Glory Reborn

by Sherry L. Brown

  It was simply her easiest escape that night.

  I smile around my wine glass remembering her fear as I started to change. Another sip.

  I squelch my shame at the memory of the beast. Why shame?

  That beast is powerful. Strength personified.

  But. She is ugly too.

  “Have you heard from Sienna?” I ask to keep my mind from that inner mirror.

  “No. Not since that night.” He shakes his head.

  “She’s the one that showed up here. Let me free. Told me how things went wrong. So if she does show up...let’s agree to show her mercy.”

  He doesn’t say anything so I go on. “I was going to make her show me. Take me,” I correct, “to where and what was going on in Big Sky. But.”

  Big fat but. I went completely freaking crazy and lost my mind.

  Can I tell him how I ran on clouds with Death, himself? What about his wolves? Will he laugh at me?

  I take a deep breath. “What happened next. Nick. You have to believe me.”

  I don’t lift my eyes from the wine in my cup. The words are an endless string from my mouth.

  A catharsis. The confession.

  I killed.

  I wind up at the point I find the house. Explaining how I called Justice. Was picked up.

  My brain. My body. My soul all feel polluted.

  I’d killed.

  He offers no condemnation. No judgment.

  Just dark eyes studying me.

  I can’t take the scrutiny. I walk to the wall of windows.

  The half-moon christens the mountain range with a glittering phosphorescence. Silent earth. It’s spoken to me before. I’ve spoken to it. Immovable strength underneath me.

  Dirt and stone. Phases of its life. From mountain, to rock, to sand.

  “What are we doing here, Nick?” I say into the silence.

  His reflection gets clearer as he approaches.

  His stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

  His hand balls into a fist. Tightens.

  “You. It’s always been you.” He states half-angrily, half-disbelieving, “You put me under a god damn spell. My family, my wife was no longer good enough.”

  I’m stunned. I turn to him. This is not an answer I expected when I asked the question.

  “I was a soldier. I followed orders.” He speaks these words with less force. I’m trying to follow his rationale. Family to war.

  “I never asked you to give them up!” I could never. I know what the love of one’s own children is. I know what we give up for them.

  “You didn’t have to.” He shakes his head, looking out the window, gaze unfocused, remembering. “I willingly walked away.”

  Why? Why would he do that? There’s no words I can offer to comfort him. There’s a mild burn in my sternum. A mild anger at him. That’s not that man I know. Or knew. A terrible choice was made.

  I can’t believe Nick would abandon his family for any reason. Unless.

  Was it to protect them? That is the only reason that makes sense. Well, he can’t stop now.

  “You know what I am!” I shout the words. “A berserker! EVIL! I RODE WITH THE HUNT!” I pound my fist at my sternum to emphasize my point.

  He shakes his head in denial.

  “Is that what you think, Glory? That you are evil? Why are you still here then? Did you follow the hunt to the Otherside? No.”

  He turns from the window. Gives me the power of his full regard.

  “In fact, the hunt gave you an opportunity.” He states flatly.

  “FOR REVENGE!” I yell at him. He has to know. I’m not good.

  He steps into my face. Grabs my arms and pulls me to him.

  “Revenge or a need? Alastor was a threat to you. To us. To the human race. You took an opportunity to destroy an enemy. Don’t deny yourself.”

  “It’s all just perspective, isn’t it, Nick? Who’s evil and who’s good? As long as you can justify your actions, then you are in the right.”

  The crease between his eyebrow appears. His eyes bleed to a blue I’ve never seen before. His jaw clenches. “I became the wolf, the assassin, their brother for a higher reason. It was the one assurance that what I was doing was right. To protect them. To protect you. To protect the future.”

  “But I’m what you are protecting everyone from. Don’t you see?” I plead.

  He grips me harder.

  “Yes. I see. But you don’t.”

  I study his face. He’s trying to tell me something.

  Ask me how I was able to walk on the Otherside. Ask me how I wasn’t lost. He commands.

  A small, tiny microscopic doubt. I don’t want to ask.

  I want to go back to the beginning. I want to erase everything.

  “Did you ever question our accident, Glory? What caused it?”

  I am silent. Digesting his words. The dam has broken and he is flooding our conversation with irrelevant truths. I know what caused it. Me.

  “It was designed. Triggered. Fated.”

  No. No. No.

  “I don’t accept that.” The words whisper along my lips.

  “She threw us together. She believed I’d be the first crack in the shield.”

  “No. It’s not possible.” I push on his chest. Out of his arms. Denial.

  How could my mother have orchestrated such an event? And Why?

  She hated humans. Of which, Nick was at that time.

  Crack the shield.

  Crack the shield? It doesn’t make sense for her. She created me! She made the shield.

  Swirling, swirling prophecy. Oh mother. What mess have you made?

  “It doesn’t matter if we believe your mother’s prophecy or not. Neveah Henries and her followers do. They’ll be coming for us, for Earth, and for Indy.”

  “Neveah Henries?” I repeat back to him.

  His chin dips once in the affirmative.

