Inheritance: (A New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 2)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “But the story comes with a prophecy. When hate reaches new heights, the god of the ocean and the goddess of the moon will return.” Her gaze clouded over and I realized the story had all led here. Whatever she was about to tell me—this is what she’d been afraid to say.

  “And then what?” I asked, my breath short and my heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears.

  “There will be a battle for power between them. In the end, the scales will be tipped one way or another.”

  “And you think that battle is coming soon?” I said, trying to understand what that had to do with me. Or, more specifically, what exactly was going to happen if I failed to figure all this out in time.

  She shook her head. “According to the prophecy, it has already begun.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, my chest tightening. My fear of failure, of unleashing a war, was overwhelming. Was that the price I would pay according to Mirabelle? War? More death?

  “The feral werewolves you spoke of,” she said. “According to the legend, if the ocean god couldn’t find and kill his son, he would resort to stealing his humanity. His second soul. Thus, the animal would be wild. With nothing left of their son’s humanity, the moon goddess would consider the deal broken, and she would bring the wrath of the darkness upon all hunters.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound good,” I said, trying—and failing—to lighten the mood. I had no idea what that last part meant but I shivered anyway, suddenly acutely aware of the dark shadows along the edge of the yard where Kiwi and I sat alone.

  “So, those sick werewolves,” I said, slowly. “They aren’t just sick. They are missing their second soul.”

  Kiwi nodded. “Yes, and unless their souls can be restored, the moon goddess will come for all hunters.” She gave me a pointed look and I realized the weight of it all. If the werewolves weren’t healed—and soon—all hunters everywhere were in danger.

  “How does this connect to me?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. The Knowing inside me was already screaming it anyway.

  “Your blood line,” Kiwi said simply. “Mirabelle and I spent the last two years researching it. We called in some favors at some historical sites run by a werewolf friend of hers, and even if I hadn’t traced it back, I’ve seen what you can do. There’s no question, Sam.”

  “You think I’m one of the original women the goddess gave her magic to?”

  Kiwi bit her lip and hesitated only a second. It was long enough to make my stomach knot in a strange sort of anticipation. “No, darling. I think you were the one who gave her magic away in the first place.”

  Chapter Four

  Alex

  Snow drifts covered my rented truck tires and I scowled, balling my gloved hands into fists and yanking my collar up higher along my chin. I’d never been a big fan of snow. Today was no exception. So far, all it had done was make my job harder. I turned away from the useless rental vehicle, re-pocketed my keys, and began the mile-long trek to Mullet’s Oyster Shack.

  I turned the final corner and propped my elbow on the wood-planked building, bending at the waist as I coughed. A hand on my shoulder startled me and I wheezed as I sucked in a sharp breath. At least nothing had come up that time.

  “You all right, man?”

  I looked up to find Breck, my contact and sort-of partner since I’d come to Valdez. His blue eyes were sharp against the white ink blot that was the tiny fishing town. They were also the only thing visible on his covered face. Smart guy. “You should really wear the right gear,” he said through the material covering his mouth and the scar I knew that ran along his jawline.

  I grunted and coughed again before straightening and wiping my mouth on my gloved hand. “I’m good,” I said, ignoring the fact that I wore only a pair of gloves and weather-proof coat to his full cold-weather setup.

  “You’re a stubborn ass, that’s for sure,” he said, chuckling as I glared. He clapped me on the back. “No wonder Edie sent you to Alaska. Come on. Let’s get you something hot.”

  He led the way into Mullet’s and the dim lighting made me blink, blinded after the brightly lit harbor we’d left behind outside. Breck was clearly more familiar with the place—and the fact that my werewolf senses were currently on overload in here. Despite the room full of werewolf stench, he took off toward the bar immediately. Maybe being half-hunter meant your senses were only half as good. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. I’d seen Breck in action. This dude more than made up for his diluted blood line.

  I followed more slowly though I was careful to keep my expression blank. This town had one of the highest werewolf concentrations in the U.S. Because of that, CHAS had been driven out—officially—and kept the peace through this contractor that Breck worked for who claimed to only bring in humans. Breck had been the perfect decoy since he was only half-hunter and not working for CHAS in any official capacity. The only reason I’d been brought on was to run information. Even so, it wasn’t on the agenda to out myself as a hunter.

  I slid onto the stool beside Breck and hadn’t even gotten both gloves off yet before a glass appeared in front of me, half-filled with amber liquid.

  “Bottoms up, soldier.” Breck lifted his glass and I did the same.

  The glass clinked and then we both downed the contents. I shut my eyes against the familiar bite of the alcohol. It was already warming my gut and hopefully soon, the rest of me would follow. I shifted my boots a little just to check but I still couldn’t feel my toes.

  I hadn’t exactly been prepared for Alaska when I’d taken off from Wyoming three weeks ago. But preparation had never been my strong suit. Breck had let me borrow some stuff which was great. I was hoping to be out of here soon anyway.

  “So, who’s the mark?” I asked, scanning the handful of patrons now that my eyes had finally adjusted.

  “Name is Les. Isn’t here yet. Here,” Breck said, sliding another drink toward me. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

  “I don’t get nervous,” I said, eyes narrowing.

