by Keri Lake
“She’s the reason you left Harmony Hills.”
His bushy gray brows lower as he nods. “She was bit. I been keeping her alive, feeding her animals, but hunting ain’t as easy as it used to be.”
“So, why don’t you end her life yourself?”
Lips flat, he shakes his head. “Can’t do that. Nope. Won’t do it.”
Rubbing a hand down my face, I inwardly groan at the task he’s asked me to carry out. There was a time killing was an everyday part of my life. These days, it’s a pain in the ass. “Fine. I do this, you’ll tell us where to find Harmony Hills?”
“Yep. You’ll have my gratitude.”
Unenthused, I step toward the Rager who continues to claw and hiss, but a clutch of my arm brings me to a halt.
“Wait. You won’t … hurt her, right?” The concern etched in the man’s expression is a reminder that even if she’s more animal than human now, she was someone important.
Like my own Thalia.
“I’ll make it quick and painless.”
Nodding, he pats my arm and steps back. “Okay, good.”
“You want to step away while I do this?”
“No. I need to watch. Helps.”
Anxious to get back on the road, I approach the Rager crouched against the building, still hissing and clawing. I kneel in front of her, an unsettling feeling sweeping over me, as I imagine Thalia in her place. Another glance back at the older man shows him wringing his hat in his hands, undoubtedly nervous, edgy for what’s to come.
I turn my attention back to the Rager, and even though her eyes are black and void of life, her comprehension and humanity chewed away by the disease, I gentle my voice for her. “Vera, it’s time to rest.”
Something seems to flicker in her eyes. A sadness, maybe. Or maybe I’m just imagining it, as I reach for her throat past hands that claw at me, dodging teeth that snap. With one hand, I hold the back of her neck. The other, I press into her throat, hard. Harder. Growls intensify. Her claws scrape across my skin, but fail to break through. One quick twist and the growling ceases at the same time her mangled body stills in my arms.
I’ve killed countless Ragers, but something about this sits heavy in my gut, and I can’t bring myself to look back at the old man, for fear of seeing my own reflection in those tired, old eyes.
I lay her carefully onto her back and lower her lids, shuttering the vacancy in her eyes. If not for the decay that’s taken its toll on her skin, she’d look like any normal, older woman, resting peacefully.
Sniffles come from behind, as I push to my feet. “She’s in a better place now,” the old timer says, as if he needs to hear and believe it himself.
“She is.”
He comes to a stand beside me and slides his hat back over his balding crown. “Place you’re looking for is a few miles back. Just off the highway. You’ll see the signs.”
Wonderful. Thalia will be thrilled to know she was right.
“Thanks. You take care.”
Another sniffle, and the old man nods. “I will. And who knows, maybe I’ll see you back at Harmony Hills, someday.”
I roll the truck to a stop just before a wall reminiscent of the one back at Szolen, with a black iron gate that offers an obstructed peek of the sprawling fields on the other side of it. Hopefully, those guarding aren’t as discriminating as the mediators back at Szolen.
A figure strides toward us, decked out in camo pants, the barrel of his gun resting against his shoulder, and a cigarette sticking out from his lips. As he nears, I study the blond curls on his head and the youth in his eyes—familiar green eyes that take me back twenty years into the past. A tingling sensation climbs the back of my neck, as the kid, no more than a teenager, could easily be a ghost walking toward us.
“I’ll be damned,” I mutter to myself, reeling with awe.
No way.
“What is it?” In my periphery, Thalia shifts her gaze from the windshield and back. “Do you know him?”
“I don’t want to set this kid off. Give me a minute to talk to him and stay here.”
Weeding through the countless impossibilities clogging my brain, I climb out of the cab of the truck. The moment my boots hit the ground, the kid snaps the barrel forward, training it somewhere in the neighborhood of my skull.
He flicks the cigarette to the side, never once breaking his aim. “Close enough, asshole. I might spare the looker in the truck, but I won’t hesitate to fill your ass with lead.” Bold words that might’ve landed any other guy a punch to the face, but in this case, it only makes me want to chuckle.
