The Most Special Chosen Read online

  Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA):

  3724 Cowpens Pacolet Rd., Spartanburg, SC 29307

  This edition published in 2018 by Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA)

  All rights reserved.

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  The persons, places, and events of this novel are works of fiction. Any coincidence with individuals past or present, is merely that, coincidence.

  © Rachel de la Fuente 2012

  © Ashlee Pruett and Edd Sowder, editors, 2018

  © Loraine Von Tonder, Ryn Katryn Designs, cover design, 2018

  © Lori Michelle, The Author’s Alley, interior formatting, 2018

  Dobby, the character, is the property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers.

  Mortal Kombat, the game, is property of Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment

  For my mom,

  Although you missed seeing my book in this lifetime, I know you’ll read and enjoy it in the next.

  CHAPTER 1

  It takes every ounce of my self-control to not slam my books down on the table as I reach Shawn. To avoid getting thrown out of the library, I plonk them down lightly and drop into a chair with a sigh.

  “Bad day?” Whispers Shawn, my best friend of eight years. “I thought it was supposed to be great.”

  I schlump forward and rest my chin on my hand. “It was supposed to be, according to my intuition. That’s why I dressed nicely.” I gesture vaguely to my outfit with my free hand. I have on a pair of black, knee-high, leather boots; black leggings; and a lightweight, crimson sweater dress that accentuates my curvy figure. I only wear a little makeup to set off my brown, almond-shaped eyes. I’ve left my copper-colored hair long and wavy, hanging to my hips.

  “The only thing special about today is that I’ve been rather hot.” I pull my hair up and shake it as I speak, coaxing some air to my neck. “Southern California isn’t particularly cold in November.”

  “I thought you said your intuition is never wrong.”

  “It’s not, I just . . . ” I shrug, unsure how to finish that sentence. My intuition hasn’t been wrong once in my entire life, and ignoring it has always been to my detriment. I can’t understand how it’s suddenly wrong.

  Shawn leans forward to touch my hand. “Maybe your something special is still to come. The day isn’t over yet.”

  I shrug again and watch as he goes back to his studying. He hasn’t changed much since high school. His soft, dirty-blonde hair hangs to his ears; huge, horn-rimmed glasses hide his startling green eyes; and his nose is a little too big for his face. He’s not ugly, but he’s no model, either.

  Look up.

  My intuition, the same strange whisper I’ve heard at various points in my life, speaks again. I obey instantly. Perhaps this is the something special I’ve been waiting for. I catch sight of the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen around the many bookcases and quickly sit up straight. He’s perfect! Imagine if he’s—No, Lys. My movement catches Shawn’s eye. He peers over his shoulder, following my line of sight, then turns back, rolling his eyes.

  “What is it with you and guys in black?” he says, “Especially ones that look like—”

  My sharp look shuts him up. He knows better than to discuss that in public. But I have to admit he has a point. I glance back at Mr. Gorgeous. He does look like—Dammit Lys! They don’t exist. I try not to stare and fail miserably. He has shoulder-length, jet-black hair that looks almost blue in the light; large, ice-blue eyes; full and sensual yet masculine lips; a square jaw that somehow doesn’t look chiseled; a mustache that grows into a short goatee; and lovely, olive skin.

  He rounds the last bookcase and I can see he’s wearing a black, form-fitting shirt that hints at washboard abs; black leather pants; a floor-length, black, leather, trench coat that accentuates his broad shoulders; and combat boots. He must be at least six feet tall and he walks with a deadly purpose. He’s exactly what I’ve always imagined. Everything about him screams dangerous, and the effect is mesmerizing.

  He’s obviously looking for something—or someone. Probably a girlfriend. I’m still ogling him when his gaze suddenly meets mine. I see a brief flash of recognition, but I know I’ve never seen him before. His eyes dart down and back up, and I have an irrational desire to pull my neckline down a bit. His grin is sinful. It promises wicked things, and I want to find out exactly what they are. I drop my gaze to Shawn who’s making kissy faces at me. My glare could freeze fire. Shawn stops.

  The guy walks up and stops next to me. “Hello.”

  Oh, holy mother! His voice is deep and sensual and envelops me, sending shivers down my spine. I look up at him and become enraptured by his smile. It takes a moment, but I finally manage to speak. “Hi, can I help you?”

  “Not exactly. I merely wondered if I may sit with you.” I can’t quite place his accent. It’s French, but there’s something else there, too, and it runs right through me like fire, pooling low in my belly. What the hell, Lys? This is not a normal reaction for me.

  I glance at Shawn who nods reluctantly, knowing I’ll say yes either way. “Yes, of course. Are you new? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” Idiot! I mentally kick myself. It’s a huge campus, and I don’t know everyone.

  He fluidly takes a seat, and I take in his perfect posture. It certainly doesn’t go with the way he looks.

  “Actually, I have been taking classes online. I decided that since I will be graduating soon, I should get to know some of the other students and start networking.”

  I nod. “Yeah, definitely a good idea. What’s your major?”

  “International Relations and Diplomacy, and International Business.” Wow, double major. Must be smart, and obviously ambitious. “And yourself?”

