MOONLIGHT LEGACY Read online

  When Hadden at last pulled into her drive, he barely took time to put the pick-up truck into park and cut off the engine before his feet hit the gravel.

  He slammed onto the sagging wooden porch, still not knowing what he was going to say, but he did know he wasn't leaving until she told him the truth about why she dumped him.

  He didn't notice the sun going down.

  * * *

  Miranda's body tensed as she heard tires slide to a stop on the gravel drive. She knew it could only be Hadden. Slowly she got up, heart sinking and hands trembling, as she walked to the screen door and watched him jump out of the pick-up truck. Her heart skipped a beat as she noted he was still in his tux.

  "I want to know why you didn't show up at the church. And I want to hear it straight from you, not from some damn note."

  It was obvious he had wasted no time in getting here, she thought. God, how hurt he looked. She flinched as he slammed the flimsy door shut behind him and followed her into the living room.

  But what had she expected, a scornful voice inside her asked? That he would be delighted with what she had done to him? She had known better than that.

  Hadden wasn't that kind of man; a woman couldn't just end things with a Dear John letter and expect him to disappear. He wanted answers to questions she couldn't answer truthfully.

  Not if she wanted to keep her secret.

  She watched silently, arms crossed in front of her defensively, as he stalked across the polished hardwood floor. The angry look in his dark brown eyes and the wounded expression on his lean features were almost more than she could endure. Miranda wanted so much to touch him, take away the pain, but she didn't dare. Instead, she turned away, and fixed her unseeing gaze upon one of the bright, colorful rag rugs that dotted the floor, unable to bear seeing his anguish…seeing him suffer because of her.

  The sting of tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. Don't let him see you cry or he'll know the truth. She inhaled deeply, fighting the impulse to go into his arms and tell him everything. She wanted to more than anything but she knew deep in her heart that she could not. If he thought for even a second that she still loved him, still wanted him desperately, he'd never let her go.

  The grip of his hands on her shoulders was bruising as he turned her back to face him. Miranda wanted to cry out at the pain that emanated from his dark eyes; to keep silent, she was forced to turn her head away.

  "Dammit, Miranda, don't turn away. Not now. I need to know why. Tell me why, for God's sake."

  Cold sickness clamped at her insides at the anguish in his voice.

  She swallowed hard, showing no expression, and forced herself to look at him with a steady gaze, the way she had practiced for this very moment. "Because I don't love you."

  She felt something die inside her even as she said the words that would damn her in his eyes forever.

  The quiet ticking of the antique mantel clock was the only sound in the room. It broke the sudden tense silence that had fallen between them at her heart wrenching words.

  God, she wished she could take those words back. No, she had to go through with this charade. It was the only way.

  Dear God, if she could only tell him the truth. Truth she'd only found out last night when Gram had arrived from Florida, and had found her unconscious on the kitchen floor.

  Hadden gave a little ragged laugh and then seemed to lose all the color in his face, his skin taking on a gray tinge.

  He turned away from her and shoved his hand through his brown hair with an explosive sigh. "No way. Anything else, but not that you don't love me."

  There was an uncertainty in his voice that she'd never heard before, and anguish ripped through her soul because she had put it there.

  Miranda turned toward the window to hide her pain from him. She felt a tightening in her spine as apprehension surged inside her. The moon would rise within the hour. And even though it would be only a quarter moon, the last quarter for the month, Gram had said she would again experience pain and other…symptoms. Symptoms she dared not think about.

  Hadden spun her towards him, studying her intently. "You can't be serious…so just stop lying and tell me the truth."

  She squared her shoulders bravely under his hands, schooling her features to remain impassive. "I never meant to hurt you. Sometimes these things just don't work out."

  Hadden studied her for a brief moment. He couldn't understand it. Something was very wrong here. He could feel it in his bones. Miranda looked so fragile and tiny standing there trying to be brave. But brave about what? Letting him down? Surely she didn't think he'd harm her? No, it was something else…something he couldn't pinpoint.

