Memory of Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for jj Keller’s books

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Memory of Love

  by

  jj Keller

  The Valkyrie Series, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Memory of Love

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by jj Keller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-464-0

  The Valkyrie Series, Book 3

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for jj Keller’s books

  TRADE AGREEMENT

  “Ms. Keller throws you right into the heart of her plot then keeps our attention riveted while we hold our breath to find out what happens next...She is a first-class storyteller with a unique way of telling it.”

  ~Larkspur, Long and Short Reviews,

  Ranked “Best of the Best”

  ~*~

  “I felt for Georgina for here is a woman who will do anything to find freedom including running away.”

  ~Melinda, Night Owl Reviews

  ~*~

  THE TAROT CARD

  “Ranked Fantastic, Stays on the Shelf.”

  ~Between the Lines

  “I have enjoyed every book I have read by jj Keller and this one lives up to that reputation. This is a wonderful, lighthearted, and fun quick read to start your day off well or to finish your day feeling good!”

  ~Steph B., The Romance Studio

  ~*~

  “It left me with a smile on my face and a real sense of satisfaction. I’d say this is definitely a story I’d like to share with my friends—well worth a read. Enjoy!”

  ~Vasiliki Scurfield, WRDF Reviews

  ~*~

  THE VALKYRIE AND THE MARINE

  “…it might be fantasy, but the author expresses true emotions…”

  ~Aloe, Long and Short Reviews (4 Stars)

  Dedication

  For Tracy Scott,

  without whom this series wouldn’t be shelf-worthy.

  You stood by, encouraged, supported, and

  pointed out ways to improve my work.

  I give thanks by dedicating this book to you,

  my friend.

  Chapter One

  Men’s raised voices and robust laughter seeped into her consciousness.

  And nothing else.

  Okay, calm down, you can bring forth memories. First, what is my name? Squad? No. Sarah? No.

  Sharp pain radiated across her head and neck, distorting her focus. Pins and needles stung her hands. Scrabbling for a safe thought, she wrung her hands. Bound. The severe ache traveled through her arms as she inhaled. Soil, pine trees, night’s moisture, and a strange tinny odor tickled her nose. She forced her eyelids open. A misshapen forest. Vegetation above her head consisted of leaves, a mix of spring greens, cobalt teal, and cadmium red with hints of gray. Autumn.

  What the frak? I can remember odd color values, but not my name or how I got here.

  “Wilson,” an even-toned guy’s petulant voice came from a distance.

  “Yaw,” a responding slurred tenor resonated deep and seemed bitter.

  She sensed danger getting closer. Could she move?

  Yes, the legs work fine. She went to work on the knots binding her hands. Her breath caught as she tried to grasp a memory of...anything. The rapid beat of her heart thundered against her ribs. Her muscles shuddered in offbeat accompaniment. Wood smoke blew into her face, making her want to spew. She closed her eyes, shifted her rear on the icy ground, and hoped for a sign of her past, of recognition. Nothing. Frak!

  “Is she awake?” a raspy smoker voice asked. Three men. So far her count was three male voices: one raspy, one whiner, and one boozer named Wilson.

  She stopped struggling with the restraints and slowed her breathing. Her head hurt, like a hammer pounding on one spot.

  “The bitch’s tied with the best rope the military has to offer. She’s not getting free.” Whiner’s confidence pissed her off.

  “Amazon tall. Her sexy legs turn me on. I wish you had found out her name before you hit her with the butt of your rifle. I like to shout the bitch’s name when I’m plowing.” Raspy voice’s disgusting comment was followed by a snick-snick.

  She, too, wished they would have found out her name, location, and why they felt compelled to tie her to a very rough tree. Was she working with the military? That would explain the rope holding her wrists in a painfully tight grip.

  At a whoosh of air, she opened her eyes. In addition to smoke, the scent of kerosene invaded her space. The trio had lit a fire contained by a mound of stones. Flames nipped the gentle breeze sending shimmering sparks around the men. All of them were seated, so she couldn’t determine their height, but each had broad shoulders, thick hands, and wore camouflage jackets. The word camouflage seemed odd, yet familiar. A second clue. She would regain her memory.

  All right, if she was indeed a skilled agent or fighter, she could get out of the binds. Frantically, she clawed the rope.

  Wishful thinking on her part.

  For all she knew she was an artist, or a floral designer who was a movie buff and remembered fighting techniques while traipsing through the woods gathering materials. An uneasy thought in this case. Tied to a tree and facing an impending rape, she’d go with the skilled intelligence agent and hope for inspiration or intervention, whichever came first.

  “You need to get rid of Vanguard.” Whiner snickered.

  “He’s out of the country. Took my sister to Italy on a honeymoon.” Wilson’s slurred voice grew cold. “The bastard took my homestead and gave the rights to a woman.”

  “Vanguard gave your home to your sister?” Raspy threw the words into the wind.

  A chunk of wood landed on the low-burning fire. “No woman should be a landowner,” Wilson said.

