The Prelude

by Sammie Joyce

  We all laughed but I knew in our hearts, all three of us were sobbing uncontrollably.

  For three days, Locklear stayed on his feet, filling me with a false sense of hope that he was going to recover.

  He refused to allow me to send for his mother or anyone else in the clan.

  “You can tell them what happened after if you want,” he insisted. “Right now, I just want to spend time with my true family.”

  I had mixed emotions about that, especially when he finally fell into an exhausted pile on the third day. The end we had anticipated was nigh and I wasn’t ready, even though I’d had ample time to prepare.

  Again, I found myself at his side, wiping away agonized tears but Locklear remained stoic.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “My time here is done. We’ve said our goodbyes, haven’t we?”

  “No,” I replied sullenly.

  “Aspen, your life is just beginning. You must focus on what lies ahead of you.”

  I opened my mouth to respond but a cry of pain escaped my lips instead.

  “Aspen?!” Philippe cried, hurrying into the room. “What’s wrong? Is it Locklear?”

  I fell back off the cot we had set up on the main floor and clutched at my stomach, shaking my head as another contraction seized me.

  A combination of panic and excitement overcame me as I looked at my best friend, limp and dying before my eyes.

  “The baby!” I cried. “He’s coming!”

  A smile to override the sun took over Locklear’s face as Philippe guided me back toward the sofa.

  “Lay her down here,” Locklear muttered but we both waved him back.

  “I’ll send for Artemis,” Philippe declared but I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he rushed toward the door. He didn’t want to leave us alone.

  “Go,” Locklear rasped. “I’ll take care of her until you’re back.”

  Philippe had little choice but to go and I looked at Locklear in desperation.

  Slowly, he inched himself off the cot and shuffled to my side where I was again accosted by another contraction. They seemed to close together and anxiety stole my breath. What if the baby came before Artemis and Philippe returned?

  “Take this.” It took me a moment to understand that Locklear had pressed the root into my hand and I stared at it.

  “Take it, Aspen. Think of your baby.”

  With a quivering lower lip, I put the root to my mouth and chewed, digesting it as quickly as I could, my eyes fixed on Locklear’s calm face.

  He was at peace with what was happening, holding on for me. I knew that now.

  As I swallowed the last of the compound, my contractions stopped and I exhaled in relief.

  “I think it’s working,” I whispered but I didn’t want to curse myself.

  “Good.”

  Locklear sank at my side and held my hand, humming an old song we used to enjoy as children. The memory alleviated my fear and I twined my fingers in his, closing my eyes as I prepared for the next seizure on my womb.

  “I love you, Locklear,” I whispered.

  “I love you too, Aspen.”

  Flint was born three hours later, happy, healthy and screaming. I had never been more relieved to see anything in my life and when Artemis laid him on my chest, I inhaled the scent of him, relishing the sensation of new life among us.

  “Can I hold him?” Locklear called softly and I struggled to sit up against the sofa as Philippe took the child from my arms. He lay the swaddled infant in Locklear’s lap as I moved to join them.

  Philippe stood protectively by as the three of us snuggled together, my hand slipping into Locklear’s.

  “Thank you,” Lock murmured.

  “No,” I whispered. “Thank you. You are a true hero, Lock.”

  He didn’t answer me but I felt the life slip out of his hands and abruptly, my head jerked up to study his face. His bright amber eyes diminished to nothingness, leaving me only with the sorrow of his loss and my endless sea of tears.

  Philippe stepped in to take Flint from between us but I couldn’t bring myself to move, not yet.

  “He’s gone,” Artemis intoned, his head dropped and I dropped my head onto Locklear’s chest, willing him to come back to me.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Philippe breathed. “It’s such a bittersweet day.”

  I raised my head and wiped my tears away, forcing myself to regain my composure.

  “No,” I corrected him. “This is the sweetest day. Today is the day that the Locklear family was born.”

  My mate’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head.

  “The Locklear family?” he repeated slowly. “What do you mean?”

  “You have no surname to speak of. You cringe when you have to use it. I have never had one and Flint needs one. We will be the Locklears going forward. That way, Lock will be with us everywhere we go, in everything we do. We will do our family, our clan and ourselves proud knowing that he’s always there.”

  Philippe nodded, his eyes shining with admiration.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “That is perfect, Mrs. Locklear.”

  I sank my head against his shoulder and stared at Lock’s eternally sleeping face, knowing how much he sacrificed so that we could be together.

