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  E pilogue

  Sarah J. Pepper

  His perseverance unnerved me, scrutinizing my every move like a twisted guardian angel. Jace waited patiently for me to join him. Like he knew my defiance would crumble under his intense gaze, which was exactly why I avoided him…until twilight. He hijacked my dreams and proved to be a different kind of nightmare – unhinged, rebellious, and dangerously mouth-watering.

  “Escape from reality, Gwyneth. Sometimes life can be too painful to live in, even for immortals,” Jace whispered in my dream. His heat, fervor, and unrelenting confidence resonated around me when he closed the gap between us. His lips hovered above mine, waiting for me to give into him.

  ***

  Gwyneth’s chronicle began long before she witnessed her family being brutally murdered and lost her sight. Living as an orphan, her world is anything but black and white. She sees her vivid future that promises suffering and death. Cursed with these visions, Gwyneth pretends to be like everyone else, until a dangerously charismatic young man walks into her life. From the moment Jace lays eyes on her, he refuses to believe Gwyneth is normal. He knows information about her past that only a psychopathic stalker could dig up. He reveals her dirty secrets. Unbeknownst details of Gwyneth’s former life unfurl.

  Unsure of what to believe, Gwyneth searches for answers that lead to her inconceivable fate. However, the ancient truth she uncovers is more dangerous than any high school romance she’d bargained for. Gwyneth is drug into an inevitable battle brewing between immortal Gods and ageless Hunters – both of which have sworn to kill her if deemed necessary.

  Forgotten

  The Fate Trilogy

  Book One

  Sarah J. Pepper

  Published by Neximus Publishing

  ISBN-13: 9780988246942

  Copyright © Sarah J. Pepper 2012

  Cover art by Josh Wilcoxon of Wilcoxon Photography

  Hair/Makeup by Angelique Verver with Platinum Imagination

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is merely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Teen Novels by Sarah J. Pepper

  Of Course the World is Flat

  Devil’s Lullaby –Ringer’s Masquerade Series #1

  Death’s Melody –Ringer’s Masquerade Series #2

  Forgotten – The Fate Trilogy #1

  Fallen Tears

  Reading between the lines…

  This trilogy wouldn’t have been possible without the help of countless people – friends, family, and a horde of editors. Thank you all for listening to me babble on end about my “book ideas.” I’d like to give a special thanks to my parents – because of your own crazy obsession with all that is science-fiction; I found my own love for the paranormal realm because of you. Thank you a million times for encouraging me to be the person I am today. And to my brothers – Thanks Ryan, for always (unknowingly of course) giving me new material to work with. And to my “Little Brother David,” the spark to modernize classical mythology came from you.

  To Angelique Verver who brought the imaginary gods who were hijacking my imagination to “real-life.,” and to Josh Wilcoxon and Joe Holman who captured their immortal essence on film.

  To Megan, Keenan, Stefannie, and Shelby – you are all extraordinary and genuine. I didn’t imagine you all being so eager and enthusiastic to work with. Without you, I’d be a strange woman talking to the imaginary people in my head. Seeing you four transform into “the characters” was one of the most exhilarating moments of my life.

  To Graham Turner, Steve "smiley" Barnard, Olivia Otim, and Kerry Schultz. They gave the characters their voice that was buried within the passages of the novel. “Walkin’ a Line,” compliments the novel on an otherworldly level. It speaks volumes to the teenage-version of me who is forever trapped in my mind

  And finally – to the everlasting adoration from my very own prince-charming who inspired the passionate story of this ageless tale. Thank you, for showing me what unconditional love feels like, Dusty. Without you, it would be impossible to describe undying love…

  “My death granted immortality.

  With one look, I knew he’d be my undoing…”

  CHAPTER ONE

  His chocolate brown eyes didn’t radiate with vengeance as he pressed a knife to my chest. They glistened with tears. His dark brown hair shimmered, like gold had been melted into each strand. The sight would’ve been utterly breathtaking if sand and sweat hadn’t dried into his hair as well. A bloody gash under his left eye interrupted his otherwise perfectly tanned skin.

  Burnt oranges, soft yellows, and deep reds surrounded the sun as it neared the horizon. My time was quickly slipping away. A hint of scorched wood piggybacked the wind while smoke crawled over the blood-soaked dirt.

  I reached up with my gnarled, weathered hand and gently stroked his face. Hiding in the sheer beauty of his eyes rested his tortured soul – screaming for forgiveness. His tears trickled onto my aged skin as he shoved the blade deeper through my chest. I struggled to breathe. My vision darkened at the edges.

  The vision of my death haunted me as I walked the halls of the countless schools I’d attended, when I ate supper at any of the eleven random dinner tables where I’d dined, or even when I’d claimed the streets as my home. My death wasn’t a mystery. I knew I’d live a long life only to be killed by delicious eye-candy. I’d watched my death unfold so many times that it felt more like a memory than a glimpse of the future. The irony was that I considered fortune-tellers to be frauds; yet I considered myself clairvoyant. That defined me as a hypocrite, but on the totem pole of importance, my “supernatural gift” barely made a mark at the bottom.

