Remembering Melaina

by Maia Dylan

  Grey River 8

  Remembering Melaina

  Sometimes the only way to keep fighting and survive today, is to embrace the pain of yesterday and remember who you are. Melaina Christakos was beginning to understand just how true that was. She had always known her father was insane, hard not to when the man insisted on experimenting on her and the women she considered family. But the depth of his madness becomes more apparent when she awakes in a hospital with no real memory of who she is and a light within that tells her not all is as it seems.

  Kyle and Grant Snow are being kept from their mate, and both of them have retribution in mind. Melaina is in danger, and they need to get to her and will kill anyone who stands in their way.

  Once they find her, can Kyle and Grant prove that their future together is more than worth the pain of remembering her past?

  Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter

  Length: 52,603 words

  REMEMBERING MELAINA

  Grey River 8

  Maia Dylan

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  REMEMBERING MELAINA

  Copyright © 2016 by Maia Dylan

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-328-0

  First E-book Publication: June 2016

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Remembering Melaina by Maia Dylan from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Maia Dylan’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Maia Dylan’s right to earn a living from her work.

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  DEDICATION

  I have been wanting to write Melaina’s story now for so long! Ever since she came to me in Angel’s story and then I learned more about her through Xanthe’s story, I was so excited about her HEA. But I had to make sure that whoever she gave her heart to they were deserving, and Kyle and Grant were absolutely the right wolves for the job.

  Thank you to Barbara who helped me to bring Melaina alive through some inspiration images.

  And as always, for my Hubby, who comforted me when the words became too much.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  REMEMBERING MELAINA

  Grey River 8

  MAIA DYLAN

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  “Xanthe!” she called out for what felt like the millionth time, her voice hoarse. Her hand ached from pounding it against the wall and reinforced door that led to her room. Xanthe had been dragged downstairs by their father over an hour ago, and she should have been back in her room by now.

  She screamed her frustrations to the room at large. She was a protector. That was how she was made. Xanthe was hers to protect and those men were not allowing her to do what she had been born to do. There was nothing more frustrating.

  Walking toward the door, the wave of malicious intent that slammed into her through the door gave her pause. Before she was able to process what she was feeling and why the door imploded inward, she fell back with a startled gasp as four men piled into the room. Three of them carried weapons, Colt AR-15 tactical assault rifles. All of them were spotless, well cared for, and the men carrying them looked like they knew exactly how to use them.

  They spread out in a standard attack formation, weapons raised, fingers on their triggers, sweeping the single room for all threats before leveling the weapons on the only threat in the room. Her. She turned her gaze to the remaining man. He stood at five-foot-six, was of light to medium build, and wore his hair short on the sides but longer on top, slicked back with some type of wet-looking styling product. Where the others wore combat attire, he was dressed in a business suit, and he carried a different kind of gun. This one was a handheld tranquilizer dart gun. This one scared her more.

  “Which one are you?” the man in the business suit asked.

  She tilted her head, not taking her eyes off the man, but keeping all four men in sight. “Which one are you looking for?”

  The men shot her a grin. “By your dark hair and cocky attitude, I am going to say you are most definitely the one I am looking for. I find myself in need of an asset with psychic abilities. Your father has started you on the road to greatness, and I have the skills and the desire to help you get there. Your father’s feelings for you are making it harder for him to increase your treatments to a level that will see your results improve exponentially. I am not shackled with that emotion.”

  She stood up slowly, raising her arms in an attempt to look nonthreatening when all the while her brain ran through options for getting out of this situation and this room alive, and without whatever was loaded into that damn dart in her system. “That statement alone tells me that you don’t know my father. I’ve lived with the man for eighteen years a
nd there has never been a sliver of emotion from him that wasn’t hatred, rage, or disappointment.”

  “I have no reason to care either way. I have you, and that is all I need.”

