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

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Oh, Sam,” she said, her head whipping up as I took a small step backward in the doorway.

  Busted.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your…”

  “Reading,” she said, waving me to the empty chair beside her. “I was reading my tea leaves. Or trying to.” She frowned but it was more of a pout. “Mirabelle tried teaching me but I don’t think I get it.”

  I snorted. “Sounds like me with my driving lesson.”

  “Didn’t go so well, huh?” She grinned. “I’m awful at it too.”

  “Then why do you still own a stick-shift?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Every local has to own a Guam bomb,” she said as if that explained everything. “And the neighbor borrows it to go to mass. So I don’t mind.”

  I shook my head. “Hey, listen, I was wondering, and it’s not that I don’t believe you or anything, but … how do we know my—our—bloodline is from the moon goddess? I mean, she only had the wolf baby in the story so…”

  “Ancestry dot com,” of course, she said, still frowning into her glass.

  My jaw fell open. “You’re not serious.”

  Kiwi looked up, the mug momentarily forgotten and she winked. “It’s a little more complicated than that but sure, why not use the internet?” I shook my head and she scooted in, saying, “I understand your curiosity. It’s a little bit of a history lesson, but I’ll do my best.” She paused, her lips pursed in thought and then she began. “The Chamorro people can trace their lineage back generations.”

  “It helps that a lot of us are still related,” I said.

  She smiled and went on. “As you know, most of them intermarried with the Japanese or the Filipinos as those cultures settled here over the years. But there are a select few lines that are preserved as far back as humanity has been recorded on this island. Ours is one of them. According to the research I’ve done, our line was among the very first tribe here, hundreds of years ago when the first Chamorro family emigrated from Southeastern Asia. It is also the same time in history that the first werewolf was recorded.”

  “Okay, so our family tree is full-blooded Chamorro, but how does that tell us we came from the goddess?”

  “According to legend, the moon goddess gave her magic to the tribal women, which were the true leaders of that time, medicine women, shamans, and even rulers of tribes. But I didn’t know what part of the world where all of this occurred. With Mirabelle’s help, I researched the legend back to its roots which were centered in what historians believe is modern-day Thailand. This is where the goddess ended her earthly journey and transferred her magic—along with the mission to hold the balance between hunters and werewolves. This is where she created the first witches.”

  I sat back in my chair. “Thailand… Which is also southeast Asia,” I said.

  “Precisely. It is where your people—and your blood—come from. It is also where the goddess gave away her magic before she died. So it’s not an offspring thing so much as the bloodline of the people who saved the most important parts of her as she died. In doing so, those people became a part of her.”

  “You think if she returned, she would use the same people to work through,” I said.

  “Absolutely. The feminine Spirit is loyal, nurturing, and all about family. That part of her character is present in any religion across the globe. She is the yin.”

  I shuddered though I wasn’t exactly sure what disturbed me.

  “Mirabelle has all of the research with her,” Kiwi added when I didn’t answer. “She can show it to you when you get home next week.”

  I nodded, a little stunned that it all held up. Kiwi was usually so “because I had feelings about it” when it came to these types of things. She’d pull an oracle card or scry in the kitchen sink and that would be that. It was a little funny that she’d used something as mundane as a genealogy website, but she did have facts to back it up. And that was a little impressive—and scary.

  “I’ll talk to Mirabelle about it when I get back,” I said finally, running a hand through my hair and exhaling as much of the overwhelm as I could. If all of this was true I really did have some powerful magic inside me. So how come the only thing I’d done with it so far was accidently cook a small section of the coral reef?

  I looked down at my hands, wiggling my fingers in my lap. Whatever other voice was inside me, it didn’t want to talk or help. And even as I tried to deliberately let it in for once, nothing came.

  “You’re fighting it,” Kiwi said, and her unexpected observation left me speechless.

  “Um.”

  “You have to let it in. Let it choose how it expresses itself. Magic is only the redirection of energy that already exists. You are not creating it. You are driving it,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Right and you saw how well that worked out just now.”

