Whispers of the Dead : Cora Roberts Book 1 Read online

  Adaline Winters

  Whispers of the Dead

  Copyright © 2021 by Adaline Winters

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgments

  For my daughter;

  Your fears will soon become your strength.

  Your self-doubt will transform to self-confidence.

  As we walk down this scary road, know you are never alone.

  I am here for you always.

  Mum x

  1

  Chapter One

  Vomit, sunglasses and squids.

  A lone water droplet slid down the plastic glass containing the scarlet slush masquerading as a Bloody Mary. I bet it the three dollars and twenty cents in my purse that the fifteenth and final guy to grace the chair opposite me would be on the nerdy side. They were nerdy and shy, or so far up their own ass they couldn’t see daylight.

  I tapped the blunt pencil against the cheap clipboard to the rhythm of Miley Cyrus entering the room on a wrecking ball and glanced at the fourteen ‘noes’ accompanied by emojis. The first guy spoke in one syllable words and had a vague green tint to his pallor. I’d doodled the sick face with matching vomit. Number six sat like he was making space for the balls of Satan between his legs. He also wore sunglasses in a gloomy room at ten pm. He got the sunglasses emoji. The tenth guy had won the squid emoji, his legs were under the table playing a clumsy and unattractive game of footsie, whilst his hands behaved like spaghetti. That was the longest four minutes of my life. I would kill Sebastian. No car was worth this painful evening.

  I sighed and ran through my to do list. At home, the pantry door needed straightening and the porch swing was crying out for a coat of paint and some WD40, so it ceased its incessant whining. That is what I should be doing, not speed dating in the local dive known as The Pit. It wasn’t actually called The Pit, but it’s what the residents of White Castle called it. Its official name was something flower related… The Orchid perhaps? Or Bluebell? But if you said you were going to The Pit, everyone knew you meant the dive bar opposite the town convenience store specializing in cheap liqueur and knock off perfumes. It boasted terminally sticky floors, served stale beer, and a vague sickly sweet odor clung to the air. The neon street lamps fought a losing battle against the grimy windows, leaving the room sheathed in shadows. It was the kind of place you showered off with a harsh loofah when you got home.

  Metal screeched along the cheap laminate floor, which doubled as a dance floor on weekends. The sound set my teeth on edge. The chair continued its protest in a chorus of squeaky plastic as number fifteen took his place opposite me. I squinted at the clipboard and gave myself another three seconds before I won the bet with the cocktail. Three, two… he cleared his throat. I glanced up, irritated at being called out early. My breath caught as I took in a massive man sporting a five o’clock shadow. He was the epitome of masculine, and everything female inside me stood to attention. His muscles bulged under his crisp white Henley as he folded his arms and stared at me. His deep-set hazel eyes studied my face. I blinked, glared at the cocktail and prepared to lose my three dollars and twenty cents.

  “Are you going to start or continue to impress me with your one man pencil band?” he rumbled.

  My pencil paused, and my gaze snapped to his. A puddle of magic splashed into the surrounding air, the sensation like sizzling rain on my bare skin. Recognizing danger, mine flared in response. I fought it for control. No need to challenge him in a dive bar, how cliché. He narrowed his eyes. I stared at the stupid questions on the clipboard and swallowed. Showing weakness to shifters was like dangling a raw juicy steak in their face and daring them not to shred it. I would not be prey.

  “What’s your favorite food?” I asked.

  “Meat,” he growled. I smothered a laugh. Of course it was meat. Served raw and bloody would be my guess.

  “What hobbies do you have?”

  “Hunting.” Uh huh. I bet, just not with guns.

  “What were you known for in school?” I squinted at the clipboard. Who the hell thought up these questions? And why was I only now just paying attention?

  “Getting what I want.” Right, and something told me that was still the case.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  He gazed into my eyes a beat too long, before scanning down my dress. Stupid low-cut neckline. I would kill Sebastian. “I’m swayed between green, copper and black right now.” He grinned, showing me a set of pearly whites and canines a smidge too sharp to be human. I was being treated to his charming side, I’m sure females usually rolled over and showed their bellies when he smiled at them. He leaned forward and caught a curl cascading over my shoulder, pulling it straight. Goosebumps erupted down my arms. “Is that your natural hair color?”

  “Yep. Boobs are real too,” I said without missing a beat. The idiot glanced at my cleavage. It was a fair question. The deep copper tone looked enhanced, but he should be able to sniff out that no chemicals were used to achieve it. “What’s your favorite TV show?”

  He released my curl, letting it spring back. “The nature channel.”

  “That’s an entire channel, not a show.”

  His lips twitched. “Finally, she sways from the questionnaire,” he drawled. Placing a giant hand on the clipboard, he pushed it to the table and leaned forward. He could shovel graves with those babies. Or lift a woman and wrap her around him like a burrito. Ugh. He scanned the fourteen noes I’d checked and a wicked grin split his face.

