Nago: His Mississippi Queen
(The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy, Book 1) 50 Loving States, Mississippi
Theodora Taylor
Copyright © 2017 by Theodora Taylor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
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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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
HER DRAGON EVERLASTING
Part I
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
Part II
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part III
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part IV
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part V
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part VI
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Theodora Taylor
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1
Mississippi, 1837
She fled through the forest with nothing but the bright light of the full moon to guide her.
She carried on her person a map given to her by the traveling tinker man two falls ago after she agreed to mend his pants and darn his socks. Back then she’d only just begun to think about running from Briarleaf. The map had been a test of sorts. To see if the Jewish tinker would tell on her to the Massa. If she’d get caught for merely thinking about running.
But the tinker man had given her the hand-drawn map and moved on down the road without telling a soul. And now that thought from two years ago was a thing doing.
The dogs bayed in the distance. She had no time for the map. Running was all she had time for now. She’d snatched the folded paper from beneath her thin straw mattress and given it a quick glance to see where to head to escape the plantation. And the body of Massa’s son.
She should have taken the knife. She scolded herself like the mother she never knew for dropping it. With the knife, she’d at least be able to take her life if they caught her. Slitting her throat would be a far better ending to her story than what would happen if the patrollers caught up to her anyways.
The dogs were getting close. There was no time for regrets. No time to shake her fists at cruel fate. No time to even pull out the map to make sure she was running in the right direction.
But she ended up doing just that only a few seconds after deciding against it.
Because quite suddenly there was a river in front of her. Not as wide or grand as the Mississippi, but as impossible to cross for a slave woman who’d never learned to swim.
She stopped, pulling up short. And she took out the map because she didn’t know what else to do. She squinted at it under the light of the bright moon.
But the river wasn’t on the map.
Her heart thundered in her ears. Not because of the running, but because of this new obstacle, one she could not even begin to fathom how to surmount.
She raised her eyes to the North Star. It glittered in the dark sky, beckoning to her. Come to me, sweet freedom called from the other side of the impossible-to-cross river. Bitter tears sprang to her eyes at her inability to answer the bright summons.
But there was no time for crying.
She had to keep moving, or the dogs would soon be upon her.
She considered the dark river for a long moment. If all else failed, she’d have no choice but to throw herself in. Because if she didn’t…
Massa would make an example of her if she were caught. He would take her back from the patrollers, and then whip her into a bloody mess on the Hanging Tree. He might even let his son do the honors. If his son survived what she’d done to him.
An image of the knife she’d left behind taunted her again. She should have kept it. Should not have dropped it just ‘cuz she hadn’t known she could do such a thing to a body before she did it.
She shook the awful memory from her head. There was no time to dwell on the horror of the blade sinking into flesh. Not while the dogs barked louder in the distance…
In a moment of quick thinking, she snatched the rough kerchief from her head and tossed it onto the muddy bank of the river. There was always the chance they might believe she’d drowned trying to cross. Maybe her pursuers would see it. Maybe not. But it was something to do. So she did it.
Then she stuffed the useless map back into her smock and set off again. Heading east. Maybe there’d be a bridge. A log to float on. Something, anything to get her across to the North Star which was now following her along the river as if to say, “Hey, where you going, slave girl?”
Lord, she was tired. Exhaustion from running so long splashed over her like water from the washing bucket. But she had to keep moving. Had to keep trying until she could try no more. Then if it came down to it, she’d jump into that river and kill herself the way she was trying to make the patrollers believe she already had. Run. Run. She had to keep runn—
Her ankle caught on something. Before she could get her hands beneath her, she pitched forward, hitting the ground so hard all the desperate thoughts disappeared straight out her head.
Well, there’s that explaint…what folks mean when they say a body “got the wind knocked out of
it,” she thought on a wheeze.
Nothing felt broken. But the air took its time coming back to her, and her body screamed in pain when she flipped over onto her back to see what had sent her flying.
She blinked hard at the braided rope, at least twice as thick as the ones they used for the Hanging Tree and whipping post. It was coiled like a snake around the base of a magnolia tree. The tree was in bloom; she could smell the heady fragrance of its big flowers perfuming the night air around her. She peered more closely at the rope and noticed it had been knotted several times. As if whoever had tied it needed to be sure about its hold.
That’s when she realized it was stretched taut across her field of vision. As if it had been patiently waiting to turn her escape into a pratfall.
Her brow furrowed. Why would a rope be out here in the middle of the woods, tied to a tree?
But that, as it turned out, was the wrong question to ask. What she really should have wondered is who—or what—was at the other end of the rope pulling it tight?
Yes, that would have been a better question. Because a low growl suddenly erupted to the left of her.
And when she looked to where the sound came from, she saw what she at first mistook for an oversized dog. Until the shrill voice of fear shouted a single word in her head: wolf! And so it was. A large, menacing wolf with eyes that glowed brightly under the light of the full moon.
2
About Two Centuries Later
“Oh good, you’re here!” called a muffled voice when Nago walked into Camp Nightwolf’s industrial kitchen. It sounded like a girl, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Over here!” the muffled voice called again.
He followed the direction of her shout to the camp’s conveyor belt dishwasher. The thing was ancient, and Nago was pretty sure it dated back to the last millennium.
It also had a set of thick, dark legs sticking out of its back end.
Later, he’d tell her it was love from the moment he saw her face. But that was a lie. He knew her—really knew her—from the moment he saw her rear thrusting out of that machine.
And that was even before he got close enough to discover how amazing she smelled to his wolf’s nose. Her scent was the opposite of his Colorado home. Lush and warm with an undertone of flowering trees.
