Memory of Love

By J.J. Keller

Power, Family, and Loyalty: The coveted three can join a shifter and Valkyrie in love or tear them apart forever. Tied to a tree in the midst of thieves, the Valkyrie Skogul wakes without memory of who she is or of the man she once loved. Using curiously deadly skills, she escapes. Injured and exhausted, a wolf befriends her and leads her to a house where the hunky owner's eyes look strangely familiar. Aidan Hall, former guardian of Hell's Gate, doesn’t trust anyone. So when a beautiful amnesia victim he’s never met appears at his door, why does he feel a connection? Who and what he is will keep them apart. But when dark magik shows up in his woods, his guard intensifies. Is it Skogul or someone else?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628304640

Book preview

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: [e-mail]

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 and 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