Unbound: Shifters Forever Worlds(8)

“How—”

A knock sounded at the door.

Glory sang silent praises the interrogation of her having met Dane Snow was being interrupted.

She looked at her cousins. They looked at her.

“Did you order anything to be delivered from town?”

“No.” Both girls said simultaneously.

Glory opened the door.

A man in a suit stood there, a hat in one hand, a manila envelope in the other. He glanced at the envelope and read from it. “Glory Aleman?”

She nodded. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Randall Shelby. Your presence is requested at the reading of the will of one Francis Evan Forester.”

There must be a mistake, why would I be expected at Dane’s uncle’s will reading? “What? “Why?”

“Miss Aleman. I’m merely delivering the request.” He pushed the envelope toward her. “Here it is in writing. As the late Mr. Forester’s attorney, I’m paid to make sure you know you’re to be there.

“Why? Have you read the will? Why?” God. Her voice sounded so small and tinny, like one of those old-time radios.

“Miss Aleman, please be one of the parties present. It’s in your best interest.”





6





Dane and Randall Shelby were seated in the breakfast nook of Dane’s late uncle’s home.

Dane took stock of the room. It really hadn’t changed in the decade and a half since he’d stayed with his uncle. It was as if frozen in time.

I’m sure lots of things in Woodland Creek are that way.

A part of him wanted to go to the secret walled-in garden. The other part of him wanted to run away from the pain of this place as fast as he could.

He pushed his coffee mug aside. This was the third cup he’d had. Dane looked at his late uncle’s attorney in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you couldn’t handle this without me. My attorney could have come.”

“It’s in the will Mr. Forester. Your uncle made it conditional. You had to be here,” Mr. Shelby said.

Randall Shelby was an octogenarian human, his faded blue eyes covered with the film of age, as some human eyes tended to. This was a problem shifters didn’t have, since they were granted longevity by their shifter powers. Mr. Shelby adjusted his tie, pulling on it to the left then the right, as if he weren’t quite accustomed to wearing one. He picked up a stack of papers from the table.

“Fine, already, can we get this started?” Every moment I’m in this f*cking place brings Glory to mind. The heartbreak I must have caused her in her short life.

“As soon as all of the parties are here.”

“Parties? Like who else? The sheriff? The coroner?” Dane had no experience with will readings; no clue what or who to expect.

“Not exactly.”

“What would have happened if I’d sent my attorney instead of coming myself?”

“You’d have forfeited any and all claims to his property in Woodland Creek.”

Woodland Creek. Why the hell didn’t I just do that? Why am I so hell-bent on keeping this property?

He knew why. One reason only.

Glory. And all the memories he had of her. The property would be demolished to put a development in or an amusement park. The lake he and Glory had swam in would be ruined by some developer or another putting a golf course in.

The fields they’d roamed… torn up and turned into a concrete something.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting that happen. Not to my memories. They are all I have, even if I don’t ever return here.

“So who else is coming?”

Mr. Shelby looked up from the papers, stood them up on end, then tapped them on the tabletop to make them even.

Dane’s fuse was running short. He rose from his chair far more loudly than he’d intended to.

Resembling insect feelers more than human hair, Mr. Shelby’s white brow cocked a notch.

The doorbell rang.

Dane whirled around. “About time,” he muttered.

The sooner we get this show on the road, the sooner I can get the hell away from the memories of what I did, what I could have done, and what I should have done.

He opened the door with a yank.

A funnel cloud sucked him into a vortex.

This can’t be.

The ghost of Glory, except it wasn’t a ghost, was it?

It was Glory. In the f*cking flesh. The woman he’d known and loved and…

He shook his head, fruitlessly, as if that would clear it. He stared at the vision in front of him.

Still the same dark vibrant hair, the same green eyes that pulled him into a place where they shared a life.

Except not right now.

Those eyes glared at him with fury, their depths lit with a golden glow — a combination of her ivy and her fury.

He wished his lungs would work, he needed air. The burning consumed his chest the same way the grief of knowing she was dead had for all these years.

His snow leopard was making a sound that Dane would have sworn was purring, only he knew his feline didn’t purr.

What the f*ck?

His nerve endings played havoc on his body and mind, sending message after message that conflicted.

He swallowed, over and over.

“Glory.”