  Her hair was tousled as if she'd been running her hands through it…the way she did every time she was worried about something. And her eyes; the dark circles he saw beneath them proved that she'd spent a sleepless night. He knew the truth was right in front of him, he just couldn't figure it out. Under his piercing scrutiny, Miranda tugged with a nervous gesture at the oversized tee shirt she wore over gray leggings.

  Frustrated and bewildered, he finally spoke. "I know you better than anyone else, baby. If something is wrong, you know we can work it out together. Don't do this to us."

  She lifted her chin, her expression shuttered, hiding her emotions from him. "Do what, Hadden? Keep us from making the biggest mistake of our lives? Someday you'll thank me for this."

  He studied her for a moment, his features taking on a grim quality that frightened her. Their eyes met and held for a split second, and she imagined that he might kiss her. Then his eyes shadowed and he gazed at her with an intensity that made her swallow hard and look away. "You didn't think so yesterday, or the day before that. Nor did you think it three months ago when I asked you to be my wife." He paused for a moment. "Is there someone else?" he asked in a harsh voice. "Is that your dark secret?"

  Stunned and caught off guard, Miranda looked up at him, swallowing the lump of tears clotted in her throat. "Of course not."

  A frown crinkled Hadden's brow. "Hell, I don't know what to think anymore, none of this makes any sense. But there is something I do know, Miranda. Love doesn't just wither up and blow away overnight. This isn't over yet. I'm not going to quit until I find out what you're keeping from me." He pulled her into the circle of his arms, his mouth coming down on hers unexpectedly. A kiss that delved, bruised and ravaged her, mouth and soul.

  Response washed through her in waves, radiating to the very tips of her toes. When he at last lifted his head, he gave her a savage grin. "Miranda darling, you say you don't love me, but your lips tell a different story. No, there's something else…something you're hiding from me."

  She moved away from him, trying to control the trembling in her knees. "Please go."

  He stepped back and nodded. "I'll go for now, but I'll be back. You can count on that."

  After Hadden had slammed out of the house, Miranda touched her swollen mouth. She could still feel the searing heat from his kiss. She hurried to the bay window to catch one last glimpse of him before he drove away. Miranda could see the tension in his hard muscled back and shoulders, evident in the stiff way he walked. His long slender fingers were balled into fists by his sides.

  Tears gathered in her throat and pain choked her breath as Hadden slowly drove away.

  Dear God, what had she done? Had she done the right thing by sending him away?

  Miranda's thoughts floated back to the day they had gone to pick out the tuxedo and how relaxed and carefree he'd been then. He had grumbled about looking like a penguin as he turned left to right in front of the triple full-length mirror in the dressing room. She had told him how suave and debonair he looked. He gave her a wicked grin and pulled her into one of the empty stalls, kissing her until she was breathless with wanting him.

  Now, those happy memories brought only pain as she thought about what could have been…and what she now knew could never be…not with this dark cloud hanging over her head…a cu
rse from the very depths of hell. Yes, she'd done the right thing by letting him go. She knew that with her head, but why didn't her heart want to listen? She bit her bottom lip as his truck turned the curve and disappeared from sight.

  Forgive me, my love.

  "My, my, your young man is very hardheaded, dear," Gram commented from behind her.

  Miranda turned from the window. Gram held her cane in the crook of her arm as she carried in the tray; atop it sat a steaming pot of tea and teacups. Despite her heartache, Miranda couldn't keep back a smile. Tea was Gram's cure-all for everything from menstrual cramps to lost love. Miranda took the tray and placed it on the coffee table. "Thanks, Gram. I'm sorry for dragging you into all of this. I should've told Hadden myself, not sent you to do it for me. I knew how'd he react, but I'd hoped…"

  Gram looked away, fidgeting with the top of her cane. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping on you and your young man, but I came through the rear door when I got back from the church and decided to make some tea. By the time I overheard him talking to you, well, it was a bit too late to make a timely retreat to my room without interrupting."

