that we really are a global community and all the same (human). This is dedicated to all of us, with a special thank you to all those incredible people who are the first responders, putting our well-being before theirs.

Prologue

With all of the kids piled into the long bed of the old red truck and the cooler on the bench seat next to him, Clayton Moore, owner of the Surf and Turf, headed down the road to the beach house owned by one of his friends. The house had been shuttered for the season, but a pile of wood had been set for the bonfire on the other side of the steep dunes.

Coming to the end of the road, the kids spilled out, barely waiting for the truck to stop, and ran toward the beach. Stay out of the water, Clay called, or Kanaloa will get you. He watched their steps falter. Grinning, he called out to them, Hey, I need some help here.

They stopped, turned, and came running back. Two of the older boys grabbed the handles of the cooler, hefted it up, and started hauling it toward the beach. With its size and weight easily outmatching the height and strength of the boys’ scrawny limbs, the boys staggered, alternately setting it down, then dragging it over the high dune, until they finally reached the newly lit fire that Clay’s son had set. He had also positioned driftwood around the fire, making perfect seats for the kids and his father, the master story-teller.

They roasted hot dogs and toasted marshmallows, filling the little bodies Clay and his son, Bax, knew were starving for far more than just food. He waited until they’d settled down and, drawing his granddaughter onto his knee, Clay spoke, his deep voice resonating in the night.

You see how calm the ocean is, he said pointing to the seemingly endless blackness of the ocean. Don’t let it fool you. It is ruled by the gods of the deep, one being Kanaloa, the Octopus god. Where I come from, Kanaloa rules the ocean and teaches us magic. With that, he lifted his hand and the fire spit and rose, sparks flying skyward. The kids huddled closer, their gasps of wonder coming as one.

A small voice asked, Where’s that? Where’d you come from?

I come from the Hawaiian Islands. Do you know where that is?

One of the older boys piped up, It’s in the Pacific Ocean. That’s on the other side of the United States. The kid sat a bit taller.

It is. My grandmother was from here and, when the time was right, I brought my granddaughter back here to live. He looked down affectionately at the tow-headed little girl who had nestled close to him. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. On the islands, we all know the story of Kanaloa. Once you do know the octopus god, you know he can go anywhere, cross any ocean. And…he’s come here. I know. He paused for emphasis. I’ve seen him, he said, his eyes widening as he looked around at the children.

You have? A couple of little voices quivered.

Aye. I have. When I ride my surfboard, I can feel his pull. Then, Kanaloa raises one of his tentacles and lets me ride it high, all the way to the shore.

Wow, came the chorus as they turned their faces toward the eerily calm ocean. Most of them were street urchins, hanging around the beach, either with no place to go or trying to stay away from a bad situation. The merchants along the avenue had long tried to look out for them, at least a little. Once a year, toward the end of summer, Clay and his son organized a beach outing, giving them at least one happy memory from the summer. The kids had all watched Clay surf. He seemed to become one with the board, sliding across waves, his granddaughter on his shoulders, her with her little arms thrown high, fearless.

Once he had their attention, he began his story. Once there was a young maiden who loved the water more than anything. She would swim as far out as she could and, then, when she got tired, she would roll onto her back and float back. Kanaloa watched her, loving the way she became one with his ocean, so he would stretch out one of his tentacles, gently lift her, and carry her to shore on a frothy bed of foam. The people watched from the shore and feared for her, so they made her a board to ride on the waves, safe from the call of the deep.

But this angered Kanaloa, for he had grown to love the maiden and wanted her for his bride. One day, as she rode the gentle waves on her board, he rose up high behind her and, curling the white foam over her, he claimed her for his own.

The kids gasped. Did she die? a tiny voice asked.

Clay held his finger to his lips. They fell silent.

A young warrior saw Kanaloa take her and ran to the ocean. ‘You can’t have her,’ he yelled, and dove into the water, fighting the giant wave. He dove down and saw her being pulled down and out to sea. Fight as she might, she could not break the hold of the god, until she finally gave up, knowing she would never see her family again. Just then, the young warrior grabbed her ankle and shot to the surface, bringing her with him. Kanaloa, angry, made a great wave, hoping to crush them. But the young man held onto the maiden and rode the wave to shore, saving her.