  “Architecture and Interior Design. My mom’s always said I have an eye for detail, and I like doing it. The money’s not bad either . . . ” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself, but my major suddenly seems frivolous.

  He smiles. “It is good you chose to do something you are passionate about,” he then looks to Shawn. “And what are you studying?”

  “Advanced mathematics. I’d like to be a college professor.” I grin at the defiant way Shawn speaks. His father wanted, still wants, him to go into business and follow in his footsteps. Shawn, however, has other ideas.

  “That is admirable. I do not have patience for such mathematics,” he looks down as though embarrassed, then glances back up at Shawn. “But I have a great respect for those who do.”

  His response, spoken without any hint of sarcasm or derision, disarms Shawn. “Oh, uh, thanks . . . ”

  “Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Damien Delanciennes,” he says, dipping his head like he’s bowing. How odd.

  “Interesting name,” grumbles Shawn. I shoot him a dirty look. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Dooley.” He offers Damien his hand, and they shake.

  “It is nice to meet you, Shawn. And you, Chérie? I am certain your name is as beautiful as you.” Perhaps it’s because I’m hit by the full force of his blue eyes, but despite having just met, his endearment doesn
’t sound odd, nor does the line sound cheesy.

  “I’m Elysabeth Vance.” I hold out my hand to shake his, but instead, he takes it lightly and raises it to his lips. He brushes a soft kiss against my knuckles, staring straight into my eyes as he does so and my stomach flips over. Holy crap! I feel all fluttery. His actions don’t match his appearance in the least, and I love it.

  “I am very pleased to meet you. You have a lovely name. It references beauty and greatness.”

  My face heats. “Thanks. Your name is . . . elegant.”

  He nods his thanks. Damien turns suddenly to face Shawn and sees his frown. “Forgive me, have I given offense? Are you . . . together?”

  Before Shawn can answer, I make sure to set the record straight. “No! No, we’re friends. Shawn has been my best friend since freshman year in high school.”

  His look of concern vanishes. “Friendships like that are special.”

  I grin at Shawn. “They are.”

  It’s quickly becoming apparent I won’t be getting any schoolwork done tonight. Good thing I know the material well. I take a quick glance at the clock and confirm what I’d already suspected.

  Damien follows my glance. “I am sorry, am I detaining you?”

  “No, not at all, but the library will only be open another ten minutes. I won’t get much done in that time.”

  “My apologies, I have kept you from your studies.”

  “Oh, no, it’s okay. I don’t have much homework.” I reluctantly gather my things and stand. I don’t really want to go. I want to stay and talk to this gorgeous guy. “It was really nice to meet you, Damien.”

  He places a hand on my arm to keep me from leaving. “Perhaps, if you are not too busy, you would allow me to buy you a coffee?” Yes! I do a little victory dance in my head.

  I see doubt and even worry in Shawn’s eyes when I glance at him, and it makes me pause. I don’t know this guy. It probably isn’t smart to go anywhere with him no matter how gorgeous he is. Maybe I should give it a pass.

  Go.

  Well, my intuition knows best. I’m certainly not going to argue this suggestion. “If we can go somewhere with hot chocolate, I’m in.” Damien looks almost relieved at my answer. “But I have to be up early in the morning, so it will have to be quick.”

  “That is acceptable.” There’s a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Thank you for joining me. Shawn,” he turns to my best friend. “Would you care to join us as well?”

  With Damien’s attention elsewhere, I shake my head emphatically with a pleading expression. It’s easy to tell that Shawn isn’t happy about it, but he gives in. “No, thanks. I actually do need to study. Lys, I’ll see you when you get home.”

  I sigh. He just HAD to get in a parting shot. Damien is looking between us, obviously confused. I do my best to set him at ease. “We’re roommates. We share a townhouse. But we’re only friends, really.”

  He relaxes. “I see. Shall we go then, Elysabeth?”

  “Yeah. I’ll follow you to your car. Shawn drove this morning.” Damien is parked in the lot closest to the library, so we don’t have far to walk. As he walks between two cars, I follow him, assuming his car is in the next lane. However, he stops and opens the door of the most beautiful piece of machinery I have ever seen. It’s nothing but luscious curves, painted blood red with black accents.

  “This is your car? It’s beautiful.” He motions for me to enter, and I’m thankful he doesn’t comment on how close my comment was to a moan. Gorgeous and a gentleman. He’s getting better and better. I run my hand down the body as I walk to the door. He tenses as I do so, making me wonder where his mind has gone.

  Damien clears his throat. “Yes, this is my car. I am glad you approve. You should have none but the best conveyance.” Again he motions for me to enter the car, and this time I do.

  “Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say.” He closes the door with a nod before walking around the car and getting in.

  “So, what kind of car is this?”

  “It is a Veyron. A good vehicle.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Damien chuckles as he turns the key. The radio blares to life playing glam rock, and he reaches forward to change the station.

  I catch his hand to stop him. “Don’t change it.”

  Damien glances at me, obviously surprised. “I would never have guessed that you like this kind of music.”