  She smiled kindly and patted my arm. “You are the conductor, not the creator, darling. Let it move through you.”

  “I’m trying,” I said, stomach clenching at how accurate she’d read me just now. I hadn’t admitted to my struggles with the magic, not to anyone. But Kiwi knew. “I don’t want to fail everyone.”

  “You won’t,” she said and it only made it worse that she sounded so certain.

  I sighed and when I finally looked up again, Kiwi had gone quiet, back to peering inside her mug. “So, what do you see in the leaves?”

  “Nothing sensible,” she muttered, peering into her mug again.

  “Is it ever?” I countered and she shot me a wry look.

  “Make jokes all you like. Tonight is the Eve of a New Year. The energy is unlike any other night. Everything is magnified.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” I said, a stirring in my gut making my palms itch.

  The wolves.

  “Not worried. Just careful,” she said, still looking at her tea leaves. She picked the mug up by the handle and shook it. “Huh.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, like I said, I’m no expert at this, but it looks a lot like—”

  A howl sounded and I leapt up, knocking the chair over behind me. “That sounded like a—”

  “Werewolf,” Kiwi finished. “Sam, don’t—”

  But I was already out the back door.

  I scanned the yard, noting the shadows that had gathered along the tree line at the edge of the yard. Where was RJ? Something moved down by the water and I broke into a run, headed for the sloped beach at the edge of the yard.

  “RJ!” I yelled, my adrenaline spiking as fear threatened to paralyze me.

  Dark fur flashed down at the edge of the water and my pulse sped. I pushed myself faster, tearing across the yard until the sight in front of me stopped me in my tracks. RJ leapt from the ankle deep water, his hands empty, his chest bare and water cascading around him as he launched himself on top of the giant wolf standing over him.

  For a split second, confusion drowned out actual reality. He’d been so vigilant these past weeks. And so sure there wasn’t a werewolf on the entire island. Maybe this was just a stray dog?

  But then it rose up to its full four-footed height and turned to face me with glowing yellow eyes, and I knew: this was not a stray dog. Or a stray anything. This was a werewolf and a feral one at that. It was infected—which meant it wouldn’t stop coming at RJ—or me—until it was put down.

  RJ tackled the wolf and they were both knocked to their backs, splashing and struggling to get the upper hand against the other as sand and seawater splashed and flew around them.

  In a desperate and frenzied attempt, I held my palms out and stared down at them with clenched teeth, willing something to happen. Energy surged inside me and I held my breath, pushing, but it only zapped then fizzled like it had done with the coral.

  Not nearly enough to take down a wolf.

  I stood, frozen, unsure what to do or how to help. Kiwi ran up next to me, a carving knife in her hand.

  Right. He needed a weapon.<
br />
  I grabbed it from her as she protested, yelling that I shouldn’t get close. I ignored her and started forward, but then I hesitated, remembering Bernard. If I gave RJ this knife, he’d kill what was probably someone’s brother. Or father. Or friend.

  RJ let loose with a guttural cry and I blinked, kicking myself for just standing here. It was him or us. I rushed to the water’s edge, desperation and panic clogging my throat. Tears blurred my vision as I tried to see his injuries.

  A claw mark—not teeth—had ripped his shorts and left a long, jagged cut along his thigh. Blood poured from the wound and I realized it must be a deep cut for the water around him to be clouded a dark crimson already. I didn’t even register the relief before I was leaning over the struggling pair, trying to thrust the knife out for RJ to grab.

  He had his arms around the wolf’s neck and a vein in his throat bulged at the obvious effort it took to keep the pressure up. He caught sight of the knife and then his gaze flicked to me and he shook his head. He couldn’t reach for the knife if it meant letting go of his quarry. The wolf writhed and when it caught sight of me it went crazy, howling and bucking and tossing RJ around like a cowboy astride a bronco.

  “Sam,” RJ grunted. “The chest.”