  “Earth to Winnie!” Ryker mocked, snapping his fingers.

  I scowled but managed to bite my tongue when he spoke my detested nickname. I wished “Pooh” hadn’t been such a big hit when I first moved to the small-town of Ashwick. The nickname was a happy coincidence stemming from my formal name, Gwyneth. At the time, I thought it was great…now it was just another repercussion of being the new-girl when the movie became a box-office hit while I was in grade school. I really only tolerated it when Bree, my best friend, called me Winnie, and it’d be a dark day in hell when I considered her boyfriend, Ryker, a friend. If he wasn’t glued to her side, I wouldn’t even bother playing nice.

  In my world of gray, Ryker appeared to be a shadow instead of a colorful, three-dimensional shape. Shades of gray people, objects and buildings were the only images that my damaged, insufficient eyes picked up. However, my blindness didn’t hinder my ability to see Ryker’s transparency. He called Bree whenever he was bored or needed something – a total leech. I once asked Bree why she wasted her time with him since I couldn’t see what was so attractive about him. She said that he reminded her of Batman, watching over everyone. His light green eyes hiding behind his wild blond hair intrigued her. When he glanced around the room, he looked secretive, mysterious.

  Gag me – please. He was looking for tail.

  “You aren’t really the dinner and movie type, are you?” Ryker said seconds after the bell rang, signaling
the end of art class and of my hour-long torture session with him.

  I stuck my tongue out. It was a little childish, but I feared that a string of obscenities might spill out of my mouth if I opened it.

  “Oh, that’s a good look for you,” Ryker scoffed. “Sticking your tongue out takes the attention off your gargantuan nose.”

  I rolled my eyes – my second line of defense against morons. I didn’t know which was worse – that I detested his relationship with Bree or that he got under my skin so easily. I clenched my fists and tried to convince myself that slapping him across the face wasn’t worth the detention I’d get. Instead, I acted like I was searching for a long-lost pencil I’d dropped and let my hair fall over my face. I didn’t want him to see how easily he got under my skin.

  “Going to pout now, Winnie?” Ryker said mockingly and picked up his gray backpack. “I thought you were some kind of a tough girl, but that’s all a show, isn’t it? In actuality you’re just this helpless girl trying to ignore the fact that you’re probably never going to amount to anything. My best guess is that you’ll end up as this old cat lady. I’m sure you’ll prove me right at our twentieth class reunion when you show up smelling like kitty litter.”

  “Ryker, stop acting like I’m some kind of a mutant and leave me alone,” I said, tucking my hair behind my face. I looked up at his shadowy figure and glared. I bit my tongue and hoped the gesture would keep me from saying anything else rude. I was so tempted to knee him in the groin and act like he spontaneously racked himself as I walked away.

  “Well, you’re not exactly normal,” Ryker said and then walked away like he sensed his man-hood was endangered.

  Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting out something regrettable, I reminded myself that by the end of the school year, I’d be a McKesson High graduate. It marked the last day I’d have to listen to the garbage spewing from Ryker’s mouth. I could finally leave the sleepy town of Ashwick and live in a city where no one knew about my pathetic reputation of being the helpless, poor, blind orphan girl – or my murderous past.

  The final two class periods drifted by while I tried not to dwell on my total lack of experience in the “guy department.”

  I failed miserably.

  I didn’t even like cats…I preferred dogs. Thus, I’d never be an old cat lady…Right? How did Ryker tear me apart with a few insults? I should have kicked his man-bits.

  As soon as the final bell sounded, I raced out of the lone brick building that held me captive five days a week.

  Rain leaked from the gray sky just like the police reports stated it had on October third, nearly sixteen years ago. Cold raindrops trickled down my cheeks. Rainy days reminded me of the worn case files that were buried under my blood-stained baby blanket, old clothes, and other forgotten pieces of my derailed life. Rain symbolized the destruction of my life, the upcoming anniversary of my survival, their deaths, and the current downfall of my hair.

  Home was a fifteen-minute walk from the school, which was exactly fourteen minutes too long. The audacity that Ryker would even joke about me not being the dinner and movie type – man language meaning I was notdateable – left me with a void only Ben and Jerry could soothe. The half-empty container of Dublin Mudslide never stood a chance when I made my way into the kitchen. It’d been calling to me since fifth-period art class, whispering sweet nothings from the freezer.