  Don’t judge a book by its cover, gorgeous. “Damien, you just met me. There’s a lot that you would never guess.” I briefly wonder what music he thought I would like. Then again, I like such a variety that he’s probably right anyway.

  “I would like to get to know you better, then.”

  Perfect. I smile slightly, trying not to give away my excitement. “I’d like to get to know you better as well.”

  We settle into a comfortable silence, listening to music, and before I know it, we’re at this cute little café. It seems like Damien is instantly at my side of the car and opening my door. My eyebrows hit my hairline when he offers me his hand as I step out.

  “Oh, wow.” I tear my eyes away from his hand and meet his gaze. “Thank you.” His eyes fill with delight when my hand touches his.

  “It is simply proper manners, Chérie.”

  “Is it? Then most guys don’t bother with them.”

  He offers me another of those wicked grins as we walk to the café door. “Ah, but I am not most guys, E-ly-sa-beth.” He draws out my name, making it sound far more elegant than I’m used to hearing.

  I hope my answering smile is appropriately flirty. “I may have noticed.”

  Damien holds the door to the café open for me with a slight bow, but his eyes never leave my own. “After you.” Despite my best attempts to never prejudge someone, it’s difficult to reconcile his appearance and actions.

  “Thank you.” There’s no line, so we walk straight up to the cashier. The pretty, blonde, buxom cashier who’s eyeing Damien like a block of chocolate. She gives me a cursory glance, then focuses her gaze on him, as though I’m of no consequence.

  “What can I get you today?” She’s obviously trying to make her voice low and sultry. I’m surprised she’s not batting her eyelashes.

  Damien looks down at me, either clueless, or ignoring her. “Elysabeth, what would you like?”

  “A medium hot chocolate, with whipped cream, please.” I offer the cashier a victorious smile.

  She writes my order on a cup. “Name?” She barks out, sounding completely different.

  “Lys.” She scrawls something illegible then smiles back up at Damien. “And what can I get you?” Her voice is back to sultry. The invitation is excruciatingly obvious.

  “A medium-dark roast coffee, for Damien.”

  “Okay, would you like anything else, Damien?” I roll my eyes at the way she licks her lips. Could she be any more obvious?

  “That will be all.” Is it wishful thinking, or does he sound a little annoyed? Her smile falls into a scowl. Silly girl. I almost hide my smile.

  “Fine. That will be $6.12.” I open my purse to pull out my wallet, but Damien puts his hand over mine to stop me.

  “I offered to buy you a drink.” Not really having anything to say against that, I nod. He hands the cashier a black AmEx. Wow. She runs it and hands it back to him with a scowl. Sore loser, apparently.

  We walk away from the register to wait. “Thanks for my drink, Damien.”

  “It was my pleasure, Elysabeth. I hope you do not mind me asking, but do you prefer to be called Lys?”

  I’m not entirely sure how to answer that one. “Usually yes. My friends have been calling me Lys since I was little. But it started because they couldn’t say my name correctly. You do.” I grin at him. “I really like how elegant you make my name sound.”

  He steps closer to me, and the café disappears. “Then I will continue to call you Elysabeth.” His quiet voice zips through me like electricity. I find myself trapped by his gaze, only breaking loose whe
n the barista calls out my order.

  “Medium hot chocolate!” I shake my head, dispelling the lingering effects of my entrancement as I step forward to claim my prize. I thought moments like that only happened in movies.

  The barista smiles at me and turns my cup so I can see his number written on the side of that cardboard holder they put on hot drinks. His eyes dart down to my boobs and back up before he winks at me. Ugh! I have a strong urge to cross my arms over my chest. Damien chooses that moment to step up behind me. The barista’s smile disappears, replaced by a slight look of fear. I spy Damien’s glare reflected in the glass and smile. I shake my head at the barista and hand him back the cup holder.

  “Thanks, but no.” He hurriedly gets Damien’s coffee, retreating to the back as soon as the cup is on the counter.

  I find it amusing and somewhat flattering that Damien is so possessive. Odd, as usually I find that incredibly annoying, even more so considering we’ve only just met. Nevertheless, Damien will have to hide it better. He can’t go around scaring every guy I come across.

  Once we’re back in the car, I take a drink and sigh happily. I love chocolate. I close my eyes as I take another drink, savoring the flavor. I know, instinctively, that I have Damien’s undivided attention.

  “So, do you give every barista the evil eye?” I open my eyes and gaze at him sharply.

  His eyes shoot to mine and he shakes his head slightly. “Pardon?” The evident confusion on his face makes me think he didn’t hear me.

  I gesture toward the café. “I saw the look you gave that poor guy. Do you do that a lot?”

  “Well I—but he—I was not—the way he was eyeing you was rude and . . . and inappropriate,” he stammers. His cheeks are red, and I wonder if he’s embarrassed or angry.

  “You mean the same way you looked at me earlier today?” Part of me thinks I should let it go, but I have a point to make.

  The silence drags out, making me think I’ve screwed this up before it could start. Shame, because he really is gorgeous. There’s a moment of complete silence before he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot.