Chapter 1

1

R hi

“What memories?” Tristan asks, swinging his gaze from me to Stone as we glare at each other across the bedroom.

“The ones locked inside her head,” Azlan says. “We tried to open them once before, but it caused Rhianna too much pain. We had to abort.”

“Why are there memories locked inside your head?” Spencer asks.

I shrug. Exactly. Why? Stone has always believed they were locked away to protect me from them, and while that may be true, I think they may hold answers, clues as to why I – a girl from nowhere, a nobody, a no one – has been plucked by fate and bound to these five men. Men more powerful, knowledgeable, and resourceful than I am.

Stone stares at me over the length of the bedroom and I know him well enough to read the expression on his face, even if — unlike him — I can’t read the thoughts in his head. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to search through those memories again. He hasn’t changed his mind on this.

“It’s a bad idea,” he says, “and look what yesterday’s bad idea cost us.”

“It didn’t cost us anything. We’re all here,” I say. “We’re all safe, alive.”

He turns his head to glare at the assassin. “Just.”

“You think they’re going to help in some way?” Spencer asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But maybe and if so, I don’t want to miss out on a source of information that might give us answers.”

“This is all based on the premise that you think fate is a logical force,” Stone says, sounding more like his professor-self than he usually does, “and not a random one. The forces that have bound us together may be little more than chance. There may be no other reason for it.”

“You don’t really believe that,” I tell him.

“I’m not obnoxious enough to pretend I do understand these things, Miss Blackwaters.”

“Bullshit,” Tristan says, “Rhi is right. Fate rarely binds people together and when it does, it has a purpose.”

Stone turns his steely gaze on him next. “And what do you think that purpose is, Kennedy?”

Tristan pauses for a moment, then says with conviction: “To remove my father from power and restore democracy to the republic.” Renzo cackles. “What?” Tristan challenges. He’s not used to being laughed at.

“Restore democracy?” Renzo sneers. “What fucking democracy?”

What follows is a load of bickering and I lie back against the cushion and watch all the mayhem unfold, escalating in Azlan having to grab Tristan by the back of his shirt to stop him swinging for Renzo.

Yeah, maybe it was chaos and chance that brought us together, because it’s been precisely ten minutes in the same room together before one mate has threatened to kill another.

I scramble off the bed, hooking Pip under my arm as I do, and head towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Azlan calls after me.

“To get some breakfast,” I tell him, slamming the door behind me.

The air in the hallway is cool. I hug Pip closer to my body, despite his attempt to wriggle free, and descend the staircase, entering the empty kitchen a minute later. I’m assuming Winnie and Trent are still in bed and an unusual feeling of jealousy spirals through my stomach. That’s where I’d like to be – with any one of my mates – and yet that feels impossible. Six of us? How on earth is that going to work? I almost feel envious of Winnie and her one boyfriend. I’m not sure I’m cut out for five.

Placing Pip on the floor, I step towards the window, wrapping my arms around myself and watching the winter sun play across the prairie and the spindly grass sway in the wind. I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear Stone enter until he’s standing right beside me at the window.

“I’ll do it,” he says. “I don’t like it, but, fuck it, I seem incapable of refusing you anything, Rhianna Blackwaters, so if it’s what you really want, I will help you.”

I turn from the window and look up into his unusually serious face. I smile at him, resting my hand against his chest .

“Do you ever wish it was just the two of us?” I ask him quietly.

“Do I ever wish I had you all to myself and didn’t have to share you with four other … fairly average-looking men?”

I hit him on the arm. “Yes.”

“Nah,” he says.

“Oh,” I say, a little disappointed by his answer.

He grins at me. “Miss Blackwaters, you are smarter than that. Of course, I wish I had you all to myself. As well as wishing all your clothes would miraculously disappear and that we got locked in our bedroom for eternity with no escape and an endless supply of fine dining and good wine. Unfortunately, what we wish for isn’t always possible and I’m more than content with what I have. Azlan is my best friend and I’m happy to share you with him, and as for the others …”

“As for the others …?”

“We’ll work it out.” He examines my face. “Why? Do you wish it was just us two? I’m flattered you’d pick me as your favorite.”

“I don’t have a favorite,” I say sternly. I don’t want to give my mates any more reasons to fight. Also, it’s the truth. When I stand back and consider it, I really don’t have a favorite. Each of my fated mates is different and unique in their own way, and I like each one of them for that reason. Even Renzo. Even Spencer.

“Sure, you don’t,” Stone says with a wink.

“I don’t.”

“Hmmm,” he pulls me towards him, “I bet I could think of some ways to ensure I am top of your list.”

“I can think of one,” I say, crawling my fingers up his chest.

“Really?” His eyes darken.

