The Secret of the Bloodstones

By Melanie Thompson

Have you ever wondered if the tales of Sasquatch, Yeti or Bigfoot are true? In Secrets II: The Secret of the Bloodstones, Antonio Salazar and Baine Tenbrook are back, plunged into another crazy adventure by another single mom. When Molly Shoemaker takes a ride on the back of a Black Lyken motorcycle with werewolf Russell Wolfman, her quite sane world goes totally insane. She discovers she is part elf, makes love to a vampire and a shifter, and then falls passionately in love with of all creatures, a Sasquatch named Magnus. Secrets II will take you on a nonstop thrill ride beginning in the mountains around Seattle and ending at the headwaters of the Nile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Dec 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781633557994

Book preview

Chapter 1

Molly Jean Shoemaker, you come back here and tell me who you’re going out with.

Molly grabbed her three-year-old daughter, Daphne, out of the crib and shouldered her mother aside. Don’t get in my way, Mom. Mitch will be here any minute to pick Daffy up and Russell should be here, too. Why oh why did Mitch pick today to be late?

He’s always late, her mother snapped. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s as useless as tits on a boar.

Molly flew down the stairs, pull-up diaper panties clenched between her teeth, daughter under one arm, wipes in the other. I hope Mitch at least tries to help with Daffy’s potty training, she mumbled around the pull-up. He’s got her for a week and if he doesn’t help, I’ll have to start all over.

Carol Northland, A.K.A. Mom, followed Molly down the steps to the living room. Molly tossed Daphne on the couch and went to work with the baby wipes.

You still haven’t told me who this Russell guy is, Carol said.

That’s because it’s none of your business who I go out with. I’m a grown woman with a child.

Where’d you meet him?

Molly rolled her eyes, pulled Daffy’s drawers up and set her in the high chair. He’s a very nice man. I, uh…I met him in an online chat room and he brought his dog to me.

He has a dog in therapy?

Molly was an animal psychiatrist. God had given her a special gift. She’d been able to read the thoughts and needs of animals all her life. Going into this end of the pet business had seemed a natural career choice. She had a small office in downtown Seattle where she treated the neurotic pets of people who could afford her outrageous fees. Of course he does.

A horn honked from the front yard. That must be Mitch, Molly said. Can you give Daffy her fruit snacks while I run upstairs and grab her bag?

Molly glanced out the front window as she ran for the stairs. Mitch sat in his red 1980 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. His elbow hung out the window and he was smoking.

She opened the front door. Put out that cigarette, Mitch. You know you can’t smoke around the baby.

He flung the half-smoked butt onto her driveway. When she had Daphne’s bag, she picked up her child and started for the door. Anxiety set in the minute she stepped outside. Mitch had never had Daffy for a week. Molly did not trust him, but had no choice. The parenting plan clearly stated he was to have her one week every six months.

Carol followed her out. What’s this man’s name? Did you say it was Russell? Have I ever met him?

Molly rounded on her mother. No, you have not. Can’t you see I’m upset about leaving Daffy with Mitch? I have to do something. If I sit home alone while you’re on your cruise and Daffy’s with him, I’ll go insane. Just the thought of being here by myself every night, wondering if she’s okay, makes me crazy.

Carol backed up a step. Okay, okay, I’m just worried about you, honey, though why I can’t imagine. There’s no doubt in my mind you won’t like him. You’re the fussiest woman I’ve ever known. There are no perfect men, Molly. Grow up and accept it.

I can’t. There has to be a man out there who is kind, generous, handsome, and who doesn’t smoke.

Carol shook her head and waved her arm to indicate Mitch standing beside the Caddy. Case in point, they’re all selfish pigs.

I’m not giving up, Mom, Molly called over her shoulder. I went out with Russell last week. He seems like a really nice guy. He took me to dinner at Restaurant Zoe for goodness sakes. You know how expensive that place is. Then we had a couple of drinks after dinner and he took me to lunch Wednesday. He seems like a good person with an adventurous spirit…like me. He belongs to a gentlemen’s motorcycle club. They go on long drives into the country together. I heard it’s an up-and-coming hobby for professionals.

As she stormed down the stone pavers to the driveway, a big red motorcycle pulled in and parked. It was a huge Harley Davidson Dynaglide covered with chrome and leather fringe. Hugging Daphne to her chest, she walked the rest of the way down the drive to Mitch’s Cadillac.

Do you have a car seat? she asked.

Her ex-husband climbed out of the car and opened the back door. A brand-new car seat was buckled in waiting for Daphne. Molly stepped back, tears filling her eyes as she let Mitch strap her baby in, and then handed him the bag. Take good care of her.

For once, he seemed sober and alert. I will. Who’s the guy on the bike?

A friend.

You going out with bikers now?

