Legacy Found
Legacy - 3
by
N. J. Walters
To my husband Gerard, who taught me what love is all about.
Prologue
Seven months ago…
Blood. There was so much blood. It coated her hands and spattered her arms, face and clothing. She stumbled back from the body sprawled on the floor, hardly believing what she’d just done.
Scrambling away, she jerked her dress over her head and scrubbed at her arms and hands. When she’d wiped away the worst of it, she went to the sink and worked the pump handle until water flowed. Grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the sink, she went to work.
She built up a thick lather between her hands and rubbed it over her body and face. She repeated the process, not caring about the water spilling on the floor, until she was clean. There was a threadbare towel on a peg next to the sink and she used it to quickly dry herself.
She didn’t spare a glance for the large, gray-haired man as she hurried to the long, narrow closet that served as her sleeping area. She glared at the hated padlock that kept her confined within the small space each night and at the silver-plated manacles that were bolted to the floor. Those were snapped around her ankles at night to ensure she wouldn’t escape while he slept.
She didn’t have a bed. A simple pallet on the floor was where she slept. The walls were bare and there was no furniture. Her few meager bits of clothing were hung on hooks on the wall. She pulled on a clean dress and bundled her belongings together, shoving them in a paper bag. She didn’t have much.
She left the closet and glanced around the room. She didn’t want to take anything of his with her, but she wasn’t stupid either. Skirting the body, she went to his desk and opened the top drawer. He kept a small amount of cash there for emergencies. She took it all, shoving it into her bag.
A weapon. She needed something to protect herself. All the guns were locked up and the key was in his pocket. There was nothing in heaven or hell that could make her touch him in order to get at it. She’d also never used a gun in her life.
That left the knife.
She steeled herself for what she was about to do. She’d just killed a man. There was no need to get squeamish now.
Creeping over to the body, she stared at the knife hilt protruding from his chest. The handle was carved from bone and it was very old, an antique that had belonged to his father and his father before him. Or so he’d told her many times. All she cared was the blade was sharp.
It had been her salvation.
It was startling how different he looked lying there on the worn plank floor. Blood stained his clothing and the floor around him. She’d stabbed him several times before managing to strike the final blow.
His skin was unnaturally pale, his lips slightly parted. A line of drool spilled out of the left corner of his mouth. He appeared smaller somehow. Nothing at all like the demon who’d haunted her days and nights for years.
She could do this.
Taking a deep breath, she reached down, wrapped her fingers around the handle and yanked the weapon from his cold, dead heart. She wiped the blade on the arm of his shirt, removing the worst of the blood. She quickly grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped the knife in it before adding it to her bag of belongings. She’d clean it better later. She had to get out of here. Now.
A sense of urgency drove her. She had no idea how long it might be before one of his friends showed up. They came and went at all hours of the day and night with no regularity. One of them might show up in the next minute or it might not be until next week.
Either way, she wasn’t going to be here.
She scurried to the door, her bag clutched tight to her chest. The door creaked as she pulled it open.
Pausing, she turned back. She couldn’t leave things as they were.
Swearing under her breath, she went to the woodstove and grabbed a box of matches. She struck one and watched the flame flicker, then burn higher. She walked to the worn-out, stained mattress in the corner and dropped the match.
It caught immediately.
She calmly walked to the door and shut it behind her. Focusing on the top of the hill, she climbed steadily, keeping away from the rough road that led to the cabin. Once she reached her destination, she paused and turned, staring back from where she’d come. She watched while the flames slowly engulfed the wooden structure.
It was in a clearing so she wasn’t too worried about the surrounding forest. Still, she felt easier when the first drop of rain hit her face.
Turning her back on the macabre scene, she started walking. As she trudged through the thick brush, the rain started to beat down on her, quickly soaking her to the skin. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body, silently berating herself for not stealing one of his jackets.
Chapter One
James Riley climbed out of his vehicle and pocketed his keys. Even though the air was cool and crisp, he didn’t bother with his leather jacket. Taking a deep breath, he drank in the scent of the surrounding woods and damp earth. There was a hint of spring in the air despite the fact it was March and there were still patches of snow on the ground.
He raised his arms above his head, stretching out his cramped limbs as he surveyed the truck stop. He’d been on the road for a week now and was looking forward to getting home.
He was alpha of the Wolf Creek pack in North Carolina. As such, the financial concerns of the pack were his responsibility. That was the main reason for his trip. He’d been in so many banks and investment firms over the past few days he could barely remember them all. Then there had been the visits to specialty stores and markets that carried the arts and crafts many of his people produced.
He’d only been alpha for about six months and was still sorting out the mess that had been left behind when a group of young males had killed the previous alpha and threatened the security of the pack. His brother, the former alpha, had been a good male, but he hadn’t had much of a head for business. Thankfully, two of the pack members were lawyers. That had helped things considerably.
His gut tightened. The memories of his brother’s and sister-in-law’s deaths were still fresh. He hadn’t seen his brother in more than two decades, but that hadn’t made the loss any easier to bear.
James swiveled his head in a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, surveying the area around him. He wished he could shift into his wolf form and run through the woods, free and unfettered. Soon, he promised himself. For now, he needed to be on his guard.
He was always aware, always watching for danger. Paranormal bounty hunters were the bane of his kind. They killed indiscriminately—women, children and the elderly. It didn’t matter to them. Their motto was the only good werewolf was a dead one.
There were plenty of trucks in the parking lot, which boded well for the food served inside. But at the moment there was no one in the lot but him. Everyone else was inside.
He took one more look around as he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number. It rang twice before being answered.
“Hello.”
The knot in his gut relaxed slightly. “Hey, honey.”
“Dad. Where are you?” As always, the love and concern in his daughter’s voice made him smile. He was so proud of her. Alexandra hadn’t even known she’d had wolf blood in her until a few months ago. Since then, she’d embraced her heritage and mated with a strong male. He was glad to have Joshua Striker looking out for his daughter.
“I’m at a roadside diner in Kentucky. I’m going to get something to eat and get back on the road. I’ve got two more stops to make, but I should make it home late tonight.”