Venganza: The Fuentes Legacy

By Greta Cribbs

"No Fuentes can leave the family."

For centuries the Fuentes family has harbored dark secrets. Secrets involving magic and a sinister legacy which they are willing to kill to protect.

Leo Fuentes was the first to try and break free. Now his only concern is that his father, Renato, not discover the location of Leo's son Damian. But Renato has ways of finding people, and Damian is the one who will ultimately pay the price for Leo's desertion of the family.

This prequel to Primogénito tells the story of Damian's kidnapping and torture at the hands of his grandfather and uncles. It also tells the story of Damian and Jenn. Of their love for each other and their determination to let nothing come between them. Of their resolve to hold on to hope even when it seems all hope is lost.

NOTE: This book contains scenes that may be too intense for some readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greta Cribbs
• Release date: Apr 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393098119

Book preview

Chapter 1

LEO FUENTES AWOKE EARLY, as was his custom, and immediately reached out in his mind to search for his son. It was a small thing. Just a touch of the minds, a peek into Damian’s inner world, but it was everything to Leo. This daily contact, this telepathic connection of which Damian was entirely unaware, was the only contact Leo had with him. It was the only pleasure Leo allowed himself. The only pleasure available to him now.

He sat in his bed, propped up against the wall of his tiny cabin, and sent his consciousness out in little tendrils. Feeling. Searching. Needing that momentary assurance that all was well. That Damian was safe.

He found his son sleeping. At least he seemed to be sleeping. The Fuentes connection was not one of reading minds so much as sensing impressions. Leo had the impression that his son was content. At rest. Secure in his own bed. Good. That was good. Damian’s woman was with him too. Her presence could only be felt when she was close by, as she must be now. Leo smiled. Jenn Moustakas had been just what Damian needed. The calming influence. The anchor for his restless energy. And she made him happy, which made Leo happy. Maybe for Damian there was hope for a good life. The kind of life Leo had tried to build for himself, only to lose it all to his father’s ambitions. But what Renato Fuentes had taken from Leo, he would not take from Damian. Leo had made sure of that. At least he hoped he had.

The whole thing felt a bit voyeuristic, spying on his son who had no idea what was happening. It seemed odd to Leo, who had always felt in his mind the presence of his father and uncles, that Damian did not share the same psychic bond. What must it feel like to have an empty mind? A mind not crowded with the presence of others? Leo sensed Damian’s presence in the same way he sensed his own foot, while Damian was oblivious. But that, of course, had been Leo’s choice. It was necessary for Damian’s protection. In order to live his life in safety, with at least some semblance of normality, Damian must have no contact with his grandfather or any of the Fuentes men. Even Leo had to keep his distance because Renato could use Leo to find Damian.

Content that his son was safe, Leo threw off the heavy pile of blankets that adorned his bed. Shivering in the early morning chill, he went to turn up the fire on the kerosene heater, which was his only source of warmth, then ignited a burner on his camp stove so he could have breakfast. Oatmeal with brown sugar. It was what he ate most days, except on rare occasions when there was meat left over from the night before.

One of the great ironies of Leo’s life was that he still needed to eat. The Fuentes family legacy, the magic his father was willing to kill to protect, kept him young. Kept him healthy. Kept him from dying, of course. But it did not fill his stomach, so he yearned for food the way any normal person would. Lost and gained weight the way any normal person would. At least there was one normal thing about being a Fuentes.

The meager bowl of sweetened porridge did its job of filling his stomach, but it was a far cry from the breakfasts Rebecca used to fix for him. But that was before. Back when he was still pretending he was someone capable of living an ordinary life. Not that he hadn’t tried. Boy, had he ever tried. And it had been good. For a time, it had been good. Cute house on a cute street with a cute wife and cute kid. Damian really had been a cute kid. He had the Fuentes look, the resemblance to Renato being at times a little too close for Leo’s comfort. The dark hair and eyes framing the fair skin of his face. The long, thin nose, which betrayed his European ancestry. All of that he got from Leo’s side of the family. But he also had Rebecca’s smile. The times when Leo saw his father’s face in his son’s features, and the memories threatened to carry him back to those dark times, all he had to do was tell a joke. The cornier the better. Then Damian would smile and it would be Rebecca that Leo saw looking back at him, not Renato. As long as Leo could see that smile, he could almost be happy. Could almost forget all the pain that had come before.

When his breakfast was done, he tossed the soiled plate into the corner by the little stove. He would bring up water from the creek to wash it and the rest of the dishes later. For now, he had other business to attend to.