  "It's all right, Gram. At this point, I don't have any secrets that you are not privy to, especially not after last night."

  The older woman smiled and poured her granddaughter a cup of tea. "Well, you won't have an easy task convincing him that you no longer care about him. Your young man knows you all too well. Why don't you tell him the truth, dear?"

  Miranda brought the cup close to her face, cradling it between her hands, inhaling the tangy aroma of lemon tea. She had to admit she did find it soothing to her ragged nerves, but the tea did nothing to make her forget the pain in her heart. Nothing on earth could do that.

  She looked up at her grandmother and shook her head. "I can't, Gram." Despair welled up inside of her, spilling over into hot stinging tears. "I have no right to pull him into my nightmare."

  "But he loves you so much. Surely…"

  "No. You don't understand, Gram. Hadden is a man of science…a doctor. He would think I was insane if I told him the truth. And even if he did believe me, he wouldn't rest until he fixed it. I just don't think he can fix this particular problem. I am what I am. It's my problem, not his."

  Sadness swept over Miranda as she picked up a book of wallpaper samples from the floor. For weeks she and Hadden had poured over them. They had laughed and debated between a tiny primrose pattern for the bedroom…her choice, and a slick, striped blue pattern…Hadden's choice. Finally, they had compromised by deciding to paint the room instead. Now, it didn't matter.

  Nothing did.

  She threw the book down, and laughed bitterly. "This damn crazy thing inside me has ruined my life. But you know it's still hard for me to believe. It sounds so farfetched I can't even say it aloud."

  Gram sipped her tea before she spoke. "I know, dear. You can imagine my own horror and disbelief when I first peeked at your birth mother's journal. I thought it was the wild ramblings of a woman who'd gone insane. But your mother told me to deliver it, so I did."

  Miranda's hands shook as she put her teacup back in its saucer. "I feel like I'm in a horror movie, and any minute now the director is going to yell 'cut,' and tell everybody to go home, they're finished for the day, except me." She blinked back her tears. "For me it won't ever be over, Gram."

  Her grandmother gave her a distressed look. "Honey, I know the movies and books depict werewolves as monsters, but you have to remember that you're not one of them."

  "But…"

  "Listen, dear, I don't care what is written in the diary, nor do I care about any of that Hollywood nonsense." Tears shimmered in her faded blue eyes. "What I do care about is you, and no matter what happens, I want you to remember that I love you. You will always be Miranda Slate, my granddaughter."

  "How can you say that after what you saw last night?" Miranda asked in disbelief.

  "Actually, I thought that this old heart of mine was going to stop. When I looked into your eyes and knew you wouldn't hurt me, I found the courage to stand my ground and not run away. I want you to remember that, dear, no matter what happens."

  Miranda looked away. "But for how long, Gram? How long will it be before I lose control? Lose myself in this insane nightmare? What if I can't control it? What if I hurt or kill somebody I care about?"

  "I can't do this…just can't."

  Her grandmother's mouth tightened. "You read the diary, Miranda. You must fight to hang onto the part of yourself that is Miranda Slate."

  Miranda sighed. "I know you're right, Gram, and I will try." She laughed halfheartedly. "At least, now I know I won't infect anybody else if I slip up and happen to bite anybody."

  Gram snorted. "Another cinema falsehood. Your birth mother had some pretty scathing remarks about the lies portrayed on screen."

  Miranda picked up the slim leather-bound book and riffled through it. A musty scent rose from the yellowed pages. "Did she? I haven't read that far yet." She closed the book. "Anyway, what does it matter? The truth isn't any more acceptable than the myths that have been created in Hollywood." She stared at the book in her hands. "I just don't understand why the adoption lawyer waited so long to give this to mom."

  If she'd known that sooner it wouldn't have come as such a shock, she mused silently. But then again, was any time right to find out such a shocking secret about yourself and your family? Hardly.

