Forget Me When the Sun Goes Down (Forged Bloodlines Book 11)

by Lisa Olsen

  There was one thing we hadn’t talked about yet since everything had settled down, and I figured it was as good a time as any to bring it up.

  “So, ah… you were going to propose?”

  Bishop’s eyes widened, caught completely off guard by the topic. He rubbed the back of his head, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “Yeah, about that. Carys wore the ring, so I was thinking…”

  “I don’t care about the ring,” I interrupted him. “I care about the part that goes with it.”

  “You do.” He digested that for a moment, pulling the car over to the side of the road. “So you would be receptive to a conversation involving a ring?”

  Yes, a thousand times yes! the little voice inside me jumped up and down for joy, but I managed to keep my cool. “I’m not up for a trip to Mordor, but a different kind of ring…”

  His lips curved, face softening as he turned to me. “A forever kind of ring…”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that kind of a conversation,” I smiled back.

  Bishop swallowed, turning back to face the road, his fingers releasing and grasping the steering wheel again as he took in a discreet breath. “Okay then, that’s good to know.” He pulled out onto the road again, putting us back on course.

  I turned my gaze to the spectacular view out the window, unable to keep the smile off my face. Good to know, indeed.

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  Read on for a special preview of Lisa Olsen’s novel, Moonsong, available now!

  Books by Lisa Olsen:

  The Touch

  Nine Steps to Sara

  Moonsong

  Scarlett Moon

  Chase the Moon (announced)

  Pretty Witches All in a Row

  Kiss the Witch Goodbye

  The Company Series:

  The Company of Shadows

  The Company of Darkness

  The Company of Lies

  The Company of Death

  The Fallen Series:

  Angel of Mercy

  Mercy for the Wicked

  Mercy for the Damned

  Child of Mercy

  Mercy for the Fallen

  Forged Bloodlines Series:

  Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Find Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Miss Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Follow Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Hear Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Release Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Trust Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Tempt Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Kiss Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Carter

  Forget Me When the Sun Goes Down

  Book 12 (announced)

  The Vampire Diaries:

  Tabula Rasa

  Dark Side of the Moon

  For more information, visit the author’s website at http://www.lisaolsen.net

  or her author page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/lisaolsen

  You can also visit her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lisaolsenrobotbrain

  Preview - Moonsong

  Chapter One

  West. “Just keep driving west ’til you hit water. I’m serious, Millie, don’t slow down for more than a pit stop ’til you get there, or they’ll find you. And they’ll never stop coming…”

  Amelia could still hear Luc’s voice, low and urgent in the darkness as he practically pulled her from bed in the dead of night. It took everything she had to keep her concentration on the road and away from the dark memories that threatened to swallow her whole. How long had it been? Somehow it felt so much longer than the night before. Millie couldn’t dwell on that, doing her best to keep her focus on the road ahead. Despite the ache in her foot from the constant thrum of the accelerator, she’d do her damnedest to follow Luc’s advice, it was the least she could do after his sacrifice. Her Jeep pointed resolutely west, eating up the miles as she went as fast as she dared, given her lack of sleep.

  Nearly twenty hours she’d been on the road, stopping only to fill up the red Jeep and her stomach with gas station food. The time for coffee was long past; Amelia had moved on to energy shot drinks, desperate to stay alert long enough to reach the elusive sanctuary with the grandmother she’d never met. Though how a grandmother could keep her safe from those animals…

  Her gaze darted to the rearview mirror, checking for signs of pursuit, a soft snort escaping when she realized she had no idea how to actually spot a tail, since her experience was strictly limited to old reruns of Charlie’s Angels. Catching sight of her dark eyes in the mirror, they blinked back at her, red rimmed and puffy from crying. Well, that was to be expected when she’d spent most of the past twenty-four hours blubbering like a little girl. It wasn’t like she normally cried at the drop of a hat, Millie hated showing any weakness in front of others. A little surprised she even had tears left, she looked away quickly as they misted over again, focusing on the road.

  After a well meaning convenience store clerk offered to call the cops for her if she needed help, she had to take a few minutes to straighten her appearance as best she could in the dingy bathroom. Amelia pulled fingers through wildly tangled hair that normally hung down her back in long chestnut waves. A quick wash of the face made her pale skin less blotchy from crying, and a fevered bit of scrubbing made the spatters of blood on her shirt look more like old barbecue sauce, which they so were not.

  If it was unusual for a girl to be out on the road by herself in the middle of the night without a coat or socks, Millie tried to carry it off with deliberate casualness, thankful for the mild weather. But her eyes – no amount of cool water or cold compresses could remove the haunted look from eyes that had seen more horrors in the past twenty-four hours than anyone had a right to bear.

  West. She had to keep going west and find her grandmother in a place called Cutter’s Folly, that was all she could focus on for the moment. Once she got there, well, then she’d have to worry about how to find the woman she’d never laid eyes on. Then she could fall apart and really grieve.

  *

  The wide open expanses of the desert gradually gave way to the mountainous, tree covered terrain once she hit California. Tired as she was, Amelia almost missed the exit sign that led to Cutter’s Folly. Slamming on the brakes, she guided the sturdy Jeep onto the narrow road, grateful for the deserted highway or she would’ve ended up causing an accident for sure.