“Can you grab the smallest wrench from that toolbox?” she asked.
Another quick scan and he found an old-fashioned, red metal tool box sitting open on the ledge of the cafeteria’s service window—right next to a haphazard stack of dirty trays waiting to get washed. An assortment of mismatched tools had been piled into the box’s main section, while a bulk-sized bag of gummi bears sat on top of its open lid. Nago loved gummi bears. And it said something about how intrigued he was by the girl inside the dishwashing machine that instead of grabbing a fistful of the soft bear-shaped candy, he remained 100% focused on granting her request. After securing the smallest wrench he could find, he pushed it through the machine’s front curtain of rubber strips.
“Thanks!” the voice said. Her hand brushed against his as she took the wrench from him, sending tingles up his arm. “The belt is out of alignment. I thought tapping the bolts would set it right, but turns out all the bolts need to be retightened.”
Who was this girl? he wondered while he asked, “Can I help?”
“Yeah, sure! Just stand right there and make sure none of those idiot rich kids out there turn on the switch. It’s next to the service window.”
Nago glanced to his left to find the machine’s old-fashioned on/off switch exactly where she said it was. Beyond the service window, he spotted one last table of teenage campers lingering over their empty trays.
“Hey!” he called out the window. “Need your trays!”
The group looked up, faces already set to protest. But then they saw who was doing the asking.
By the time the girl said, “All done!” five minutes later, the trays were piled in neat stacks on the service window counter, and there was no danger of anyone pushing the button because Nago was the only person left in the mess hall.
He turned just in time to watch Dishwasher Girl scoot backward out of the machine.
“Hi,” she said with a wide smile. “I’m Halle.”
And that was how after 17 years spent choosing video games or engineering projects over girls, Nago suddenly understood what all the fuss was about. She was, hands down, the cutest girl he’d ever seen in his life.
Halle had a pretty, round face framed by long old-school box braids. They were the kinds of braids that hadn’t been fashionable for decades, but to Nago’s eyes, they looked perfect. She couldn’t have been more than 16 or 17, but she already had the full curves of a grown woman. And her skin…
His feminist history professor mother had warned all three of her sons about objectifying girls. As she put it, “never describe women in terms of food as if they were put on this earth solely for your consumption.” But damn if dark chocolate didn’t immediately come to mind at his first full sight of her.
Nago stuck out his hand, his body vibrating with the need to touch her. To keep her there with him. Though he wasn’t sure how to do it. After all, he wasn’t classically good looking like Rafes, or a girl-magnet like Knud.
Nago “NotHotWolf”—he’d heard what a lot of the girls called him behind his back. Over the years, he’d become well-liked by his fellow campers thanks to his easygoing personality. But as far as girls were concerned, Nago was the kind of guy you friend zoned, not someone you snuck with up the mountain to kiss.
Usually, he was alright with that. He’d just gotten a bioware upgrade, and his new games weren’t going to play themselves.
But this girl…
She was new in every way. About the same age as him, but not one of the regular Camp Nightwolf attendees. Probably a scholarship kid, he guessed. Or she wouldn’t be fixing the dishwasher.
He did not want to be “just friends” with this girl. He knew that from the moment she accepted his handshake.
“I’m Nago,” he said, shaking her hand. And not letting go.
“Cool,” she said, awkwardly tugging her hand back. “It’s real nice to meet another scholarship kid finally. I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one.”
She had a thick southern accent, and she sounded like she smelled. Like maybe a flowering tree was growing inside her.
She wasn’t from up north like him and most of the other wolves attending camp. Louisiana withstanding, most of the southern kingdom packs didn’t have enough solvency to apply for a credit card, much less send their princesses to the summer camp his Aunt Tu and Uncle Grady started for royal teens—with a generous donation from the Nightwolf Foundation.
“I like your accent,” he told her, too unpracticed at flirting to come up with anything better than the truth to say next. “Where are you from?”
Her smile wobbled a little. “Um…I’m the Princess of Mississippi, actually,” she said like it was a huge confession.
So that was where her cute accent came from. But he didn’t understand why she said it in such a confessional tone…until he recalled the last story he’d heard about Mississippi a few months ago.
The one about a Nigerian wolf from 1980s-era Canada. He’d been a janitor at a Canadian university and had made the mistake of reading aloud some words he’d found on a professor’s desk while cleaning out a wastebasket. That professor had been the father of one of his mother Alisha’s grad school buds, so the story had made the academic dinner party rounds.
As it turned out, the “words” had been a fated mate spell, and it sent the janitor hurtling forward through time to current day Mississippi. As if that wasn’t crazy enough, his fated mate had turned out to be the queen of the state pack. They ended up running off together, leaving behind her mate and daughter—
He cut off his mental recall with the realization that the cute girl in front of him must be the abandoned daughter from the story.
“Yeah, that’s me,” she confirmed, without him having to say a word. “Which is pretty ironic because the only reason I’m at this camp is my mama made me apply for one of those Nightwolf Foundation scholarships to come here. She thought it’d be a good way for me to meet a prospective rich husband, which is crazy because look at me!”
Nago was looking at her, and he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I mean, obviously I’m not spending my weekends getting beauty treatments and wearing expensive clothes like everyone else here. I’m just a mange state princess who nobody would ever look at twice. Plus, my dad’s a total mess right now. I really should be home with him, helping him run the kingdom now Mama’s gone…”
NAGO, His Mississippi Queen: 50 Loving States, Mississippi (The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy, Book 1) Page 1