Leo’s days were spent in a predictable routine. Always the same. Breakfast, then fishing or hunting so he would have something to eat for lunch, then his woodworking. Building chairs and stools. Carving knickknacks that he would take down the mountain to sell at the little farmer’s market in town every Saturday. It was the way he made the small amount of money he needed to pay for clothes, heat, repairs on the house, and the small percentage of his food that did not come from his hunting and foraging efforts. His lifestyle was rustic, to say the least. In fact, many would likely say it was primitive. But that was what he needed. The constant activity, the intense focus on simple tasks, served to quiet his mind and keep the fear away. This was not the life he had dreamed of as a child, but it was the life he had chosen when he finally realized he was kidding himself with his dreams of normalcy.

If Damian could be normal, that would be enough.

He pulled on his boots and went outside. Fish for lunch? Yes. That sounded good. He would have to be careful, though. The creek cut across one edge of his property. If he went too far he would step over the boundary and Renato would be able to find him. His father had been trying to find him for twenty years now. As long as he was at home he was safe, but leaving that protective circle always put him at risk. More importantly, it put Damian at risk. He left home once a week, on Saturday, to do his buying and selling in town, looking over his shoulder the entire time he was away. Reaching out with his mind to learn where Damian was. Where Renato was. And Mauricio and Anastasio. Making sure his father and uncles weren’t following him. That they weren’t using him to get to Damian.

The February air attacked his lungs the minute he stepped outside. This high up on the mountain it was never what one might call warm, even in summer. In winter it could be downright miserable. It had snowed in the night, and white dust coated everything. The fact that he, by merit of his Fuentes blood, was incapable of freezing to death did nothing to ease the shock of being blasted with frigid mountain air. Did nothing, even, to protect against frostbite. Leo had learned that particular lesson the hard way during his first winter here. Now he did not venture from his house on cold mornings without being completely decked out in countless layers of his warmest clothes.

The walk to the creek was a short one, Leo’s property not being incredibly large. The sound of the water rippling over the rocks told him he was getting close. The trees and underbrush were thick here, so it was impossible to see the water until he actually came upon it.

The creek was large. Bigger than what often passed for rivers at this high elevation. It never froze over, even on the coldest days, because the water moved too quickly, but walking on the rocks that lined its banks required care. This morning everything was coated in ice and Leo slipped, barely escaping falling, more than once. The water was not deep, but it was damn cold, and he did not care to undergo a full immersion baptism this morning.

He sat, carefully, on one of the bigger rocks and pulled off his gloves so he could prepare his fishing line. He would likely spend most of the morning here. Waiting for a fish big enough to bother eating often took a long time. That was fine. Leo had nowhere else he needed to be.

The quiet of the woods and gentle gurgling of the water helped to settle his mind. The others were still there, of course, but Leo ignored them, as one would ignore the people at the next table in a restaurant. He had a vague awareness of his father, his uncles, and his son all making their preparations to start the new day, but it blended into the background of his mind, pushed aside by his acute focus on the fishing lure. Then something new happened.

He let his hands go limp in his lap and closed his eyes, allowing his awareness to wander far from this place until he could no longer feel the cold air nor hear the rushing of the water. Until all that existed was himself and the others who inhabited the far corners of his mind. Until he discovered what had puzzled him.

It was Damian. Leo lifted his head and turned his focus to his son. What was he up to? He was planning something. Something dangerous. The details eluded Leo, but the nervous feeling that welled up in his gut as he attempted to ascertain Damian’s intentions did not bode well.

Son, whatever you’re thinking of doing...don’t.

Chapter 2

JENN OPENED THE MICROWAVE door to extract her coffee cup. It was the lazy woman’s way of making steamed milk for espresso. She wrapped her hands around the mug, basking in its warmth, and moved to the stove where her Bialetti moka pot sat burping out aromatic steam and inviting her to have a taste. She decided to accept the invitation.

It was her morning ritual. Put the coffee on to brew. Eat whatever modest breakfast she was currently in the mood for. Put a teaspoon of sugar in her mug and fill it halfway with milk. Pop it in the microwave. Then turn off the coffee pot and finish fixing her cup. The process was complete when she took one big sniff, followed by a careful sip.

Coffee snob, Damian said.

She turned around. Her fiancé sat at the kitchen table, leaning forward onto his elbows and peering at the screen of his laptop. He lifted his eyes to her when she turned to face him. One side of his mouth curled into a half-grin.

Shut up, she said. It’s my one simple pleasure.

One? What about the scented candles in the bedroom and the long bubble baths you take at least once a week?

I’ve invited you to join me in the bubble bath on more than one occasion.

And I took you up on your offer one time, remember? Both my legs fell asleep and you kneed me in the groin trying to adjust yourself to make more room. Joint bubble baths are romantic on television. In real life they’re painful.

Suit yourself.

Thanks, I will. He turned his attention back to his computer.