  The canopy of surrounding woods instantly swallowed the moon’s pale light, the headlights straining to cut through the inky darkness. “Not at all creepy,” she murmured, following the twisting road, not daring to go any faster than the posted speed limit.

  The trees grew less dense as she neared the town, and Amelia found the oppressive gloom of the forest fading. Of course, that left plenty of room for more mundane worries. Other than her grandmother’s first name, she had no idea whatsoever how to find the woman. No idea what she looked like, or even if she was still alive except for the absolute certainty in her brother’s voice. Cutter’s Folly was barely a blip on the map she’d bought at the last gas station. How hard could it be to find a woman in a town that size? Especially one where she’d lived all her life?

  Apparently harder than she’d thought.

  At eight p.m. most of the shops lining the main street were dark or locked up tight, as was the gas station. Not that Tres Cruces, New Mexico had been a thriving metropolis. At least they had their share of twenty-four hour gas stations and mini marts, and even a decent bar or two. There were a few people out strolling on foot in Cutter’s Folly, but Millie was leery of approaching total strangers on the street to ask after her grandmother with Luc’s warning still ringing in her ears.

  As she continued to the end of the main thoroughfare, the only place tha
t showed any signs of life was a pub called The Muddy Rudder, decorated in a fisherman’s motif. Muted strains of The Grateful Dead punctuated by rowdy laughter drifted on the night breeze as she neared the heavy, wooden door, pulling on it with a soft groan. The moment she stepped into the bar, conversation died as all eyes swung towards her. Sure a girl likes to be looked at, but this is ridiculous.

  Resisting the urge to scowl at the nosiest patrons, Amelia pasted on a tight smile as she made her way to the bar, hoping some of the interest would fade in a minute or two. A thick lipped bartender shuffled over, openly gaping at her as he swabbed the bar with a rag that had seen better days. “Help you, miss?”

  “Ah… yes, cup of coffee, please?” Amelia gave him a polite smile, noting with dismay that there were no Visa or MasterCard logos anywhere by the ancient cash register. There went more of her precious cash. She could only hope she’d have better luck at the local motel or she’d be sleeping in the back of her jeep.

  “Coffee…” he repeated, staring at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.

  “Yeah, coffee? Anything hot really.”

  The bartender scratched behind his ear. “I got hot cider. That be alright, miss?”

  Hot cider. She hadn’t had hot cider in years. “Sure, that sounds fine,” she nodded, letting him off the hook, and he shuffled off to fetch her drink.

  Conversation in the bar started up again in muted tones, and though not everyone stared so much anymore, there were still an inordinate amount of glances in her direction. Refusing to let them cow her, she stared back brazenly at anyone she caught looking. The cider delivered a minute later, Millie savored the warmth of the mug and the spices that tickled her nose. Closing her eyes to the outside world, she allowed herself a moment of liquid comfort.

  Feeling decidedly warmer and rapidly losing her inhibitions at talking to complete strangers, Amelia decided to get down to business. “Excuse me, sir?” she called out to the bartender again. “I wonder if you can help me find somebody here in town.”

  The bartender’s bushy brows rose a fraction as he set down the carafe. “Who are you looking for?”

  “My grandmother, Adele. She’s, ah… in her early sixties, I think.” Amelia frowned. She had no idea how old the woman actually was or what she looked like. The bartender reverted back to staring again, and she began to wonder if he was a little slow between the ears. “She had a son named Remy but he moved away before I was born… Did I say something wrong?” The furrow across her brow deepened as the bartender backed away from her, eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder. “Now what?” she muttered.

  “You’ll have to forgive Hugo, he doesn’t get to talk to pretty girls very often. He’s a bit shy,” a low voice offered at her ear.

  Startled by the close proximity, Amelia flinched, sloshing the hot cider onto her lap. With a hiss, she grabbed a cocktail napkin to swab up the mess. “That’s a really good trick, sending a girl to the burn unit. Do you get a lot of dates this way?” she scowled instinctively before her eyes lifted.

  To say he was good looking would be an understatement, with his long, lean form and broad shoulders. A dark, intense gaze came from beneath sun-streaked brown hair that almost reached his chin in a dangerous, unkempt look that probably took him the better part of an hour to cultivate. The perfect tilt of his lips proved he was well aware of the whole package he projected, almost predatory in nature. It didn’t matter one bit that Millie knew his type, it didn’t make her immune to the power of that smile. She was smart enough to keep it to herself though, as she cleaned up the spilled drink.

  “To be fair, most girls are drinking something cool, not hot. So… I can’t say I’ve been disappointed in the number of tops removed at a good accidental spill,” he smirked. “But I’m sorry if you were hurt.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not stripping down to my panties, so…” she lobbed back, tossing the wadded napkin onto the bar, trying not to smile back and failing miserably. “I’m alright. The cider probably smells better than I do anyway.”

