Legends: Bloodline Book 2

by Michelle Bredeson

  “Carly Morneau doesn’t want a boyfriend—what a shocker. Well, here’s something that might surprise you. I’m perfectly content just being your friend as long as it means we get to spend time together.”

  “The thing is, having a guy as my friend hasn’t really worked out for me in the past.”

  “Well,” Abel said, pursing his lips. “I can’t be your boyfriend, and I can’t be your friend. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “No!” Carly protested, annoyed by her desperation. She was sending mixed signals, but that couldn’t be helped. “I mean, don’t leave.”

  “You want me to stay, but we can’t be friends?”

  She took a sip of coffee, and couldn’t keep her gaze from him this time. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “No,” he assured her. “I’m actually completely comfortable with that arrangement.”

  “Are you? Even though it means we can’t kiss?”

  Abel’s lips twitched in a smile. “I think I’ve more than proven that I can control myself around you—even when I really, really don’t want to.”

  Carly distracted herself with a sip of coffee. She had to admit, there was something terribly sexy about his compliance. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

  “Oh, we are.”

  The weight of the journal under Carly’s arm reminded her of the restless night she’d had. Her grandfather’s words were fresh in her mind and would be much easier to process if she had someone to share them with. And considering what she had to share, she couldn’t imagine a more appropriate sounding board. “Do you want to go somewhere? To talk?”

  “You don’t want to talk here?” Abel asked.

  “No, I really think we should go somewhere.” Somewhere my father can’t hear us.

  “Of course, Carly. Anywhere you want.”

  * * *

  Abel’s eyes flitted from Carly to the leather-bound book on the café tabletop between them. He picked up the journal, turning it over in his hands. “You found this in your bedroom?”

  “Yes,” Carly confirmed, eyeing the patrons of the small downtown café. She wasn’t sure if the secluded booth would afford them enough privacy, but Abel had heard her stomach growling and had insisted on buying her breakfast. She hadn’t been inclined to argue, but was now second-guessing herself. After all, there were delicate matters to discuss.

  “And no one knows about this?” he added, freeing the book from the leather cord so he could open the front cover.

  “No one but you and me. And, well, my late grandfather, I suppose.”

  Abel stared at her for a moment before looking down to skim the first page. “He wrote this for you?”

  “Apparently,” Carly said. “The whole thing’s in his handwriting. At one point, he even refers to it as his manifesto.”

  “Wow, okay. How much of it did you read?”

  “I only have a few pages left. I mean, I was almost finished when you showed up.”

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” Abel asked.

  “No,” she answered. “Did you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I, uh, I had just a little too much on my mind. If you read most of this, what does it say?”

  This was the part Carly hadn’t been looking forward to—the part where she had to tell him the truth. “It says a lot of things, Abel.”

  “I’m sure it does. Anything specific?”

  Carly reached across the table and rested her hand on top of his. Just as she’d expected, a hum of electricity formed between them. She moved her fingers back and forth over his knuckles, watching as little white shimmers ignited under her touch.

  “Carly?” Abel breathed. His hand flinched under hers, but he didn’t pull away.

  “There’s a lot of stuff in here, Abel. Stuff about our parents. Stuff I’m sure none of us knew.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Look, there’s a possibility it’s not true, although I don’t know why Honorius would lie. Not when he was so up front about everything else.”

  Abel searched her gaze, content to leave his hand under hers. “Carly, whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  “Are you sure?” she challenged.

  “I’m sure I’d never lie to you.”

  She wrapped her fingers around Abel’s, squeezing them in her palm. She wasn’t afraid to trust him, but she was afraid to hurt him. “You have to know that I’m only telling you this because I’m sick of people lying all the time. I’m sick of everyone hiding things from each other. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “Yeah, I agree, but where are you going with this?” Abel wondered.

  Carly sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she wasn’t the best person to deliver this news—

  “Carly, please, just spit it out,” he pleaded.

  “Abel… Before I tell you, I have to preface that this journal reads like some kind of scandalous gossip novel. My grandfather boasts that he had an especially honed ability to hear the thoughts of even the most reluctant shapeshifter. He found no moral issue with prying even the deepest secrets out of his so-called friends for his own amusement.”

  “What deep secrets, Carly?” Abel asked.

  That Gabriel is your brother.

  Abel’s face went white as he pulled his hand out from under hers and slumped back in his seat. “What…? Carly, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “He’s technically your half-brother. You and Gabe have the same father.”

  “Carly, that’s… impossible. I’ve seen pictures of my mom pregnant with me.”