  “She saves horses, right? Animal cruelty isn’t right,” Raspy murmured.

  “He will die.”

  Grumbled agreement came from the other men. She took advantage of the chorus of mumbles and swung her unbound legs to the side. Why had they left them unbound? She glanced at her lower half clad in gray denim and bare feet.

  Ah, the reason for unbound legs, they’d removed her shoes and socks believing the lack of footwear would stop her from sprinting through the bushes. Other than muddy knees, her trousers seemed intact. The tinny odor of blood soaked into the rope. A few twists an
d the cord slipped, but not enough to free her.

  “I’m going to check to see if my night’s entertainment is awake,” Raspy-tone said. He exhaled in heavy grunts as he stood. Short. Thick around the middle. She could take him. An instant image of her wrestling with a tall blond man invaded her thoughts. Her brother? Co-worker? Boyfriend?

  She inhaled autumn fresh night scents. Refreshed, she had a smidgen of energy, enough to fight. She took stock of what could be used as defense and tongued her teeth, preparing them to be utilized as a weapon. Footsteps drew near.

  “Wake up, pretty giant, the woodsman is here to fuck you.” Raspy grabbed her legs, separating them.

  She needed to appear sedated, so he’d loosen her ties. Slow breath in, regulated air out. Eyes narrowed, she peered through her eyelashes. On his knees, he crawled between her outstretched legs.

  “I’m first,” Wilson shouted, “untie her, Applegate, and bring her to m-meee. I like a hot fu-uuck.”

  Applegate spit to her left and turned to look at the man. “Wilson, you always go first. In North Korea you said next time I could be point man.”

  Stay calm. I’ve been in difficult situations before. I can get out of this one. She glanced at the two men and back to Applegate, assessing their positions in relation to any escape route.

  “It’s really my turn,” Whiner said.

  Wilson jumped to a stand. “Fu-uuck you, Cracker.”

  “Honeypot, I’m going to release you, and we’re going into the brush.” Applegate’s breath smelled of garlic and hops. His eyes were close set, giving him a weasel-like appearance. Short-cropped hair and a puckered hole where an earring once decorated an earlobe came into focus. If he wanted to hide in the bushes, he must not have a lot to boast about, which would work to her advantage. “I’ll keep a knife to your throat. Don’t think of running.”

  Wilson and Cracker were in each other’s faces, shouting and pushing shoulders. When her hands were unbound, she’d attack the fat midget and run. A hoot owl screeched. Night bugs buzzed, nipping at her wounds. She licked her lips. Ready.

  Applegate slipped a knife from a holder at his belt. He leaned against her chest, cut the rope, and burped a strong alcohol-scented breeze near her head. Not waiting for her hands to regain blood flow, she brought her arms around, slapped the sides of his head, and wrapped her legs around his body. She flipped him to the side. Ah, she must have super powerful strength and indeed…she knew wrestling.

  Before he could right himself, she ran, zigzagging through the forest. She bit her lower lip to divert the pain from her bloody rope-burned wrists and the twigs and stones biting into her feet. Covered by darkness, she didn’t stray from the animal paths. Expecting gunfire, she was surprised when only thrashing and heavy breathing followed her. For an overweight guy, he could hustle. More than likely, all three were skilled trackers and in pursuit. The lack of verbal communication between them ate into her confidence. Did she know enough evasive maneuvers to keep out of their clutches? Was that bit of extraordinary strength a one-time event? Damn memory continued to elude her.

  A howl ripped through the branches. She gasped for air and stopped in her tracks. A large walnut tree provided a wide canopy, perfect for hiding. In an attempt to get the tingling and pain to stop, she shook her hands. She rubbed her soles on the dirt, scraping gravel off and grinding contaminates in the cuts and scratches.

  Growls came from the foliage. The bone chilling sound grew closer and definitely wasn’t human.

  She struck a fast pace toward the mournful yowl, but hopefully farther from her attackers. Could she fight off a pack of coyotes?

  Branches lined the rugged path. She jumped over one and tripped, splattered on the ground. Leaves crackled as Applegate tromped closer. Despite her burning feet, she bounced to a stand, taking a thick stick from the path. She appreciated the adrenaline-powered stranger’s body she resided in, and met Applegate’s dirty, brown-eyed stare. The anger in his eyes created fresh ripples of chills. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she held the javelin, prepared to take as many whacks as possible. Javelin?

  Her head spun. The tightness closed band-tight, as if someone cranked the vise a notch. Lucky for him or she’d head butt him into Neverland. He’d replaced the knife in its keeper and reached for the gun attached to his belt. From the looks of it, a nine millimeter with a silencer. Yes, she must have a career in defense of some nature.

  The coyote howled, louder and longer, drawing Applegate’s attention.

  She struck a blow to his right arm. The gun didn’t budge. Flashes of lights, coming from Odin knows where, altered her vision. Fifteen rounds in a Beretta, so she’d need to create a new diversion before one of the bullets hit her. Amazing how her memory of weapons flooded her mind and her name continued to be a mystery.