The sound of the boy’s voice, riddled with sarcasm, could very well belong to my old friend. “Cadmus?”
The kid’s eyes widen behind the scope, and he lowers the gun just enough to show his frown. “Who are you?”
Still unsure whether I’m dreaming, or not, I glance back to Thalia, if for no other reason than to confirm I’m not hallucinating this shit. “That’s your name?”
“Yeah. So, who the fuck are you?”
“What the hell’s going on?” A feminine voice carries over the crunch of approaching boots against gravel, as a female about the kid’s age comes to a stop alongside him. With long brown curls and bright blue eyes, she, too, carries a certain familiarity about her. A striking beauty that, if he happens to be paying attention to it right now, Asher’s undoubtedly noticed himself.
“I got this, Sarai. Go back to your nail filing.”
“Fuck you.” She jerks her head toward me. “What’s your business here?”
The no-bullshit tone of her voice hits a chord, reinforcing my suspicions. “You’re Wren’s daughter.”
Frowning, she slices her gaze toward the blond and back.
“Don’t feel bad. He knew my name,” Cadmus says, still holding his gun on me.
Everything clicks into place. Cali. Cadmus. Her untimely estrus. A quick mental calculation, and I nod. “You’re Cali’s son. Any chance Valdys is around?” Unfazed by the barrel pointed at my head, I survey the surroundings for more of them.
“You know my dad, too, huh?”
Of course he’d refer to Valdys as his father. And Valdys would’ve doubtlessly accepted him as a son.
“We go way back.”
“Is that right?” Finally lowering his gun, he tugs a walkie-talkie from his hip. “We’ll see about that. Wanna tell me who the fuck you are first?”
“Name’s Titus.”
Something flickers in the kid’s eye, and he exchanges a knowing look with the girl beside him. “You’re Titus.” It’s not a question.
“’S’what I said.”
As if relaxed again, he props the gun back against his shoulder, his eyes scanning over me, maybe just now noticing I might actually pass for an Alpha, instead of some strange old man, here to give him shit. “My parents talk about you, sometimes. For some reason, I was expecting a giant, or something. Your own little entourage of angels following behind you, the way they describe you like some kind of holy man.”
Christ. What the hell kind of stories’ve they been filling this kid’s head with?
“Your old man is still full of shit, I see.” Arms crossed, I rub my jaw, still struck by the uncanny resemblance of the teenaged Cadmus I knew back at Calico. Without all of the scars, of course. “You’re a spitting image of your dad.”
Dimples in his cheeks prove the point, when he smiles. “So I’ve heard. Sorry about the gun, man. You’d be surprised how quickly assholes can turn hostile around here.”
A presence at my side tears my gaze toward Thalia, who comes to a stand beside me, while Asher strides up on other side of her—his eyes damn near glued to the young girl, who bites her lip, as if to hold back a smile. While he hasn’t turned full on Rager, or psycho, the kid’s sexual appetite is off the charts, which will be tricky in a community run by protective Alphas.
“This is my wife, Thalia. And our son, Asher.”
Both kids shake hands with them, and at Asher’s
unapologetically flirtatious staring at the girl, I clear my throat, shooting the kid a warning. From what little I remember of Six, I do recall he isn’t someone I care to get into a scuffle with over his daughter.
“Dad, you there?” Cadmus holds the walkie-talkie to his face, wearing that signature smirk.
“Yeah. Everything okay at the gate?” a familiar voice answers seconds later, and damn if the sound of it doesn’t make me smile.
“There’s a guy here. Says he knows you. Might want to come check it out.”
“A guy who knows me how?”
At that, I jerk my head toward the receiver, on which Cadmus still holds the button. “Ask him if he remembers someone taking the blame for him knocking out the Legion officer, and ending up asshole deep in the sewage pit as punishment.”
The answering chuckle from the other end tells me he remembers just fine. “I’ll be damned. Where the hell you been all this time, Titus?”
“Smelling the roses. How’s life been treating you?”
“Better than a needle in the ass twice a week.”
With a chuckle, I shake my head, recalling those horrific Alpha injections back at Calico. “Twice a week, you say? Docs must’ve fancied you more.”
