Forgotten

H
is
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.

 
***

 
G
wyneth’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.

F
orgotten

T
he
F
ate
T
rilogy

B
ook
O
ne

S
arah
J
.
P
epper

Published by Neximus Publishing

ISBN-13:
9780988246
942

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.

T
een Novels by
S
arah
J
.
P
epper

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

R
eading 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…”

C
HAPTER
O
NE

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.