  “If I didn’t need some pussy, I’d shoot you where you stand.” His tainted spittle saturated the air between them.

  “Except I’m going to crack your head open first.” She gripped the branch, with the knot outward, swung around, and hit the left side of his jaw. The momentum of the stick continued downward.

  Whack! The wood hit rock, and a spark shot from the connection. Sharp pains reverberated through her upper arm. Wetness appeared on her skin. Anger, strong potent anger helped her ignore the dizziness and to spin around. Screaming a war cry, she shoved the flat end of the spear onto his temple. His body thudded on the carpet of sticks and leaves. Heart pattering with joy, she took a step closer, intending to get the pistol. Her head threatened to pull her down as she bent.

  He stirred.

  She couldn’t take the time to pry the gun from his fingers. His comrades would be near.

  Where to go?

  Unable to shake off the dizziness, she dropped her only weapon and ran. Trying to get her bearings, she continued onward. No time to worry over what couldn’t be changed, there were two others who would be pursuing her. Weak, she halted in the middle of the path, took deep breaths, and tuned into the sounds.

  The howling had stopped. No male bickering rattled through the forest. She needed a guide, but no lights marked where streets existed or where humans collected. Her only hope would be to climb to higher ground and get a panoramic view at dawn.

  She scrubbed loose strands of hair behind her ears and darted a glance around. Needing to get farther away from the men and unable to run due to the constant pounding in her head, she jogged. Blood from her arm wound wet her shirt. Cloth rubbing against the open skin burned. Veering left, she took deep gulps of cold night air. A deer trail might lead to higher ground. Half a mile later, dizziness clouded her vision, and flashing lights danced in her head. She found a bushy evergreen and collapsed near the trunk, partially shielded by a brush of pungent thick needles.

  She unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and rolled the sleeve higher, creating a makeshift bandage. Knees propped against her chest, she laid her head on her folded hands. A few minutes to quell the queasiness in her gut and calm the hammering in her head, and then she’d start again.

  Seconds passed. Twigs crunched. She swallowed the bile and ignored the intense pounding in her head. She shifted her gaze—slowly, precisely—unkinking her neck and looked into a beautiful pair of shimmery gray eyes. Wolf!

  ****

  Campfire smoke drew him into the clearing. Other than forest smells, he detected the scent of a woman. Two men argued about who should “guard the goods” and who should chase her. Short and thin was to remain. Silent-footed Aidan chased the tall guy wobbling unsteadily through the lavender and vanilla scented path.

  He loped a wide circle then came around, meeting the quarry dead center on the trail. Baring his sharp pointed teeth, he waited to see if the man would run or attack. The idiot’s hand went to his side and with practiced ease drew a sawed-off shotgun. The action was so ghetto Aidan stifled a laugh.

  He leaped, claws bared, striking the man. Unbalanced, the guy went to the ground and struggled to get the gun level for a shot. From the put
rid odor radiating from his mouth, Aidan was mildly surprised the man didn’t eject a premature shot into the air. Military rifle, holding a woman against her will, and no random shot fired. The sot didn’t want to alert the property owner and make their malevolent activity known.

  Ha, the landlord currently pressed a paw to his inner arm, pinning him to the ground.

  One bite to the jugular, and he’d bleed out. Ah, the sweet taste of blood, long overdue, made his mouth water. The man’s free hand, fisted, beat against Aidan’s side. He wanted to howl. The vagrant had strength. Significant time had passed since he cleaved human skin, tasted the tangy red blood, and chewed on warm succulent meat. Jaws open, he clasped the attacker’s windpipe and applied pressure. He struck his tongue to the skin and lapped a smidgen of the vital life force, wanting more.

  A woman’s scream ripped through the air. Paw to a pressure point and the man’s fisted hand fell to the pine needles. Aidan catapulted into the dark.

  Shrieks, loud and clear, abruptly stopped. Aidan sprinted, jumping over deadwood and under low-hanging branches, while ignoring the sharp pains from the jab-bruises to his side. Nose to the ground, he picked up her trail. Exceptional eyesight didn’t mean he could see through trees, but her essence was everywhere. She must have weaved and dodged through the forest. He’d have to follow the pungent odor of beer-sweat instead. After making a full circle he stood still, listening for the slightest whimper or moan. A mile to the left, through the thickest part of the forest, was the main road and in the opposite direction higher elevation. By the look of her random movements, she was either very clever or unfamiliar with the territory. More than likely, she’d go toward the hill in order to get a location. Aidan loped westward, intending to find the woman before the others did.

  A man lay in the center of the path. Shallow liquor-scented breaths indicated he lived. Aidan trotted past the drunken ass, stopping a few miles later at the sight of a magnificent glittering bombshell resting under a massive pine tree.

  Hardly moving, she rested her head on her knees. Had they injured her?

  So taken with her aurora, he stood still with all fours planted to the ground, and puffed smoky breaths of cool air. Close to dawn on a chilly night, he wished on the last sparkling star to be in human form, allowing him to become her knight in shining armor.