Mates By Fate...or Prophecy...?

Hi everyone this is my first story so please be kind, I'd really appreciate it if you'd give constructive citicism or what not. Feel free to Fan, and vote to your hearts content.

All the best,

warm wishes

and happy reading.xx

Willow Flynn 

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This Book is dedicated to Elena O-G, one of the most beautiful people I know both inside and out. One of the best friends you could wish for, your (platonic) love is greatly appreciated and hopefully reciprocated (just a little). xxx

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Prologue

‘You received the profiles,’ the cold voice asked.

The woman in the phone box’s hand trembled slightly, yet she answered in a calm voice ‘we did,’

‘We just need the offspring, no mess, no fuss. Team Z will deal with the rest,’ the cold voice added.

‘I understand,’ said the woman.

‘Good,’ the phone line went dead. The woman replaced the receiver, and left the phone box before hurrying over to a waiting car which sped off down the narrow Italian roads.

Across the square, an unassuming blond haired man paid for his espresso before leaving the cafeteria which bordered the plaza. He walked quickly, but determinedly down the winding Italian passages.

Clutched in his hand was a battered notebook, he hurried along the streets, passing groups of chattering Italian mommas, he nodded to them briefly before he hurrying on.

Suddenly the winding passages began a downward turn. He  kept close to the side of the walkways, looking round before turning down, as he walked deeper and deeper into the maze of streets he sped up. He knew he was being followed.

He saw the flicker of a shadow, then another, he wheeled round gun in hand. No-one was there. He changed direction, tracing his steps back towards the plaza.

He ran now, weaving from side to side, he past the mommas. He was just breaking into the sunlight of the plaza, when the car braked sharply in front of him. Out of the open crack of tinted window, a sawn off shot-gun was pointed at him, and fired....

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No-one saw the shooting, despite the hordes of tourists, save for a small boy perched on the roof of a cafe, he’d been waiting for him. A tear slid down his cheek, he dashed it away before jumping off the building, landing next to the gathering crowd he squeezed between the legs of the adults and knelt beside the man.

No-one noticed him slip his hand into the man’s hand and pull out the notebook. No-one noticed the small boy slip away, unshed tears in his eyes he walked slowly towards the outskirts of the town.

He reached the train tracks just as the sun began to set; he was dusty, hungry and very alone. He curled up in a ball, and began to cry, great sobs wracked his body. From the trees, a figure watched him. He cried, until he could cry no more and fell asleep, though dry sobs permeated his dreams.

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The figure came forward and stood over the boy. He was small for his age the figure noted, short light brown hair, incredibly dark long eyelashes, with a slight smattering of freckles over his well tanned skin, his mark stood out vividly on his right arm, a half moon. Interesting.

The figure smiled to himself as he hunkered down next to the boy, this one was going to be a looker when he grew up. He covered him with the blanket in his bag, before settling down for a smoke.

The boy woke before sun up, startled at the sight of the figure. ‘Shh ,’ figure cautioned ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Philip sent me,’

‘I don’t know who Philip is.’ the boy answered without hesitation. The figure smiled to himself, he’d been taught well, the thought. The man made a throaty growl, and the boy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re one of us.’ The older man smiled at him.

‘I’m taking you with me to England, we have a large pack there.'

‘Why?’ asked the boy.

 You’re one of us. It is what Philip asked.’ The man answered, then he reached quickly into his bag and took out a camera. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nine,’ answered the boy, as the man took a Polaroid picture.

‘Perfect,’ muttered the man to himself as he began the delicate process of sticking the boys picture to a fake passport on his lap.

‘What about Team Z?’ the boy asked after a minute of silence.

‘We can do more, we must wait until they have the girl. Philip’s notebook will tell us what to do.’ The man said. The boy reached under his shirt and drew out the battered notebook, he flipped it open. It was empty.

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Over in England, a petit eight year old girl, with bright red hair was given the news that the following a day a nice young couple would be paying her a special visit. That night after Sister Alison had tucked her into bed, she prayed her hardest that those people would be her new mummy and daddy.

Sister Alison watched her from the rocking chair and smiled at the little girl who had charmed all of them, and would be sorely missed if she was adopted. Then she reasoned it was after all, for the best of the child, wasn’t it?

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Again I hope you all enjoyed it, show those index fingers some flc (finger loving care) and hit that vote button! (please:)