genetic memory

The engine ticked as he sat in the car at the curb outside the hotel. He’d pulled in a couple of minutes ago, but hadn’t goten out and walked straight in. Grey’s gaze ticked up to the front door of the Grey Haven, skimming up stories of glass until he reached the penthouse. The drapes and blinds were usually drawn at night, shutting out the town and it’s cesspit of people who wanted to see him and those he loved dead, but a thin thread of light made its way out. The beacon he’d missed seeing lit in the last few weeks. Destiny was waiting for him, as she told him she would be when they’d spoken that morning.

Grey got out quickly then, glancing both ways down the sidewalk before he made his way into the hotel. No Leah, she hadn’t poked her head out of the deepest recess of that cesspool she’d retreated to after she’d killed his son and had left some poor bastard to try and patch up the damage she’d done. Oh, she was out there somewhere, he was sure of it. He’d killed her toy’s brother, he’d killed her, she might’ve taken a swipe back and Petyr had paid for it, but while he himself still breathed, Leah would cling on to this town with her claws, draining it dry until she was done.

She was the only one doing it now, maybe.

He resisted looking down at his hands as he moved through the hotel. There was no sign of the layers of blood that had been slicked over them since Leah’s had put down the first coat that had rapidly been covered by his own. Nothing of the man he’d killed in his brother’s place here. Nothing of Petyr’s, or the druid he’d killed at the campus. Was there meant to be now that he believed the curse on his life had been lifted? It wasn’t like some switch inside of him had been thrown and the world had shifted around him when the man had crumpled to the ground.

Grey’s jaw tightened, his lips barely quirking into something more than the flat line of restrained emotion as the night clerk nodded to him. His chin lifted just a fraction, a greeting far smaller than the one Catia would drawn out of him. She’d have told him Destiny had passed through, that she was up in the penthouse waiting for him. His homecoming in elfin form, the press of Berlioz’s nose against his palm or stocky body against his ribs an added welcome.

The elevator glided down, the doors sliding silently open for him. Dark brows drew together, thin lines etching into his forehead, between his brows as he watched the numbers slide past above the doors. That welcome had been sporadic since JJ Hart had tried to shred that life like he’d shredded the newspapers when they’d arrived with their damning headline splashed across the front page. He and Destiny might have come back together the day the story had come out, but the way things had wrapped back around them, holding them together, hadn’t been the same as before. After months together she’d taken to staying in her own apartment on and off, leaving that vacuum here that had buzzed in his peripheral vision, in the back of his brain until he’d wanted to say enough.

Space that had once felt just right without another breathing soul in it opened up cold and too still when the elevator doors slid open and the place had been dark. Now the lights were down low, a precursor to the lamp light he knew the bedroom would be bathed in. The bedroom had held on to more of her than anything else when she’d started to edge out of his life – undoubtedly to the sort of comfortable distance she’d needed, or thought he had – the scent of her on the pillows, the clothes he brushed past in the walk in. No clack of claws on the hardwood floors as he trailed through the living room, Berlioz was going to be where Destiny was, imprinting his presence here the same way she did hers tonight.

Shrugging off his coat to toss it over the back of the sofa, Grey tried to shrug off the carried frustration from the meeting with some pleb in the mayor’s office – not the woman herself, that would’ve been too much, especially with a man whose reputation still reeked of the article that had been retracted, but not proven entirely false. He’d applied for planning permission for a parking structure, at least partly buried beneath the hotel, somewhere off-street and safe for his guests, for Destiny. The planning department was still dicking him around about it, but he wasn’t bringing that into the bedroom, not when there was already other problems lingering between them.

His boots were kicked on route, left to be picked up in the morning. Sock clad and silent he padded into his room, feeling those bands of tension finally release as she beamed at him from the bed. ”Hey,” he rasped softly. He’d glanced at the floor for Berlioz, but he should’ve known he’d scrambled under the covers with his mistress. ”But you’ve got company. Keeping my spot warm huh?” Probably feeling that remaining tension in the air, like the crackles of it remained after the months of turbulence.

Grey shook his head as he shrugged off his sweater. That went over the back of a chair, his jeans followed. More layers shed until what would be between them was tissue – or cotton – thin. ”Not hungry,” he said honestly. ”The mayor’s office offered up a spread for the meeting. Politely choking down dried out cheese sandwiches did my appetite in. You were busy.” There was no condemnation in that, more an appreciation – more parts of her in his space, like she’d still be here even when she wasn’t.

