Chapter Three

The sun was breaking over the horizon as Amber turned the key and dragged her bag into the antique shop in Newport, Rhode Island. Her shoulders sagged with relief the instant the lock clicked into place.

The train ride home had been long and strained. The rest of the women had all dozed off either to avoid talking to her or to simply catch some sleep. In truth, she had been thankful that they’d slept since she couldn’t. Her mind had been too wired, replaying the events of the night.

Absently she rubbed her tender neck. The mental image of Nate’s hand circling it flashed hard and fast in her mind. She winced and swallowed the bile that burned the back of her throat. Nate had tried to rape her. Had hurt her and threatened her life. Hate, pure and rancid, boiled in her. He’d made her feel so helpless. She was ashamed and disgusted but at whom? Herself or him?

God, she should have listened to her aunt. She should have stayed in Newport and never gone to New York. The wild ramblings of her Aunt Bev crept into her thoughts. The constant lectures about how Amber was special. About how she must stay pure and that destiny had a plan for her. And what was that? For her to live a solitary existence caring for her aging aunt and a second-rate antique shop?

The daring trip to the city had been just that. Daring. A walk on the wild side. And look where it had gotten her. She felt the tears rising and blinked them back.

It was too much to process right then. If she let the emotions out, they’d take her down and she couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. She had to keep moving.

Catching a quick look at the clock, Amber left her bag by the door and moved into the shop. Her aunt would be awake soon, and there would be hell to pay for her little adventure to the city.

With shaking hands, she removed the wooden box from her pocket and set it on the cluttered counter at the back of the shop. She stared at it with a mixture of hatred and longing. The box was relatively small, about the size of a deck of cards, but in the shape of a diamond and around two inches deep. The exterior wood was intricately carved in curling designs and curious shapes. The workmanship was exquisite and had the antique dealer in her awed and impressed by the technique, style and simple uniqueness.

The woman in her saw nothing but an ugly reminder of last night’s events.

The clashing feelings of desire and revulsion knotted the muscles in her gut. It was only a box, she reminded herself. But her skin crawled with the falseness of her conviction.

The pull to open the box was startling. It smoothed over her in a wave of longing. Her fingers flexed in nervous anticipation. But what was it? What if it was something bad?

Still, after all that had happened, she had to know.

There was a tiny gold twist-lock on one side that was daring her to turn it. Open the box and look inside. See the gift. It was hers.

In a flash, Amber snapped her hand out to twist the lock and flip open the lid. The air sparked with electricity, and the dank surroundings of the shop suddenly vibrated with expectation.

Nestled within the box among the folds of royal purple velvet was the most beautiful stone Amber had ever seen. Diamond in shape, it was a strange mixture of white, violet and gold that shimmered and glowed like it was lit from within. The colors moved, blending to varying shades before her eyes.

And it called to her.

Her fingers tingled and her mind fuzzed.

She had to touch it. Take it and claim it as her own. Something so beautiful couldn’t be evil. Numbly, she reached out to reverently caress the smooth surface of the stone.

Pain. Fierce, searing, blinding tore up her hand, burning a path of scorching agony.

Gasping, Amber jerked her fingers away, but the pain continued. She snapped the lid closed. What the hell was that? She stared at her palm, but saw no damage, not even a burn mark. Was this the punishment she got for going against her aunt’s wishes? For wanting something more in her life?

Tears stung her eyes as she sniffed back her frustration. She needed to get rid of the box. Put the whole stupid night behind her. But her heart clenched and balked at the thought.

She couldn’t get rid of it.

The slight creak of the floorboards overhead spurred Amber into motion. Her aunt was awake.

Shaking her hand in an attempt to relieve the odd soreness that remained, she looked around for a place to hide the box. The urgency to stash it away increased with each squeak and groan on the stairs as her aunt descended to the shop.

Spotting an old sewing trunk in the corner, Amber rushed to stow the box inside. She didn’t question her actions or why she had to hide the stone. She just did.

Throwing some old blankets over the box, she closed the trunk then pushed it back behind a tall china cabinet, stacking random objects and trinkets on top of it.

“Amber, is that you?” Her aunt’s firm, flat voice drifted through the shop. Crap.

“Yes, Aunt Bev. It’s me.”

Silently, she moved back to the counter, stiffening her back for the confrontation to come. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, took a deep breath and froze.

On the back of her hand along with the lingering sting of pain was an elegantly sketched tattoo of a white bird rising in flight.

No way.

Hastily she rubbed at the image, frantic to remove it. It stayed. How?

No way. No, no, no. No.

She scratched at the etching, prepared to gouge the image off her skin. Anything to get it off. Anything to make it go away. To make it all go away.

Her skin turned red with welts that marred the thin flesh on the back of her hand. But the bird stayed unscathed.

It was beautiful in its simplicity. Haunting with its stark color. And taunting her mercilessly with its refusal to disappear.

