The Immortal's Legacy

by Martha Woods

  Two pairs of shocked eyes flew to Liam. “You’ve changed your mind?” Leah asked, hope shining in her eyes.

  “You were right, Sky. Maybe I can bring a change. My father’s out of the way and everyone here is looking for a leader. I can make things different, better. ”

  Her lips curved upward and she nodded her support. Leah clutched her heart. “Are you sure, Liam? What about your happiness?”

  “I will be happy,” he said gazing at Skylar. “As long as I have my woman with me.”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Skylar said with a smile. She gasped when Leah pulled her into a tight embrace with a sudden burst of strength.

  Liam grinned, glad that his mother was happy. A burst of love for the small woman in his mother’s arm swelled inside of him. “Mom, Skylar and I will back tomorrow. I should get her home now.”

  Skylar glanced up with a frown. “But -”

  “Let’s go, Sky.”

  Understanding dawned when she saw the smoldering look in his eyes. She swallowed a smile and kissed Leah on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Leah. Maybe we can bring you to Liam’s cabin, mansion, whatever it is.

  She chuckled. “I suppose now I can do that.” She seemed delighted.

  Liam kissed his mother’s cheek and pulled Skylar to the door. She stifled giggles as they made their way down the front steps. “You horny devil,” she whispered.

  He let out a laugh, feeling at ease for once in a long time. He looked around, noting that his father’s body had been removed. He waited to feel even a sliver of remorse but none came. Spotting Michael, he approached him.

  “Where’s Henry? He was injured by the hunter.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s home with his wife. So what’s going to happen?” Michael’s eyes were fixed on his.

  Liam’s mouth stretched into smile and Michael’s eyes widened. “You accepted.” He fist pumped the air. “Yes! I swear if Lucas took over, I would probably organize his assassination.”

  “Michael!” Skylar gasped.

  “Oh come on, you’ve met the guy. Remember when he tried to eat you?”

  “That doesn’t mean -”

  “Don’t start you two.” Liam clapped Michael’s shoulder. “If Lucas shows up and starts trouble, take care of it. As my second in command, I’m leaving you in charge. I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll let everyone know what’s going on.”

  Michael snorted. “By the wide grins on everyone’s faces, I think they already know. They were all suffering under dearly departed Dad’s tyranny. And what the hell do you mean second in command? We never had -”

  “I’m going to make some changes and that’s the first change. I’m hell bent on making family duty and spending time with my woman and work. So just work with me, little brother. I won’t be here all the time and I need someone I can trust to stand in my place from time to time, like when Sky and I go on vacations.”

  Skylar’s eyes gleamed as he led her toward the trees where his car was still parked on a narrow path. “Can we go to Paris?”

  “Anywhere you want, baby.”

  Michael shook his head and watched them walk away. “They’re so sickeningly adorable,” he murmured and walked off.

  She squealed. “I can’t wait to tell Farah I’m going to Paris. I can’t wait to tell her about everything that happened today.”

  “You’ll have to wait because when I get you into bed, we’re going to be there a while.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She looked at him with troubled eyes. “Your problem has been solved, but mine is still hanging in the air. I don’t know what my father is up to and there’s a mob boss still trying to get his hands on me.”

  He opened her door and she slid into his car. He was tempted to abandon the vehicle, lift her into his arms and run home. They would move much faster. “It’s our problem, and no one is getting their hands on you except me. We’ll deal with it together.”

  Skylar smiled slightly and let out a breath. “Okay. Are you sure about everything, Liam?” she asked as he drove off.

  He immediately knew she was talking about him suddenly changing his mind about becoming alpha. “I can’t be entirely sure about everything. I’ll just have to take things one day at a time. There’s one thing that I am sure about.”

  “What’s that?”

  He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

  “You and me.”

  * * *

  END

  Bonus Book 2

  The Vampire’s Desire

  (Book 1 of the Fatal Allure Series)

  Martha Woods

  © 2016 Martha Woods

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For permissions contact: bookpublisher@protonmail.com

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  I am sitting at home sipping my glass of Shiraz and nibbling on cheese and crackers. I roll my eyes as the credits roll to a romantic comedy that ended with a stereotypical happily ever after. I scoff. I don’t know why I watched it. I knew the ending would be made up of a predictable plot where the characters’ love is the most important thing in this world and completely outweighed any rational logic for what would happen after the credits stopped rolling.

  “Happily ever after.” I smirk. I know that there is no such thing. At least not when it came to romance. Why did a woman need a man to make her life complete?

  What happened to self-esteem? To knowing that actually, you don’t need the stereotypical bad boy to change overnight and run off into the sunset with you? I always thought these movies would have a happier ending if right at the end, when the man had “changed,” the woman laughed and told him it was only ever about sex, and walked off into the sunset on her own.

  Cara, my best friend, would describe me as cynical. She would say it’s a defense mechanism – if I don’t believe in love and romance, then I don’t have to admit that it’s just never happened for me.