  "Did he happen to say why?" she asked aloud.

  Miranda had always known she was adopted; her parents had never tried to keep it from her. She was nine when they first told her, and at that age she'd been full of questions. But all either of them could tell her was that her birth parents had died in a car crash when she was two years old. She'd been in the car as well, but miraculously had survived the accident without a scratch.

  Her mother had told her that for weeks after they had first gotten her, she'd awakened screaming in the middle of the night. Time had faded the memory until she finally remembered nothing, except the love her adoptive parents lavished upon her.

  She never wondered again about the parents who had died so tragically, or the relatives either of them might have left behind. None of it ever mattered because she was loved, and that was enough for her.

  "Miranda?" Her grandmother's voice shook her out of her musings.

  She shook her head ruefully. "I'm sorry, Gram. What were you saying?"

  "We were talking about the lawyer, dear. He claimed that it was your birth mother's request. It seems she paid his firm a handsome sum of money to assure that they would follow her instructions to the letter. They were instructed to wait until one week before your twenty-fifth birthday before giving the journal to you. It seems they have been keeping track of you for years." She smiled. "They were still a bit late, but I always say better late than sorry."

  Miranda brushed her hand through her tangled hair with a heavy sigh. "Did Mom read it?"

  "No. She really was just too ill. I wanted to send it to you so I could stay by her side, but she insisted that I deliver it in person." Gram smiled. "She said she needed a break from my hovering anyway."

  Miranda looked up with a tired smile. "That's what she told me last month when I was in Florida. Mom is determined that we don't stand around feeling sorry for her."

  Gram nodded, her eyes wet. "I knew she was a special woman when my son first brought her home to meet me." She pulled a hankie out of her dress pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "Where was I? Oh yes, I remember now, the journal. I must admit I couldn't resist the temptation of reading a few pages." Her eyes took on a distant gaze. "I don't think I really believed what I had read until I arrived last night and found you on the floor." The old woman shuddered.

  Miranda reached out and took her hand. "It's okay, Gram. We are going to get through this somehow. I just wished I'd known sooner…before I made the mistake of falling in love."

  Suddenly, she grabbed her grandmother's fingers. A shaft of pain jabbed at her insides. Panic p
ulsed through her blood, making her feel sick and queasy. Her stomach clenched in horror. Was this it? Would the change her birth mother talked of in her diary be completed tonight? She wasn't ready for it…not yet, she pleaded silently, but it was too late. She had a feeling last night had only been a preview, and now the real show was about to begin. Agony doubled her over, and she fought back the urge to scream.

  "What is it, dear? What's the matter? Are you in pain?" Her grandmother's words rang in her ears as Miranda slipped to the floor.

  "Dear God…no," she gasped aloud. "Gram, it's happening again."

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  He inhaled deeply of the cool, crisp autumn air. Dried leaves crackled under his feet. Nearby, crickets trilled out their mating calls. With a smile on his lips, he watched the pick-up truck as it slid out of Miranda's drive.

  It has begun, he thought with satisfaction. Soon his mate would feel the joys of being one with the dark side of nature. It had taken him some time to find her, but at last he had.

  Miranda Slate was going to be the savior of his people, unite the warring factions that had escalated after her mother's betrayal.

  Her mother, Cassandra, had reneged on the promise made by her parents to be his mate. Instead, Cassandra had chosen to run away with that damn human she had had the audacity to fall in love with, leaving him to watch helplessly as brother went against brother, father against son, and sister against brother.

  The last thought stung him as he remembered how even his sister Lianne had turned against her family, and now led the rebellion against her own flesh and blood.

  Marriage to Cassandra could have prevented that. He had felt angered and betrayed by Cassandra's desertion, never taking a mate even though it was required of him as leader of their clan. Instead he had waited.

  He had all the time in the world to wait…to practice patience. And even after he'd learned of Cassandra's death, he still had hope because he knew about the child she'd had…the woman he now claimed as his.