Unbroken: The Reckoning, #2

By Mari LaRoche and Daphne Moore

A champion. A pharmacist. An enemy who will stop at nothing to triumph in the Reckoning.
Captured by twisted creations of an amoral scientist, ancient warrior Storm and cautious Persephone still can't trust each other. Storm lost his fated mate for centuries ago. He did not imagine he would find another, much less that they would find themselves imprisoned. Persephone's heart and mind have already been scarred by a lilim, one of the supernatural kins. Even as she hopes for a connection, she cannot trust Storm completely.
Yet in order to survive, and regain their freedom, they have to work together, even as both fear the passion growing between them can only be temporary. Can their fragile bond guide them to freedom, or will their wounds doom them both?
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• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen McDonald
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951512088

Book preview

1

Nothing like a screaming patient to round out the day. A glance at the clock showed it was seven minutes to five. Better timing than usual since, today of all days, Persephone needed to leave work on time.

That’s too much! I’ve never paid that much for this prescription. Ignoring the customers and employees who turned to stare, the elderly patient increased his volume to a bellow and jabbed a finger in her direction to emphasize his point. The gesture pushed the smell of his cologne across the counter, as well as the faintly musty odor of his clothing.

Persephone pasted on her most reasonable expression and glanced at her screen. It told her he’d paid exactly the same amount last month. I’m sorry, sir. This is what your insurance says you need to pay. She pointed at the monitor before looking back up at the man across the counter. Would you like their phone number so you can straighten this out? She inserted the question in a lull in the flow of his words when he had to take a breath.

The man glared at her before jamming his card into the reader. More of his scent curled around her, and she had to work to not wrinkle her nose.

Persephone’s sense of smell was far sharper than the average person’s, part of the unwanted heritage of her disinterested parents. Simultaneously, her also better than average hearing picked up the faint click as Zach, the last of the pharmacy techs working this shift, slid out of the pharmacy gate. It was already five minutes past closing time.

Will there be anything else, sir?

Ignoring her words, the man stared at her as the transaction finished, grabbed his bag along with the receipt Persephone offered him, and stomped away.

Persephone retreated into the pharmacy, taking a calming breath. The temper she struggled with was thoroughly ruffled. She wished she could make a face at his retreating back. She knew better, conscious of the security cameras.

She double-checked the shelves, making sure Zach had put drugs and supplies back in place before she lowered and locked the gate. The extra care was how she coped nowadays – if she controlled what she could, the chances of disaster went down.

The alarm on her phone chimed, and she quickened her pace as she exited the store. Tonight was her sister’s bachelorette party, and Amber would not forgive her if she bowed out. She’d set the alarm to remind her she should be changing by now.

After a commute seemingly calculated by fate to drive her mad, Persephone ran up the stairs, shedding her clothes across the apartment floor. Her alarm chimed again as she flicked the water on and stepped into the shower…fifty minutes until she needed to leave.

The hot water rinsed away the smells of work, replacing them with the subtle aroma of unscented soap. She brushed on light makeup, just a touch of shadow and liner to emphasize her hazel eyes. Amber would have a fit if Seph tried to attend with a naked face.

Tonight’s clothing lay on the neatly tucked bedspread, a fitted white T-shirt and jeans.

Persephone had purged all of her clubwear two years ago after the breakup with the ex. She preferred to wear loose clothing these days; the lab coat she wore at work muffled the lines of her body, and she’d adopted cardigans for a similar effect on her off-hours. She shimmied into the single outfit that had somehow survived the purge, not as tight as it once was. She fingered a soft black cardigan…it would be warm at the club, and it would keep eyes off her.

She didn’t like men looking at her anymore. Not after what had happened with Alex.

Men’s gazes felt threatening even when friends assured her it was admiration.

The doorbell chimed. She checked the security feed and caught her older sister Amber, dressed to kill in a miniskirt and low-cut tank despite the autumn nip in the air, making kissy faces at the camera. Seph opened the door remotely, and Amber clicked up the stairs on her dangerously high heels.

Neither of them was short; Seph skimmed under six feet by a half-inch. Amber was three inches shorter than her but currently looked down on her. Her sister had styled her golden hair in sassy ringlets tumbling around her face.

