by Nina Croft
Release Me
(Storm Lords 3)
By
Nina Croft
For anyone who has loved and lost—I hope you get a second chance.
Release Me
Copyright © 2018 by Nina Croft
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Also by Nina Croft…
Chapter 1
Finn kicked open the flimsy door and peered inside. In the dim light, he could just make out the couple huddled together, crouching in the corner of the hut, the man’s arm around the woman. Finn stepped inside, out of the harsh sunlight, letting his eyes adjust. The place stank of sweat and fear and hopelessness. “Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn?”
The man nodded.
“I’m here to take you home.” He spoke into his comm unit. “I have a visual on the Vaughns. Both alive. I’m bringing them out. We’ll head to LZ two—let Killian know.”
He turned to the couple, who were still frozen in place. Not surprising. They’d been kidnapped over six months ago and had probably given up hope of a rescue. It would take time for the reality to sink in.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to waste.
His men had taken out the perimeter guards, but someone had managed to set off an alarm. They would have company any moment now.
He took a step closer. “Are you both okay? Can you walk? We’ve got to get out of here.”
Shifting his rifle over his shoulder, he held up both hands with palms out, slowly, as though the couple might make a dash for freedom—not that there was anywhere to go but with him. Finally, he saw a minuscule relaxation of the man’s shoulders. He gave a small nod and straightened, bringing his wife with him. Finn gave them a quick once-over. They were both in their early thirties, the woman pretty, even beneath the dust and grime and lines of strain. He’d seen the photos before they were taken; they’d both lost too much weight, but otherwise they didn’t appear to have come to any harm. They would do.
“Get ready to go.” Finn turned and peered out the door.
He took off his hat and waved it out of the opening. Shots kicked up the dust in front of the door. He stepped back and spoke into his comm unit. “I need cover.”
“You got it, boss.”
Almost instantly, he heard automatic fire from the top of the ridge. The continuous rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun. A cry, then a thud, and a body rolled down the bank opposite.
He hustled the Vaughns out the door. “Stay low.”
They made it to the edge of the forest without incident, but when he looked over his shoulder, the hillside swarmed with men in khaki. Behind them he could make out other forms slinking through the vegetation. Wolves. As he watched, one leaped for the figure at the rear, taking him down silently and effectively.
At the same time the man at the front shouted. They’d been spotted.
“Run,” Finn said.
They took off in front of him, stumbling on the uneven ground. He didn’t think they could go for long. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to.
He followed them down the path.
“Take the fork to the left,” he called out.
Then they were heading downhill through the lush, damp—and slippery—undergrowth.
Ahead of him, Mrs. Vaughn lost her footing and fell. She rolled down the last of the hill. When she struggled to her feet, he could see they were in trouble. She was limping, her face a mask of pain.
“Keep going,” he shouted to her husband. “Wait at the rocks.”
The man had paused, but now turned and ran. Finn closed the space between him and the woman, grabbed her around the waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Then he was running again. Down the narrow, twisting track. He could hear the whir of the helicopter in the distance, but getting closer. A bullet hit the ground to his side with a dull thud, and he whirled around and shot one-handed. Just a little farther. When he reached the cover of an outcrop of rock, he dropped the woman to the ground and spoke into his comm. “You ready?”
“Just give the word, boss.”
He peered back along the track, and saw the men following. He waited until the first one reached the marker. “Now.”
A second later, the path exploded, hurling the men in all directions.
He closed his eyes for a moment, used his senses. The rest were closing in. He blinked. “Can you help your wife?” he asked the man. Mr. Vaughn nodded and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“Keep heading along this path,” Finn said. “Someone will meet you. You’re nearly home. Just keep going.”
They both nodded, and Finn watched as they disappeared down the track. He’d set up a machine gun earlier; now he settled himself behind it. For a minute, everything went quiet, just the approaching drone of the helicopter. Long ago, he’d taken a vow never to harm an innocent. But these people weren’t innocent.
They were vile. Men who traded in human misery.
As the first man appeared out of the forest, Finn tightened his finger on the trigger. A spray of bullets. Cries of pain. Then they were backing away, and he loosened his finger from the trigger. A scream. Looked like they’d backed straight into his wolves.
He listened. Heard a click and a whir and recognized the sound.
Holy shit.
They had a goddamn rocket launcher. That hadn’t been in the intel.
He hurled himself away, crashed to the ground, rolling as the spot where he’d been crouched exploded, throwing earth and rocks and bits of his machine gun into the air. He covered his head with his hands. Something slammed into him, and he swore. When everything went quiet, he raised his head, spoke into his comm. “Why the hell didn’t I know they had a rocket launcher?”
