life.
“As long as I know you’re happy, Joshua, wherever you are, I’ll be okay. This is
your
time. Don’t concern yourself with me. I can take care of myself.”
“Jeez, Mom, I was just messing with you.” He shuffled out of her grasp. “I didn’t mean for you to turn all serious on me.”
She pressed her point. “I need you to watch your surroundings. And don’t trust anyone . . . except me and your father.”
“I understand.” He squared his shoulders and leveled her with a dark look, resembling Dylan so much it jarred her. “I understand more than you think. I know the woman who opened the gate, the one with the weird yellow eyes, wasn’t happy to see me.”
“Good,” she said with approval. “She is the sister of the woman I told you about. Neither can be trusted.” She turned him around and gently pushed him toward the stairs. “Now go to bed and get some sleep . . . unless you want to talk more about your father and what we learned today.”
He shook his head immediately. “Nah, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She didn’t force the issue. He would come to her in his own time, when he was ready. “Good night then.”
“Night, Mom,” he mumbled between heavy footfalls up the stairs.
Sophie returned the mac and cheese items to the fridge and cupboard and took her first good look around. Not much had changed, and unlike Rhuddin Hall, this place carried too many
good
memories. She had flirted with danger and lost her innocence in this house.
And gained her greatest joy.
She ran her hands over her face, feeling the weight of her choices as she walked the main floor. She loved being a mother, so much so that she’d shut off everything else, everything that threatened her place in Joshua’s life.
A custom pine bed filled the master bedroom, a foot longer and wider than a king, leaving just enough space for an overstuffed chair and a long bureau. She walked to the bed and ran her hand over the quilted comforter.
She remembered Dylan in this bed, his weight on hers, the heat of his skin, his breath across her neck, his thickness pushing into her . . .
A shudder of pure desire pooled in her stomach, eliciting a physical response she hadn’t felt in years. He had teased her body into pleasures she hadn’t known possible. They had been happy once.
They had loved . . .
once
.
Don’t go there,
she whispered to herself.
You lost that right sixteen years ago.
Leaving Dylan had been the most difficult choice of her life. In the end, fear over Joshua’s safety had been the only thing that strengthened her resolve. Returning served to remind her of what she had lost, and how weak she was in Dylan’s presence.
For reassurance, because she sensed her hard-earned resolve begin to crumble, she removed her gun and turned it in her hands. It was a .45-caliber Glock, a slimline model that held six rounds. She kept two spare magazine cartridges in holsters on both calves, and yes, the magazines held silver bullets, alternating with hollow-points. She hadn’t been sure about the myths concerning silver bullets and magical creatures that shouldn’t exist but do, however hollow-points had the capacity to shred a target upon impact, and so alternating bullets inside the magazines seemed the most logical choice.
She remembered the first time she’d held a gun, and the instructor who had taught her how to use it. She had lived in Texas at the time, and Joshua had just turned a year old. It seemed a lifetime ago, but in actuality was only fourteen years, when she had forsaken her very nature to become the person she needed to be to protect her baby . . .
* * *
T
HE INSTRUCTOR’S NAME WAS
J
ULIE, A RETIRED COP WITH
hooded eyes that constantly observed her surroundings. With her hard body, and challenge-me-if-you-dare attitude, men tended to watch but few approached. Sophie envied her confidence, her strength, and knew in order to protect Joshua she needed to
“As long as I know you’re happy, Joshua, wherever you are, I’ll be okay. This is
your
time. Don’t concern yourself with me. I can take care of myself.”
“Jeez, Mom, I was just messing with you.” He shuffled out of her grasp. “I didn’t mean for you to turn all serious on me.”
She pressed her point. “I need you to watch your surroundings. And don’t trust anyone . . . except me and your father.”
“I understand.” He squared his shoulders and leveled her with a dark look, resembling Dylan so much it jarred her. “I understand more than you think. I know the woman who opened the gate, the one with the weird yellow eyes, wasn’t happy to see me.”
“Good,” she said with approval. “She is the sister of the woman I told you about. Neither can be trusted.” She turned him around and gently pushed him toward the stairs. “Now go to bed and get some sleep . . . unless you want to talk more about your father and what we learned today.”
He shook his head immediately. “Nah, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She didn’t force the issue. He would come to her in his own time, when he was ready. “Good night then.”
“Night, Mom,” he mumbled between heavy footfalls up the stairs.
Sophie returned the mac and cheese items to the fridge and cupboard and took her first good look around. Not much had changed, and unlike Rhuddin Hall, this place carried too many
good
memories. She had flirted with danger and lost her innocence in this house.
And gained her greatest joy.
She ran her hands over her face, feeling the weight of her choices as she walked the main floor. She loved being a mother, so much so that she’d shut off everything else, everything that threatened her place in Joshua’s life.
A custom pine bed filled the master bedroom, a foot longer and wider than a king, leaving just enough space for an overstuffed chair and a long bureau. She walked to the bed and ran her hand over the quilted comforter.
She remembered Dylan in this bed, his weight on hers, the heat of his skin, his breath across her neck, his thickness pushing into her . . .
A shudder of pure desire pooled in her stomach, eliciting a physical response she hadn’t felt in years. He had teased her body into pleasures she hadn’t known possible. They had been happy once.
They had loved . . .
once
.
Don’t go there,
she whispered to herself.
You lost that right sixteen years ago.
Leaving Dylan had been the most difficult choice of her life. In the end, fear over Joshua’s safety had been the only thing that strengthened her resolve. Returning served to remind her of what she had lost, and how weak she was in Dylan’s presence.
For reassurance, because she sensed her hard-earned resolve begin to crumble, she removed her gun and turned it in her hands. It was a .45-caliber Glock, a slimline model that held six rounds. She kept two spare magazine cartridges in holsters on both calves, and yes, the magazines held silver bullets, alternating with hollow-points. She hadn’t been sure about the myths concerning silver bullets and magical creatures that shouldn’t exist but do, however hollow-points had the capacity to shred a target upon impact, and so alternating bullets inside the magazines seemed the most logical choice.
She remembered the first time she’d held a gun, and the instructor who had taught her how to use it. She had lived in Texas at the time, and Joshua had just turned a year old. It seemed a lifetime ago, but in actuality was only fourteen years, when she had forsaken her very nature to become the person she needed to be to protect her baby . . .
* * *
T
HE INSTRUCTOR’S NAME WAS
J
ULIE, A RETIRED COP WITH
hooded eyes that constantly observed her surroundings. With her hard body, and challenge-me-if-you-dare attitude, men tended to watch but few approached. Sophie envied her confidence, her strength, and knew in order to protect Joshua she needed to
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