Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

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  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Hi Love Bird!

  Inheritance

  About the Author

  Remembrance

  Heart Lines Series #1

  ©2017 Heather Hildenbrand

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

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  Prologue

  Alex

  Belladonna tasted nothing like I expected. I spat a mouthful of blackened roots onto the floor of the hut as a soft cackle broke the silence. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck and back, soaking into the damp waistline of my ratty shorts. I scowled at the old woman standing over me, her dark presence obliterating what little light trickled in from the upper flap of her roughly crafted Amazonian home.

  “Tastes like shit,” I muttered.

  “Poison not yummy,” she said, her wide smile more gums than teeth.

  My stomach rolled as the poison residue inside my mouth worked its way into my bloodstream. I clutched at my abs. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You throw up, you no get result,” she warned, her stale breath washing over me like a dry blanket in the humid space.

  I fought the urge to vomit. To shove her back. To leap from the hut and get same space, put some distance between the crazy, old medicine lady and myself. I couldn’t do any of that. Not until I found a way to stop what was happening to me.

  But so far, no matter what I’d tried, I hadn’t succeeded in curing myself.

  The woman backed away and sat on the thin mattress that was really no more than a pile of dirty blankets and thinly-stuffed pillows. The whole place smelled like B.O. She folded her hands in her lap and simply watched me. I guess that’s what you did when you didn’t have pesky distractions like television and internet. And other human interaction. Not even her own tribe would socialize with her. Which explained finding her hut all the way up on the jungly hillside almost half a mile from the others.

  I braced myself on the tiny stool, waiting for the poison to do its worst. Wanting it to. I was willing to go through pretty much anything to save my own life at this point. Hence my three-day hike into the jungle to visit Griska, the medicine woman whose tinctures had cured malaria, cancer, and heartbreak, according to the village locals and the obscure posting I’d found on the web.

  But apparently, for Alex Channing, victim of a rabid werewolf bite—for the second time—Griska was useless. As were the dozen other things I’d tried already. My shoulder still burned and dripped a bloody ooze as if to prove my failures.

  Dying a slow death was the best I could hope for. On a sigh, I sank back and waited for the poison.

  Five minutes later, I hadn’t broken out in hives or a fever. The venom in my veins had done it again. Every attempt I made was burned away by it.

  Disappointment stabbed at me and I shoved to my feet. Griska blinked and rose to follow me out. “We try again?” she asked.

  I shook my head and turned back, debating the sanity of starting my three day return hike in the middle of the day. But I couldn’t stand the thought of remaining at the scene of my latest failure any longer.

  “No, once was enough, thanks,” I said.

  I was being rude. I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to stop. I pressed the required bills into her hands and while she counted them, I turned and marched into the jungle. It swallowed me up before she could reply.

  Fear gnawed at the edges of my resolve as I trudged back to the South American airport. I was going home empty-handed. Again. Western Medicine had already failed me. Even Hunter medicine, experts at Werewolf anti-venom, hadn’t been able to tell me how to stop the progression of my disease. Or exactly what sort of disease it was.

  I’d taken a leave of absence three months ago and done my own research. I had contacts. People in dark places with connections to an underground that had access to old magic. The stuff no one believed in anymore. Turns out they weren’t wrong. None of it had worked.

  To make it worse, my condition had worsened since then and now, I couldn’t afford to go back to work. They’d retire me for sure in the shape I was in. I had to find a cure.

  My list only had one option left.

  Edie’s suggestion. Everyone else I knew had already told me that option was useless. Magic—that kind anyway—had died out a century ago, they all said. But they all failed to realize the only alternative I had left was to go sit on a porch swing somewhere and just wait for the damned grim reaper to show. Not my style.

  None of them understood what it felt like waking up every day and wondering if it would be your last.

  Dying sucked. Dying twice sucked even more. I’d already come close once so I could hardly expect the same sympathy now that it was happening a second time.

  I made my way over a fallen tree and trekked onward, headed for the airport and then, ultimately, California. I’d already done my homework. I knew where to go next. The question was whether or not it was too late. If magic was really dead, so was I.

  Chapter One

  Sam

  Creeper Alley was a dead zone tonight. Between the fog, t
he lunar cycle, and the fact that most witches in Half Moon Bay were also PTA moms, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the place deserted after eight o’clock on a weeknight. But even knowing that, unease skittered down my spine as I turned the corner and made my way down the narrow alleyway.