Aunt Bev stepped into the room. A deep frown creased her forehead and matched the curve of her thin lips. Amber shoved her shaking hands into her coat pockets and tried to still her quaking nerves.

The old, pink bathrobe was cinched around her aunt’s plump girth like a protective shield. The slightly bed-messed silver hair did not deter from the overall aura of superiority that always emanated from her aunt. Technically, she was Amber’s great aunt, but since Aunt Bev was Amber’s only living relative, the distinction never mattered.

“So you’re back.” The icy chill of the words matched the hard look of disapproval that sparked from her deep brown eyes. “I hope your little trip was worth the worry you caused me.”

Amber bit down on her bottom lip, letting her aunt’s anger pool around her. Any reply would be wrong.

Her aunt stepped forward until she stood a mere foot away, completely invading Amber’s personal space in a practiced move of intimidation. Amber held her ground. At five foot ten, Amber was taller than her aunt. The fact her aunt had to look up to meet Amber’s eyes was an advantage she secretly relished.

“Your foolishness could have cost you everything.” Flames of determination flashed in her aunt’s eyes, her face a hard mask of controlled fury. “You have no idea the evil you play with. I have tried desperately to keep you protected. To keep you safe. I have given up everything for you. Yet you still resist me. I thought you were better than your mother. I raised you to be better.”

Shame—her own this time—clogged her throat. She had disappointed her aunt, the one person in the world who actually loved her. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I didn’t mean to cause you worry.”

Which was true. Her aunt might be overbearing and protective, but she always meant well. When Amber had found herself alone in the world at the age of nine after her mother was murdered, it was Aunt Bev who had taken her in without question. Despite her aunt’s many faults, Amber had never doubted the love she felt from her adopted parent.

Aunt Bev’s gaze searched Amber’s face before the stiffness slowly left her body. Her voice softened, the concern now evident in the faint curl of her lips. “Are you okay, Amber?” She reached out to cup Amber’s cheek. “When Joseph called looking for you, I panicked.”

Amber swallowed and forced her voice to stay even. “The shaman called here looking for me?”

“Yes. He said it was important that you get home.” Her eyes drilled into Amber, putting an edge on the low currents of her voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged, ignoring the sudden burning pain on the back of her hand. She could tell her aunt didn’t believe her. But she couldn’t tell her what had happened.

Her aunt dropped Amber’s hand and turned back toward the stairs. Her voice drifted quietly through the room. “I love you, Amber. I’ve always tried to do what was right for you. I’ve tried to do my role as Joseph ordered when he brought you to my door. But, more than that, I’ve guarded and protected you. Kept you safe—as I was told to do. I’ve…” Her breath hitched, her shoulders stiffened then relaxed, before she continued. “It is time for you to keep yourself safe. The time is coming when your life will be in your hands alone. I can only hope that you are prepared for it. That you make the right choices…that you can handle it.”

“What are you talking about?” Amber stared dumbfounded at her aunt’s back. “Protected me from what?” The questions tumbled through her brain, the confusion causing her thoughts to scramble in a futile attempt to understand what her aunt was saying. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch her aunt. To reassure and comfort her, but the burn on the back of her hand reminded Amber she couldn’t.

“There’s no need for you to protect me anymore, Aunt Bev. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I love you, but I’m old enough to take care of myself. That’s why I went on the trip to New York even though you told me not to. It wasn’t defiance that made me go, but a desire to expand, to explore the world and try new things. And nothing happened. Everything’s fine. I’m back safe and sound.”

Her aunt sighed, a big breath filled with more than just air. “You can lie to me, but I hope you don’t lie to yourself.”

Thankful her aunt couldn’t see the flush that heated her cheeks, Amber fumbled for words, looking for solidity in her suddenly tumbling world. What was going on?

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she finally mumbled.

“And that may be my greatest failure,” Aunt Bev whispered before she shuffled away.

She gaped at her aunt’s retreating back until it disappeared around the corner. The stairs creaked as she made her way back to their apartment. Amber ached to go after her and ease the rift between them, but now wasn’t the time.

The burning sting on her hand began to fade with her aunt’s retreat. She pulled a shaky hand from her pocket to stare again at the mysterious bird scored into her skin.

How? Why? What in the hell was happening to her life? To her?

Her eyes were pulled to the corner where the sewing trunk sat. Her fingers absently rubbed the mark on her hand, and she was surprised at how smooth the surface felt. They were linked—the stone and the mark—that was obvious. It wasn’t logical. It was too weird and unbelievable.

And definitely not meant for her.

Maybe it was all a mistake. And maybe there really wasn’t a bird branded into the back of her hand. Her gaze drifted down to stare at the proof that it wasn’t all a dream or mistake.

The bird was on her hand.

Her chest constricted as an overwhelming feeling of doom settled in for a long, unwanted visit. She could no longer deny that somehow she was getting the adventure she so foolishly wanted.

Now, if she could only give it back.