  “I didn’t say you shared the same mother.”

  Abel’s face read anger, and confusion, and disbelief. That was more the reaction she’d been expecting. “What…? I mean, are you sure? I… I’m sorry, Carly, but this doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense, Abel, but what if it’s true? What if Paul Hutchinson is your real father?”

  Abel cocked his head as he glared back at her, and she thought he might leave.

  “Abel, according to my grandfather, your dad was in Romania during the time of your conception,” Carly explained, hoping to at least satisfy him with what she knew. “He didn’t return to the States until three months into Gretta’s pregnancy.”

  “Carly, that… I mean, you have no way of proving that.”

  “You’re right—I don’t. Did you know your mom dated Paul when they were in high school?”

  Abel shook his head.

  “Well, she did,” Carly said. “And they didn’t just date—they were engaged. But Gretta wasn’t full blood, only three-quarters, and that didn’t seem to be enough to satisfy Paul’s parents. He’s full blood and had to marry someone who was also full blood. His parents forced him to break up with your mom and marry Gabe’s mom instead. But what if despite all that, Gretta and Paul didn’t stop seeing each other?”

  Abel gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the tense muscles of his biceps.

  Carly wasn’t sure if she should keep going, but didn’t think it fair to stop now. “My grandfather lists dates of your dad’s plane tickets to Romania. He references times that Paul and your mom would have had alone together. I don’t know why my grandfather would have told me something like that, but he did, so it must be for a reason. Maybe that reason was so I could be the one to tell you. I don’t know, but whatever my grandfather’s motives, I believe him.”

  Abel’s dark eyes clouded with doubt. “What about Esther?”

  “She’s your half-sister.”

  “My half-sister? Carly, are you sure? Because she and Gabe… I mean, they…”

  “Honorius is insistent that Esther’s your half-sister. He claimed to have a sixth sense for children born of full blood parents. That’s how he figured out Paul and Gretta’s affair. Paul’s parents wanted Gretta to terminate the pregnancy, you, but she refused. They allowed her to keep you on the condition that she and Paul end their relationship. Which they did, immediately
. At least, that’s how the story goes.”

  Abel looked out the big picture window at the front of the café. “And what if I don’t believe you?”

  Carly nodded to the journal. “You don’t have to believe me. By all means, read for yourself. I want you to. But be warned that there’s some pretty wild stuff in there, which is why I figured I’d tell you the most important thing first. If we’re going to be friends, we can’t have secrets.”

  “You said we weren’t going to be friends,” he reminded her.

  “Either way, I’m not going to keep something like this from you.”

  “Two breakfast platters,” their waitress announced, dropping an armful of plates on the table. “Extra pancakes, just like you asked. Can I get you anything else?”

  “I think we’re going to need some more coffee, thanks,” Abel answered.

  “You kids and your coffee,” she muttered, and walked away.

  Abel picked up a piece of bacon, devouring it in one bite. “You didn’t have to tell me any of this, Carly. You could have kept it from me and I never would have known the difference.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want that,” Carly confessed. “Because, well, for whatever reason, you’re the person I trust most right now.”

  That seemed to convince him. “You said there was mention of a timeline when my dad was in Romania? Do you think there’s a way to track down a plane ticket or something? To give us some real proof that he was out of the country?”

  “A plane ticket purchased nearly twenty years ago? I don’t know. We could try.”

  Abel stared down at the journal. “You said I can read it?”

  “Yes, of course,” Carly replied. “Most of it’s my grandfather keeping tabs on the shapeshifters that lived here in Sterling, writing down their most intimate thoughts. He was a real control freak, from what I gather. But the stuff he wrote about my parents—about their wedding on the shore, how they’d felt destined to be together—it’s all true, from what my mother told me. It makes it difficult to doubt the rest of it. Even what Honorius wrote about Paul and your mom. I could totally be wrong, but what if I’m not?”

  Abel reached for another piece of bacon. “Have you told anyone else about this? Your dad?”

  She snickered. “I don’t tell my dad anything anymore, Abel. I’m certainly not going to tell him this. I probably shouldn’t have told you, I just…” Had to. As soon as I read it, I felt like you needed to know.

  “And what about Gabe?” Abel dared. “Does he also need to know? Are you two even talking anymore?”

  Carly wasn’t talking to Gabe, and definitely didn’t want to approach him with this. “Whether or not it’s true, it’s not my secret to tell. Please don’t put that on me.”

  Abel was a mix of apprehension and something else, something Carly may not have recognized had they not become so close. For as much as he hated the notion of secrets, Abel was quite content that Carly had shared this one with him. For once, Gabe didn’t control the narrative.