  And now, none of our ancestors would ever forget it.

  Did you enjoy the prequel in the Shifting Seasons Series?

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  Shifting Seasons - Book 1

  Sammie Joyce

  1

  Kealani

  * * *

  I had always been a morning person.

  Even in high school, when most teenagers put up blackout curtains and tried to sleep past noon, I rose with the sun every day. I was in a rush to the beach, to be the first one at the library or just to watch the day turn every crook and corner of the Big Island golden with morning light.

  My mother had been the same, always luring my father out of bed earlier than he wanted to be awake with promises of coffee on the front porch.

  I remembered them fondly with every sip of early morning coffee, missing them always. Ever since I started my internship at the fishery, I found myself thinking about them more frequently, as if they were somehow watching me more closely, nodding their approval of my choices.

  Yet even for a morning person, a little boost of caffeine was most helpful, especially when I had to enter line after line of data into a spreadsheet about Atlantic salmon. Between internship hours, shifts waitressing and staying awake through even the most boring of Animal Anatomy and Physiology lectures, I had developed a bit of a coffee habit.

  Another sip from my favorite sun-beaten travel tumbler, another glance into the tank of lazily swimming salmon, another line of data entered—it was all part of the daily routine.

  I noted the various sizes and coloration, attempting to make a rough estimate of their numbers. It was hard to keep track of that many slick, moving bodies in the water, but I’d gotten good at it. My mentor at the fishery, Professor Norris, has been pleased with my work. Though I was only part of the way through my Bachelor’s, I was already daydreaming of the day I would become Doctor Kealani Mahelona.

  I could just imagine how proud my parents would have been, how much my little brother would tease me about my “wild” career and how many amazing places I would travel when I had the degree.

  Someday, I promised myself almost wistful.

  But until then, I’d have to count fish.

  Now, about those salmon numbers…

  I spared a glance away from my computer screen, leaving an empty cell waiting for my input. Fingers poised on the keyboard, I looked out over Tank A and took a quick tally of the large, silvery animals. Even before I could properly count them, I noticed something was wrong. There was too much open water in the tank—or rather, there were not enough fish to fill it.

  I did a double-take, certain I must have mi
ssed something. It was an enormous tank and there were certainly a ton of fish in it. Yet a closer look confirmed my suspicion—I only counted twenty salmon.

  Half of them were missing.

  They must have been moved to another area the previous day but I was sure the tank had been fuller when I first arrived and booted up the computer.

  Leaving my data to sit unentered, I moved from one tank to the next, searching for signs of the missing salmon. No one mentioned relocating them during my last internship hours, and there weren’t any notes from Dr. Norris waiting for me when I opened our shared spreadsheet. I could only assume one of the other techs dropped the ball. That, or half of the salmon in Tank A spontaneously disappeared.

  It should have been silly, a joke of an idea, but as I paced around the whole of the fishery, peering into one tank after another, I couldn’t locate the missing salmon anywhere and I felt beads of perspiration form on my brow.

  How on earth does someone misplace nearly two dozen salmon?

  My mind raced with increasingly ridiculous theories.

  Could they have been stolen? Was this a prank? How would someone even move that many fifty-plus pound fish?

  I hurried back to the computer and checked the notes from the last intern in the area. Their information seemed in place, everything reported as normal and all forty-four salmon accounted.

  As I looked back over the half-empty tank, my heart sunk.

  Am I going to be blamed for this?

  If someone had stolen the fish in the middle of the night, the robbery might have been caught on the security cameras outside, but if the culprit somehow followed me in through the back entrance, avoiding the cameras, then what? I was almost positive I had seen more than twenty salmon in the tank when I got in. If that were true, two dozen very valuable fish had disappeared from my watch.

  Professor Norris had been great to work with, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate me losing half our sample overnight. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now though, and no good way to explain what had happened. I didn’t even know what happened, to be honest. The best I could do was enter the data I had and leave a vague note about the number of salmon seeming low.

  Low? Understatement of the century, right there.

  I rushed to finish up my observations. It was my secret hope that I could manage to sneak away before Professor Norris arrived. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain the bizarre situation in person. I shut down the computer and gathered up my half-finished coffee, regretting the caffeine now that my heart and mind were both racing from adrenaline and stimulant. I was an easy-going person ordinarily, but twenty-something huge fish disappearing out of the blue would shake anyone up.