  “Dude, you’re shaking like a virgin on prom night.” He jerked his chin and I looked down, staring in surprise at the sight of my own hand jittering against the bar.

  I muttered a curse and took the offered drink, downing it and slamming the empty glass against the counter. The stocky barkeep gave me a cursory glare. He reeked of werewolf and I was a little surprised he didn’t readily make me as a hunter. Maybe the venom inside me was dulling their ability to sense me. Made me perfect for the mission, anyway.

  Breck studied me critically. “You sure you’re up for this? I can go in with you as—”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Besides, the whole point of me being here is so you can preserve your cover with the locals. You can’t come with me.”

  “I get that but you’re—”

  “Hung over like a champ,” I said, with more force than I needed and we both knew it. We also both knew I was lying. But unlike my stint with RJ in California last month, I hadn’t caved and told Breck I was dying. He probably had a few suspicions but nothing concrete. I wanted to keep it that way. No more getting close to people. Look where that had gotten me.

  “Look, man, I said I’ve got this and I do,” I said, trying for stern and strong. “I appreciate the concern but you need to maintain cover. Which means you need to get the hell out of here. Now.”

  Breck hesitated, clearly unconvinced.

  The front door opened and closed as a man walked in, his face and body covered in what was probably real animal fur and red flannel.

  “Shit. That’s him,” Breck said, rising. He tossed some bills on the counter, pulled his face mask back into place and turned to go. “I’ll be around,” he said quietly and walked out.

  I knew he’d stay close. If the stories about Brecken Winters were true, this guy would have no problem handling the entire bar full of pissed off werewolves if it came to that. I hauled my ass off the bar stool, my joints aching as I went. Even with the venom sl
owing me down, knowing Breck was somewhere outside, I wasn’t worried.

  The guy was a monster when he needed to be. Hell, if the stories were true, the guy was a monster even when he didn’t need to be.

  And I wasn’t going to be one-upped.

  I strode toward the mark, determined to complete the mission, whatever it took.

  I turned back to the counter, reaching into my coat for the props I’d brought. A second later, I went to work hand-rolling a cigarette. It wasn’t my idea of a great time, but smoking was common here among the fisherman. It was also a good way to start conversation.

  The newcomer settled two stools away, peeling off his hat and gloves. I pretended not to notice as he ordered a beer.

  When I’d finished rolling my cigarette, I patted all my pockets and sighed. “Dammit,” I said to no one in particular. “Anyone got a light?”

  The man in flannel turned toward me and his eyes narrowed fractionally in recognition. His expression was tense as he said the return phrase, “I’ve got one.” He produced a match, struck it, and held it to the end of the cigarette at my lips.

  I inhaled, hoping the wheezing wouldn’t kick back in just yet, and blew out the disgusting taste of stale tobacco.

  The man in flannel watched me in silence.

  I nodded at him and he scooted onto the empty stool between us, sliding his beer along with him. “You’re Channing,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “I am. You’re Les?” He nodded. “Let’s go sit somewhere private.”

  I grabbed my stuff and held onto my smoke, leading the way to the booth in the corner. Les followed.

  He slid in across from me and waited. I inhaled and then, like a big fat sissy, I coughed.

  “That stuff’ll kill ya, ya know,” he said.

  I chuckled. “Want to bet?”

  Les sucked his bottom lip in, looking uncertainly between me and the cigarette. Up close, he was a lot less intimidating. Not that he had been before. But he was clearly nervous now.

  “You wanted to meet,” I reminded him.

  “Right,” he said quickly. “About my son. Abel.”

  “He’s got the virus,” I said, recalling the briefing earlier. Breck had filled me in on this guy—as much as anyone knew anyway. Les had used a go-between to call a meeting and no one knew why except that Abel had glowing yellow eyes and no impulse control. He also hadn’t been seen in two days.

  “Yes, Abel is sick,” Les said, clearly distraught over it, “And I know the law dictates that you have to put him down if he gets… Look, he’s my son.”

  “Be that as it may, Les… can I call you Les?” The man scowled and I continued, waving the cigarette around to help disperse the smoke. My lungs were feeling tight. “Abel is grown. And he’s already attacked humans.”

  “They lived—”

  “Only because we intervened. And the law stands, I’m afraid. If it happens again, he’ll be brought to justice.”

  Les’s eyes flashed. “You mean he’ll be killed.”

  “I mean the public will be made safe against an infected werewolf,” I said, my voice sharpening along with my temper. I had spent enough time to get over my outright hatred for werewolves—a hate that had been ingrained in me since birth—but this guy didn’t understand. If it was a choice between killing a werewolf or putting Sam in danger, I would always gladly choose to put him down.

  Les bit his lip again and then suddenly leaned in, eyes narrowing against the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung between us. “Look, I’m not asking you to change the law or even break the rules. I am asking for time. I just need a day,” he said.

  “A day for what?” I asked, my chest tightening and I struggled to ignore it. Finally, I gave up and coughed, punching out the cigarette in the ashtray between us. Fuck that noise.