“Sorry, boss.”
He didn’t sound sorry. “You have them?”
“They’re on board. Just waiting for your lazy ass now.”
He could sense them creeping forward, and he pushed himself to his feet and ran. Blood poured down his forehead from where he’d been hit, and he wiped it with his hand.
“Finn! This way.”
He headed toward the sound, his eyes blinded by the blood flowing from his
scalp. He blinked and made for the open door of the helicopter as bullets whizzed past. His men were laying down a covering fire. He just hoped they would get away before anyone had a chance to use that rocket launcher on the helicopter.
As he tossed his rifle into the doorway, someone grabbed his hand and hauled him on board, and he rolled onto his back on the floor as the chopper lifted into the air. He held himself still as he waited for something to hit them, but they banked and rose. The gunfire faded, and his tense muscles relaxed.
In the distance, he heard a lone wolf howling. They’d seen the helicopter and were pulling out.
Finn pushed himself up so he was sitting. He couldn’t see a thing. Someone handed him a bottle, and he made to pour it into his eyes. “That’s whiskey, asshole. Not eyewash.”
He changed direction at the last moment and took a long pull. Fire ran down his throat, clearing the dust, and he blew out his breath.
“Here, tip your head back.”
He did, and cool water flowed over his face. Someone handed him a towel and he dried himself, blinked, and could see again. He grinned. “Shit, that was close.”
“Just the way you like it.” Bryce grinned back.
He glanced across at the Vaughns. They both had a dazed look on their faces. He’d done this more than a few times, and it always took a while for the fact that they were safe to sink in.
“Who are you?” Mrs. Vaughn asked.
He held out his hand. “Finbarr Stanton. Stormlord K&R. We were employed to get you out of there.”
“Thank you.” They both shook his hand.
“Finn,” Bryce said. “Killian said to tell you a message has come in for you.”
He pushed himself upright and made his way to the front of the helicopter.
Killian was at the controls—he loved to fly. He twisted in his seat and handed Finn a folded piece of paper.
He took it. “What’s this?”
Kill shrugged. “Not sure. But apparently, you’ll want to see it.”
Finn unfolded the paper with a sense of unease. The message was from a job he’d flagged. He was to be informed if there were any changes in any of the major players.
He knew he used those orders as an excuse to have some sort of contact. He’d been doing his best to stay away. There was nothing for him there. Nothing but despair and knowledge of the end looming ever closer. But he needed to know Rachel was happy. Otherwise, what was the point? And, strangely, she did seem happy.
He’d first visited Haven soon after she and her mother had moved there when Rachel was four years old. That was twenty years ago. He’d gone following her mother’s death. After her husband had been killed. When his willpower broke, and he just had to see her or go insane. He usually managed a year or so before that happened. And he realized it had been just over a year since he’d seen her last.
He read the words on the paper. Michael Danvers was dead.
Her father. The man she hadn’t seen in twenty years. His loss was hardly likely to impinge on her quiet life.
All the same, he had to be sure.
At the thought, a rush of adrenaline raced through his system. His heart sped up.
“Good news?” Killian asked.
He shook his head, blanked his expression. It wouldn’t do for his brothers to discover his secret. They would never understand.
“Just a job I need to check up on. Can you drop me off at the airport? I need to fly to the States.”
“You want company?”
“No. I’m good.”
He was going to see the woman he loved more than life itself. The woman he had given up everything for. She wouldn’t see him. He’d make sure of that. He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured her. Long black hair, green eyes, dusky skin, so beautiful she made his heart ache, and had done from the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
Over two thousand years ago.
Chapter 2
Rachel Miller lay on her back on the soft grass, among the wildflowers, and stared up at the small space of deep blue sky she could see between the looming pine trees. The sun warmed her face, and the hum of insects was the only sound. A sense of peace filled her.
She loved the forest, and, strangely, she never felt alone here. Even now, she could sense someone watching her. It had been the same since she was four years old and her mother had brought her back to live with her grandfather. She loved the wildness and the space. The mountains and the forests. Maybe not the rivers—a shudder ran through her—she hated water. But everything else. And she’d never felt in danger here, though there were wolves and bears in the forest, even the occasional mountain lion.