They shared a mother, but Seph favored her father. She’d met him once – in the chaotic month after graduating high school. Her mother’s husband had thrown Seph out, and she had barely avoided homelessness. Her biological father had found her in the apartment she shared, taken her to a fast-food restaurant, and told her she was a thin-blooded shifter.

He’d polished off several sandwiches while informing her that her lack of power would make her prey to any of the supernatural kins. Then he’d walked away, refusing to answer her questions, leaving her feeling confused and afraid. He’d also stiffed her with the check.

Men sucked. They used you, abandoned you, or both. She’d had hopes with her ex and learned the hard way that hope was the cruelest gift.

Jerking her mind to the present, Seph slid her feet into flats with a flicker of defiant humor. The cushioned insoles felt heavenly after a long day of work. She pulled her tawny hair back, braiding it with deft, practiced fingers.

You're not going to wear that, are you? Amber’s comprehensive gesture took in the clothing. The room filled with a spicy scent, an undertone of vanilla with overtones of lilac and lemongrass. A new perfume, not as hard on Seph’s nose as some Amber had worn. The only ‘gifts’ from her heritage seemed to be a hypersensitive nose and hearing, which mostly served to annoy her.

Seph crossed her arms. Yes, I am.

Amber sighed. You might as well be wearing a sack with ‘don’t look at me’ written on it! Don’t let him win. Have a good time; don’t hide behind those clothes.

The concern on her sister’s face made Seph swallow unkind words. She wrinkled her nose at Amber instead. I think I'd be the best judge of that. Why are you here? I know how to get to the club. Given privacy, I can even dress myself.

That’s arguable, her sister replied with a glint in her green eyes. I wanted to make sure nothing came up at the very last minute to keep you from coming. I want you to be there for the party, Miss Ducks-out-a-lot.

The smile that accompanied the words was one that had melted harder hearts than Persephone's. Yes, I'm coming. No, I'm not changing my clothes.

"As long as you come. Gotta run. Since you promised, I know you'll be there." Amber flitted back out, taking most of the energy in the air with her. She moved in a constant storm of emotion, wild and free. Amber’s fiancée, Paul, was her opposite in most ways, grounding her like the string that kept a kite from flying away into the sky.

Alone again, Persephone looked longingly at the reader on her nightstand. Her older sister had never had to deal with the weirdness Seph had inherited- the senses, the impulsiveness…it had made their relationship in their teens rough. Amber liked her perfumes.

But she had been the only person Seph could lean on the day her ex texted the first picture. She still remembered the gut-punch of seeing herself naked with him, with his friend, with both of them. It was a violation of her privacy and trust that could not be forgiven.

As well as a nagging uncertainty— she’d never done that before, nor wanted to. But she’d melted when he suggested it…

A familiar shaking started in her knees, and Seph grabbed a lemon drop from the candy dish on the counter and popped it into her mouth, concentrating on the strong smell and odor. They distracted her from the memories, grounded her in the present moment. The wave of panic receded. Seph sneezed after she took one last deep breath to banish the unwelcome thoughts. Damn perfume. She sprang to her feet, grabbed her bag, and hurried out, setting the alarm for the house as she went.

2

Close-set houses from the Victorian era crowded together as Seph hunted for a parking spot. The club lay a few blocks away in a less gentrified area, but she preferred to park where it was well lit. She didn’t mind a short walk. And it was scenic, to boot. The restored houses almost glowed in their bright reds, blues, and yellows.

The ornate, wrought-iron lamp posts’ lights flickered on as the sky faded to deepest blue. The long twilight was almost done. An unseasonably warm breeze teased her cheek and hair, coaxing wisps free from the tight chignon she normally wore. The alarm on her phone beeped. Officially late.

She clenched the pepper spray on her keychain in her fist. Her rapid pace, edging toward a jog, stirred the first autumn leaves that had drifted to the ground. She aimed for them; she liked the crunching noise they made.

Half a block away, Seph’s nose filled with the aroma of sweat, perfume, and alcohol mixing with the omnipresent tang of vehicle exhaust and the spicy scent of mums set out on porches. The heavy beat of the music rang in her ears. It awakened old memories of fun, wild dancing, enjoying uninhibited movement, and being comfortable in her skin. Seph’s heart clenched. She wished she’d kept that innocence.

