Love Beyond Expectations

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blurb

  Copyright

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Titles by Rebecca Royce

  Blurb

  Christophe Roux has always known he was different. Born to a wealthy French family, he has never told anyone that he is frequently thrown through time and space to visit with ghosts and other terrifying creatures. But now he knows he is an Outsider and moreover that he has a soul mate somewhere out in the world waiting for him. When his brother is taken, he heads to Maine to search for help, never expecting that his love is the woman he has lusted after for years.

  Ruby Brannon lived her childhood on the run and her adulthood trying to make sense of the strange things that happen to her. Now, she's with the Outsiders but she is still unsure if she'll be able to step up when it's her turn to fight the evil seeking to destroy them all.

  Together, Ruby and Christophe will change the fates of the Outsiders. Or die trying.

  Fireborn Publishing Copyright Statement

  Love Beyond Expectations

  Copyright © 2013/2015 by Rebecca Royce

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-941984-45-1

  eBook Publication: July 2015

  Cover Artist: Syneca Featherstone

  Proofreader: Kathy Kozakewich

  Logo copyright © 2014 by Fireborn Publishing and Allison Cassatta

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED UNDER INTERNATIONAL AND PAN-AMERICAN COPYRIGHT CONVENTIONS: Payment for this title grants the purchaser the right to download and read this file on any/all personal electronic devices personally owned by the purchaser, now or in the future, and to maintain backup copies of the file for the purchaser's personal use. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or electronic storage and retrieval, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. File sharing, with or without payment, is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States DoJ, Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison, and a fine of $250,000 per offense.

  Please remember that authors are paid per legal purchase. We thank you for your support of author's rights and their earnings. If you spot illegal cut-rate or free copies of this work being passed on peer-to-peer or other pirate sites, even those masquerading as legitimate retailers, please let us know at [email protected] or via the author's personal email.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  This book is written in US English.

  PUBLISHER

  PO Box 5216

  Haverhill, MA 01835

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Columbia University: The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York

  Marines: U.S. Marine Corps, a component of the U.S. Department of the Navy

  Starbucks: Starbucks U.S. Brands LLC

  Chapter One

  Christophe Roux stomped through the snow with his head down. The buildings in New York City helped to alleviate some of the storm pounding on his body, but nothing blocked the white flurries entirely. If he'd given any real thought to moving before he'd up and done it, he would have picked some place in California or Florida, anywhere other than Columbia University.

  He'd moved to New York not to further his career or locate the elusive Leonardo Gregan, no matter how he tried to fool himself that his search for the missing man had driven him.

  No, he'd done it to pursue a woman who had proven to have no interest in him whatsoever before she vanished to God knew where.

  So instead of sipping wine at his ancestral home in the south of France, he'd been freezing his ass off in the coldest winter in a decade—or so the locals told him—in the Big Apple. He was dealing with a brother he hadn't known he had, who popped out of nowhere into his life, spouting out all sorts of stories about mythology he'd never heard about before.

  Without a doubt, he should have stayed in France where he belonged.

  His powers surged uncontrollably inside of him. In his pockets, his freezing hands began to shake. Merde. Seconds later, rather than walking down Park Avenue staring at window displays, he stood outside of some kind of farm.

  He blinked rapidly to clear the dizziness, which always accompanied his shifts in place. While he knew he could have ended up anywhere in the world, he didn't know how long he'd remain in his current spot. Eventually, the same weirdness that brought him to his new locale would take him back. He simply needed to wait and figure out what he had been brought to the farm to witness.

  Snowflakes danced on his eyelids, and he swatted them away. Wherever he'd landed, it wasn't someplace warm. A scream reverberated inside of the house in front of him. It sounded like a woman but he couldn't be one hundred percent certain. Men sometimes sounded like ladies when they felt terror. And ghosts were particularly difficult to differentiate without looking at them.

  Before his face-to-face with a demon and a ghost, fear had governed his response to these situations. He had no control and already faced the fact that he was a coward.

  What else could really happen to him?

  Pulling his coat tighter, he walked toward the house.

  Figuring out why the screams radiated from inside the farm would allow him to get the hell out of there. The stairs creaked under his weight. He shook his head. If his family could see him now, they'd never believe it. His lineage traced back to kings and queens; his people didn't have these types of adventures. They lived safe, secure, and proper existences. His people always did what was expected.

  Except it turned out he didn't really share their genes at all, and no one had ever bothered to tell him he'd been adopted until Colin Knight, his twin brother, appeared in his life. Only a blind man wouldn't be able to see the resemblance. They were brothers and if not identical—pretty damn close.