Once she had come face-to-face with a bear. A huge black beast she’d stumbled on while picking blackberries. She’d been ten at the time, and she’d thought her life was over—no doubt divine judgment for skipping school. It had been a strange moment. Almost as though she had experienced that same feeling many, many times. The bear had risen onto its hind legs, towering over her, roaring, and she’d stood transfixed by the knowledge of her imminent death. Then the wolves had come, weaving out of the forest, snarling and growling, nipping at the bear’s legs until it had crashed to all fours and rumbled off into the trees. The wolves had turned to her for a moment, their leader a big gray animal with cunning golden eyes. It had blinked at her once, given a yip, and they had disappeared as quickly as they had come.
She’d seen them again over the years, though they never came close. Sometimes, like now, she could sense them watching her from the shadows. Occasionally, she tried to call to them, but they never came close. And sometimes, she’d slip out at night when the moon was bright, and they’d sing to her. She envied them their lives in the forest.
“Rachel!”
She sat up and blinked.
“Rachel!”
A twinge of annoyance jabbed her in the stomach. She had little time to herself, though she was sure the Elders thought that small amount too much. Idle minds caused evil thoughts, apparently.
She straightened her cap, pushing the stray strands of hair beneath it, then scrambled to her feet and brushed her long skirt free of twigs and pine needles. Her white apron was stained with grass, but she would have to do. She rolled down her sleeves, fastened the cuffs of her blouse, and she was as ready as she was ever going to be.
A figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. Small and plump. She spotted Rachel and hurried over, her brows drawn together. “You shouldn’t be out here, Rachel. It’s not safe to be alone in the forest.”
Mary was the same age as Rachel, and they’d been friends growing up, despite being as different as two people could be. Mary was the good girl, genuinely good. Rachel had a feeling for these things, for seeing people’s inner nature. It could make for uncomfortable meetings, and she’d learned to hide her reactions behind a mask.
Not that Rachel was bad. She tried to follow the rules and managed with most of them. Just sometimes she needed to be alone.
She smiled. “So what’s brought you out here to the dangerous forest?”
“You, of course. Oh Rachel, you’ve got visitors, and they came in big black cars and—”
“Slow down,” she said. Visitors? She’d never had a visitor from the outside. She didn’t even know anyone from the outside. She hadn’t ventured beyond the boundaries of Haven since she was four. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know. But Pastor Yates sent me to find you.”
Pastor Yates was her grandfather and the head of the Council of Elders. She’d moved back in with him and kept his house since her husband, Joseph, had died two years ago. Joseph had been her best friend as well as her husband, and she still missed him. While she loved her grandfather, she would have preferred to stay in the house she’d shared with Joseph, but it wasn’t done for a woman to live without a man’s protection. And it was good for Jacob, her son, to have a man’s influence.
“And they sent Maggie to fetch Jacob,” Mary said as they headed along the pa
th leading to her grandfather’s farm. “They want to see him as well.”
Why would anyone want to see her son? He was only six years old. At the thought of Jacob, something twisted inside her. The familiar mix of love and guilt. Love that she couldn’t deny, guilt that she seemed totally incapable of showing that love. It had been the same from the first moment she’d held Jacob in her arms, still covered with the birthing blood. At the back of her mind, she was haunted by the sense that she would lose him. And if she loved him, the pain would be unbearable.
Since then, something had always held her back. She knew it had worried Joseph, and she’d tried to explain. He’d said loving was always a fearsome thing. But she had loved him, maybe more as a brother and a friend than a husband, but it had been love. And she loved her grandfather. But with her son, she couldn’t express her feelings.
Poor little Jacob.
She halted as they came out from the shelter of the forest and into the open fields surrounding the farm buildings. She could see them now. Two big black cars parked in front of the barn, and a group of people standing beside them. Four men in dark suits, alert, searching the area. She sensed the moment they saw her, and she went still, a prickle of apprehension shivering down her spine.
She was being fanciful. Shaking her head, she wiped her palms down her apron and headed purposefully across the meadow.
“What do you think they want?” Mary asked in hushed tones.
“I have no idea. But I’m sure they’ll tell us.”
She spotted Jacob and Maggie approaching the house from the other direction. As Jacob saw her, he pulled free and ran across the distance between them, a huge smile on his face. However much she held aloof from him, he seemed to understand and gave his love unconditionally. He was a special child. Which just made her feel worse.
“Mama, what’s happening? Mistress Havers said we have visitors. From outside.”
She forced a smile. “Let’s go and find out, shall we?”
He tucked his hand into hers, and she forced herself not to pull away. She could feel the men’s gazes on her as they passed, and she kept her own eyes downcast. The front door opened as they approached, and her grandfather stood there. She searched his face; he was worried. Clearly not entirely happy with the visitors. Whoever they were.