  RJ managed to get another grip and the wolf rolled, exposing its throat and chest to me as it continued to howl.

  Still, I hesitated.

  Bernard’s death—my part in it—had given me nightmares for weeks. The guilt of that was not something I wanted to repeat. I wanted to help cure them. Not kill them. It was my destiny.

  But RJ—

  Kiwi rushed up and snatched the knife but the wolf’s back leg caught her. Its claw ripped through her skirt and she stumbled back with a surprised yell, the knife falling. I snatched it and held it out again, ready this time. The wolf twisted sharply and RJ lost his grip, giving the wolf room enough to dart forward.

  Its teeth gnashed inches from my face, offering up the stale scent of blood and saltwater. I blanched and just barely managed to lean out of its reach with RJ struggling wildly to yank it back.

  The wolf howled and brought its paw down on RJ’s injured leg. RJ yelled out a curse and his grip fell away.

  This time, when the wolf came for me, I didn’t hesitate.

  The knife slid in so easily that for a second I was afraid I’d missed my mark. It also didn’t stop the momentum of the creature.

  I stumbled and we both flew backward as the knife seated. My back hit the grass hard and I felt the air whoosh from my lungs. My grip on the knife handle slipped and I tensed, waiting for the sharp pain of teeth against my throat.

  But nothing came.

  I opened my eyes, still struggling for breath and found a pair of glowing yellow orbs looking down at me, unseeing. The wolf’s breath no longer hit my face. In fact, it was completely and utterly still.

  Dead. Holy shit, I’d killed it.

  I wheezed and tried to move but a heavy weight held me firmly in place so that even when my lungs contracted, I could barely get in a breath against the force of the thing lying on top of me.

  I shoved at it, but it didn’t move.

  Panic clawed its way up my throat, and I screamed as a pair of hands appeared, then another, both tugging at the dead weight of the animal. Finally, it rolled away and I scrambled backward until I was clear of it. With a groan, RJ and Kiwi let go and the giant fur ball fell heavily against the grass.

  I stared up at them, hugging my arms around myself. Something wet and sticky coated my hands and arms. RJ and Kiwi looked back me, both sagging in relief. Kiwi crawled over and pulled me into her arms, crying and petting my hair. Over her shoulder, I met RJ’s strained gaze. He was winded, his chest heaving up and down with each breath. His shorts had been shredded from the incision downward, revealing a long, open wound. His leg bled profusely from the scratch left behind by the werewolf’s claw, especially along his upper thigh. I watched as blood seeped out in a pulsing rhythm and my stomach tensed because I knew that couldn’t be good.

  I pulled away from Kiwi and when she saw my concern, we both hurried back to where RJ still sat. “What do you need?” I asked.

  “Can you get me a towel?” he asked in a strained voice. “And a belt.”

  Kiwi moved first, jumping up and running for the house. But I didn’t want to wait. I peeled my shirt off, surprised to find it coated in blood already, and handed it over. I was glad I still wore my bathing suit underneath but I would’ve offered the shirt regardless.

  “Use this. Put pressure on it,” I said.

  RJ took the shirt and pressed it against the top end of the wound, where it bled the most. He hissed in a breath as he pressed down and I reached out, taking over for him and leaning forward to put my own weight behind it. My muscles felt a little liquidy from everything that had just happened.

  “You all right?” he asked and I nodded but the moment I did, tears filled my eyes and spilled over.

  “I’m fine,” I said, a sob breaking the last word into two pieces. I couldn’t stop looking at the dead werewolf beside us. My palms itched and burned. My breathing was shallow and the corners of my eyes danced with little black dots. Inside my head, the voice was frantic.

  The wolves. The wolves. The wolves.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked and I shook my head, glancing over at the dead werewolf, its yellowed eyes hollow and staring. Failure. I was a failure. No wonder Alex had left. He’d known it all along. When I didn’t answer, RJ grabbed my face with his hand and turned me away so that I was looking at him. “You did the right thing,” he said firmly.