  “Nobody catch your eye?” He pointed at the squid. “Not even squid boy?”

  I fought not to squirm. “No.”

  He tapped the number fifteen. “Still?” Arrogant asshole. At least he still fell into one category. Maybe I’ll just give the cocktail half the money.

  “No.”

  He sat back and ran a hand through his dark hair, the tips lighter from the sun. His brow furrowed as he regarded me. That’s right, I’m not falling for your uncharming ass. Hotness would only get you so far. A golden green rolled over his hazel eyes, so fast if I’d blinked I’d have missed it. But whilst he was assessing me, that move allowed me to peg him.

  “Witch,” he finally said. Well, if we are going for insults.

  “Kitten.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. The deep booming sound caught the attention
of the patrons of The Pit, and a stupefied silence coated the room. Figuring they had heard the practical roar from this male incorrectly, the humans shook themselves and restarted their conversations. It was human nature to rationalize the unnatural, to ignore the impossible, and they were adept at it.

  We stared at each other, examining and weighing up strength, intelligence and ability. He was excellent at hiding his alpha status, if not for the unintentional magic splurge; I wouldn’t have known he was anything but human. A burly overgrown human with sharp teeth, but still just human. I managed my magic in a similar way. He would assess me as significant, but not a threat.

  Never let them see you coming. That was my grandmother’s advice, and when you finally showed your cards - be the biggest, baddest person in the room. Own your power and everyone else will follow you. Staring at the guy opposite me, I was sure this master plan would fail. Alphas liked challenges. Whilst I didn’t want to be prey, I also didn’t want to be a challenge. Indifference was my aim.

  The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of this torture. I shot out of my seat and grabbed my borrowed pink Gucci handbag. “Nice to meet you,” I said in a weird goodbye. He swiveled in his chair and watched me walk towards the exit.

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he rumbled. I shot a glare at him over my shoulder, expecting his eyes to be lasered to my ass. His stare collided with mine, I sucked in a breath and thrust my clipboard at Karen, the owner and organizer of The Pit’s answer to speed dating.

  “No one you like?” she asked, scanning the sheet and glancing back at Mr. Big and Burly. I shook my head, slid one last glance at him and hurried towards the exit as he stalked my every move.

  I flew out of the building into the sticky, late summer Louisiana evening and found Sebastian waiting in the silver Bugatti. I flopped into the driver’s seat next to him and sighed.

  “You made it,” Sebastian said with a throaty chuckle, showing he knew exactly how difficult the last few hours had been.

  “And you just lost your car for another month.”

  “At this point you’ve driven her more than me, it’s more your car than mine.”

  “I don’t want your handouts.”

  “Did you meet anyone?” Sebastian asked, his Nordic blue eyes searching mine.

  “I met fifteen someones.”

  He sighed. “It wasn’t meant to be torture, Cora. You were there to enjoy yourself and maybe meet someone worth your time.” I spun the car around in the opposite direction and dropped the gear to speed away from The Pit just as the alpha stepped out into the car lot. Sebastian glanced at him, his lean body coiled and a growl curled up his throat. The alpha’s eyes flashed cat and a ripple of power skimmed over his flesh. For a second I wondered if he would pounce on the bonnet and challenge Sebastian. That would make for an entertaining end to a dull evening. I subdued an eye roll. Your first lesson, ladies and gentlemen: vampires and shifters loathed each other.

  2

  Chapter Two

  Eyeballs float—who knew?

  It was a well-known myth that vampires couldn’t walk in the sunlight, a myth which the vampires gladly fueled. Because hiding in plain sight, or in this case plain sunlight, was the best way to dodge suspicion. Indeed, that particular myth was being dispelled as Patrick Lawrence, the head of house Lawrence, sat regally in the antique armchair in my spacious office at two pm on a bright and sunny day. Facing Patrick was the gracefully graying matriarch of the Wayfer family, Louise Wayfer, who wore a scowl that suggested her wolf was close to the surface. Barry Wayfer stood at her back with his trembling hands resting on her shoulders, offering his mate support as the two enemies eyed me as if I held the answer to all their problems.

  “You’re The Undertaker?” Louise asked, gazing at my slight frame. I resisted the eye roll that sat fluttering on my lids as the nickname I’d earned through no fault of my own came back to bite me in the ass. At five foot and a bit to spare, with copper hair and green eyes, I looked more like a flame haired Tinkerbell than a famous wrestler. I leaned back in my chair to put distance between myself and an innocuous heavy thick black bag stretched out on my desk like a sacrificial offering.

  “I am. What can I do for you?” I asked both Patrick and Louise.

  Louise fluttered her hand towards the bag and held her nose in the air. “We want you to separate them,” she stated, still eyeing me as if expecting a more bulky, less dainty version of The Undertaker would tear free of my body.

  I raised an eyebrow, wondering if someone had screwed my reputation up from doctor to psychologist. “Who?” I asked.