  "Hello." He pushed open the door, refraining from cursing as the door nearly fell over when he touched it. Dust wafted through the air, and upstairs, he heard the distinct sounds of small rodents running around.

  Without being able to know for sure until he got a look, he formulated a guess he'd be running into a ghost and not into anyone living. The house felt abandoned. No one alive could reside in this place. At the very least, they'd freeze to death since there seemed to be no heat on.

  "Hello," he called out again, deciding to stick to English. French, as his native language, always came to his tongue first. Lately, however, since he lived in les États-Unis his go-to speech had to be English, or at least the American version of it. He could also do a fair amount of talking in Spanish and Italian. After that, if the person or ghost spoke another language, he had no idea what they wan
ted from him.

  Another scream reverberated through the house. "Yes. Hello. I hear you."

  He stared at the creaky staircase in the center of the hall. Did he trust it? This whole place looked like a death trap. A braver man wouldn't worry. Christophe couldn't seem to stop calculating odds and looking for reasons to not do stupid things.

  Colin said they were supposed to be heroes in some kind of eternal war. Christophe knew he'd never be anyone's version of a hero. Ever.

  No one answered him, leaving him with no choice but to take the walk to the top of the stairs if he wanted to discover the source of the screaming. His strange powers would not let him get back to his life until he completed whatever task he'd been sent to handle.

  His brother could control his powers, could determine when he wanted to activate them. It must be nice to have some semblance of normalcy over this nonsense.

  So far, Christophe had none.

  The stairs creaked and groaned as he made his way up, but didn't give out under his weight. While no one would ever call him short, his six-foot lean frame did not make him a huge man either. Unless the stairs were literally about to collapse, his walking on them shouldn't make them any more unsteady than they'd already been. Hopefully, the descent would go as smoothly as the ascent did and he'd get out of this house unscathed.

  "Hello," he called out again, turning right. Sometimes the ghosts answered from a distance, sometimes they didn't. It depended on the spirit and how much awareness that they no longer lived they possessed. Things didn't go well when he had to be the one to tell them.

  "Ruby!" The scream upstairs sounded more like a word than simply a loud shout. Following the direction of the sound, he walked through the closest door to the left.

  "Ruby."

  The specter coalesced. A young woman in her twenties rocked back and forth on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Like other ghosts, she appeared transparent but still in color.

  She'd very distinctly said Ruby, which threw him off his game for a moment. He loved a woman named Ruby. Of course she didn't know he existed, but that hardly mattered when her name could make his heart flip-flop in a pathetic fashion. The woman didn't want him; he had to get over her.

  "Please." The ghost stopped rocking and jumped off the bed, charging toward him. She couldn't hurt him—at least he didn't think she could. None of the previous spirits had been able to touch him at all. "I've made a terrible mistake."

  "You have?" He had to get a sense of whether this woman realized she'd died. Until then, he wouldn't be able to know what to say.

  "Yes." She nodded, tears flowing down her face. "I've killed myself."

  Okay. He rubbed his forehead. She knew. Still, he'd never encountered this particular problem before. She'd committed suicide and realized it was a mistake. All right.

  "I am not an expert on such things, mademoiselle. But others I've encountered talk of a pull, of a warm light guiding them. Do you not feel anything drawing you forward?"

  She shook her head. "My baby. Someone has to look out for my baby."

  Christophe whirled around, searching for a baby anywhere nearby. Nothing. "When you died, what happened to the baby? Is it still here?" If so, Christophe suspected he'd be searching for a baby ghost somewhere in the house…

  "No, my parents took her." She tried to grab him again, and her hands moved through his body like a brush of air traveling through the room. "But the preacher, he wants her. He's always wanted her. And I didn't see until it was too late."

  "I don't understand."

  His powers tugged at the back of his neck. He'd move soon and have no control over it when he did. Damn it, he never got to stick around long enough to really understand anything.

  "He told me since I'd had her out wedlock I was a sinner, evil. Unfit to live on this earth." She covered her face with her hands and shook with her violent sobbing. "But I'm so confused because I don't think I had her at all. I don't even remember being pregnant. She just appeared one day. How does a person not remember an entire pregnancy?"

  "It sounds to be me like you were deeply misled." Christophe didn't consider himself religious. Like everything else in his life, his interest lay more in the academics behind things than an actual belief or investment. He'd read most of the major religious texts several times. Whoever this preacher had been didn't know of what he spoke.

  "He did it so he could take the baby. Ruby. She's special. Things happen around her. Poof. I don't know how to explain it. Please, you have to find my baby. Please."