  “I know, I just— I killed it.” I sniffled, still pressing down against his wound.

  “No, you defended yourself. You are not a killer so don’t go down that road, okay? You’re a healer.” His gaze on mine was fierce. “Remember that.”

  “But your leg—” I said.

  “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. You saved me.” His lips curved in a proud half-smile. “You saved all of us, kid.” Then he winced.

  I looked down at where my hands were pressed against the rag that had been my shirt and forced all of my concentration and awareness into RJ’s wound beneath my hands. But nothing happened. No magic. No heat. Not even a zap like before.

  “I’m not a healer,” I whispered, tears streaming. “Not really. If I were, I could heal this.”

  When I opened my eyes, the wound still bled underneath the fabric and RJ still sat tense underneath my efforts, the strain and pain now showing in his expression. It reminded me of the way Alex had looked at me just before he’d walked out on me over a month ago. He hadn’t been bleeding from his leg; on that day, the real damage had been on the inside—but I’d been just as powerless to heal the wound. Even now, both of us were bleeding from our hearts.

  Chapter Six

  Alex

  An icicle crashed to the ground, spraying small shards of half-melted ice chips against my boots. I didn’t even bother to veer away or choose a path that didn’t take me directly underneath the overhang of the row of buildings. Fuck that. I was already dying. Being taken out by icy stalagmites didn’t seem so scary.

  With my back to Mullet’s, I rounded the edge of the block and spotted Breck’s truck up ahead. A curl of exhaust washed over the bed and passenger side paneling—bless that guy for warming it up. I was frozen. Even my anger hadn’t warmed me as I’d left Les and his thinly veiled threats behind.

  Another day, I might’ve thrown his beer in his face. Or a lit match. Something. But that bar had been full of werewolves and even I wasn’t a complete idiot.

  Most of the time. He’d been talking about Sam, though, and that bothered me enough that I was having a hard time keeping control.

  I climbed into Breck’s truck and slammed the door. He took one look at my face and peeled away from the curb. Muffled rock music played from the town’s one radio station. I unzipped my damp coat and tilted my head back against the headrest, soaking in the heat tha
t blew full blast from the vents. I never would have guessed I could feel this cold and burn with fever at the same time.

  “Went that good, huh?” Breck said.

  I grunted. “I just needed a minute.”

  Breck drove in silence, his snow tires navigating the icy streets with ease. My own truck hadn’t made it past getting parked at Breck’s cabin. Even then, it was fully snowed in and I knew better than to drive it again until it was pointed out of town. It was an antique, fully restored Chevy that would have collapsed on the narrow, icy roads that made up the tiny fishing village. Even my rental, which included 4-wheel drive, wasn’t much help. Then again, I’d parked it where the snow plow dumped its load, apparently.

  Thirty minutes later, Breck pulled to a stop in front of a small cabin and cut the engine. The heat died off along with the faint strains of the rock station we only barely got this far out of town. He didn’t move to get out and just let his hands rest on the wheel. Dude was patient. Almost as easy with the silence as I was.

  Not a bad partner thus far. A hell of a lot less chatty than RJ. Not that I missed the little shit.

  “You want to tell me what happened back there?” Breck asked finally.

  “Les wants an extension on his son, Abel. I take it that’s your latest mark,” I said, glancing over with a brow raised questioningly.

  Breck shrugged. “He tore up a homestead a few miles west and then ran off before I could get to him. Family was okay, shaken. Dad’s ankle was a mess where Abel yanked on him but he managed to bolt the door and lived to tell the tale.” Breck eyed me. “What the hell do you mean he wants an extension?”

  “Says he wants twenty-four hours to look into a solution,” I said, weighing how much of the rest to actually give away. The last thing I wanted was to put Sam on anyone else’s radar, home team or not.

  Besides, Brecken Winters had no team.

  “A solution?” Breck repeated. “That’s horse shit. Everyone knows there’s no solution. These assholes are waking up without a very important piece: their humanity. Once they go off the rails, that’s it.”