  Patrick leaned forward, grasped the metal zipper of the bag and pulled hard. The links parted, revealing a grotesque pile of remains that resembled something you would put in a stew, not a body bag. All eyes zeroed in on the bag. It was like watching a car crash that’s already happened and you’re left staring at the aftermath. “Our sons,” Patrick offered, sitting back with a frown and folding one smart trouser clad leg over the other.

  I leaned forward to examine the contents more closely; I don’t know why, it’s not like I could discern any parts… oh wait, that’s definitely an eyeball. “They are both in here?” I clarified, pointing at the bag.

  “Yes, they had a disagreement and sorted it using explosives,” Louise stated as Barry drew in a shaky breath.

  “I see, and you want me to separate their remains?” I checked.

  They nodded as if this was an ordinary Monday morning occurrence. Rubbing my temple, I contemplated how I ended up here. Not here as in this room, here, as in figuring how to separate out vampire and shifter mush. Wow, four years of medical school for this, how the mighty have fallen. I considered my options. No one could ever accuse me of not being a problem solver. “I can’t separate them, but I can give you half of their remains, which will only contain your own son.”

  Patrick and Louise eyeballed each other, and for a terrifying moment I thought they would add to the mush. “This is agreeable,” Patrick said, as if there was any other option.

  I stood and swiped my hands down my jean shorts. “Excellent.”

  “When should we return?” Louise asked, patting Barry’s hand as he stifled a sob.

  “No need, it will only take a few minutes,” I stated, zipping the bag up, careful not to touch any mush. I glanced at Patrick and Barry. “Could one of you help me to the clinic?”

  “Of course,” Patrick said. He stood, flipped his suit jacket onto the back of the armchair and rolled his crisp shirt sleeves to his elbow. He cradled the bag and looked at me, I gestured with my hand for him to follow.

  The steel reinforced door in the corner of my office gave way to my lab, which guests rarely saw. I snapped on the bright fluorescent lights and at my direction, Patrick deposited the bag onto the stainless steel examination table. Dragging on a pair of medical gloves, I dug around the bottom cupboard under the sink to find the silver-plated bowl needed for the task. Next I grabbed a plate carved from wood and placed them both on the metal trolley. As I rolled it towards the table, I scooped up a plastic jug. Patrick eyeballed the wooden plate and took a small step back.

  “Is that pink ivory?” he asked. Not to be confused with ivory from animals, pink ivory was a rare tree found in South Africa. It was a pretty blush pink color, made the most gorgeous furniture and was lethal to vampires. It was rumored that an ancient tribe blessed the wood to protect them from the obayifo - their version of vampires.

  I nodded. “Sure is.” Snatching two large clear plastic bags from the drawer, I snapped one open and dropped it inside the scales dangling from the ceiling.

  “Are you staying?” I asked Patrick. He nodded, his expression one of morbid fascination. It’s a look I’m familiar with. Adding together the estimated weight of an adult shifter and an adult vampire, I scooped up the mush using the jug from the table into the scales. Satisfied I had approximately half, I removed the bag, replaced it with the empty one and repeated the process. The final few grams I
separated equally. Then I tipped the contents of one bag into the metal bowl. The remains hissed and protested as vapors poured from the bowl. Years of obnoxious smells have made me immune to their vulgarity, but judging by the pastiness of Patrick’s face, it wasn’t pleasant. Just as I was about to tip the other bag onto the wooden plate, Patrick reached out and touched my arm.

  “Wait, the eye is most definitely my son’s.” He pointed to a blue eyeball swimming at the top of the bag, I’m slightly fascinated by the way it’s causally bobbing on the top of the mush. Should eyeballs do that or should they sink? This is why I have no friends. I fished it out and plonked it into the metal bowl. Nothing happened. Cora Roberts - rescuer of eyeballs. I repeated the process with the wooden plate until I was left with two steaming bowls of uncontaminated supernaturals, one vampire, the other shifter.

  I glanced around my clinic and realized I had nothing large enough or leak proof to deliver the remains back to their respective families. They couldn’t have the bowl or plate. The bowl was expensive, and the plate was rare and in demand given that it was made from the only substance known to kill vampires—well, other than explosions, apparently. I believe decapitation was also an issue. I grabbed my phone from my shorts pocket and zipped off a text. Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around the makeshift cold and clinical lab I’d set up. It had started off as a basic doctor’s examination room. Over the years I’d added to it with a body sized refrigerator and an x-ray machine. We don’t wait long until Maggie bounds through the door, arms full of Tupperware containers.

  “I wasn’t sure which ones,” she rushed out as her collection clattered to the side. She crept closer to the table, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ew…” I’m teaching her tact, though not very well it seems.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” I stated, staring at her. She got the hint and skipped out of the room. Picking two equal sized tubs, I tipped the contents of the shifter into one, and the vampire into the other. The eyeball swirled around on the top, before winking below the mush in a macabre goodbye. I doubt my aunt had this in mind when she bought out the Tupperware party years ago. Securing the lids, I handed Patrick his remains.