Page 1 of Cursed Bonds: An Alpha's Destiny

Part 1

Chapter 1

Kirsten

Rain pattered against the windows on this dreary and sad day. Appropriate, if you asked me. The room itself wasn’t what I’d anticipated. I’d always imagined a lawyer’s office to look like some ornate smoking room. Mahogany and velvet, paintings, and massive hand-carved desks. This? It was sterile and cold. Thin carpet, plain white walls, drop-down acoustic tile ceiling, and the thin waif of a man sitting across from me at a desk that looked to be a department store special. “Depressing” was an understatement.

“Here it is,” the lawyer, Carlton Davies, said. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re okay if we head straight to the probate portion of this?”

Clearing my throat, I nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. I read the other documents you emailed to me.”

“Great.” He glanced back at the paper in his hand. “Your grandmother did have a few assets to her name at the time of her death. From what I see here, almost all were left to you, barring a few keepsakes and antiques left to your father. This was all updated upon her, um, diagnosis.”

Nana had fought like hell the last four years. I’d done everything I could to take care of her, but we always knew what the outcome would be. She was nothing if not a pragmatist. If I had to guess, she’d made these arrangements the same week the doctor told her she had cancer.

Davies glanced around the room, noting that I was the only person in attendance. “This does make things a little less awkward,” he said with a pained expression. “There are times during the reading of a will when, unfortunately”—he winced—“issues can come up.”

I knew what he meant. Some cousin gets mad he didn’t get the boat, a sister is pissed Grandpa didn’t leave her his stock portfolio—it was all so trivial when you were dealing with the death of a loved one. I couldn’t imagine arguing over scraps at a table after someone you cared for had passed, but maybe I wasn’t that type of person and would never understand.

My father, Nana’s only child, should have been here. For support, if nothing else. The thought of Dad sent a hard lump of anger into my throat. He was an addict, bouncing from one rehab center to another, then back to the dealers that fed his addictions. When I told him Nana was sick, he hadn’t acted like he cared in the least. He hadn’t even bothered to go to the funeral.

Nana had been all the parent I needed. Given I had no mother and a deadbeat father, she’d poured all her love into me and done everything any mother or father would have done. Now, all that was left was her things. A life gone, reduced to memories and items to hand out.

Outside, thunder rolled.

“So, your grandmother left you the access information to her bank account,” Davies said. “Looks as though there is about five thousand dollars in the account, give or take. She also left you her car. A 1999 Toyota Corolla. With it is a note that reads, Kirsten, please sell that piece of shit and buy yourself something nice—if you get anything at all for it, that is.”

I couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Okay. That’s fine.”

Davies grinned at me, then returned to the paper. As he continued listing items, an even greater sense of grief and anger filled me. Grief, because I wanted her back. Anger at my dad for not caring, at the sickness that had ruined my grandmother’s body and caused her to slowly waste away. Davies’s droning voice faded to the background, a dull roar that mixed with the storm outside.

“Lastly,” he said, “there’s the house in Crestwood, Missouri.”

My ears perked up, and I returned to the moment. The cabin? God, I hadn’t been there in years. Nana had been living right outside St. Louis when she was diagnosed, and I couldn’t remember the last time Nana had said she’d visited the old place. Part of me had assumed she’d sold it. After she’d broken the news about her diagnosis, I’d scraped together enough money to fly her to Texas and then sold her small condo. The Anderson Cancer Center at the University of Texas offered the best treatment for her specific cancer. In the horror and dread of her sickness, I’d never thought to ask about the cabin. Between me making the two-and-a-half hour drive back and forth from Houston to meet her for her treatments, budgeting, and researching alternative treatments, it had never come up.

Leaning forward, I frowned at him. “She still owned the cabin?”

He blinked in surprise. “Uh, well, according to this, it appears she did. There are no liens on the property, and it’s fully paid off. She left it and all its contents to you. There are no stipulations in the will on what is to be done with the property, though.” He set the paper down and interlaced his fingers. “That’s all I have. It does appear that this property is the largest item of value. I don’t work in real estate law, but I do know someone in the practice who does. Would you like me to put you in contact with them?”

Too shocked to speak, I shook my head, still thinking. When was the last time I’d been to Crestwood? Probably on a summer trip when I was in high school. Even earlier, perhaps? I had vague memories of the place tucked away deep in the woods at the end of a long gravel driveway. I remembered thinking it looked like a little cottage out of a fairy tale.

“Ms. Holly? Are you all right? Do you have any more questions?” Davies asked.

I flinched, ripping myself out of old memories. Smiling, I said, “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He grinned back, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the desk. “This is the title to the car, the access info for the bank account, as well as the deed and key to the house in Missouri. If there is anything else the offices of Sampson, Davies, and Thatcher can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call or email.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the envelope and standing.

“Would you like me to walk you out?” Davies offered.

“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” All I wanted was some time alone to process everything.

In the elevator, I pulled my phone out and texted my friend Harley, asking her to meet up for lunch. I needed to talk to someone who knew me. Not some lawyer. Before the doors opened to the lobby, she responded that she was down for sushi.

Out on the sidewalk, the rain was letting up. Rather than cooling down the late-May temperature, it had only served to create a stifling steam that made it difficult to breathe. The clouds above were breaking apart. Soon, I’d be walking around in a sauna. Houston was great, but it might actually be nice to be tucked away in a cool mountain forest.

That thought made me frown. A cool mountain forest like where Nana’s cabin was? How strange. After barely thinking about the place for the last fifteen or sixteen years, I was imagining hanging out there. I did need to talk to Harley.

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