  Christophe didn't have much time. Already he struggled to simply stay put. "Tell me, where am I?"

  The ghost blinked rapidly. "Woodstock."

  A light shimmered before his eyes, and he jolted as the loud noises from the streets in New York City assaulted his ears. Damn it.

  Woodstock. He'd seen it in movies, and dilapidated farmhouses didn't come to mind when he envisioned it. The Internet would have to help him in this search. He plowed forward, head down as he looked at his watch. Thank Fate he'd left enough time because if he didn't rush, he would now be late to meet Colin, and his brother had a bad temper when he had to wait.

  Nodding to the doorman, he entered his building and opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. Confined spaces made him uncomfortable, always had. His cellphone beeped as he reached the third floor, and he stared at the number. His mother. Ignoring the message, he shoved it back in his pocket. Ever since he'd discovered he didn't actually share her blood and she'd never told him, he could barely speak to her civilly.

  "You're late." Colin had his feet up on Christophe's coffee table. "By two minutes."

  "Your watch is fast." He walked over to hang up his coat. "And take your shoes off my furniture."

  Colin looked just like Christophe except more worn. His brother delighted in reminding him how different their fortunes had been. Apparently, a spell gone wrong had separated all of what Christophe called the Outsider children and sent them to various parts of the world to live in hiding from a demon. While Christophe had been given to a wealthy French family, Colin had been dropped into an abusive household and eventually run away from home at sixteen.

  Hence, his complete lack of decorum and manners when it came to the coffee table.

  "You're so stuffy." Colin stood up. "Are you ready to go?"

  "No." Christophe rolled his eyes. He should really throw Colin out. He didn't owe the man anything simply because of the circumstances of their upbringing. Only, he'd gotten used to having the ruffian around, and he didn't know if Colin would actually leave. The man could turn invisible. He might hang around and cause trouble just to be spiteful.

  "No?" Colin looked out the window. "The weather isn't going to get any nicer. If we want to get to Maine by morning, we really want to leave now."

  Christophe opened the fridge, letting it bang against the wall. "Look…" He pulled an already opened bottle of red wine out of the fridge. It had been a lousy drink the night before and the day spent half re-corked, thanks to Colin's laziness, would most definitely not help things. But he really didn't care because he needed to feel slightly drunk.

  "What is the matter with you? I've gotten used to you being sullen. Tonight, however, is a new low for you."

  Fuck it. Christophe threw the bottle across the room shattering it against the wall. Red streaks mixed with glass as the remnants of his tantrum ran down the wall. He cursed. That had been a dumb move he alone would now have to clean up.

  "Something happened." Colin's voice held no censure as he moved to stand beside him.

  "I had another episode."

  Colin let out a long breath. "They're not episodes. Your traveling is your power. It's a gift…"

  Christophe waved his hand in the air to stop him. He didn't need another lecture about the Outsiders. He'd heard it enough, and he didn't know if he had any time in his life for some great quest. Handling day-to-day troubles took up enough energy.

  "I met a ghost."

/>   Colin jolted next to him. "Really? Wish I could meet ghosts."

  "No, brother. You do not." Christophe grabbed a towel and went to the wall to clean up the dripping red mess. The problem with his show of idiocy was that he now had to fix his own display of temper. Ultimately, he'd only punished himself and the bottle of red wine, which had done nothing except to not be a particularly good vintage.

  To his shock, Colin knelt down next to him, broom in hand and began to sweep up the glass. "Don't cut yourself. I don't want to stop and take you to the emergency room when we finally get our asses to Maine."

  "I'll do my best."

  Colin raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate about why this particular ghost sent you into such a tantrum?"

  Christophe could have argued over Colin's choice of words had he not been completely correct in his assessment. Christophe had, indeed, had a tantrum.

  "Young mother. She knew she'd died."

  Colin took the broken glass and dumped into the garbage with a thud. "That's good. You didn't have to give her the bad news."

  "She'd committed suicide."

  "That's a shame."

  Christophe never knew when to expect Colin to show human compassion. Sometimes his brother seemed to have none at all. Now, however, he behaved almost civilly.

  "Some man of God convinced her it would be better for her to kill herself than to live as a single mother. She must have been very susceptible to his influence because she did it. Left behind a baby named Ruby."

  "Ah, now I see. It's triggered your interest because the baby shares the same name as your girlfriend."

  Christophe rolled his eyes. Colin had returned back to his full form of asshole-ness. "I'm invested in this because I want to know what happened to the baby and I want to find this horrible preacher."

  "Both good goals but you can't do anything about them right now because we have to get to Maine."