Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
It seeks revenge, and NEEDS it. She’ll never see that part of me, because I am good at masking. I’ve been masking most of my life. Grandpa didn’t turn me into a monster, but he nurtured what was there, and helped it grow. Thing is, I’m not ashamed of being who I am. I can look at my reflection in the mirror, or a river, and smile just fine now.
As he stood there daydreaming and weaving his thoughts together, he felt a warm hand on his neck. He looked to his right, and set his sights on the prettiest woman in the world.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked with a smile.
“You know me. Sometimes I just need a little time alone.”
“Yeah, it was a little loud in there. You want me to leave? It won’t hurt my feelings.” She shrugged, still rubbing his neck.
“Absolutely not. That alone time doesn’t include you.”
Her smile widened, and he closed it with a kiss. They embraced each other tightly, the sweet smell of the air blowing through the trees making him feel good all over. Her stomach pushed gently into him, and he fell in love with her all over again. He deepened their kiss, every cell in his body on fire with desire for her. After a while, he reluctantly broke their caress.
“We’ve got guests. I better get back in there,” he stated half-heartedly. She nodded in agreement, and took his hand. As they made their way back into the house, he paused.
“Wait… do you hear that, Poet?”
“Hear what?”
“Listen.”
They both were quiet, and faintly, ever so faintly, he heard the hum of an old motorcycle. He looked at her, for he saw no bike near or far, and yet it sounded as if it were only fifty feet or so away. Was he losing his mind?
“Yeah, I hear it now. It sounds kind of like a chopper. Where is it though?” Poet looked all around.
He sighed with relief when she’d heard it, too.
“It’s not here, baby. Don’t even trouble yourself.” Her forehead wrinkled, and she grasped his hand tighter. “See, my mama said she wanted my father to show me he was with me. She felt like I needed a sign since I’m a skeptic. She said she had a dream the night of our wedding, of him haulin’ ass up and down these pretty green hills on his motorcycle, happy as could be. He told her that he’d heard her request. He told her that I’d hear him coming. It would be the sound of his motorcycle, a sign that he’s always with me.”
Poet bit her lower lip, then grabbed him into her arms.
Something about the sound of that bike was comforting. Uplifting and calming. It came just when he needed it most. Just when the thoughts of his father’s untimely death were turned over like soil, revealing the top of an emotional tomb. The skeletons were brought to the surface from a few harshly written words in a letter, soaked in blood and pain. At that moment, he didn’t believe that his grandfather truly wanted him dead. He hated him for certain, but death? Nah. He didn’t believe that Lorna sincerely sought to hurt him the many times she had during their marriage, either. People were layered. Complicated. Many times, emotionally lethal. Grandpa was the most toxic person he’d ever encountered, but the old man had made a good point: His blood did run through his veins. Regardless, Kage didn’t want to focus on hatred. On the tattered pages of an evil legacy. He wanted to focus on his blessings – a beautiful wife who loved him, and his child that would depend on him for his very survival.
He and Poet stood there, holding one another until the sound of the motorcycle eventually faded into thin air…
…And the river ran deep. The bloody current from slayed tormentors was washed away with the new rain, brought forth from the joyous, celebratory tears of angels. The river was clear and sparkled like white diamond dust, and pure liquid gold. The wolves awoke from their dark slumber, and they were alive, free and at ease. Their shadows followed from a distance, and the glow of their eyes lit up the entire forest, putting even the fireflies to shame. The alpha, Stone, stood on the hill, and his mate, Nina at his side, their new pup growing inside of her womb. The river baptized the sinners, and the sinners lived to see another day, wrapped in the sovereignty of forgiveness.
Transformation is not promised. It is desired, worked towards, and earned.
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
—Heraclitus
~The End~