For the Good of All
Nicky Charles
PUBLISHED BY:
Nicky Charles on Smashwords
For the Good of All
Copyright © 2015 Nicky Charles
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
This book contains mature content and is intended for mature readers.
Edited by Jan Gordon
Line edits by Jennifer Moody, MoodyEdits.com
Cover Design by Jessica Stelluto
Cover Images used under license from Shutterstock.com
Paw print and wolf’s head logo Copyright © Doron Goldstein, Designer
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
A Message from Nicky Charles
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to everyone who helped me with my research and/or promoted this book:
All of my street team members
Cheryl P and Jim
Jan, Eric, Doron and Rafi
Ermintrude
Jennifer M
Jennifer M and Scott
Kalia and Carmen
Lora C
Susan W and John
(and anyone else who I might have forgotten to mention!)
This book is dedicated to
CARMEN AND KALIA
This amazing team has worked tirelessly to promote this series, as well as supporting me with their great ideas and, more importantly, their friendship.
You ladies are truly wonderful and I love you both!
- Nicky
Prologue
Sand chafed his skin, the fine granules having infiltrated his clothing, his shoes, his hair. He squinted his eyes, using his lashes to help screen out the grit. If he hadn’t been so parched, he would’ve been tempted to spit the stuff from his mouth but, since he didn’t know when he’d get his next drink, he dared not waste even those few precious drops.
The breeze created by the rapidly dropping night temperature ruffled his hair and cooled his skin. He didn’t mind the change. His Lycan metabolism kept him warm enough. Those behind him weren’t as lucky. He could sense them trying to control their shivers, but they’d endured worse hardships. Survival meant sucking it up, as they’d all learned over the past five years. At this moment, any noise, any movement, could reveal their position. They were the hunted and they all knew the deadly consequences discovery could bring.
Already more than half their number had been lost. Murdered in cold blood by their captors. He’d been helpless to stop it, held in place by the invisible chains of ancient laws. Not that he hadn’t been tempted, but revealing himself as a Lycan wouldn’t have saved them. Even with his superior speed and strength, he couldn’t have fought off so many. For the good of all, he’d held back even though it had felt like acid burning his soul to do so.
Something tugged at his pant leg and he turned to look at the woman crouched behind him. Adisa’s question was evident in her eyes.
“Is it safe to move yet, Elijah?”
He shook his head and her shoulders drooped. It was the only sign she gave of her disappointment. The woman was painfully thin; her face drawn from malnutrition and stress. There was an inner strength to her, though; a wisdom from a life lived long and full. Even so, knowing freedom was so close had to make patience difficult.
Against his will he moved his hand and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. Her lips curved knowingly and she returned the pressure before breaking the connection. She turned and with a look communicated the need to wait to the group behind her. There were no murmurs of protest. They’d come to accept his leadership, recognizing he was their only hope.
He’d done his best to save them, to shield them over the weeks and months that had eventually turned into years. Some might say the fact any still survived after such an extended period was a testament to his skills. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. At this point he was too dead inside to even care. Every bit of humanity had been walled up, locked away. Emotion was weakness – he’d learned that lesson fast enough.
In the beginning, each death had cut deeply, driving home the fact that he was failing his mission.
“A sense of failure can lead to a dull acceptance of fate.” Adisa had told him as he’d stood, head bowed, in a corner. The previous day, three of their group had been executed for walking too slowly and he’d blamed himself for not being able to prevent it.
Adisa had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder while her softly accented tones had wrapped around him, somehow providing a modicum of comfort. “Don’t fall into the trap they are laying out before you, Elijah Stone. It is what the enemy is hoping for. If your spirit is broken they will have won.”
She was a wise woman and he’d nodded, recognizing the truth of her words. And so, each time, he’d hardened his heart and strengthened his resolve to somehow find a way to save the others. He’d plotted continually over the long monotonous days trapped in rooms so small and crowded there had been barely room to squat. During the endless marches when they’d been moved to new camps he’d constantly looked for a means of escape. And when his first and second and even his third attempt had failed, he hadn’t given up. Each blow that had been delivered as punishment for his efforts had spurred him onward, had taught him he needed to be smarter, more cunning, more ruthless than his captors if he and his group were ever to survive.