Settling on his knees on the bed, Grey braced himself with a hand at her hip. He bent his head, pressing his lips to hers while his fingers followed the trail blazed by hers to scritch his welcome around Berlioz’s ears. Sinking down next to her, he let out a long breath into the crook of her neck. ”Long.” A light huff of weary laughter trailed off as the hand that had pressed against the mattress behind her hip settled over hers, to draw that puzzle piece of her body back against his own. ”They’re holding out on the planning. Probably waiting to see if the sheriff’s going to give in to the game of chicken. If they vote it in and it gets rubber stamped, we can break ground next door. How about yours? Busy before you filled the fridge?” Busy rubber stamping her people, grinding that stamp bone deep into Hart he hoped, slowly eroding any footprint the man had on the town and the newspaper he’d used for someone else’s agenda.

Tagged: DESTINY BACCARI * Word Count: 1166

Pets had never featured in the Maddox household. They’d have died of neglected if it was down to Malcolm - he couldn’t even watch out for his own son after all. The pack hadn’t had them either, like somehow there wasn’t room in that mass of animals for another - one without all that intelligence behind the glowing yellow and blue eyes. If there’d been any animals around it was as tools, to be manipulated and used, even if there was little left by an empty sack at the end of it. There hadn’t been that feeling like something was missing when he didn’t arrive home from school and there was just silence instead of the light click-clack of claws on the floor. He hadn’t known what he was missing out on. In so many ways.

The hollow in him that’d started from that tiny hole Malcolm had burned through him, the one that Leah had spread with her claws until there was barely a shell left, had felt a mile wide again when he’d walked in to the apartment last night and everything he’d wanted had been gone again. A chill working around the edges of it, like without the light Destiny brought to the place it’d freeze like the cottage always did in winter, like he had every time she’d pulled away from him. He hadn’t bothered flipping the lights on then. He’d worked late anyway, chasing Cat off early, lurking behind the desk to deal with clients until the night staff had arrived. The lights in the lift had followed him about six foot into the apartment, then the dark had plunged in, the silence that came with it only broken by his own soft footfalls. Into the work room, not the bed room, that had been a last minute thing, the comfort only taken for the phone call that bridged the distance between his place and Destiny’s – what comfort there was from a bed that spread out empty around him.

It’d be warm when he slipped in now, a little pocket of it that Destiny seemed to carry with her. The one he’d been allowed to join her in. A small dip left in the mattress by the owner of those claws, like Berlioz had his own place here too, slowly working his way into a life that had been without … without all of this. Grey’s smile slanted as he made a hummed sound of affirmation in his throat. ”He can try, but he’s not gonna get to steal my girl tonight. Sorry bub.” That warmth reached Grey’s eyes as they narrowed enough in amusement to have those lines springing up around them. Berlioz would have enough discretion to slip out when he made good on the promise her smirk offered.

Manners might get him the underground lot in the end, but it also meant having to substitute those sandwiches for what would’ve been so much more. The little domestic scene had played out without him, Destiny working her way around a kitchen that’d gone mostly unused before she’d edged her way into his apartment bit by bit, the smell of dinner filling the air, a lead in to the two of them at the table, just talking the way they had in those months they’d barely left the place. ”It’s gonna be amazing for lunch.” All the better because she’d made it. ”It’ll have me weeping for joy after that spread.” A little bit of Destiny left here again, those small measures of her he looked for every time he turned around.

There she was.

His sigh of contentment probably mirrored Berlioz’s. Something in his chest relaxing as he curled himself around Destiny, drawing her back into him in the end. Her fingers had skimmed over his arm in her own welcome, her head nuzzling his, marking out those almost transparent lines where they touched each other again. He could’ve stayed there all night, every ounce of exasperation and exhaustion bleeding away with each breath he puffed out against her skin. Grey let out a little snort, his fingers drawing a cross on Destiny’s stomach. It would probably take more than hope to push the planning through in the end. ”Maybe. I’m pretty sure they’ve all built their below ground pools and entertainment suites by now. You’d think in the end they’d go with what’ll bring more money to the town.” Although if they believed JJ’s story then there was more a chance that the people he brought town with the Grey Haven would never be leaving it. Maybe it was a fear that there were all sorts of bodies down there that would get turned up by the construction – as though he was that big an idiot.

Relaxing into the crook of Destiny’s body, Grey dipped his head to press a slow line of kisses over the nape of her neck. He paused there, brows furrowing as she went to draw his arm closer around her middle. Like she wanted the security of his hold. Had that son of a bitch opened his mouth again? Oh, he’d wanted to kill him before, but one move on Destiny and he wasn’t gonna care how much attention it would bring, that would be it. His hand spread on her stomach, his thumb moving in a slow arc, smoothing, soothing. The druid. She’d mentioned him this morning, the guy who’d known her dad. His touch grew firmer, drawing her back tighter as he kissed the hinge of her jaw. ”How’d it go?” Dark brows hitched, she didn’t look upset, the corners of Destiny’s mouth were tipped up in a smile he didn’t see often enough these days.