“Yes,” I say, reaching up onto my tiptoes so I can whisper into his ear. “Help me search those memories.”

He laughs, his chest rumbling beneath my palms.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Stone?”

“Fuck, yes, I’ll do it,” he says, shaking his head at me. “But this is the last time, okay? The last time I agree to one of your stupid plans.”

“It’s not stupid. I know my aunt. I know she’d leave me something and I’ve looked everywhere else.”

This time, he nods. “I actually agree with you. I think she has too. But it might not be the answer to the question you have. How could she have known you’d end up bonded to five fated mates?”

“Four,” I correct him.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Stone mutters. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“My mom was a seer, Stone. Maybe she saw all this. Maybe my aunt knew what was going to happen. Maybe she knew what was in store for us.”

Stone scrubs his fingers through his beard, then tugs me a little closer. “I’m not sure I want to see the future.”

“Phoenix Stone,” I say with a smile hovering on my lips, “are you afraid?”

Stone always seems so damn sure of himself. It’s hard to believe he could be afraid of anything at all.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” he says deadly seriously. “Very afraid of losing you. I’ve – we’ve – already come close to that happening far too many times.”

I can’t deny that, and that fear resides inside me too. I’m not afraid to die. I suspect I’ve spent my entire life skirting close to death. When it’s there, hovering at your shoulder the entire time, you get used to it. It doesn’t seem so scary. But the thought of losing Stone … of losing any of them …

“So don’t you see?” I tell him. “Understanding the past, maybe gaining a glimpse of the future, could help us. It could help keep all of us safe.”

He sighs. I know I haven’t convinced him. I also know he’s familiar with me enough now to understand how stubborn I am. I’m not backing down on this.

“Okay,” he says, “breakfast first and then we’ll do it.”

“Do it? He really can’t keep his hands off you, can he, little rabbit?” Renzo says, striding into the kitchen with the others behind him.

“He was talking about the memories,” I mutter.

Stone raises an eyebrow at me as if to challenge that assumption.

I pinch his arm and then busy myself boiling eggs that Azlan managed to pick up on his journey back to the mansion yesterday.

Breakfast turns out to be a lot less awkward than I expected.

Azlan and Tristan talk quietly with one another at one end of the table while Renzo tries to strike up a conversation with Stone; although the topic he chooses – the best way to snap a man’s neck – definitely isn’t to Stone’s taste. It leaves me and Spencer together at the other end of the table (Winnie and Trent yet to reappear).

“This is really fucking weird,” Spencer says, scooping out the contents of his fourth egg. It seems he barely ate while imprisoned and I wasn’t blind to the tears in the corner of his eyes when I placed the first egg down in front of him, with a warning to them all that this isn’t some Snow White and the Seven Dwarves situation and I won’t be cooking and cleaning for them .

Spencer stuffs the egg into his mouth and chews.

“What’s weird?” I ask, cradling a warm cup of coffee in both my hands.

“This,” he says, gesturing to us all with his spoon. “I never expected to be in some grand, decrepit house in the middle of nowhere with Tris, the man in black, Professor Stone, an assassin and you. It’s pretty surreal.”

“I guess so.” I sip my drink. “You miss your dueling buddies? You miss all those cheerleaders?”

He places his spoon down on the table and swallows. “No, no, I don’t.”

I roll my eyes. Spencer lived for all that adulation, so did Tristan.

“What?” he says. “It’s true. They’ve shown their true colors – their prejudice and bigotry – and I don’t miss them one bit.”

“You didn’t notice their prejudice and bigotry in their treatment towards me?”

“No,” he says honestly, “I guess I didn’t.”

I consider his words. I’m kind of grateful he’s owned up to that and not tried to defend his behavior or somehow justify it.

“And I’d much rather be here with you than anywhere else,” he adds.

“Because I make good eggs,” I say, pointing to the half-full shell.

“They are good. Not too runny, not overdone.”

“It comes with keeping chickens. You end up cooking and eating a lot of eggs.”

“You kept chickens?” he says, picking up his spoon again.

“Yep, it’s harder than it looks. You have to keep them happy or they won’t lay. They seemed to like listening to a bit of ’50s rock’n’roll best. I used to have to sing to them.” Spencer chuckles. “We used to grow our own vegetables too – without the use of magic. We couldn’t afford to use it too often in case anyone noticed we were magicals.”

“Shit,” he says, “I can’t imagine not being able to use my magic. I get kind of scratchy if I haven’t used it in a while.” He scrapes the last of the egg from the shell. “Why were you hiding? You never told me.”

I know enough about my past, about my mom and maybe even my dad, to have my suspicions, but I want to know for sure.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I think it’s time we found out once and for all.”