This time...this time he knew his plan would work. The extremists had been plotting their latest raid for weeks. It was to be on a larger settlement and they’d decided they needed more manpower than usual to ensure success. For once only half a dozen guards would be left behind. His quietness over the past month had led them to believe he’d finally given up and was no longer a threat. Knowing this would likely be the best opportunity he’d ever have, he’d even begun refusing food, keeping his expression dull, his eyes downcast. The bastards had believed his act.
Once the party of raiders had left the camp, he’d acted swiftly, without conscience, breaking the necks of two guards then setting the beast inside him free to deal with the others. Risky, but there’d be no witnesses left to tell the tale of the man turned animal. When he’d finished, blood had stained the ground, stained his hands. If he’d had a heart, he might have felt some regret for the carnage around him, but his heart had died long ago.
Now they crept through the desert night, huddling in shadows as he tested the air, searching for signs of patrols. It
was miles to the border, miles to freedom. Their escape would have been discovered by now. The perfect combination of speed and stealth was needed if he was to lead his group out of this hellhole.
The sound of a distant car engine had him jerking to attention. He looked about, blinking as the shadowy forms of trees and lush gardens replaced the barren images of sand dunes his memory had conjured.
Damned flashbacks.
He wasn’t in the Middle East. He was a continent away, no longer in charge of saving a group of Fae who’d been caught up in a tribal conflict. That had been months ago. They were safe now. Mostly.
Now he was trying to pick up the pieces of what remained of his old life. There wasn’t much, just some nasty loose ends, one of which he hoped to deal with tonight.
With a shaking hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow and breathed deeply trying to calm the churning of his stomach. A quick glance at his watch told him he’d waited long enough. The building had been dark for ages. Almost everyone had left. It was time for him to move.
Shifting into his wolf form, he slipped out of the shadows and padded across the wide expanse of the lawn. Security beams criss-crossed the area but he evaded them with practised ease. How often in his youth had he done just that, escaping into the night to find solace in the quiet of the woods that surrounded the homestead? Of course, when he’d eventually been caught there’d been consequences but that was how life worked. Every action had a reaction; some were just worse than others.
The walls of the impressive white brick building were before him now. A mansion by anyone’s standards. Once he’d called it home, though he’d never felt comfortable in the place. Now... He shook his head. His stay here would be short, just long enough to right the wrongs perpetrated from within.
Returning to human form, he scaled the back wall, his fingers and toes finding the footholds and crevices he’d used so often. Upon reaching the balcony, he swung his legs over the railing and then made his way across the tiled surface.
The handle of the French glass door slowly turned under his guidance, moonlight glinting off its polished bronze surface. He twisted it left, then right then left again before stilling. A quick glance revealed no security alarm. His lips twisted in a grim mockery of a smile. Moments later, his Lycan hearing registered the barely perceptible clicks as he picked the lock. Palming the handle, he tried the door again. This time it turned successfully.
Lace curtains stirred as the door opened creating a gap just large enough for him to slip inside. He paused, his face purposely in the shadows, and scanned the room before making his way to the desk. The computer was on, but a few taps on the keyboard revealed it was password protected. It had been too much to hope the codes had remained the same. He moved on, quickly flipping through a few files that had been left out, then searching the contents of the garbage.
Pay dirt.
A list of operatives from the look of it. Some of the names were familiar to him, most were not. One was circled in red—Damien Masterson—and the word deactivated was scrawled in the margin. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket before moving towards the adjoining room. The door was ajar giving him easy access.
Jewellery, casually tossed on the dresser top, sparkled in the dim light and the scent of leather and musky perfume filled the air. His nostrils flared at that scent, long ago memories stirring.
His mouth compressed as he pushed the past back where it belonged and continued to evaluate the terrain separating him from his quarry. A pair of high heels lay discarded in the middle of the room. Various bits of clothing were strewn about, some on a chair, some forming puddles of fabric on the floor. The wearer obviously hadn’t cared that the fine material might wrinkle or snag.
A muscle twitched in his cheek as he took it all in. Extravagance, waste. People were starving in the world, dying, while she... His lip curled into a sneer before he shifted his gaze to the bed.
The covers outlined the figure of a woman sleeping on her back, her face turned away from her midnight visitor. He inhaled deeply, once again taking in her scent. Visions of the two of them filled his mind; laughing, running through the woods together. It had been years since he’d heard her voice, yet over that expanse of time, the memory of their last encounter had been one of the few things that had kept him sane.
“I’m leaving you in charge. Can you handle it?”
“Of course. We built Virtus together; I know the ins and outs as well as you do.”