  “For the record, I happen to think you smell delicious.” His grin turned wolfish, cementing her image of him as a predator. “Though by the look of things, it’s not your first food related casualty of the day.” He reached out to smooth his finger over the faint brown stain on the edge of her shirt, brows drawing together into a single dark line. “At least this one was without bloodshed.”

  “How did you know it was blood?” It was her turn to stare in confusion and surprise. Ignoring her question, he continued to focus on the stains.

  “It’s not your blood is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” Millie dropped her gaze, not able to bring herself to offer more details to a total stranger in a bar. The hot cider had muted her pain for a few minutes, but the sight of Luc’s blood spattered on her shirt brought it all back in vivid detail. With an effort, she pushed it back into the private space in her heart to keep for later when she was alone.

  “Look, I can respect the whole on the make thing you’ve got going on, but it’s really not a good time for me right now, okay? I’m looking for my grandmother. Her name is Adele, and she lives here in Cutter’s Folly. Do you happen to know who and where she is?” Her voice raw with emotion, Amelia pleaded with him to drop the smarmy pick up lines for the time being and recognize that she needed help. Thankfully, he seemed to catch on and nodded solemnly.

  “I’m sorry, Amelie. Yes, I can take you to your grandmother. She’s…”

  The door opened, and all eyes were riveted to the slight figure who stood there, commanding all with her steely gaze, carriage stiff and regal as though they were her subjects. If the room had fallen silent at Millie’s earlier entrance, it was nothing compared to the way everyone went perfectly still, as if not wanting to draw her attention. What was it with the town?

  “She’s right over there,” he finished, backing away.

  “My name’s not Amelie…” Millie started to correct him before the door swung open again. It was pretty damn close to her name though, and she wondered what made him call her that, but those thoughts fizzled away at the sudden appearance of her grandmother. The old woman’s sharp gaze examined her critically, and Amelia simply stared back as the silver haired woman strode toward her.

  Pausing directly in front of her, Adele’s haughty expression broke, warmth piercing those grey eyes. “Welcome home, my dear.” She reached out to touch Amelia’s chin, turning her face first one way and then the other. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal I’ll wager, but you’re safe now. You will always be safe in Cutter’s Folly.” Her voice rose at the last, more of a declaration to the room than a private conversation, though her gaze never left her granddaughter’s face.

  “Grandmother,” Millie replied uneasily, not sure whether to hug her or genuflect. Not ever having had a grandmother around to bake cookies with, her expectations were murky to begin with, but Adele’s manner so far was just plain weird. Her mode of speech sounded oddly formal, as if English might not be her first language, but there wasn’t much of an accent to her voice.

  Adele released the hold on her chin and beckoned to the door. “Come, it’s late, we have much to discuss,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

  “Just a sec, I need to pay for my drink,” Millie protested, digging into her purse, but Adele waved away the concern, already leading her to the door.

  “It will be taken care of.”

  “Ah… okay.” A quick look back to Hugo the bartender confirmed he didn’t seem all that worried about getting paid, so she followed along, wondering what had happened to her predatory admirer. Not so suave now was he? Afraid of a little old lady.

  Assured that her Jeep would be retrieved, Amelia followed her to a bottle green Jaguar, sleek and posh in its lines. A pretty blonde girl, maybe a year younger than Amelia, opened the rear doors for them with a shy smile.

  There was a moment’s hesitation before she climbed in beside the old woman, years of being told
not to get into the car with strangers deeply ingrained into her psyche. But this wasn’t a stranger, Adele was her last known blood relative. Telling herself not to be such a baby, Amelia slid into the car with an answering smile for the blonde driver.

  Once they were alone in the car, Amelia assumed her grandmother would warm up a little, maybe lose some of the starch in her spine. But Adele remained rigidly upright in her seat, silent for the entire drive. Uncomfortable, Millie looked for an opening to ask how she’d known to come and find her at the Muddy Rudder, or why everyone in town looked at her like some kind of Mafioso (or was it Mafiosa?), but there didn’t seem to be a good time to broach the subject. Besides, the sooner they started talking, the sooner she’d have to tell her about what happened, and Millie wasn’t in that big of a rush to get into it. Maybe she’d let her beg off until morning? It wasn’t like Adele was proving to be a big fan of conversation anyway.

  Soon enough they pulled up in front of a large Victorian house, painted in muted shades of gray with a dusky purple trim.

  “This is your new home.” The silence broken, Adele finally turned to Amelia, patting her hand lightly as the blonde hurried to open her door.

  “It’s… big,” Millie blurted out, not quite sure what else to say about the manor that loomed in the darkness. Most of the windows were black, save a single light burning in the living room.

  “It is indeed, more than enough room for you to join our family. In fact, more than enough room for all of you, had only your parents heeded my advice to come home in time.” A tinge of sadness slipped into her voice. “Too late now to dwell upon what might have been. Come along, Amelie,” she instructed, leading the way into the house.

  “It’s Amelia, actually,” she replied automatically, jogging up the steps to keep up after the shock of what her grandmother said sank in. “Then you know about what happened to my parents and Luc?”

  “Oui, I was on the phone with the authorities for most of the morning. A devastating business. One should never outlive one’s child,” Adele sighed, snapping on the lights as she led the way to the parlor.