Legacy Found: Legacy, Book 3 (4 page)

Everything inside him rebelled at the mere thought of leaving Shelley. Instincts he’d thought long dead, sprang instantly to life, and for the first time in decades, he felt the male wolf within him sit up and take interest. Not since Leda, his mate who’d died decades ago, had he felt this way.

No!
He shook his head. He didn’t need that kind of pain again. But there was no way he was letting Shelley go off on her own. Just the fact that she was a female of his species meant he had to protect her.

“You know I can’t do that, Shelley. There’s no way I can abandon a female.”

She shook her head and sighed again as she continued to rub her forehead. “Of course you can. I want to go to a town. No, a city. It’s the least you can do considering you’re the reason I don’t have a home or a job.”

He ignored her accusation. It was true, but he wouldn’t change anything he’d done so it was a moot point. “Why don’t you let your hair down out of that tight bun? It might help your headache.”

She seemed surprised he’d even noticed she had one. But he’d seen the way she rubbed her forehead, the slight squint of pain around her eyes. She hesitated, but then a moment later she slid her hand from his, reached behind her head and began plucking out pins. She tucked them safely in her dress pocket and then ran her fingers through her hair.

It was thicker than James had expected and fell to just below her shoulders. The sun caught it, making the light brown strands shimmer. She gave him a tiny smile. She looked younger now and very, very beautiful. James swallowed and squirmed in his seat, trying to get comfortable. His jeans were suddenly very tight. For a man who’d had no problem with self-control for almost half a century, to say it was unsettling was an understatement.

Fortunately, the woman seemed to have no sense of her own appeal. His gut clenched. As soon as word got out of her existence, the males would be circling, fighting over her.

He didn’t like to think of what would happen to her if a decent sort of werewolf didn’t claim her. His culture was no different than humans in that respect. There were good males and bad ones, and these days too many of the males were desperate for a mate and had forgotten they needed to honor their females.

The wolf within him began to growl and the fine hair at his nape rose at the mere thought of another male touching her. Her skin was so fine he longed to reach out and stroke it. But his fingers were rough and calloused after years of hard labor. He was too harsh for such a soft, delicate creature.

He barely kept from jerking when her small hand slipped beneath his and, this time, it was she who joined their fingers together. Pleasure hummed within him, making his wolf settle.

James clenched his jaw to keep from swearing as he stared almost blindly out the front windshield. The asphalt was a slender ribbon that he followed automatically.

At his age and with his experience, he knew better than to fight his instincts. They’d saved his life too many times and had never led him astray. And at this moment, they were all clamoring that this female was special, that she belonged to him, with him. He might be a great believer in listening to his instincts, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to do anything rash. He still needed answers.

“Where were you born?” James figured if he kept asking questions he might eventually get some answers.

This time there was no mistaking her fear. She jerked her hand away from his and all but huddled against the door, getting as far away from him as possible. Well hell. What could be so bad about asking her that?

“It’s a simple question, Shelley.” He kept glancing over at her, keeping one eye on the road. Her face had lost every bit of color. Not that she’d had much to begin with. But now, she looked positively ill. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No!” she shouted. She was trembling now, her entire body shaking.

“Talk to me, honey, or I’m going to pull this truck off the road and we’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“Bully,” she muttered.

“Whatever it takes.” He really didn’t care what she thought of him at this point. His only concern was for her well-being. He was pleased that her slight show of temper had brought some of the color back to her cheeks. They were flushed now, her eyes glaring at him. “Come on, Shelley. I won’t stop asking until you tell me.”

He eased his foot off the fuel pedal and the vehicle began to slow.

“I don’t know,” she cried. Burying her face in her hands, she hunched her shoulders forward as if to protect herself. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember.” She was sobbing now, her entire body heaving. “I don’t remember.” Her voice was little more than a tortured whisper and James quickly pulled the truck off onto the shoulder of the road.

Undoing his own seatbelt and then hers, he slid to the center of the seat, gently lifted her into his arms and cradled her close against his body. Her tears shook him to the core. He hated them. Hated to see her cry.

“Shh,” he crooned. “It’s all right. Whatever it is, it’s all right.” She weighed little more than a child, but it certainly wasn’t a child’s body resting against him. It was all woman. From her soft, slight curves to the pliant mound of her full breast as it pressed against him.

His erection pushed tight against the front of his jeans, but he ignored his discomfort. He held her until she was cried out, until her breathing had leveled out again and only the occasional hiccup shook her as she slowly calmed. Tilting her head back against his arm, he pushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind the shell of her ear. “Better?”

She gave a watery laugh and sniffed. “Not really. Tears don’t solve anything. I haven’t cried in…” She shook her head. “I don’t really remember the last time. Years, I guess.”

“Then I’d say that you were due.”

“You’re a very unusual man, James Riley.” She was so serious, her large chocolate-brown eyes luminous. He thought she looked good enough to eat.

He shrugged. “I don’t know any other way to be.” She started to shift away from him and his arms tightened reflexively around her. He only relaxed when he felt her settle back into his embrace. He wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. She felt incredibly right wrapped in his arms. “Tell me what you do remember.”

She rubbed her fingers against her temples as if her head still pained her. He waited while she seemed to gather her thoughts. Patience was the key to getting Shelley to open up to him and he suddenly found himself filled with boundless amounts of it where she was concerned. He knew they had to be back on the road soon, but there was time for this.

“Not much.” She dropped her hands back into her lap and clasped them together. “Snippets of other people and places. People I don’t really recognize.” She glanced up at him and then away, and the sadness he glimpsed in her face almost brought tears to his eyes. He’d never seen anyone so sad. “I feel as if I should know them, but I can never quite reach for the knowledge.” She shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to remember.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to remember?” He rubbed his hand over her arm, cuddling her closer.