As they lay upon the beach, breathing life back into their lungs, the octopus god rose from the water, shouting at them, You have won her. She is yours. I warn you, take care of her or I will come from this ocean and take you."

Just then, a large figure of an Octopus rose from the waves and started walking toward the kids. Arms and legs scrambled over one another as they squealed and screamed and stumbled up the dune. All, except for the little girl on Clay’s lap. She hopped off and ran toward the octopus, arms outstretched. Her Uncle Bax, covered in fishing nets and ropes, laughed and picked her up. You fear nothing, baby girl. Not even Kanaloa, God of the Deep.

Chapter One

Bobbi sat atop the surfboard, her feet moving back and forth in the water, slowly stirring the cold ocean. The water temperature dropped as it deepened from her calves to her feet, where an icy current tugged. Floating out past the rising waves, she was far enough out that she could watch them break and crash onto shore, with no fear of being captured by their tug. She raised her face to the sun, savoring its hot rays as it kissed her skin. She’d been sitting out beyond the surf long enough that her yellow bikini had begun to dry and her skin had grown warm. The shock of a cold rivulet of water dripping down her spine from the wet blonde braid made her shiver.

The ocean was her escape. She could paddle out far enough and sit, letting the slow roll of the waves soothe her. Here she could think, remember, or forget—whichever was necessary. Today her thoughts had turned bittersweet.

She ran her hand lovingly over the surface of her longboard. She’d received it as a gift from her uncle Bax. The Malibu board, once her grandfather’s, had been the board she’d learned on—her earliest memories being of riding tandem, perched on her grandfather’s shoulders, his laughter booming beneath her as they rode the waves toward the shore. He’d taught her to respect the ocean, but not to fear it. When he’d passed suddenly, her uncle, who’d inherited the estate, gave her the board, telling her that her grandfather had always wanted her to have it.

She searched the shore, as if her grandfather would magically appear, tall, blonde, fit, with a golden tan, even into his sixties. He’d been there for her, at every competition, cheering her on, celebrating her every victory, holding her through her disappointments, always telling her it wasn’t a loss if she’d learned something.

Bobbi looked toward the horizon, where the water met the sky. This was her favorite time. A storm threatened, yet was far enough out to sea that the sky showed no sign of impending peril. Only the ocean hinted at the turmoil brewing beyond that horizon. Waves rose five to eight feet and crashed along the flat shoreline, as they seldom did. This part of the Atlantic wasn’t the best for surfing. Even though it hosted many a tournament, it was nothing like the west coast or the islands. However, it was home, and on the days before a storm, the energy pushed the ocean forward, giving up some good rides. Besides, with the currents churning, there was less fear of the sharks that sometimes lurked in the dark grey-green waters. If they were smart, they were headed farther out to deeper water, avoiding being flung to a sandy death.

As if called by her thoughts, Bobbi saw a dorsal fin break the surface. She automatically pulled her legs atop the board and wrapped her arms around her knees. She’d long ago learned not to have four limbs in the water, mimicking a tortoise. As it swam closer, she saw the curve on the backside of the fin and relaxed. A dolphin. It turned and swam out toward the open sea, leaping now and again. She dropped her legs back into the water.

A few people strolled along the beach. Some attempted the shallows, risking the unbridled power of the breakers. Most lounged in the rays of the late summer sun, cooled a little by the stiff breeze, trying to burn in a little more tan before returning to the real world of work and school, the lure of the beach a memory saved for the next year.

Only two other surfers dotted the waves, her friend Pogo being one of them, albeit a bit closer to her than she liked. She sent him a glare as he sat his board and adjusted the dope rope around his ankle. She didn’t believe in them. She’d rather take the time to go after her board than risk having her board go after her. Most of the other surfers were waiting for the storm to get closer, producing the higher waves, which was fine with her, since she didn’t particularly like vying for a spot in unpredictable waters. Her anger at Pogo hitched another notch. She’d just warned him about dropping in on her rides. This time he was in trouble, thinking of the tongue lashing she’d give him later.