I’ll have you know Russell is a lawyer and works for a very prestigious firm in town. He’s not a biker.

Mitch grinned. Could a fooled me. He swung into the Caddy and backed out of the driveway. When Mitch was gone, she turned to greet her date. He looked a lot different than the last time she’d seen him. As a lawyer, he wore conservative, three-piece suits. Russell-the-bike-enthusiast was dressed in a lot of black leather, his thick, black salt-and-pepper hair tied up in a bandana.

Dragging her heels, Molly turned to greet him. She stuck out her hand. Hey, you look different. He did. When they went out he looked like your typical lawyer and his belly had been hidden inside the folds of his suit. Now it hung over his black belt, his inny bellybutton clearly visible pressed against a black T-shirt.

He ignored her offered hand, hitched up his black jeans and grabbed her in a bear hug.

Excuse me, Carol said. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.

Molly extricated herself from the hug and smoothed her pale-blonde hair. Mom, this is Russell Yaeger. We’re going up to Lake Diablo for the weekend.

Inside, Molly was screaming. Russell and this weekend no longer seemed like a good idea, but she’d put herself into an impossible position. If she didn’t go her mother would blow off the cruise to Alaska with her friends, and Molly would hear about it for the next twenty years. And then there was Daphne. The thought of the empty crib and empty house brought a huge lump into her throat. She couldn’t stand it.

Her mother’s face raced through several changes of expression. Her eyes slowly narrowed, her chin rose and stiffened. Molly knew her mother. She was about to be make a very embarrassing scene. Russell, wait here for just a minute. I’ll grab my bag and be right back.

Molly snatched Carol’s hand and led her to the house, pushed her through the door ahead of her and slammed it shut.

Carol exploded. You can’t seriously be considering going away with that man. He looks like an aging Hell’s Angel.

He’s a lawyer. I guess he’s dressing like that to impress me. He might be a little older than I am, but I need the break, and I can’t stand to think about Daffy with Mitch. I’ll end up stalking him or something worse. And besides, you’re going on a cruise. Remember?

Molly raced up the stairs, snatched her backpack off the bed along with her purse, keys and her jacket with her mother hot on her heels. Think about what you’re doing. Do you know anything about this man besides he’s a lawyer? And you know as well as I do, lawyers are all rats. What kind of dog does he have anyway? Who’s taking care of it? No wonder the poor thing’s in therapy.

Stop worrying about me, Mom. You’re babbling. I’m twenty-nine. I can take care of myself.

I don’t like motorcycles, Molly. They’re dangerous.

I’m sure he’s a careful driver, Molly mumbled as she pulled her jacket over her frilly white blouse.

Back on the driveway, Molly hesitated. What was she doing? She’d only been out with him twice. But both times he’d been polite, extremely generous and a gentleman. He’d never even tried to kiss her. When Mitch had Daphne, a terrible emptiness filled Molly and she couldn’t take the pain for a whole week. Anything would be better, even a weekend with Russell. How bad could it be? He’d promised her they’d have separate rooms. She had her cell phone and plenty of money. If she started to feel uncomfortable, she’d call a cab or a friend and go home. She plastered a smile on her face and marched toward the bike.

I’m ready, Russell. Where do I stash my bag?

He opened a compartment under the rear seat and stuffed her pack inside. Smiling he handed her a helmet. You look like a million bucks.

What could she possibly say to that? Thanks, Russ. Suddenly, she felt shy. She didn’t know him that well. On their dates, he’d just spoken about his work; he was a corporate lawyer, his time in the military, he’d been a pilot, and his dog. He owned a wolf.

He pulled down the sleeve of his leather jacket and rolled up his black T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of a wolf howling at the full moon. My biker friends call me Wolfman.

Molly blinked. Okay, Wolfman it is.

He swung one thick leg over the saddle and started the bike. Climb on sweet cheeks and grab hold of my waist.

When she had the helmet on, he showed her how to thumb the com button so they could talk. She clambered onto the seat behind him, closed her eyes and gingerly wrapped her arms around his waist. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne, scents she found comforting.

She glanced at her mother standing on the front steps and thumbed the com button. Hit it, Wolfman. I’m ready to ride.

Yee haw, Russell the Wolfman Yaeger yelled over the com as he tooled the big bike out of the driveway and onto the main road.

The ride to Lake Diablo was beautiful. For once the usually dismal rainy Washington weather cooperated. The sun beat down on her helmet and back, warming her body and her heart. She’d made the right decision.

It was late May and wild flowers growing in profusion on the side of the two-lane road waved back and forth in the light breeze. The only fly in Molly’s ointment of perfection was worry about Daphne. Mitch’s house was usually full of empty beer bottles and ashtrays of cigarette butts. A three-year-old child could die from eating even one.

Ever been to one of these Black Lyken Clan gatherings? Russell asked over the com.