  “Neveah Henries?” I can’t believe it. She’s responsible for...everything?

  I am so blatantly naive. I never considered.

  I am so blindly selfish.

  So incredibly gullible.

  “How can you know this?” I demand from him.

  “Because she made me.”

  Chapter 35

  Secrets. Secrets. Secrets.

  My mother had them. Grayson has them. Nick has them. I have them.

  She made him? So is he more than a wolf?

  I pad back to the kitchen, simmering with the frustration and maybe a bit of jealousy. Knowledge is power. And I have none.

  I pour myself another glass of wine from the bottle. Turn to the refrigerator and take stock of the contents. I pull out a carton of eggs.

  He follows me to the kitchen. Places his glass of wine on the countertop next to the bottle. “You're taking this awfully calmly.”

  I find a bowl. A pan. I crack the eggs into the bowl with a little more force than necessary.

  “Honestly, Nick? I’m just plain fed-up.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  I find a whisk. Omelets are a comfort food for me. Nick doesn’t have much more than some tomatoes and feta, so it’ll be basic. But at least making an early-morning breakfast is within my power.

  “This stupid prophecy.” I shake my head as I chop tomatoes. “It doesn’t guide every freakin’ decision or choice in our lives. No.”

  The lines cross messily. I’ve tried to unravel them, but it still gets me to this point.

  I can’t help myself from blurting out the consequences. Listing all the things in our lives. All the points of contention. I’m on a roll. “We slept together. You became a wolf. I married Gray. And here we are.”

  “Here we are.” Nick agrees.

  I look up then. His face, handsome as ever. A tick in his jaw. It’s the only sign he’s got something he wants to say.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “Why did you marry Grayson?”

  There it is. The twenty-ton nuclear bomb.

  I close my eyes
against the memories. The horror of waking up in a pool of my own blood. The pain and fever. The loss. The hollowness echoes within my heart even now.

  I swallow thickly. “I was pregnant.”

  There’s no sound. No silence like this one. Thick.

  “I miscarried right around eleven weeks.” Tears leak out from behind my closed eyelids.

  Hot and blazing down my cheeks. I wipe them without opening my eyes.

  His arms come around me. My face is pressed against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, and feel in the embrace his sadness.

  He is my silent immovable earth. The strength beneath my feet. Mourning with me.

  How long do we stay like that? I’m not sure. My tears dry up. And I pull back with his borrowed strength. Enough strength to see him. Confront this loss I’d buried so deep down in my soul.

  “Glory.” That’s all he says, before cupping my cheek and kissing my face, taking my tears.

  I can’t ask Nick what side he is on. Because I know. I know he is fighting for humans, earth, and us, the werewolves.

  Just because she made him, that doesn’t mean he’s evil. Just because she made him doesn’t mean he’s not mine.

  Strike one goes to earth, to me. For now, Alastor’s dead.

  But that small spark of triumph dies with reality. I can feel the magic growing. Within the earth itself. Within me, a product of the Otherside.

  But will I be called to darkness?

  Will Nick?

  Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt from Guarding Justice. The next book in the Otherside Chronicles, available October 4th.

  It had been a long night. Had I done the right thing giving Indy over to Glory and Grayson?

  Only time will tell. There was relief in the relinquishment of responsibility. God help me. She’d been my charge for thirteen years, and I was - maybe happy is too strong a word - but okay to let her go. Could it be more than just letting go? I want her out of Rick’s sphere of influence. Out of the threats of the pack. She’s sixtteen, almost seventeen now, and how long could I expect to protect her? Obviously I’d failed in that.

  I scrub, I swipe, I mop.

  I’d seen pure evil in Emily. Her face twisted into something...not herself. The shadows I witnessed behind her eyes made me think possession, but had I really seen them?

  I bundle the soiled towels into a trash bag, and pour my water/bleach mix down the drain.

  I’ll have to burn this entire bag, or the garbage men will be reporting me for murder.

  The sun is creeping up in the horizon when I drop the trash bag just outside the door.

  What will this new day bring? I can’t even contemplate.

  I’ve been in survivor mode. Not just last night - well technically early this morning - but for the past thirteen years.

  I’d accepted Grayson’s opportunities as they came, subtly disguised offerings from the universe.

  First it was a weekly delivery of groceries. Then the ‘scholarship’ to med school.

  Direct money contributions were prohibited between packs.

  Grayson managed to find a way around it. And I am forever grateful. He’d saved us. And for that I’ll never be able to pay him back.

  I sit down heavily in the old dining room chair. It’s wood finish has been worn at the top by years of hands pulling it out to sit down. I’d shoved it out of the way last night, oh shoot, there I go again mixing up the technicalities - this morning - when I’d made a hasty operating table.

  This kitchen is high on functionality and low on aesthetics, but I tend to think of it as my kitchen.

  Will I get to stay here? The last thing Grayson had said to me as he carried Independence out the door had been: We’ll take care of her, Justice. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you, too.

  I could only nod.

  What retribution would Rick seek? My stomach turns at the thought of him.

