Secret Heir (Dynasty #1)(4)

I run my fingertips over the tattered photographs—my mom smiling widely at the camera. It’s almost like looking into a mirror.

A strip of photo booth shots from the booth at the amusement park back in Rockford Cape. Another photograph of a six year old me walking along the beach, the amusement park lights in the background, as my mom trails behind.

Then there are the drawings—it isn’t just my mom’s looks that I’ve inherited, it’s her talent, too. Every drop of artistic skill I have, comes from her. I’ve looked at these sketches countless times throughout the years, but no matter how many times I’ve seen them, they’re just as beautiful each time.

The way she captured the loneliness of the night, the vivid colors amongst the darkness that most people never really notice. I look up at the night sky and see those same deep hues in the darkness—the midnight blues and deep purple blending into black, embellished by the blanket of starlight, which makes the scene look almost mystical.

I love the night—the stillness of it, the quiet. When I look up at the night sky, the vastness of it makes me believe, for just a moment, that there is so much more than this place, this life. I feel the quiet of the night quieting the discontent in my own life and I feel something like peace wash over me. Momentary as it is, it’s the only peace I have.

The faint whiff of rotting garbage floating on the night breeze from the nearby dump reminds of my reality, though, and that peace is swept away in an instant. There is nothing more than this life and this is my place in the world.

I suddenly get that feeling again that I’m being watched, and something like primal instinct is whispering through my veins, telling me to get my ass back indoors. I find myself looking into the woods beyond the playground. In the darkness, it’s difficult to see anything amongst the trees, but I can make something out in the shadows. A figure standing in the darkness. Watching. The night air is cool, but I’m suddenly sweating. I can hear the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

Run. Run. Run.

My mind is screaming at me now, trying to shake me out of the trance.

“Jazmine.” The sound of my name startles me and I can’t help the scream that rips out of my mouth as I jump to my feet.

I look up to find the man from earlier that night standing in front of me. The man with those knowing eyes. I try to gather my senses, trying to make sense of the scene. My eyes dart back to the woods, but the figure is gone.

Was that figure in the forest this man? I can’t be sure, but I doubt it, there’s no way he could have made it here so quickly, and there was something distinctly different about that figure. Something I can’t sense in this man in front of me. Still, the mixture of fear and panic doesn’t recede. In fact, it only grows stronger, because what I’d seen before was only a shadow, perhaps only an imagined threat, but this man standing before me is very real.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, backing away slowly.

If I turn and run, he can just grab me from behind. He may look like an old man, but something about him tells me that he doesn’t move like one.

I’m suddenly aware of how alone we are out here and my gaze darts around in panic, trying to find anyone or anything that might save me from a potentially bad situation, but there’s not a soul in sight and I’m completely alone in the darkness with this man.

“Wait—how do you even know my name?” I ask. He could have overheard it back at the diner, but I can’t be sure.

The man is calm in contrast to my own panicked state.

“Sit, please.” He gestures to the swing that I had just vacated. His voice is as gentle as it was back in the diner, but I’m not fooled.

“Listen, asshole, I don’t know how you found me here, how you know my name or what you want, but if you don’t get the hell away from me right this minute, I’m going to scream and call the cops.” I realize as I say those last words, that I didn’t bring my cell with me. Dammit.

Those strange grey eyes look unfazed by the threat, which only makes the sickening feeling in my gut worse.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man says. I don’t believe him.

“Bullshit.”

“So you just happen to follow me from the diner, find me out here alone in the middle of the night and expect me to believe that you have nothing but honorable intentions?” I scoff, although I don’t know why I’m still standing out here conversing with this total stranger, who is likely a rapist or deranged serial killer.

I decide that I need to distract him long enough to make an escape.

Something like sadness crosses the man’s face.

“That’s exactly what I expect you to believe—because it’s the truth. I’m not here to hurt you,” the man repeats. I still don’t want to believe him, because no sane person would, but there’s something about his expression that eases my panic a fraction.

“Then what do you want?” I demand, still continuing to inch away.

The man notices and lets out a long breath.

“My name is Magnus Evenstar,” he says.

“And I’m your grandfather.”

I don’t think I heard him right, because that can’t be true. I stare at him in disbelief.

“What?” I’ve stopped moving completely now. Shocked into stillness. Well, that’s not what I was expecting. At all.