Just as suddenly, she let it go. After today, she’d be too busy to worry about the next wave. Things were happening fast at the surf shops her uncle owned. He’d just received an offer for all three and was seriously considering accepting it. Bobbi believed it was his right to sell if he wanted, even though they had always been a part of her life. It would give him the retirement he deserved and he could make the trip back to the Islands, which was his dream. He’d been born in Maui and spent a lot of his life on the islands, surfing, performing with his sister, Jillian, Bobbi’s mother. A freak accident had downed them during a tandem performance, partially crippling Bax and setting Bobbi’s mom on a path to addiction—then, fights to sobriety, and back to addiction. It was during one of her relapses that Bobbi had been conceived. Fortunately, they’d been able to keep her mom off the stuff until she’d given birth. Then, one night, shortly after they’d come home from the hospital, Jillian had slipped out, leaving Bobbi alone and untended. The wailing baby had awakened the household and Bobbi’s grandfather had haunted the streets all night in search of his daughter. She was discovered on the beach the next morning, dead of an overdose.

Her grandfather had packed up his son and granddaughter and headed to the mainland, to Virginia Beach, and a rental property his beloved wife, Roberta, had left him. Sinking the rest of the small inheritance he had into a shop in Virginia Beach, he began fixing surfboards and selling supplies and, along with the help of his son, raising Bobbi. Over the years the shop grew until he had three, scattered from the Outer Banks to Sandbridge, and Virginia Beach. Bobbi had grown up on the beach and in the shops. It was the only life she knew and, truthfully, the only life she wanted.

When the sudden aneurysm had taken her grandfather, she’d been devastated, not wanting to attend the funeral. Her Uncle Bax had insisted, saying this was a tribute to Clayton Moore, not just a funeral. She’d been astounded at the number of people that had shown up, begging to give testament to his kindnesses over the years. The service had lasted over three hours, just to accommodate all of the speakers.

The feel of the rising swell lifting her board pulled Bobbi out of her reverie. The next one was it. Swinging forward, flat on her board, she started to paddle. The energy pushed her. Her pulse accelerated with each stroke. At just the right moment, she popped up, let her weight push back against the force beneath her, balancing. She felt the wind and salt spray assault her. It was going to be a good ride. No—a great ride.

****

Mac saw her quick movement and raised the camera. Frames clicked in rapid succession as he immortalized the moment. He’d been shooting her off and on for about a month, whenever he happened to be there when she showed up. He loved watching her. With the thick blonde braid hanging down her back, the lithe muscular body moving with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics, and her pure enjoyment of the moment, she took command of the board—the ocean. He’d already captured some incredible shots. However, today was perfect. The waves rose higher, madder. She literally glowed from the energy around her. The wave rose with her atop it. His camera snapped over and over.

Looking through the viewfinder, he watched as the water rose behind her, growing as a monster wave formed out of nowhere.

Shit, he cursed, dropped the camera down on the towel, and took off running toward the water.

****

Bobbi saw darkness out of the corner of her eye. As she turned her head to look, she felt her board disappear from beneath her and, momentarily, she hung in midair as the wave she’d been riding disappeared, being sucked backward into the wall of water rising high behind her. She gasped, now in freefall, with nothing she could do as she saw Pogo’s riderless board flying through the air, directly at her. She felt the force of it ram into her shin and gulped a lungful of air as she was swallowed by the overtaking wave. Bobbi’s body was forced forward and down by the wall of water, a rag doll tossed underneath the churning waves. As soon as she felt it ease, she relaxed, knowing that, with one strong kick, she would thrust upward toward the surface. As she tried to move her leg, the pain flashed red behind her eyes and it took everything she had not to suck water into her lungs.

Just as her face broke the foam-crested waves, she felt the pull on her legs. With barely enough time to take in a mouthful of air, the sea claimed her once more. Cold currents gripped her, pulled her deeper. Her body twisted. Undertow. As the currents ran one against the other, she found herself caught in the middle of the fighting forces. She tried to kick, but one leg was useless and the other was bound by the water as it spun around her legs, strapping them together. Pogo flitted through her thoughts and she prayed he was okay. She tried to move her arms above her head to thrust upward, only to be trapped in the current as it pushed her farther down. Crap. Relax. She tried