  I shivered, more from nerves than chill thanks to the balmy sixty-five degree temperature of northern California. My boots clicked and echoed against the pavement, making me wish I’d worn moccasins instead. Or maybe an invisibility cloak—not that I had one. Although, Mirabelle, my boss might. I wouldn’t put anything past her. Not that I wanted any part of the actual magic. I was just the delivery girl.

  My phone buzzed in my hands as I passed Jane Jingle’s year-round Christmas store. Which also doubled as a fortune-telling hot spot for those in the know. How either one of those things paid her bills was the real magic and mystery, if you asked me. My phone buzzed a second time and I read two texts from Brittany, my roommate.

  Borrowing your hooker skirt.

  And your hooker boots. Don’t wait up.

  Brittany and I had been forced into a dorm room our freshman year at Coastal California University. Despite the fact that she was basically the girl I used to be but now loathed, we’d somehow made it work. This year, thanks to me getting a job and her dad’s “allowance” check each month, we could just barely afford to live off campus in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. Brittany had plenty of money and time to shop, but raiding my closet was her favorite thing to do when I wasn’t home. Which was always. And it wasn’t like I wore half of that stuff anymore.

  I sighed. The cheerleader with the social life struck again. That used to be my description back in high school. Not anymore.

  I returned to my lock screen, finger hovering over the emergency call button and kept walking, faster now. In my other hand, I clutched tightly to the brown paper bag that contained tonight’s delivery.

  Almost there…

  Movement at my ankle startled me and I jumped back, barely swallowing the scream that died once I recognized my companion. A black cat with the patchiest white patterns around her paws I’d ever seen was making loops around my ankles.

  “Dammit, Granny,” I muttered.

  Granny, the cat, walked close beside me, and for reasons that would sound insane aloud, I was glad she’d followed me tonight. It meant I wasn’t out here alone. Not really. Although, I had a feeling things were bad if I was relying on a cat for company.

  “Evening, Samantha.”

  The sound of a male voice startled me and I faltered, gritting my teeth as I spotted Bernard tipping his trademark flat cap at me as he passed. Bernard, otherwise known as the resident “nice guy” and friend to all store owners of Creeper Alley was the least scariest guy I’d ever met. Which was why my heart rate was only at Defcon level three instead of five.

  “Evening, Bernard,” I returned, forcing a smile. Bernard was one of the few men that didn’t panic me on sight. Still… it was dark. And we were alone. “What brings you out here?”

  “With Kiwi gone, Dave’s hosting the group meditation circle,” he said. “We were going to have it here but…” He cast a glance toward the end of the alley where I was headed, and said, “We’ve moved it to the house for privacy.”

  “I see,” I said even though I didn’t.

  Bernard lowered his voice. “Not everyone felt comfortable going sky clad in the store.”

  “Weird,” I muttered, barely containing an eye roll. Dave’s store was a glass-front shop that sold fish and other small pets. I wouldn’t want to get naked in there either.

  “I’m headed over now. You want to come?”

  “Sorry. Duty calls,” I said holding up the paper bag.

  He frowned. “I’m surprised Mirabelle has you making deliveries this late—and on a night such as this one.”

  I shrugged, noting his glance upward at a moonless sky. “Magic never sleeps. Isn’t that what they say?”

  He smiled. “Don’t believe I’ve heard that one.”

  “How about Indra never sleeps.”

  He chuckled. “Now that one I believe. You be sure to get home as soon as your delivery’s finished. No sense in tempting the fates. Mercury’s in retrograde, you know.”

  “No sense,” I agreed sagely. And although I didn’t give two rats’ asses whether Mercury was in retrograde or centigrade or anywhere else, I pretended I did. I’d learned a long time ago not to debate these things—or worse, let them know I didn’t care. “Well, good night,” I said, waving as Bernard headed up the street.

  I forced a long, deep breath to normalize my pulse as best I could and then power-walked to Indra’s. Hers was last on the block and the only store that wasn’t pretending to be something else. I guess if you made it this far from the touristy part of town, you knew what you were looking for.

  A small bell chimed from nowhere and everywhere as I entered, although no bell was visible. Several times over the past few months, the sound had changed. Tonight, it was new again. I inhaled, letting the door click shut, and caught a musky, heavy scent in the air. Definitely sandalwood but something else too.

