“No, he met her after she was married. Her husband beat her, but being a woman of faith, she wouldn’t leave him. He stayed, alone and hidden, to protect her. When her husband saw her speaking to Pascual, he went into a rage and murdered her. Pascual killed him. The woman’s young son stabbed Pascual with his father’s bayonet—silver—and he crawled off to die.”
“He was a good man.” Jessa took Finn’s hand.
Ellen nodded. “A noble wolf. There are still Oteroes left in Argentina.”
Finn looked at her. “Wolves?”
“I’ve searched every way imaginable and keep coming up empty. If they are, they’ve learned how to cover their tracks.” Hollis shrugged. “The myth could have been created to hide their very real existence.”
Finn sat back, his gaze distant.
“Are we going to Argentina?” Jessa asked.
Finn smiled, kissing her knuckles. “Maybe someday. Not while they’re young. Not until after you’ve been turned. Thank you, Ellen, for giving the pack a heritage they can be proud of.”
She nodded. After the pack had peppered her with questions, taken the map off the wall to track the places Pascual Otero had traveled, and read through the entire myth of the seventh son of a seventh son, Hollis had enough.
She was trying hard to hide it, but she was tired.
He crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and cradled her belly. “You’re amazing.”
She leaned against him with a groan. “I am,” she agreed.
He kissed her temple. “Enough about Pascual for today.”
She turned. “What do you have in mind?”
“I want to hear more about you, Ellena Vasiliev. And your pack.”
“You do?” She turned to face him, smiling widely.
“I do.” He kissed her, a whisper of a kiss.
They’d started reading the leather book a month ago, not long after the fire. Every evening, the words of her ancestors pulled him into a past he’d never imagined. He admired her scribes, their attention to detail had left a wealth of knowledge for those that followed. Lists of names, places of birth, parents, birthdays, and dates of death. Each had their own narrative. Some included only facts and figures, others included everything from herbal medicine recipes, routes traveled through specific mountain ranges, rites and ceremonies from the old country, to personal observations and anecdotes.
Interesting as it was, some notes mattered more than others to Hollis.
Ellena Vasiliev was her full name. She teased him about their age difference—now that they knew she was over four hundred years old. Hollis didn’t care. He loved knowing she and her pack were German. Their nomadic existence was cut short when they were driven from their native country, for witchcraft, in seventeen eighty-five. She’d stared at her name for almost an hour, her eyes filling with tears, and a smile on her lips before she’d turned to him.
“I remember my mother’s face.” There had been so much joy in her eyes.
The more they read, the more her memories began to resurface. She recorded them all. Flashes, sensory memories, voices, or places. Each day she added something to her notebook. And each day she grew rounder with their child.
“Maybe I’m done with books and research for the day.” Her mismatched gaze blazed with a need he understood far too well.
He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deep. Would this hunger ever ease? Even now, safe in his arms, he craved more. “My wolf agrees.”
“Oh? What else does your wolf say?” Ellen asked, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“That he loves you,” he whispered. “And you love me.”
“That is true.” She nodded. “And?”
Hollis shook his head. “He’d rather I showed you.” He took her hand in his and led her to their room.
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About the Author
Sasha grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance, history, and travel. An Air Force brat who cut her romantic teeth on Barbara Cartland novels, she was always looking for a prince or hero of her own. While waiting, she wrote her first play for her Girl Scout troupe. She’s been writing ever since. She loves getting lost in the worlds and characters she creates; even if she frequently forgets to run the dishwasher or wash socks when she’s doing so. Luckily, her four brilliant children and hero-inspiring hubby are super understanding and supportive.When she’s not conversing with her book characters or reading into the wee hours, Sasha is an unapologetic movie addict. Growing up, movie night was important and dressing up for the annual Oscars party was, according to her family, something ‘everyone did’. As a result, Sasha has a wealth of information and knowledge on a wide range of films – their actors, directors, scores, and other useless bits of Hollywood trivia. She often ‘casts’her books when writing—creating at least one new Pinterest board per book. Chris Hemsworth, Jensen Ackles, and Tom Hardy are some of her favored leading men.
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