  I would describe myself as a realist. I just don’t think we’re programmed for monogamy, at least not long term. I have to agree with Cara on one point, though. It probably will never happen for me.

  I’m a twenty-seven-year-old forensic scientist working for the LAPD. I am smart. I can hold my own in situations that would turn most people’s stomachs. Yet, here’s the kicker: whenever I find myself with a man who I find attractive, I turn into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who can’t string together a sentence. I’m the one who will trip up, knock something over, or say something really awkward.

  One of my least disastrous recent dates, in fact, featured me getting so flustered when the guy had bought me a bouquet that I managed to knock over the entire display of flowers, causing who knows how many dollars of damage. There went that week’s pay. Needless to say, I declined a second date.

  Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m a cynic. Sorry, a realist.

  But I’m not heartbroken about it or anything. I have Bella, my adorable and loyal puppy, and right now, she’s the only housemate I want or need. She’s been my constant companion since the day I picked her up from the pound. With my crazy work schedule, she’s really the best partner I could ask for, and she doesn’t mind a good long run. I reach out and run my hand over Bella’s soft fur. She wags her tail and snuggles closer to my side.

  I reach for the remote and flick through the channels. I’m looking for a horror movie, maybe a sci-fi at a push. No more icky love stuff. Sometimes I’m in the mood to leer at a Rom Com, but the inclination usually doesn’t last long.
I know it’s all totally contrived. Real love doesn’t exist. And commitment just isn’t in our DNA. I’ve had enough personal experiences to know that – and worked enough cases that reinforced the idea. People would probably agree with me about my “cynical” outlook if they knew how many murders were perpetrated by lovers. Cheating spouses, insurance scams, arguments gone horribly wrong…if that’s what love is all about, count me out. Something catches my eye, and I flick back a channel.

  There. A good old fashioned newscast. No fairytales here.

  “We can confirm that the body of an unidentified female has been found just moments ago in the parking lot of The Watering Well.”

  Great, I think. I count to five, and sure enough, as I hit five, my pager lights up. With a sigh, I lift Bella off my lap and set her on the ground, reaching for my cell phone. I call in and let the dispatcher know I’m on my way.

  I grab my car keys and my purse and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and set my bag on the passenger seat. My cell phone, I place on the dashboard. My pager goes in the little alcove in the center console, where I can see the screen clearly without taking my hands off the wheel to pick it up. I have a system. Some people might call me obsessive, but I prefer organized. Obsessive, organized. Cynic, realist. Cara would say I’m just trying to justify my personality flaws. She’s a lawyer, but she likes to think she’s also my therapist. I don’t mind, though. If nothing else, she keeps my ego in check. I chuckle a little to myself at the thought. Cara would keep anyone’s ego in check. She’s gorgeous, successful, always at ease, and always kind. It’s hard not to compare myself to her and come up a bit short.

  As I drive towards The Watering Well, I sigh. I can’t believe a reporter heard about this before I did. I’m the chief forensic officer for the LAPD, and I found out about a murder through a newscast! Heads would roll of people found out about this.

  I push the thought away. It’s not like Rick doesn’t already have enough on his plate without me making trouble for him.

  I know before I’m even close to the scene that it will be Rick. Rick Gordon. And I know before I arrive exactly what I’ll find. Rick is the lead officer investigating a series of grisly murders in the city. They have happened over the course of the last month. All of the victims are women. All of them turn up in parking lots, alleys and other outdoors places. And all of them are mutilated.

  The bodies look as though a wild animal has been on them, but there is never a trace of forensic evidence to back up such a theory. These murders are very much man-made. I find that fitting. The things human beings do to each other are far worse than anything a wild animal might do.

  The public is becoming restless, spurred on by the unrelenting media coverage calling for action. A resolution. You know, in case the LAPD actually have solved the case but don’t want to reveal it until public pressure builds. Because of course, that’s how it works. Not.

  It’s hard not to get irritated with the media during cases like this, but I know it’s not really them I’m frustrated with. I’m frustrated because my job, my purpose, is to find the evidence that will allow Rick to do his job, that will see justice done, that will give some measure of peace to the families of the victims. But the murderer is meticulous. He must be. I haven’t found so much as a hair, a skin particle, to trace back to the killer. I feel useless. And after seeing these women, bloodied and torn, I desperately want some closure for them. I don’t really believe in ghosts or spirits or even the soul, but I still feel compelled to help the victims, even in death. How can I do that if I can’t find a shred of evidence at the crime scenes?

  I arrive at The Watering Well. I park on the curb side and get out of the car, quickly grabbing my kit from the trunk. I never leave it in the car – it looks too conspicuous and Rick worries it will make me a target. He’s overprotective. Usually that would drive me nuts. I don’t need anyone looking out for me, and I’ve worked hard to make my coworkers see me as an investigator, not some potential damsel in distress. But he’s one of the most important people in my life, so I cut him some slack.

