He had left his entire estate to her.
Kelley checked the date of the will. He had made it out before she had left. Before he had known she was a spy. But he had never changed it. More, he had made sure she would find it. All the money, this house and several other properties across the country and two in Europe, were now hers.
With trembling hands she put the paper down.
Why? Why me?
She couldn’t understand it. She had never been intimate with Fenris. He had never given any indication of a desire to be intimate with her. He had trusted her, yes, but their relationship had always been businesslike. It was almost too much to comprehend.
Maybe he simply had nobody else. He was not a loved man.
“Maybe,” she said aloud. “Maybe.”
She pushed the papers aside and turned her attention to the box. The lid had a large Othala rune carved deep into the oak. There was no lock on the box. She opened it and found the journal he had spoken of. It was old, bound in brown leather and, she saw as she gently lifted it out, filled with hand-sewn pages. On the cover, burned into the leather, was a title.
Mitt Liv
It was Swedish. Kelley thought for a moment about the translation. My Life.
Below the title was a name: Torsten, Son av Throst Lyngstrad.
Kelley marveled at it. She had never known his real name. She said it aloud, “Torsten Lyngstrad.”
She pushed the box out of the way and set the book down before her.
The light was not good. It was evening and the setting sunlight coming in through the sliding patio doors was slanted and orange. Not good enough for reading. Not really.
Kelley opened to the first page and began to read.
Joey
“Blood.”
“What?”
Joey turned to face her. Jenny was even prettier than she’d been as a little girl when he’d unwittingly brought her into a Pack he didn’t know existed, didn’t know he, himself, was a part of. “Blood,” he repeated. “The sun looks like a huge drop of blood sitting on top of the waves way, way out there.”
“It’s a trick of the light,” Jenny said. “The haze and distance, you know.”
“Hmm,” Joey grunted, but he wasn’t looking at the sun or the water. The red light filled Jenny’s face, illuminated the wisps of hair that had pulled loose of her thick ponytail and were streaming like banners around her red-tinged face. She had cared for him when she didn’t have to. She could have left him to his depression, but she hadn’t. When he’d grown too weak to eat, she fed him. She read to him, talked to him, told him what was going on in the world, what news she and Kelley had received from their friends. She’d held his hand and when she thought he was asleep she’d cried and pleaded with him to get well.
Jenny met his gaze and smiled.
“I’ve been in a haze,” Joey said. “And distance … There’s too much distance here.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips tentatively. She didn’t pull away, so he lifted a hand to her neck, cupped her there, and pressed his lips to hers again. They parted and he put his forehead against hers so he could look into her eyes. “You saved me. Thank you.”
“I …”
“I heard you sometimes when you thought I was asleep,” Joey confessed.
“You did?” she asked, flushing.
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I’d still be laying there in that bed if it wasn’t for you and what you said,” Joey told her. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you came back to us. To … me.” Her eyes smiled at him. Joey kissed her eyelids then the tip of her nose.
“I was thinking the whole time I was there,” Joey said. “In bed. Thinking.”
“About what?” Jenny leaned back and looked at him intently.
“Mom. Dad. That girl, my sister. Morrigan. I never knew her. Was she evil? Could someone evil come from, you know, from my mom? What happened?”
“Kelley says it was that Old One named Holle,” Jenny offered. “Kelley says she made the girl do everything.”
“Maybe.” Joey turned back toward the sun that was now only a glimmer on the lapping waves of the Pacific. Night was settling around them, and with it the air turned cooler. Joey took Jenny’s hand in his own and she scooted closer to him. “Maybe that’s how it was. I want to know. I want … I want to know more about us. About werewolves. The Pack.”
“Kelley knows a lot,” Jenny said.
“Yes. So does Cerdwyn. There are only a few left who really know anything at all,” Joey said. When the depression had left him, he’d been weak and remained in bed, but then he’d read on his own. Fenris had amassed an amazing collection of documents, and when Ulrik’s had been discovered and added to the library it had become the most complete history of the Pack ever gathered in one place. One piece, in particular, had caught Joey’s attention.
“You’ve made a plan. Thought of something you want to do,” Jenny said. She nuzzled her head against his shoulder as the waves continued to whisper up the sand.
“I think so,” Joey said. “I’m not the Alpha. I’ve accepted that. But because I was the first to be born, maybe our kind will respect me. Maybe they’ll trust me.”
“You want to lead?”
“No. I want to learn. But I thought maybe if there was, like a council or something, we could all learn. I was reading about a man called Bjorn Halden. He was born in the Viking times and was turned into a werewolf as revenge for killing some French werewolf. He started these meetings at a place called the Foundation Stone. We could do that. We could put together like a council to watch over the Pack, and have meetings every year or so.”
“Who would be on the council? What would we talk about at the meetings?” Jenny asked.
“Well, I was thinking of Skandar, Cerdwyn, Kelley, and Thomas, I guess. And you. The two strongest leaders we had are both dead. It could be a dangerous time for us.”
“Fenris and Ulrik? Or Holle and Morrigan?”
“Ulrik and Fenris. Holle and Morrigan … they never really led anybody. But I have to wonder, with that power Morrigan had. The way she called us all to her. I wonder what would have happened if she had lived.”
“I don’t think it would have been good,” Jenny said. “I think she was bad from the start. She killed her twin brother in the womb, remember?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“What would the meetings be about?” Jenny repeated.
“Pack stuff. I don’t know. But I think things will come up,” Joey said. “For one thing, we’ll probably have to find and deal with werewolves causing problems. Who will control Fenris’s progeny now that he’s gone? He made too many werewolves and wasn’t very careful about who he gave the Gift to, from what I heard.”
“It’s true,” Jenny agreed. “So, what will you do?”
“I should talk to Kelley, I guess. But I want to do other things, too. I haven’t seen anything. I lived in that stupid swamp for so long. I want to travel. Maybe go find the place where Bjorn Halden made his Foundation Stone.”
Jenny snaked her arm around his. “You can do whatever you want. Everything that was your mom and dad’s is yours now. And your mom had inherited everything that was Ulrik’s. You’re really rich.”
Joey sat quietly for a while. The air smelled of salt and sea and cooling sand and Jenny’s perfect feminine aroma of soft skin, silky hair and a subtle perfume. What is money compared to this?
“I am,” he agreed. He turned his face and kissed the top of her head. “That doesn’t mean everything will be easy, though.”
“No,” she said. She didn’t move her head as he kissed her, but her fingers traced patterns on his arm and thigh.
“I want you to be with me.”
She looked up then and the first evening stars were reflected in her eyes. Joey kissed her softly on the mouth. Her arm went behind his neck and she pulled him down onto the sand with her. The womanly smell of her wa
s intoxicating, overpowering.
“I’d give up all the money for you,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to,” she told him.
He kissed her again and smiled. “Will you leave the path and dance with me in the forest?” It was something he’d heard his mother say once when she was talking about how Ulrik brought her into the Pack.
Jenny laughed softly and he stopped her with another kiss.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven E. Wedel lives in central Oklahoma with his wife and most of his kids … the ones who haven’t grown up enough to leave the den yet, anyway. He began writing in the mid-1980s and has kept at it despite numerous disappointments and setbacks. Steve has a bachelor’s degree in journalism from the University of Central Oklahoma and a master’s degree in liberal studies from the University of Oklahoma. He has worked as a machinist, bookseller, stock clerk, journalist, public relations specialist and is now a high school English teacher most of the year.
Visit him online at www.werewolfsaga.com.
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