No, what’s a Black Lyken?

I told you I belonged to a cycle club. Ours is called the Black Lykens. We meet in the campground at Lake Diablo every spring. You’ll love ’em.

They stopped in Marblemount at a fast food restaurant for lunch and Russell was a gentleman, helping her off the bike, buying her a huge hamburger and fries, and sitting at a discreet, safe distance from her while they ate. Maybe this would work.

She smiled at him around the burger and he grinned back. She stopped chewing in mid-bite. A stray thought had entered her head. She could swear it came from Russell. The thought was about her breasts, their size, their shape and how much could be seen over the top of her blouse. A chill raced up her spine.

She closed her eyes and tried to contact Russell’s mind. She got nothing. Shaking her head, she took another bite off her hamburger. The meat suddenly tasted too red, too raw. She put it down unfinished and nibbled on a French fry.

An hour later, Wolfman steered the big Harley into Silver Glenn Campground. Molly surveyed the picturesque site. Nature had been overrun by motorcycles. A strange flag flew from a pole in front of a spacious tent with a two-pole awning. The flag pictured the same howling wolf as Wolfman’s tattoo against a blue backdrop and a full moon.

Wolfman pulled in front of the lodge and Molly leaped off before he could hoist himself off the bike, grab her and lift her up. A thriving restaurant and bar sat next to the lodge. Twenty bikes were parked in front of the Black Swan. Beer signs and a neon martini glass invited the thirsty inside for a drink.

I’m going in the bar, Wolfman. I could really use a beer after the long ride.

Wolfman grabbed her hand. No, no, you stay with me. I want to introduce you to Howler. He’s the head of the Black Lyken Clan.

Molly allowed herself to be towed toward the tent with the flag. No doubt, Howler was another dude from the city, probably another lawyer, who was playing at being a bad ass for the weekend.

Wolfman Russell ducked through the tent flap into the roomy interior dragging Molly behind. When she was inside, he pushed her in front of his bulk and shoved her toward a tall man seated in a camp chair with his long legs extended in front of him. He wasn’t old. He didn’t look like any lawyer she’d ever known. He was scary.

Molly stared. Howler’s black hair was slicked back from a pointed widow’s peak. His half-open gray eyes surveyed her with an appraising glare. He wore biker leathers with patches on the sleeves declaring him a one-percenter. Molly knew about them from watching Gangland on cable. One-percenters were killers and Howler looked the part.

There were two cots behind Howler. Each contained a woman dressed in little more than underwear, very revealing underwear. They appeared stoned to Molly, barely glancing up when she and Wolfman approached.

One, a redhead with pale skin, wore a collar studded with glinting stones, maybe diamonds, a black leather thong and a half-bra that cupped her breasts but did not cover the nipples. Her long pink nipples were pierced, the rings attached by a gold chain to the studded collar. As Molly watched she grinned slyly and slid her hand under the leather thong to cup herself. Shocked by the flagrant display, Molly turned her attention to the other woman.

She had russet-colored hair and lay on her stomach on the camp bed, the fleshy folds of her backside hanging out of the bottom of a sheer teddy. Howler must like redheads.

The sudden appearance of Howler’s thoughts in her mind startled her. All her life, she’d been able to read animal thoughts, not the thoughts of men. What did this mean? Was Howler an animal? And then she remembered the stray thought she’d received from Russell but had dismissed as a fluke. What was going on here?

When she focused on Howler, she felt rage, barely controlled anger and need. Howler wanted something and if she read him right, he wanted it from her. Molly shivered. Something was terribly wrong. She looked around, ready to run. But Russell was pressed against her back. There was no way she could get out of the tent.

Wolfman shoved his thick-fingered hand into her neck. Go on, say hi to Howler.

Hey, Molly said. Why was she able to read these guys? It was as though their thoughts were on an animal’s level. When she cast feelers toward Russell, she got emotion. Wolfman’s predominant emotion was lust. He was thinking about her naked and under him. These two were so primitive she could read them just as clearly as she read Mrs. Stanhouse’s Labrador retriever. Terrified, her stomach rolled. The red meat she’d ingested was rebelling. She burped, shivered and pulled her jacket tighter.

So, you’re Molly Shoemaker. We’ve been waiting for you, Molly. The Black Lykens have need of your services.

Wait a minute, Howler. When I found her in the chat room, you said she was mine. I haven’t had any time with her. We’re going out. She wants a drink and so do I.

Howler lazily stood up and stretched. Standing, the huge biker towered over both her and Russell. He was close to seven-feet tall. The conversation, both the voiced and what she read in their minds, had her ready to bolt. She was in so much trouble and without a clue as to how to extricate herself.

Russell Wolfman thought he was going to enjoy her company in the Biblical way, and crazy-eyed Howler needed her for