  “There are rumors of the old magic,” he began and this time, my chest tightened for a totally different reason.

  “Old magic is dead,” I said flatly.

  Les only shook his head. “I have seen things,” he said slowly.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” I said, letting the sarcasm leak into every syllable. This guy was either nuts or had information I needed. Because if anything he said pointed back to the girl I was trying to forget, I’d kill him and his son here and now.

  “Legend says our second soul was what brought the balance to the shifters. The Aputsiaq people believe the wolf soul has gone missing from those infected,” Les said, his direct gaze pinning me where I sat. The weathered lines around his face grew deeper, like an all-over frown.

  “Missing?” I echoed but my sarcasm was harder and harder to come by. His theory echoed Edie’s word for word here. So, it wasn’t an infection, and now, the werewolves knew it too.

  I wanted nothing more than to dismiss everything he said but there was an age-old wisdom in the cadence of his words. Like he’d told this very story around a tribal fire a hundred times.

  And I’d seen enough in Half Moon that even I couldn’t deny old magic was alive and well. Truthfully, I wanted to hear his theory. If it meant protecting Sam, I needed to hear it. I just couldn’t let him know he was right.

  “Yes,” Les said, nodding emphatically. “Because of the hatred of the ocean god, our father, our souls are lost to the winds. The light in our eyes has changed. We are wild. You have seen it when you face the sick ones.”

  “And you think old magic can get your souls back,” I said.

  “The goddess’ magic, is what gave us this part of ourselves long ago. She’s the only one that can retrieve what we’ve lost.”

  “So, what do you intend to do if I grant you the time you’re asking for?”

  “I will take Abel and find the wielder of the old magic. We will restore his second soul and his humanity. And we can live in peace.”

  What he was saying made so much sense.

  He was probably right. More than probably. And because of the danger that meant for Sam, my temper flared and I suddenly didn’t give a flying fuck who noticed me here. Adrenaline coursed through me and I leaned in, talking low to keep hold of my control as I eyed Les. “You listen close because I’m only going to say this once, old man. Old magic cannot help you. The goddess did all she could and now the magic is dead. If your son doesn’t stop trying to kill people, he’ll be dead too.”

  I slid to the edge of the booth and stood, grabbing my coat and gloves. This meeting was over.

  But Les spoke, his words cutting softly. “Your cigarettes only slow you down. They do not disguise you. Everyone here can smell a murderer when they see one.”

  Chapter Five

  Sam

  The sound of gears grinding made me wince. I stopped shoving the shifter upward against its will and shot RJ a tentative glance. He was practically fuming at the ears in the passenger seat beside me.

  “Sorry,” I said, hitting the brake and coming to a stop in Kiwi’s yard. The dirt road driveway ended in a large grassy area beside the house. I figured this was close enough and killed the engine.

  “Sam…” RJ took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his hand tight on the open windowsill of Kiwi’s beater. A Guam-bomb she’d called it. Perfect for teaching me to drive a stick. Apparently, I wasn’t perfect for learning.

  “How about we take a break,” I said, unbuckling and climbing out before he could say anything else.

  RJ climbed out and shut his door, probably harder than necessary, and strode toward me. I backed up a step but he didn’t stop or slow down, getting in my face and putting a hand in front of my eyes so that I blinked.

  “See that?” he asked. “You responded out of reflex. That’s how it has to work. You can’t think about it.”

  I blinked again, still unsure if he meant to pummel me for stalling so many times. “Reflex. Don’t think about it. Got it,” I said, nodding until I felt like a bobble-head. I’d never actually seen RJ pissed or even rattled before today. I wasn’t exactly sure how to calm him down again but I hated bein
g at the short end of his irritation.

  RJ shook his head and backed off, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his board shorts. “You want to try again?” he asked, failing to hide his grimace.

  I couldn’t help the empathetic smile. “No, I think I’ve put us both through enough trauma for today. Thanks, though.”

  His relief was immediate and obvious. “Well, if that’s all then, I’m going for a swim.”

  I let him go without offering company. Some time away from me was probably for the best. Besides, it was getting dark. I didn’t love the idea of swimming in the ocean when I couldn’t see what was swimming with me.

  It had been almost a week since the cookout on Christmas when Kiwi had dropped her bomb on me that she thought I was the literal Moon Goddess incarnate. I’d mentioned it to RJ and his subsequent silence told me he didn’t think it was batshit crazy. That alone, coming from RJ, made me want to throw up. If it were true, was I even me? I’d just gotten myself back again. I didn’t really want to give her up even if it was to a goddess.

  No, I needed to figure out my magic and heal Alex and the wolves before she got so pissed she took me over in order to get her revenge on her husband.

  That was a large pill to swallow—one that required a lot of slow acceptance. I felt the pressure like a ticking bomb hanging over my head. This trip was feeling less like a vacation and more like we were wasting time. I needed answers.

  Kiwi was at the kitchen table when I went inside. Music poured from the speaker in the corner—acoustic covers of their pop counterparts. Kiwi’s favorite playlist, I remembered. She didn’t look up as I entered and I almost backed away when I realized her eyes were intent on her tea mug—her lips moving in a silent conversation with herself.