  Another man entered the room, dressed in the same military garb as the three still holding their weapons on her. He spoke to the man in the business suit in a language she didn’t understand.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. Her heart was beating faster and she got an odd sensation of fear and pain shooting through her skull like someone was yanking on her hair, but there was no one behind her. Instinctively, she knew it was coming from Xanthe.

  “Nothing to worry about, I have what I came for.” The guy lifted the tranq gun in her direction and she couldn’t help but take a step backward in fear when the guy’s eyes lit with satisfaction. She knew it had been the reaction he’d sought. “My Colombian friends who have helped me to liberate you today have found what they were looking for downstairs and it is win/win for all involved. Well, except you and the people downstairs.”

  He spoke in rapid Spanish to the other three men in the room, and they all moved at the same time to surround her. She moved back to press herself against the farthest wall, not wanting them to be able to completely surround her.

  Xanthe was downstairs. “My sister, she has abilities like I do.”

  The man grinned. “No, she doesn’t. Not like yours. All the test results show her abilities to be minimal. She would not survive what I have planned.”

  She swallowed her fear at that. What made him think she would survive them? Then the answer came to her and her panic stilled. Vengeance would keep her alive. No matter what happened to her now, and in the future, she would strike back at everyone who had harmed her or her sister. She would come at them like a demon from the depths of hell and push upon them every pain, every fear, and every goddamn moment of agony she and her sister had experienced at their hand tenfold.

  She pushed off from the wall as fast as she could, moving toward the man closest to her right-hand side. Leaping on him, she fought to get the weapon from him and, at the same time, swung to break his nose and take him out of the equation for a moment. Even knowing that it was hopeless didn’t stop her from at least trying. After all, what could one woman do against four men, three of them heavily armed? As she moved toward the second man, she felt the sharp sting of the dart in her side.

  She swung at the man but never connected. Her whole body dropped to the floor as all the strength left her body. Her face slammed into the ground hard, blood pouring from her nose. Whatever was in the dart was strong and fast-acting. She was fighting a losing battle and had only one thought as darkness seeped into the sides of her vision. Xanthe. She had to warn her sister, and hopefully, give her time to get out.

  “Xanthe!” she called out as she sat bolt upright in her hospital bed. Her heart pounded and the last vestige of the nightmare she endured each night lingered for a moment longer.

  She was still in the hospital, her father visiting periodically, her doctors telling her she was progressing nicely, which was bullshit considering she still couldn’t remember anything before the day she awoke in this hospital room. Yet in that dream, she could recall a woman she knew was her sister Xanthe. Did she exist? Who was the man with the slicked-back hair? Hell, even though she often caught tendrils of feelings toward the man who called her daughter, most of which were negative, she couldn’t place him in her past either. There was nothing but a void.

  The end of the nightmare was always the same. She would awaken to scream the name Xanthe hoarsely, her heart pounding out of her chest. She recalled that, as the blackness of unconsciousness claimed her in the dream, she heard gunshots in the distance, and vengeance was the last thing on her mind before the dark swept over her.

  Melissa settled back against the mattress, trying to calm her breathing. What she wouldn’t give to be able to see into her past—even if for just one moment—to see who the hell she really was.

  * * * *

  “She’s reacting positively to the medication. Whatever is inhibiting her psychic abilities it is most definitely not medicinal.” It was not difficult for Melissa to hear the discussion between her doctor and her father the next night. They had stepped from the room, assuming that she had succumbed to the medication they used to keep her calm at night, but they hadn’t closed the door.

  “It has to be something! There has been no indication of the abilities she had before she left. Conduct more tests. I need her operational as soon as possible.”

  Operational. They had used that term before, and Melissa still had no clue what that meant. It made her sound like some kind of soldier conducting missions for the military or something. And, if truth be told, that felt familiar in a way.

  “We can do that, but with all due respect, she just may not be able to return to what she was before the incident.”

  Incident. What a lovely way to talk about the moment she killed a man and then attempted to take her own life. The scars were still vivid on her wrists, but she had no memory of the act itself, or the desperation and despair she would have assumed would have accompanied it. But after a month, she would have thought the dark veil that hid her past from her would have lifted.