  My golden retriever’s pitter-patter on the oak floor was my warning that my eighty pound attention-hog would soon become a moving obstacle at my feet. However, even Max couldn’t side-track my need to polish off the rest of the ice cream before my self-control reigned once again. Bad day equaled zero patience. Even knowing the empty calories would settle in for the long haul around my backside, I couldn’t find the silverware drawer fast enough. Not having fortitude to feel my way to the cabinet where the Thompsons kept the bowls, I shoved the spoon directly into the container, then into my mouth. Frozen bliss exploded on my tongue.

  With the spoon safely lodged in my mouth, I navigated my way to the leather sofa with my hand extended in front of me so I wouldn’t accidently bump into anything. Max vigilantly herded me around five loads worth of laundry piled in the living room. Tide’s spring scent filled the house, making it feel as if winter just ended instead of fall’s beginning. Plopping down on the couch, I dug into the ice cream for another savory bite.

  The school’s policy allowed for my pooch to join me in my eight hours of suffering. But a particularly horrific episode where I forgot to give him enough potty-breaks, cut his guide dog career short. Wiping up urine while the other students filed around was humiliating enough to avoid at all costs. Max lay on my feet, keeping watch for potential witnesses of my brief anxiety attack; I quietly ate all the evidence before it melted.

  On the last satisfying bite my cell rang. Max went berserk. He barked adamantly until I silenced the ring by answering the call. He wagged his tail like he believed that the phone wouldn’t have stopped making noise without his help. I held the cell up to my ear. The obnoxious shrill of Bree’s off-key voice blasted through the tiny speakers on my phone… She was in denial about being America’s next biggest singing sensation.

  “Bree, you butt dialed me!” I said, several times. When a break in the lyrics allowed, she informed me that she was kidnapping me in “t-minus five minutes.” I flipped my phone shut, sighed, and rested my head on Max’s.

  “Bree is going to steal me away from you,” I said, scratching him behind the ears before standing up to get ready.

  After burying the empty ice cream container under a few other pieces of trash in the garbage, I walked up the stairs to my room. All twenty-eight steps had an article of clothing thrown on them. It was a testament to my Martha’s ability to keep up with laundry. Safely inside my room, I sighed with relief. In the entire world, my bedroom was my only sanctuary. I slipped out of my navy blue-buttoned shirt and hung it in my closet. The shirts on the far right were colored shades of blue until they reached the divider, then they changed to green and so on, with the color wheel. Thumbing through the first eight shirts from the left hand side, I chose a long-sleeved top that felt like Martha remembered to use fabric softener.

  I smoothed it flat and glanced in the mirror above my dresser, even though I’d never seen my reflection. My optometrist dubbed my blindness an unfortunate side-effect of watching my family being murdered in front of me. Never mind that I was only a little older than one at the time, and couldn’t commit to memory the events from that night, but it was enough to cause physiological problems. I was sentenced to a life of blindness. At least it was better than the fate my family received.

  My doctor stated my corneas, irises and pupils were operating perfectly, and there was no long term damage to their nerve endings, which put me on the bottom of all eye transplants. Even if I had the green to cover the costs, no doctor would replace my “perfectly good eyes” for a working pair.

  My sight was comparable to wearing night vision goggles, which left me up a creek in determining color, depth, and definition. The only reason I had a clue about what visual characteristics looked like was because I saw them in my visions. My visions revealed a world of colorful beauty, but in reality, people and animals appeared as dull, gray shadows.

  With enough light I could get a general idea of my surroundings. In well lit areas, everything became sharper but not enough for me to ditch my walking stick. For all intents and purposes, Bree named my walking stick ‘Stella.’ To her, all cars, boats, and canes should be given a distinguished name. I found the name juvenile, but like most nicknames, it stuck.

  I slipped the long-sleeved shirt on and slid my thumb through the holes in the sleeves. The wood floor creaked under my weight as I walked to my dresser. I folded my khakis and exchanged them for a pair of stone-washed jeans. Bree assured me they were in style when she gave them to me a few months ago.

  I jumped a little when Max started barking like someone stole his favorite squeak-
toy. Bree barged into my room shortly after.

  “I scribbled a note for your fosters,” she said, referring to my foster parents. She leaned against the wall next to my outside window. Her mudded dark shadow, offset the lighter images the objects made in my sight. “I fed Max a Milk-Bone because he gave me those puppy dog eyes.”

  “So where are we off to tonight?” I asked, as I finished getting dressed.

  “Well, Ryker told me Strikers is hosting a special tonight – two for one kicks. You want to be my second pair?”

  “Wouldn’t Ryker make the most sense to be your date, instead of me?” I asked, skimming the surface of the dresser’s polished wood. The brush’s teeth pricked my fingers. The brush appeared soft gray, just like every other inanimate object in my vision. Taking the pony-tail out, I ran it through my half dried hair.

  “You’re going to give yourself split-ends yanking at your hair like that!” Bree warned, pushing off the wall. On the down-stroke, she grabbed my hand and pried my brush from my fingers. “Blonds show splits much more than brunettes like me.”