Three stories tall, QX was the newest nightclub in town and very popular. Housed in a converted warehouse, the brick building loomed over the cluster of currently closed commercial buildings next to it. A line stretched down the block, bringing with it chatter and flirtation sparking. Amber’s friendship with QX’s owners was about to be put to the test.

Seph walked up to the bouncer, a tall, broad man with a shaved head wearing a black shirt with the club’s logo stitched in silver across his chest. She ignored the covert looks following her as best she could. Hi, I’m with Amber Snow’s party.

He squinted at her, bored dark eyes giving her the once over. ID. He growled and held out his hand.

She presented it, and he checked it against a list on his phone before clipping an orange plastic bracelet on her wrist. They’re in the overlook balcony. Stairs are at the back.

Seph edged around a hostile gaze from the next person waiting in line and slipped in through the heavy double door. Flashing lights and pounding music blasted into her, and she kept her eyes on the back wall, making her way through the crowd.

QX’s interior was divided into three open areas, two dance floors in the front and, toward the back, a slightly quieter area where food and drink were served. Galleries on the second floor allowed spectators to watch the floor below. People, many of them well lubricated, danced, some holding sparklers.

Persephone gazed up as she took a step on the curving metal stairway. Painted matte black, it blended with the wall. Unable to spot her sister on the gallery opposite, she sighed and climbed up quickly, racing a tipsy man who decided to follow her. Her nose had stuffed up, for which she was profoundly grateful. It was one less overloaded sense.

Seph! Amber, who’d added a scarlet scarf to her outfit, waved both hands in the air from the table where she and three other women sat. Several empty, wide-brimmed glasses were positioned on the table in front of them. Margaritas. Impressive; they couldn’t have been here for very long.

Seph made her way over, deftly dodging people, servers, and staggered tables. She fought the urge to yell ‘safe’ as she settled in a flimsy wooden chair. Setting her purse on the table, she nodded to Amber’s friends – her older sister’s other bridesmaids, Hannah and Kate. Hannah worked with Amber at the accounting firm, and Kate owned a glassblowing studio.

Amber nudged a sealed brown bottle across the table to her. Seph nodded her thanks and twisted the cap off, taking a long draft of chilled beer.

Glad to see you, Seph. Was worried something would come up. Hannah, short dark hair styled in spikes around her face, smiled at her. Wanna dance? I’m ready to shake some booty.

Kate and Hannah collapsed in gales of laughter.

Not right now. I’ll hold the table down; you all go ahead. Seph had no intention of yielding up her recently won safe space. She set the bottle down after another sip.

Seph, it's been two years, and I know you had a rough time, but you need to work on getting over it. Hannah’s voice, and her expression, held an undernote of exasperation. At Amber’s warning glance, Hannah didn’t persist.

As a group, appreciatively eyed by the neighboring tables, the trio made their way out to the dance floor. Hannah put extra wriggle in her step, laughing.

Seph wished she still had the confidence to strut with them. Therapy had helped, but she hadn't gotten back to the point where she was comfortable with that kind of attention.

Leaning her chair back until it bumped the cement wall, Seph scanned the room.

Close by, a woman wearing a flowing, brown maxi dress, headed for the dance floor. Her loose, black, curly hair formed a halo around her head and down her back, and her solid build provoked unkind catcalls from several tables. She ignored them, brushing past Seph’s table. Seph wished she had that level of confidence.

Seph’s gaze skittered past several men who’d catcalled and were now trying to catch her eye, seeking a safe place to rest her gaze. The long dark sweep of the bar attracted her. Then a man caught her eye. Partly because he was staring at her, partly because of the electric flicker of connection that sparked in her chest.

He smiled at her – a warm, humorous expression – and lifted his glass to her. A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, the woman in the floppy brown dress heading away, helped Seph tear her eyes away, flushing.

It was too far and too dark to discern his eye color, but his hair was dark. He’d worn a leather jacket. Everything she had seen in that glimpse seemed ingrained in her brain.

She reached for her beer only to find it was gone. Where had it gone? Seph frowned, and her heart rate increased with the beginnings of anxiety; she should be more aware than that. The movement—had the woman in the brown dress taken it? Seph searched for the distinctive outfit but didn’t see the