“Just keep things steady. Stay the course. I’ll be back in a few months.”
“You’re fussing like an old lady. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Sorry. I know I can trust you.”
She’d smiled then and he’d given her a hug, believing she was one of the few people who truly understood him and his plans for the future.
What a fool he’d been.
He moved closer to the bed, one measured step at a time, carefully avoiding the obstacles created by her shoes and clothing. Closer and closer to his goal. Anticipation built in his gut yet he forced himself to remain calm. If he’d learned one thing over the span of his enforced incarceration, it was that patience was indeed a virtue.
Her breathing remained even as he rounded the end of the bed, sleep still holding her captive. One of her hands was tucked under her pillow, the other pressed to her heart. Now he could see how the moonlight skimmed over her cheek, giving him a glimpse of her features. Still the same as he remembered, though lines could be seen around her eyes and mouth. She’d aged since their last encounter. Was it just the unavoidable ravages of time or was it the blackness of her soul finally showing on her face?
Her soul.
He’d once thought it so pure. Now he’d damn it to perdition if he had the power.
Anger at her betrayal seethed within him. She’d taken what he’d created, what he’d entrusted her with, and twisted it into pure evil. The knowledge had his fists clenching as he struggled for control. With anyone else, he’d mete out justice with no reservations. But she was a female and they had a connection that couldn’t be denied. That earned her some measure of restraint. Not much, but some.
Easing himself down on the mattress, his weight compressed the surface enough that her body shifted towards him. She murmured in her sleep, a slight frown appearing between her brows. Her lashes began to flutter.
He’d delayed long enough.
“De—” His lips had just parted when her arm suddenly swung out and up from under the pillow, the dim light barely allowing him to see the glint of the knife blade as it plunged towards his heart.
“Fuck!” He caught her wrist but not before the tip of the blade sliced through his shirt and cut into his flesh. Immediately, he could feel the wet heat of blood dripping down his chest, the biting pain of injured nerve endings. His fingers squeezed hard enough on the woman’s wrist that she whimpered in pain and dropped the weapon.
“Not exactly the welcome home a man dreams of.” He flung her wrist from his with a growl and reached over to flick on the bedside lamp.
“Who...? Elijah?” As his features were illuminated, a cry of recognition escaped her lips and she flung herself at him.
“Eli!” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight before pulling back to run her hands over his shoulders. “Where have you been? I thought you were dead.” Her fingers caressed his face, slowing when they encountered the scar on his cheek.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, one lone tear trembling on her lashes as she traced the length of the puckered flesh. “Eli, what’s this? What happened to you?”
Years ago the sight of her tears would’ve made his heart soften. Now it had no effect at all. He pushed her hands away and examined the rip in his shirt and the wound underneath. The cut was superficial, thankfully, and would heal quickly. Cocking one eyebrow, he looked at her. “I could ask you that same question.”
“Me? Nothing has happened to me. You’re the one who went mis
sing over four years ago.”
Most men would never have noticed the extra blink she gave, but Stone wasn’t most men. He knew her tricks too well. Any vague hope he’d had that his information was wrong died with those fluttering lashes.
“It was five years, actually. Apparently I was the only one counting.”
“Four. Five. After a while the time became immaterial.” The comment was accompanied by a negligently waved hand. “As to what I’ve been doing, I’ve been here. Running Virtus just like you asked me to. I made sure it was here, ready for you if...when...you came back.” She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. “I’ve missed you, brother.”
“So you remember that we’re blood? From the way you tried to kill me just now, I wasn’t sure.” He pulled his hand away and stood, moving to study an old family picture hanging on the wall. Deirdre was in his arms looking like a dark haired cherub, his parents flanking either side. A happy family picture if no one looked too closely at the expression in their eyes. His were sullen, his mother’s were tired. Father’s were cold and Dee...strange how even that young there’d been a calculating gleam in her eye. Too bad he’d never noticed it back then.
“I thought you were an intruder.” Deirdre flicked her hair over her shoulder, making no comment about the picture he was examining.
“How long have you kept that knife under your pillow? Do you often have people attacking you while you sleep?” He gave the picture a last look and turned to face her.
“A woman alone has to take care of herself.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed, snagging a robe and then pushing past him.
“I can scent the other males that have been in this room. You haven’t been alone.”
“I’m a grown woman, Eli. Not a child.”
For the Good of All (Law of the Lycans Book 7) Page 1