  My nose twitched but I refused to sneeze.

  I did a quick scan of the front room. Statues of Buddha heads and Greek gods filled this room. Tall, stone things that ranged from gothic to contemporary to ornate. I had no idea where she imported them from, but they smelled old.

  Meow.

  Granny brushed against my leg and I patted her head before wandering further. I hadn’t even seen her dart inside before I closed the door. That cat was good.

  “Indra?” I called.

  No answer.

  Indra’s store layout was different than the others. Carved out of the back crescent of the alleyway, it twisted and turned into three or four showrooms that all wound around to a reading room. I’d never seen any customers take her up on it but then I didn’t venture back this far. Usually, Indra met me at the front so I rarely made it past the Wicca book section. Her store was the only other one in town that was even remotely like Oracle, where I worked. Indra’s had more variety and more…creep-factor. Oracle was what Mirabelle had dubbed “mainstream.” I liked that it didn’t give me goose bumps like this one did.

  Indra’s store was named after her. One, simple, nondescript word. She did “a little of this and a little of that” according to the other shop-owners and various peculiar practitioners in town. Indra herself had never offered up a specific term for what she was or the services she provided.

  Cagey. I was going with cagey.

  Tentatively, I made my way around the shelving and up the main aisle. The front desk area was empty. No Indra. I kept walking past a display of singing bowls and lapis lazuli prayer beads. The other showrooms were also empty. No customers. No Indra. No sound.

  I walked past a wall full of jars labeled things like “snake root.”

  My unease stepped up a notch. Retrograde aside, I hated this part of the job on any day of the week. Fleshing out creepy characters after dark was not helping my tendencies for irrational fear and panic. Mirabelle needed to hire someone else for deliveries. Maybe Bernard was available. I was a cashier, dammit. I sold sage and helped tourists look up things like Iowasca ceremonies on the internet.

  As if to prove I was a coward, Granny led the way, fearless, with her tail high and pointed as she disappeared around a display of essential oils that I’d never actually heard of. Corn mint? Was that a thing?

  My phone beeped with a text and I let out a chirp that was one frayed nerve from a scream. I checked it and rolled my eyes. Aunt Kiwi. She’d just landed in Guam, her birthplace, for her two-month stay with our extended family. I gritted my teeth and kept walking.

  Up ahead, dancing light reflected off the wall and I stopped short as I rounded the corner of the last showroom.

  Candles had been lit and set out in a large circle around the floor. The table that usually sat in the center was gone, replaced by a Pentagram shape that looked paint
ed on with what I was going to call nail polish.

  How had I never noticed that weirdness? Oh yeah, I never came this far inside. Rule number one of being Sam Knight: don’t go inside strange shops run by ethereal-looking goddess-women.

  “Hello, Samantha.”

  I whirled.

  Indra stood in the archway leading to showroom two, blocking me from the rest of the store. And more importantly, the exit. Her long chestnut hair was braided to the side, revealing a black strapless gown with a sinfully low-cut bodice. She had a perfect hour-glass shape and a sultry slouch that you couldn’t teach. She was beautiful, and young enough that I wondered every time I saw her how she had her own place.

  Although, it was hard to guess her age when you looked right at her. Her features were confusing. Like you couldn’t quite remember what you’d seen when you looked away.

  She was the only other person I was friendly with besides Mirabelle. Possibly because she’d lent me a tampon the first time I’d come here three months ago, and a girl doesn’t forget a thing like that.

  “You look hot,” I said, offering a smile as I gave her dress another once-over.

  Two years ago, I would have killed for a dress like that—and someone to take it off me later. Now, I couldn’t imagine wanting to stand out like that. I shoved the thought aside and focused on Indra.

  “What’s the occasion? Hot date with the underworld?” I gestured to the setup behind me with the candles.

  Indra laughed and came forward to take the bag of supplies I’d brought. “Something like that,” she said. “Sorry for calling you out so late. I totally forgot to order everything ahead.”

  I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta get her exercise somehow.”

  She opened the bag, stuck her nose inside, and inhaled. “I appreciate it. Any trouble out there?” The question was innocuous enough but Indra knew me—and we both knew it was a valid inquiry.

  “Nah. All the PTA parents are home by now. Bernard says hello.”