  “Well, in that case,” Abel spoke, a tinge of arrogance creeping into his tone, “we shouldn’t tell anyone anything until we have more information. There’s been enough excitement around here for a while, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” she was quick to agree. “There has.”

  Abel cut up a pancake and proceeded to drown it in syrup. “It probably wouldn’t hurt you to eat something, considering the night you’ve had.”

  Carly nodded, and picked up a piece of bacon. One bite turned into two, and the strips soon disappeared from her plate.

  “I knew you were hungry,” Abel said with a wink. “You know, that journal’s got me thinking… Maybe your grandfather’s not the only one who wrote something down. My house has been in my mom’s family for generations. We’ve got all kinds of stuff in our attic, but I’ve never really taken the time to look through it. Maybe I should.”

  “I could help,” Carly offered as their server dropped off a fresh pot of coffee. “I mean, I could help you look in your attic sometime, if you’d like.”

  “I would like that, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind. I forget, are we friends again or what?”

  That got her to grin. “Yes, Abel, we’re friends.”

  “Well, that’s definitely good to know. Thank you, by the way. Not just for telling me what you found in the journal, but for trusting me. That means a lot coming from you.”

  “You’re welcome. I know this is a lot to process, but there are benefits to it being true. It means you’re more than three-quarters shapeshifter, Abel. This would make you, what, seven-eighths? That means you’re more powerful than you think you are. That’s got to feel pretty nice.”

  “And here I thought you were a pessimist.”

  “I can be a glass half-empty kind of girl sometimes, yes,” Carly admitted. “But not about this. You have to see the advantages.”

  “I think you want me to see the advantages, Carly,” Abel replied. “Because you actually believe it. You actually believe that my mom could do something like that.”

  “I don’t even know your mom, Abel, but I do know you. Or at least, I’m starting to. I understand how big of a deal this is. I get the weight of it, which is why I don’t want you to carry it alone.”

  If I’m not allowed to kiss you, you’re not allowed to say something like that until I can, his thought slipped into Carly’s. Abel took a bite of eggs, and spoke, “I’d really like to read that journal and learn all about my parents’ mistakes, but not right now. Right now, I’d like to forget all that and be a teenager for a while—maybe make some of my own mistakes. What do you say?”

  Carly liked the sound of that. She liked the idea of shutting off her brain and just having fun. “We could have a race in the woods. That is, if you think you can keep up.”

  “I probably can’t,” Abel said with a smile. “But I’d still really like to try.”

  eleven

  Carly stepped into the hallway after her homeroom final Monday morning, thankful to be out of her class with Gabe and on her way to meet Abel in the lobby. She hadn’t known what to expect from Gabe this morning, but he’d walled off his thoughts and shut her out completely. They’d existed in the same room, yet somehow, in two separate worlds.

  Gabe was making it easy for Carly to move on. He was also making her realize she wanted to.

  Abel had a final, too, but neither he nor Carly had anything else on the books until after three. They’d agreed to spend the day searching through Abel’s attic, looking for hidden treasure. The notion of finding more clues to their past gave Carly something to obsess over besides boys. Finally.

  “Took you long enough,” Abel greeted Carly, a smile at his lips as she joined him in the lobby.

  “Did you speed through your final or something?” she replied, walking past him for the exit.

  Abel swooped in and opened the door for her. “It was a history test, Carly. There was really nothing to it. You’re not the only one who’s super smart, you know.”

  “I never claimed I was super smart.”

  “You didn’t need to.”

  She followed him to the PT Cruiser, watching as he opened the door for her. Abel was always such a gentleman that way. “Did you bring it with you?”

  “Did I bring what with me?” Abel teased, his gaze falling to her mouth.

  “The journal?” she answered, and slid into the car.

  “Yeah, it’s under the passenger seat. You said you didn’t finish reading it, right?”

  “How could I finish reading it when you stole it from me? Why, what does it say?”

  “Hold that thought,” he advised, closing her door before he rushed around the car to join her. He turned over the engine and closed up his door in one swift motion, turning down Jeremy Messersmith on the stereo. “Maybe we should get you some coffee first.”

  “You can’t just tell me?” Carly questioned, digging out the journal as he peeled out of the parking lot. “Abel? Is it really so
bad that we can’t even talk about it?”

  “I think it’d be best if you read it for yourself. On second thought…” He snatched the journal away, and continued, “You seem to handle things better when you have a cup of coffee in your hands.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Carly determined, and stole the book back.