  “I refuse to accept that. She has a level of skill that I require and I have clients waiting to use that expertise. Get her operational, Doctor, and you will be well rewarded.”

  Lie. She had no idea how, but she knew that her father was lying.

  “Fail and you will feel my wrath.”

  Truth. With that, she heard her father turn on his heel and stride down the hallway, the fast, rhythmic sound of his Italian leather loafers on the linoleum a sound she knew well. And loathed.

  Melissa lay still, ensuring to keep her breathing steady. Dr. Weir walked back into the room, muttering about an interfering, dictator asshole that she naturally assumed was her father. She remained still as he came to stand beside the bed.

  “It is hard to fathom that someone so beautiful could come from a toxic piece of shit like that,” Weir said with a sigh, and Melissa had to fight not to flinch as he slid the back of his fingers down her cheek. “It’s such a pity that all that beauty lies here going to waste.” His hand slid down the side of her neck and moved to cup her breast, squeezing it painfully in his hand. She forced herself to remain still beneath his touch. He needed to believe that she was still completely incapacitated by the drugs he fed her. If he knew her tolerance was building toward it, he would increase the dose. Besides, with the restraints still on, she wouldn’t be able to get her hands around his throat like she would have liked, anyway.

  “Perhaps one of these nights I will come to you, and we can enjoy some alone time, hmm?” His hand slid up from her breast, over her collarbone, and over one of the marks on the side of her neck. “The plastic surgeons have said that these scars can be removed, and soon you will be…flawless.”

  She may have been lying dormant beneath his hand, but inside she was screaming. Weir sighed again, and she felt him turn from her and leave the room, the hydraulic swoosh of the door closing, signaling his departure.

  She took a slow, deep breath, attempting to calm herself. Everything still felt wrong. There was an internal alarm system within her that was blaring louder and louder each day, telling her that she wasn’t safe and needed to get up and get her ass out of this hospital. She underwent physio each day to limit the atrophy that could occur from lack of movement, and she would continue the exercises long after she was left alone at night. There would come a time when she would need to move quickly, and when it came she wanted to be sure it was possible. Physically, she was able to prepare, but emotionally it was a lot harder.

  When everything became too much and her thoughts brought more questions than answers, she reached for the place within her that had been her only solace since waking up with no knowledge of who or where she was. There was a light within her, a hidden haven in an eternal darkness where she felt safe. I
t seemed to stretch away from her and reached out into a void, but whenever she reached for it, small waves of warmth and comfort would come with it.

  When she felt the first pulse of comfort, she shuddered, and a single tear slid unchecked down her cheek.

  Chapter Two

  One month earlier

  Kyle Snow watched as his brother continued to prowl across the floor of their motel room, a constant growl emanating from his chest. Although Kyle could understand Grant’s irritation, his constant pacing was beginning to annoy the shit out of him.

  “For Christ’s sake, Grant,” Kyle snarled, “would you sit the fuck down before I make you and we end up having to pay for damages, again? Those damn Reyes brothers will never let us live it down.”

  Grant stopped pacing and turned to glare at him, his wolf clearly in his eyes. The stress of all of this was taking its toll on both of them, but Grant still had difficulties finding ways to deal with it all.

  “You know what, Kyle? If you think you can make me sit down, then come the fuck on! I am more than willing to go a round or two with you. Hell, in my present condition, it would probably be considered therapeutic! Call Tomas and Diego. They’re only next door. I’ll take on all fucking three of you.”

  Kyle took a deep breath and counted to ten, then counted a second time in Spanish. They had spent the day chasing their tails looking for a woman that Kyle had quickly come to suspect would only ever be found when she wanted to be. They had been traveling with the Reyes brothers since they’d left Grey River, and even the legendary Enforcer trackers were having difficulty accepting that one woman was able to keep so far ahead of them that she was basically in the wind.