  Hurrying out of the building, my thoughts elsewhere as I scoped the area for my mentor, I rushed headfirst into someone else.

  A man not the professor.

  For a moment, as I regained my balance and struggled to hold fast to my coffee, I was suddenly struck by the concerning thought that this could be the salmon thief.

  I stepped back quickly, sizing him up and probably looking slightly unbalanced as I looked him over for signs of criminal activity. Frankly, he looked just as startled as I felt, and not at all like someone who might have just loaded hundreds of pounds of stolen salmon into a getaway car.

  He looked like a tourist.

  A handsome tourist.

  I straightened up and cleared my throat, trying my best to look and sound professional despite my harried confrontation. I wanted to present myself more like the zoologist I wanted to be than the student I was. I smoothed back my hair and stared up into his dark eyes.

  “Pardon me, sir,” I said primly, not at all like myself. “The fishery is not open to visitors for another hour.”

  The man stared at me for a long moment, as though he struggled to find words.

  “I am so sorry,” he finally said. He sounded so sincere, it made my heart ache a little. “I must have misread the sign. I was just sight-seeing—”

  He hesitated, brow furrowing. The words seemed to surprise him even though he was the one who spoke them.

  “That probably sounds weird, visiting a fishery on a Hawaiian vacation, but—"

  “It doesn’t sound weird at all,” I assured him, my tone softening. He didn’t look like some nefarious fish thief, just another tourist visiting the Big Island. I was a little surprised he visit the fishery when there were so many other things to do, but maybe he wasn’t a typical tourist.

  He was still staring, his eyes intense but somehow warm, deep. He offered his hand and I took it without a second thought, accepting the polite handshake with more of a smile than I meant to show.

  “Dr. Emmett Sable,” he introduced himself. “I apologize for the awkward greeting. And for unintentionally invading your workplace. I’ll be sure to stick to business hours next time.”

  “Kealani Mahelona,” I offered, shaking Emmett's hand for a second longer than necessary. He had nice, strong hands, even if just a little bit calloused. It disappointed me to let go of him. I wanted to ask him what his doctorate was in, if he usually spent his vacations looking at salmon and a dozen other questions, but I knew I should hurry along. After all, I was bound to run into Professor Norris if I didn’t get a move on.

  As I studied his pale face, finding no sign of guile or deceit, I searched for reasons to stay, unsure what exactly I wanted from him. I was merely leaning into that gut instinct that told me he had something to offer me or I would have been long gone already.

  A car pulled into the nearby parking lot then, just familiar enough restart the nervousness in my heart. It was Professor Norris’ hatchback, the bumper sporting a collection of stickers calling for conservation of local marine life.

  I needed to leave…but I wanted to keep talking to Emmett. I let my instincts take over, splitting the difference as I flashed my most winning smile at the tourist.

  “How do you feel about brunch?” I asked bluntly.

  Emmett appeared startled by the question.

  “I-it’s… a meal? I suppose I don’t feel any different about it than any other time to eat.”

  The way he winced after speaking made it clear he thought he was blowing whatever it was we were doing, but I found his fumbling endearing. I’d always thought shy guys were cute and Emmett Sable was no exception.

  “I guess what I really mean is how about brunch with me?” I suggested, risking scaring him off with my impulsive offer. “I know a great place not too far from here.”

  I could hear the engine of the professor’s car turn off somewhere behind us, and every inch of me was itching to just grab Emmett's hand and sprint before I could get trapped into a conversation with Norris.

  “That might be nice,” Emmett said slowly, not entirely convinced. The lead was enough for me. I linked arms with him and led him away from the fishery, beaming brightly.

  “Oh, you will love it,” I assured him with a wink. “It’s where the locals eat. I should know.”

  Emmett, to his credit, kept pace with me, and in the mid-morning light, I couldn’t tell if he was just a little sunburned or if there was a flush in his pale cheeks.

  If I had to wager a guess, I would bet the latter.

  Tap here for more information on Summer Enchantment - Book One in the Shifting Seasons Series.

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  About Sammie Joyce

  Paranormal romance is Sammie’s favorite sub-genre of romance. She loves shifters of all sorts. Protectors. Those who need protection.

  Falling in love and finding love together. Realizing that your mate is standing right in front of you. The magic in those moments. These are some of my favorite parts of romance!

  Writing is one of Sammie’s great loves. Paranormal Romance is her passion.

  http://sammiejoyce.com