  The parking lot is full, even though it’s after 1 am and the pub has been closed for an hour. Even at a quick glance, this couldn’t be mistaken for revelers spilling out of the pub. The parking lot is also crawling with LAPD. The yellow crime scene tape flaps in the light breeze. The flurry of activity that would have arisen when the officers first arrived on the scene has died down and most of the officers stand in small groups, awaiting further instruction.

  Awaiting me. Once I have trawled the scene and collected the forensic evidence – not that there will be any, I think to myself – the officers will be able to have the coroner called to the scene and the body removed. Okay, maybe I am a bit cynical.

  I cross the road and duck under the tape, making my way to the largest group. Rick spots me at the same time as I spot him. He breaks away from the group and heads towards me.

  Rick is somewhere in his early fifties, although he looks younger. He’s tall and muscular. His buzz cut hair has the tiniest hint of gray at the temples, but other than that, it’s jet black. He cuts an imposing figure. Poised, mean. Until you look at his dark brown eyes. They sparkle with warmth. And when he smiles, his face changes. It becomes soft and kind.

  “Amy,” he says. He isn’t smiling now.

  I nod a greeting. Rick looks calm, yet I know that actually he’s anything but. Inside, he’ll be concocting a hundred different ways his team can solve this crime. A hundred way to find potential witnesses gather evidence. His mind constantly whirring, looking for the break this case needs. But on the outside, he’s calm. And his appearance of calm works on two levels. It keeps his team calm. And it gives the impression of a man who has everything under control. I personally believe that this calm exterior during the press conferences is the only thing that has given the public even a tiny hope that he is well the on the way to solving this case.

  “Same MO?” I ask.

  Rick nods grimly. “Yeah,” he confirms. “She’s one of his alright.”

  I turn away from Rick, nothing else needing to be said, and head to the far end of the parking lot. The corner that is consciously untouched deserted.

  “Amy?” Rick calls after me.

  I turn and look back at him.

  “Find me something I can use.”

  I hear the tiniest trace of desperation in his voice. I nod, although I’m almost certain I’m making a promise I can’t keep. There’s been nothing of any use at any of the crime scenes so far, and I’m far from hopeful this one will be any different. From what we’ve gathered so far, all we really know for sure is that there have been no signs of an animal being present. Not that that entirely rules it out, but it makes it extremely unlikely. An animal would make no attempt to cover its tracks, so to speak, and we would have found something.

  Rick’s team believe that the killer is a man who lures unsuspecting women into deserted areas with him. They think that this scenario often comes about as part of a first date. They’ve trawled all of the popular dating sites, and as many of the unpopular ones as they know about, and have found nothing. None of the women have had profiles on the sites.

  Their friends and family have been less than useless. It seems that these women have all been very secretive about their plans for the night they were killed.

  It is odd, to say the least. And with several of the victims, the secrecy was jarring given their usual open natures. And Cara wonders why I don’t give dating sites a try.

  I sigh. I feel a rush of sympathy for Rick. Honestly, I’m glad none of this is my problem. I only have to worry about the initial mess, not the fallout.

  I almost reach the body when I spot a man standing on the edge of the parking lot. I wonder briefly why he isn’t standing in the crowd at the other end where the officers are questioning potential witnesses. Maybe he has something to hide?

  I veer off my course slightly and head for the man. He looks as though he is about to flee, bu
t something stops him, and he stands his ground as I reach him.

  “Evening,” I say. I cringe inwardly at the greeting. Evening? I might as well have done a curtsey, actually gone for the full period drama effect.

  The man nods to me, seemingly unfazed by my awkward greeting. Of course, it was going to be awkward. Look at him. He’s tall, and I can see the outline of his muscles through the long sleeved shirt he’s wearing. He looks like someone who could keep me safe; someone who I would like to be held by. His messy dark hair falls across one eye, and it’s all I can do to not reach up and brush it aside. His blue eyes are piercing but neither warm nor cold. Intense is the way I would describe them.

  The man smiles in amusement. He obviously caught me looking him up and down. I clear my throat.

  “Amy McCartney,” I tell him. “I’m the forensic officer. Did you see anything out here tonight?”

  The man shakes his head. “No. I saw a crowd and came to see what was going on. By the time I realized it was a murder, the cops were here, and I figured if I tried to leave, it might look suspicious.”

  His voice is low and warm. And I know he’s lying. I don’t know how I know, but I do. But something also tells me I don’t have anything to fear from him.

  I clear my throat again. “A likely story,” I say.

  What? Where the hell did that come from? It’s like I want to sound like an awful cliché. And I have just informed a witness I don’t believe them. What am I doing?

  The man, rather than being angry, just smiles. His eyes sparkle, and I see that they are in fact warm. I could easily get lost in those eyes. But I won’t, dammit.

  “Joke,” I tell him. “Seriously, though, did you see anything on your way over here? Anyone who looked suspicious?”

  He raises an eyebrow when I tell him it was a joke. Of course he does. Who makes jokes when a fresh corpse is within ten feet of the conversation?