“Yeah, well, helps to be the better looking one of the bunch.”
“So, what’s the deal? You gonna make us stand out here all day in this shit humid air, or let us in?”
Another laugh rumbles through the speaker. “Still the same ornery prick I remember. Give me a second, I’ll come meet you at the gate.”
“A second? The walking cane doesn’t slow you down any, old timer?”
“No more than the prunes you probably downed this morning.” His comment rallies a chuckle from Thalia, who slaps a hand over her mouth when I shoot her a frown. “Welcome home, my friend.”
“Yeah.” Linking my fingers in Thalia’s, I let the unexpected comfort of that thought override the doubts of having left our own little corner in the world. A place tied to some of my best memories. Memories that never fade, but grow, as life goes on. We’ll make new memories here. Because that’s the thing about family.
Doesn’t matter where we go, when, or even if, we ever come back, they’ll always be our home.
I hope you enjoyed Titus and Thalia’s story.
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Thank you for reading.
Acknowledgments
It takes a village to write a book, and here are some of the people who helped see this entire series through to the end:
First, as always, my husband and children. Through the highs and lows of this endeavor, they’ve stuck by me, ignoring my tendency to talk to imaginary people and randomly scribble quotes like I’ve been possessed by demons. For that, I’ll always be grateful.
My editor and friend, Julie Belfield. Without her encouragement and feedback, her tough love and the occasional kick in the ass, I’m not sure I’d have continued to pursue writing. She’s always there to yank me out of my moments of doubt, and so long as she doesn’t get sick of my horrific grammar and terrible sentence structure, I’m keeping her.
My beta readers: Terri, Lana, Diane, and Kelly … without them, this series would suck. Truly. Their feedback is invaluable and the fact that they are so willing to dive into these manuscripts with such enthusiasm is humbling. I’ve appreciated their candor, praise and criticism. And well, because they’ve proven themselves awesome, I’ll be bugging them every time I finish a book. Sorry guys!
Diane Dykes, PA extraordinaire and fairy godmother—I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s that one person who knows the exact right thing to say at any given time and keeps me on track when my head wants to veer off to the Land of Shiny Things. I’m keeping her, too.
To the Vigilante Vixens. This group is basically my home on the internet, where I can cut loose and be myself. Their encouragement and support is the fuel that keeps the engine running, and I’ve loved having a place to go when I need to chat about books, fictional boyfriends, or Tom Hardy. Or Jason Momoa. Or Henry Cavill. You get the picture …
These covers are some of my favorites, thanks to the insane talent of my designer, Sarah Hansen. She never fails to leave me stunned and speechless. And the fact that she puts these together from the incoherent scribbles I send over to her proves that she has superpowers.
I wouldn’t be writing these stories if it wasn’t for readers willing to take a chance on them. To ALL of you, including bloggers and author friends, I can’t begin to express how much the love and support has meant to me over the years. Writing books is a dream come true, and I promise to keep cranking out these crazy stories, as long as you’ll keep reading them. Thank you ❤️
Other Books By Keri Lake
VIGILANTES SERIES
RICOCHET
BACKFIRE
INTREPID
BALLISTIC
JUNIPER UNRAVELING SERIES
JUNIPER UNRAVELING
CALICO DESCENDING
KINGS OF CARRION
SONS OF WRATH SERIES
SOUL AVENGED
SOUL RESURRECTED
SOUL ENSLAVED
SOUL REDEEMED
THE FALLEN (A SONS OF WRATH SPINOFF)
THE SANDMAN DUET
NOCTURNES & NIGHTMARES
REQUIEM & REVERIE
STANDALONES
RIPPLE EFFECT
MASTER OF SALT & BONES
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About the Author
Keri Lake is a dark romance writer who specializes in demon wrangling, vengeance dealing and wicked twists. Her stories are gritty, with antiheroes that walk the line of good and bad, and feisty heroines who bring them to their knees. When not penning books, she enjoys spending time with her husband, daughters, and their rebellious Labrador (who doesn’t retrieve a damn thing). She runs on strong coffee and alternative music, loves a good red wine, and has a slight addiction to dark chocolate.
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