If he hadn’t finally freed himself from the curse that had been wrapped around his life for years, the druid held parts of those bonds at least, the man might’ve a line to pull on, a resource to mine in a far less civil way than Destiny had. ”A darach,” he echoed softly, feeling something shift in his chest as Destiny drew parallels between them. One raised it in, or at least who’d raised his daughters in it before he’d been gone, leaving Destiny fumbling through it all alone. One who’d killed, playing his way into it. No wonder she saw the echoes. ”He shoulda been grateful for that,” he said lightly. ”Noah’s dad, I mean. When you have to … it’s wiser not to …” Leave any behind to start sweeping those pieces up again. He’d never let any of those the pack sent after him keep breathing, that just meant they’d get back up at some point and try it again – although with Leah even death hadn’t worked.

He could feel the excitement working through Destiny, like it was tiny shivers bleeding into his skin. Raking his teeth over his lower lip, he studied what he could see of Destiny’s face, that excitement, as she angled slightly towards him. ”You never had anything to feel guilty for,” he reminded her softly. Not even the one that hadn’t really deserved it. His death wasn’t on them, it was the fuck head brother who’d damned him, letting the claws Leah had in him jerk him around like a puppet – just as empty headed as one too. They’d done what they’d needed to in order to protect themselves, to try and protect Petyr. It hadn’t been enough in the end, and Grey felt himself hollow out slightly at it. He pressed his lips to Destiny’s temple, whispering his truth into the tender skin there, his fingers curling slightly against her skin, the curve where Petyr had once grown, the one that had flattened again like he’d never been there. ”He’d have been proud of you. For doing what you needed to. I’m proud of you. We did everything could, just the way I imagine your dad did, and there’s never anything to be ashamed about with that.” The kisses trailed down to the corner of Destiny’s mouth.

Grey propped his chin against her shoulder, watching the faint shifts of the dog under the covers. He would’ve reached out to scritch between his ears again but that would’ve meant taking his hands off of her. ”How’d the druid feel about what he found out?” Shocked he imagined. All that righteousness the druids he’d encountered had constantly bled. The damnation that didn’t do a damn thing to change a pattern that had existed between them for centuries. The light and the dark. Just like him and Destiny, one not functioning without the other – as he’d learned in the last few weeks.

Tagged: DESTINY BACCARI * Word Count: 1439

They were supposed to be the scholars, the diplomats for the packs. The people who diffused all their problems with knowledge – most of which was usually passed down from one generation to the next – offering up wisdom and skill. If the pack’s druid would’ve survived the slaughter instead of being the one to trigger it in the pack Destiny’s father was working with, they would’ve been the one documenting it all. The keeper of the information.

Maybe somewhere in the viper’s pit back home the Alpha had scribbled down his version of what had happened. His bias over his wife and the brat that wasn’t his spelt out in black and white for someone like Hart to discover. Not just outright lies, but twisted truths that did nothing to reveal what had really happened. In a way Grey supposed Noah’s father would’ve done the same, although without the malice Leah’s father would’ve poured into it. A second hand account of a situation they were better off not having been a part of first hand – although if Leah’s father had been there that night his problems would’ve been over by now. The rest of the pack would’ve been too busy tearing one another apart to try and see who’d make it to the top of the heap next. And maybe he’d have been a thousand miles from here, still piecing together a life in New York instead of curling around Destiny in their bed here, gathering the morsels of her life and who she was finding out she really was in his palms, holding on tight to them for her.

There was no way to predict what way the future was going, no matter how hard you tried. They’d hoped for Petyr, for a future where their son would’ve been safe, but maybe one day in the future he would’ve been here with someone of his own, holding onto the pieces of their lives in the same way. Slotting them all together in a puzzle he only had half an idea of the image of, finding how those awkward edges slotted together. Pride filling his stomach as he realised he was just like them in a way – the best parts of them. Leah would’ve argued there weren’t any, but she was wrong, had been wrong in all of this. He’d seen the way it had torn at Destiny thinking she’d done something wrong over what had happened to Petyr. In this bed he’d whispered dozens of reassurances, promising her that none of it was her fault. Now those reassurances were pressed to her skin again.

Grey felt her soften at them, the gratitude croaked out to be captured on his lips as he found the corner of her mouth. He smiled into them, that warmth that had been so alien when she’d first driven it into him to try and heal what the she-wolf had done filling his chest. ”You wouldn’t,” he said hoarsely, knowing that what spilled so easily from her mouth always had that gleam of the truth, not dulled with the bullshit that others had smeared on before they’d tried to sweet talk him in the past. Everything from her was so unfiltered, the picture clear enough to choke him up with it. His hand slid over her stomach, settling around the curve of her ribs. ”We both did. We survived, together. I wouldn’t have managed it without you. Maybe the bag would’ve worked, but when she came, I wouldn’t have done.” Maybe he’d have spread it wide, letting Leah straight at that twisted, scar lump of muscle in his chest. It would’ve stopped the curse right there, or at best, transferred to that bitch instead.