“I couldn’t go back to them even if I’d wanted to.”

James stilled, his entire body going on alert. Whatever she was about to reveal to him, it wasn’t going to be good. “What do you mean, you couldn’t go back?”

Her hands were clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles were completely white. “I…” She shook her head, curling tighter into herself.

“It’s all right,” he promised. “You can tell me.” He continued to keep his voice low and soothing as he started to stroke her arm again.

She shook her head and her lips pursed together. He’d gotten as much as he was going to. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Chapter Three

Steve Macmillan sipped his drink as he surveyed the three men seated around the table with him. Some folks might think it was too early in the day for a drink, but he didn’t care. The whiskey was smooth and mellow and heated his belly. But it didn’t soothe the anger that seethed inside him.

He carefully set his glass back down on the scarred wood surface, hanging onto his temper by sheer willpower. What he really wanted to do was smash the glass against the faded beige walls. But that would be a waste of fine whiskey.

He was sick to death of being on the move, staying in cheap motels, but they’d had no choice. The debacle in Chicago last fall had landed them in a heap of trouble with a pack of werewolves. He’d spent the last five months hunting them and being hunted by them. It was a deadly cat-and-mouse game that had left five more dead on his side.

But they’d trapped and killed a dozen of those so-called purist wolves. Steve didn’t care if a wolf’s blood was pure or not. In his book, they all needed killing.

He’d enjoyed that part, but it had meant time away from his special project—finding the bitch that had murdered his father. Now it was time to get back on track.

That’s why he’d gathered these men here in his motel room. Once they made plans, they’d split up and do some searching.

“What have you found?” He directed the question to the group, but it was Red Coulter, an old friend of his father’s who answered him.

Red tipped the bottle beside his glass and poured. The amber liquid swirled before settling. The bottle hit the table with a thump and Red raised his glass. “Not much.” He took a big swallow of bourbon and swiped his hand across his mouth. “She must have stolen Tom’s money. I know he kept some on hand for emergencies. It’s hard to tell what she took from the cabin. The fire destroyed damn near everything.”

Fresh anger swamped him as Steve remembered the charred remains of his father’s home in the Tennessee hills. At first, they’d believed it was an accident. But when they’d turned up only one body, he’d brought in an expert, a friend. The last thing any of them wanted was a formal investigation by the authorities. When it had been confirmed his father had been murdered, Steve and his men had torn down the cabin and buried his father’s remains. Then he’d started hunting.

He’d never understood why his father had kept the female werewolf. She’d been a teenager when he’d captured her. She’d been around almost as long as Steve had and he was nearing forty.

His father had told him many times that he was studying her to learn more about their kind. Steve had known the old man had used her for sex and as a housekeeper. He didn’t care about that. The bitch was passable enough and his father had been alone since Steve’s mother had died in childbirth.

His father had made the fatal mistake of believing he’d tamed her and had let down his guard. All her kind were fucking animals and it was his job to put them down.

He shook off the dark memory and turned to Quinn, who met his gaze without flinching. He still wasn’t sure about the quiet man. He’d held his own these past few months and was a crack shot with a rifle. That made him valuable. Quinn didn’t say much and didn’t offer anything about himself. Still, he was an asset Steve would readily use.

“There’s been no sign of her using any of your father’s credit cards,” Mitch added. Mitch had been part of the clusterfuck in Chicago and had been working hard to make up for it ever since.

“That would be too easy,” Red spat. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. A cloud of white smoke rose above his head as he took a long drag and exhaled. “But we’re on it. We’ve got men all over the country watching for her. And our computer guy is monitoring every site he can think of. She has to surface eventually. We’ll find her.”

“Maybe she’s dead,” Quinn offered. “She was alone in the woods with little money and supplies.

“No chance of that, boy.” Red rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “She’s a wolf, pure and simple. That kind can survive in the woods a sight easier than you or I could.”

The leftover pizza he’d eaten for breakfast was sitting heavy in his gut. Steve spun his glass between his hands, wishing it were her pretty neck between his fingers instead. He wanted to choke the life out of her. And he would. But not until she’d paid for what she’d taken from him. He had plans for her. Plenty of hunters would pay good money to have sex with a she-wolf. He’d sell her until she was worn out and then he’d kill her.

Oh, he’d find her if it took the rest of his life. And by the time he was done with her, Shelley would be begging for death.

Shelley had no idea what she was doing or how she’d found herself sitting in James’s lap. His hand was warm as it stroked her arm and he smelled so good. Like fresh air and trees after a rainfall. She longed to lay her head on his shoulder and forget all her worries. She couldn’t believe she’d actually cried all over him.

Why had she let down her guard around him? She’d actually told James a little about her past, which was something she was very careful never to do. What made him so special?

She sniffed and felt his arms tighten around her. He’d slipped beneath her defenses by simply showing her kindness. How sad was that?

She needed to remember she could only depend on herself. There were men looking for her. Evil men. There was no way she could involve someone else in the mess that was her life.

Alone was safer.

Reluctantly, she pushed away from him. This time, he let her go. She slid back onto the seat and swiped at her face with her hands. “Where are we?” She needed to change the subject. She was through talking about herself.

“Not far from Nashville.”

Everything inside her froze. She had been so intent on watching James, she hadn’t been paying attention to the road signs, hadn’t even noticed when they’d crossed the state line. Her limbs began to tremble and she clenched every muscle in her body to try to still the tremors. The last thing she wanted was for James to notice there was something wrong.

Shelley had intended to head in the opposite direction as soon as she’d saved enough money. Maybe up north to New York or west to California. She’d never, ever planned on setting foot back in this state again.

“You okay?” James’s voice was low, the concern evident.

She nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak the only thing that would come out would be a long moan of pain.