  I’d managed to keep him at bay, but only at costs to ourselves. I had to share with him the one thing my mother left me. The legacy of visions.

  It’s how I knew to stock up on emergency medical supplies.

  I’d been secretly preparing for six months. Ever since that night. I dreamed of a waterfall of blood. A cascade of red down a mountain. And a broken sword.

  Visions are pesky in that they are full of symbolism and very rarely actual useful information.

  I’d had my first one just before my mother died. She helped me interpret it.

  Then she’d shown me the prophecy she’d made for my sisters and I.

  Two shields and the sword. The light, the dark, the inbetween. In the final war, one death to win. One death to lose. One death to go on.

  I spend too much time on those words.

  The visions don't come very often. And in fact, I’d had so few, I can replay them all on the back of my eyelids with vivid detail. Five in total.

  Photographic memory. A bonus when it comes to studying for medical exams, but not so much for replaying gruesome sights of bloody waterfalls. It is almost as bad as that movie, The Shining.

  Except, where that movie’s special effects gave the water a Kool-Aid effect, my waterfall sludges with the consistency of real blood.

  I laugh a little. My superpowers are surreal dreams and turning wolfy.

  It could be worse.

  I dump my chin into my hand, unsure of what I should do now.

  Make coffee? Go to bed? Pour a glass of wine?

  I have a full two days to recover. Deal with the fallout.

  I’m expected at the hospital Monday morning.

  It feels hollow now though. A pointless endeavor. I’d been working to sustain us, and while I’d enjoyed undergrad and I’d excelled in the first two years of med school simply soaking up all the knowledge, I’d failed spectacularly when it came to actual patients. I’d done rounds with doctors and residents in everything from general surgery to pediatrics, and earned the nick-named the ice queen. I lacked ‘bedside’ manner. I floundered awkwardly through it, graduated and decided that becoming a resident and doctor probably wasn’t the exact path for me.

  So, I put in for a position that allowed me to work easy hours, made good money, and didn’t require me to be Miss Congeniality. Because the patients were dead.

  A strange dichotomy. Tired of people and yet lonely.

  I examine that thought. Maybe not so strange. I want normal people. People that are healthy and strong and don’t require sutures, a vomit-bucket, or toe tag.

  I suck in a breath, slapping myself.

  The reality is, I just sent my one sister to live with the other. And she could die. Now is not the time for a pity party. Should I have told Indy about the prophecy before today?

  No, she’s still a relative child. I made the decision not to tell her until she is eighteen. A year and two months away.

  A knock at the front door has me lifting my head.

  Not yet. I can’t deal with him now! Will he want to see the body? Did the pack expect to hold their own memorial like they had when Mom died? I haven’t figured out yet what to tell Rick - if they want to see her body.

  The knock comes again.

  I look down at myself. I’d stripped down to my bra and underwear in the cleanup. My jeans and shirt had too much blood on them to even try to clean.

  Sensible bra. Fun underwear. A navy blue boy short with the word ‘wild’ emblazoned on the butt.

  Independence had got it for me last Christmas. We share a wry humor.

  I sprint out of the kitchen and catch the newel post with the heel of my hand, using my momentum to spin me a one-eighty and bound up the stairs.

  “Be right down!” I throw over my shoulder at the closed front door.

  I hear the door open and close behind me, just as my top foot hits the top step.

  Shit. I should have double checked that I locked it after Glory and all left.

  I turn back, not happy that Rick thinks he can just enter our house uninvited.

  The wo
rds I’m about to unleash stop short in my throat. It’s not Rick.

  It’s Locke. Locke O’Connell is the last person I expected to see tonight.

  I’ve had a crush on Locke O’Connell for years. Since I saw him stand up as Grayson’s best man at Glory’s wedding. He’d been handsome, charming then. Escorting me down the aisle at the end of the ceremony. I hadn’t plucked up the courage to even say a word to him.

  Now, he’s devastating. Wide shoulders. Long legs. Standing in my foyer in jeans, boots, and a soft t-shirt, one size too small if the stretch across his pecs is any indication.

  “Get dressed. Pack a bag and whatever you need for an indefinite stay at council headquarters.”

  No words of hello. Just orders. My brain works to make sense of what he’s saying, while taking in his jawline of alluring masculinity. “What?”

  His foot hits the first step of the stairs. Panicking, and embarrassed at my attire, I dash quickly into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  “Just let me get dressed!” I holler through the door at him.

  ◆◆◆

  About the Author

  A few years ago, Sherry had an epiphany. Life is short and you got to make it count. So she quit her job at a tech startup to pursue personal passions and adventure dreams. She believes the secret to a fulfilled life is to always be learning.

  Also by Sherry L. Brown

  Standalone Military Romance

  The Distance Between Dreams

  Contemporary Mystery/Adventure Romance

  The Charlotte Ivey Series

  Charlotte Ivey and The Vanished Valkyrie

  Charlotte Ivey and the House of Sundance

  Charlotte Ivey and the Gates of Atlantis

  Charlotte Ivey and the Search for Solomon’s Seal