The light had been there in the dark, shining in it every day since, even if there’d been those times when he had been too blind, too angry to reach for it. She had been there, holding on when everything around them had tried to tear the two of them apart – succeeding when it had been Petyr (the merging of that light and dark) snatched from them. Now it was just the three of them, him, Destiny, Berlioz – the dog as much a part of Destiny as he was. Once he’d asked if she’d ever felt a connection with him beyond the usual, oh he knew they were. Berlioz nosed his way free of the blanket to look up at his mistress, her emotions having worked their way beneath it. Grey rested his chin on Destiny’s shoulder, watching the dog, knowing what it felt like to have those fingers work the tension and worry away.

She was laughing again, the tears of a moment before wiped away in the moment. He circled his fingers slowly on her abdomen, his thumb playing along that line of rib as it rose and fell with her breathing. Had the druid worried about her the same way, even without that deeper bond? Bad news delivered with apologies, dread working through him at the thought of destroying a woman’s beliefs about her father – those good memories that had lingered even if she had suspected there was bad too. The cloying scent of sympathy that wasn’t needed filling her office.

He made a low sound of understanding in his throat at Destiny’s sheepish laugh. His head dipping around the pivot point of his chin to press a kiss to the delicate line of her collarbone. Just as he’d thought. It was all a matter of point of view – to one of them he would’ve been the bad guy, someone with blood on his hands, the reason for it ignored. Maybe this guy wasn’t one of the truly sanctimonious, but he believed Destiny’s dad had done something wrong. ”He didn’t want to see you hurt,” he rumbled softly. The one point where him and the druid crossed over. He shook his head lightly, nosing back into Destiny’s throat. The rest the man was never going to understand.

Like the need to kill to your own parents. A crime in most people’s book, but not theirs. Grey lifted one of his fingers as Destiny’s hands settled on his, drifting over his skin. The side of his finger brushed hers, a light caress, another point of connection. ”He wanted you to do what you needed to, to become the person he thought you could,” Grey said lightly. ”He knew and you do too now. Noah might not get it, but I’m glad you got to hear it.” Glad she got to shrug off the shame and guilt over what had happened. No ten year old should’ve had to do something like that, but what would’ve happened without it? They’d used that to try and protect their son, to avenge what had happened to him, there was nothing to feel guilty for in that. They’d done all they could, even if it wasn’t enough. As the weight of it seemed to sink like lead through her again. Grey frowned as Destiny squeezed her eyes shut, that tight laugh still feeling like it was echoing in his gut. He pressed closer to her, the arm around her drawing her in close enough that he could press his lips to her temple again, then her cheek, to press his cheek there until she was turning in his arms.

He shifted his weight, curling back into her as she turned towards him. One leg slipping over hers to anchor her there. Dark brows furrowed, eyes scanning her face. The decision of a moment before drifted away like smoke on the air, revealing the Destiny that had been there then, the one her dad had seen and tried to nurture by throwing away all his shields and giving his ten year old that sword to cut him down with. What had happened with Raik had been a mistake, but it didn’t mean that everything was going to be. They were called sacrifices for a reason, something was given over to a better cause. ”You already are,” Grey breathed. He wiggled his head closer so they were nose to nose. ”We can do it. There are people out there who would complete what you’ve started. For Petyr, for us, we’ll do it. We’ll protect ourselves.” They’d make sure that bitch couldn’t get close. He refused to believe that their story, their family finished there, with Petyr’s loss the hollow that would always remain between them. Destiny had been an incredible mother, she deserved to find that again, when they were both ready.

Ties to the past cut or woven into their story. Those paper thin parts in danger of shredding and unravelling everything shored up. Mended, keeping the parts they might lose safe. Like Petyr and everything Tanner had tried to carve away from Destiny. Grey looked down, still holding onto Destiny’s hands, but stroking his thumb over the spots where he knew the scars marred her skin. ”We’ll find a way,” he promised. ”We’ll make his sacrifice worth something. Are you ready to? It’s … a big step step.” One he would take every step with her. Destiny’s would be the hands on that wire, even if he wanted to just tear the man apart for everything he’d done. Everything he’d taken from her – even if Tanner’s loss was now his gain – what he had tried to destroy everything he cherished.

Tagged: DESTINY BACCARI * Word Count: 1565