Jenn climbed up on one of the bar stools by the island in their tiny kitchen and sipped her Lavazza while Damian gulped his Maxwell House. He was dressed in his customary sleeping attire: boxer shorts and ankle socks. No shirt. He refused to sleep in a shirt, saying it would twist around him every time he rolled over in the night, and Jenn did not mind at all. Snuggling up against his warm, firm chest was another of her favorite simple pleasures. That and getting to enjoy the view of his muscled physique each morning as they had their coffee. Thank goodness he was hot-natured. While Jenn felt the need to pull on her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers immediately upon venturing forth from the bed on winter mornings, Damian was content to walk around half-clothed.

The little smile lingered on his face, though his focus had returned to his laptop. What was he up to? Some kind of surprise? He had proposed at Christmas, so that couldn’t be it. Valentine’s Day was coming up, though, so maybe he had some new romantic gesture up his sleeve.

Watcha doin’?

The smile grew slightly bigger. Nothing, he said.

Job applications?

No.

Not job applications, huh? It certainly looked like this was working in her favor. She decided to play dumb. "Don’t you think you should be putting out some applications?"

He looked up again, the smirk still there. What? Are you embarrassed to be engaged to a lowly mechanic?

I could never be embarrassed by you.

Then why the worry about my career?

I thought a new career was what you wanted. Isn’t that why you went back to school? So you wouldn’t have to work on cars for the rest of your life?

Maybe I went back to school so I could write The Great American Novel.

You already knew how to do that. I read those creepy stories you wrote when you were in high school, remember?

Those weren’t stories. That was family history.

Family history. Right. So alchemy and blood magic qualify as ‘family history’?

It’s the version Leo told me.

What, when you were eight? I think he was trying to scare you.

I think there’s more truth in those stories than either of us wants to admit. My grandfather, at least, must believe in it. Remember what he did to Nick?

Yes. She remembered the story about Damian’s childhood friend. Seventeen years ago Renato Fuentes had kidnapped Nick, thinking he was Damian, and had taken him up to the family home to perform some kind of ritual. Nick still bore the scars that were carved into his abdomen before Damian’s grandfather finally realized his mistake.

Plus, Damian went on, there’s all those books.

Of course. The books. The books were a constant annoyance. Leo had given them to Damian for safekeeping years ago. Now that he and Jenn shared an apartment, they shared ownership of the ancient texts, most of which were in Spanish, having been written before the family came over to America from Spain in the 1500s. She and Damian had not read any of them, even the ones in English, but knew from the titles that they contained information about the beliefs of virtually every religion known to man, a large percentage of which had to do with folk magic. Damian and Jenn’s apartment was too small to adequately store them, so they were scattered about and tucked into various places. A few in a closet here, a couple stacked in a corner there. Some had found their way to the bookshelf in the living room, but the rest sat in the most inconvenient places, cluttering up what would otherwise have been an attractive apartment. Jenn was looking forward to the day when they would buy their first house together and those books could finally be shoved into an attic where they belonged.

Don’t worry, Damian said. I’ve been putting out feelers about jobs. Just waiting to hear back from some of them, that’s all.

You’re still looking at a teaching position somewhere?

"Not much else I can do with a Masters in English Literature. Unless I do decide to write The Great American Novel."

So you’re looking at colleges?

Yes.

Near Asheville?

And other places.

Other places? She shook her head. Surely he wasn’t making plans to move away. Damian, don’t you think we should talk it over before you decide to take a job in some other city?

"I didn’t say I was taking a job somewhere else. I said I’ve got feelers out. Besides, it shouldn’t affect you too much either way. You’re self-employed, after all."

Well...yeah...but all my regular clients are here. So is my family. I’m not saying I’m against moving. Just that it’s a big decision and we need to make it together.

"We’ll make it together. I promise. And I don’t really want to move. It’s just an option if nothing else turns up." He drained his coffee cup and went back to staring at his computer.

Jenn slid down from her stool. "So, really...what are you looking at so intently over there?"

She walked around to the other side of the table and tried to get a look at the screen, but Damian closed the laptop before she had a chance to see anything.

Oh, I see, she teased, you’ve got a girlfriend and you don’t want me reading your sexy messages.

You know me too well. He winked, then wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. She tried to resist but ended up losing her balance and falling into his lap, spilling her now lukewarm coffee on both of them.

She laughed. Yuck, Damian! All over my bathrobe!

It’ll wash.

He brushed her nose with his nose and she answered him with a kiss. Then she grabbed a strand of his thick black hair and wound it around her index finger. It was starting to get a bit shaggy, turning upward in little curls that stuck out over his ears and along the nape of his neck.

I think you forgot to go for your last haircut.

Really? You think I need a haircut?

Don’t you?

So you don’t think I’m dashingly handsome with my luxurious locks?

How long do you plan on growing it?

He smiled. I don’t know. I thought I’d go for that movie star look.

Movie star?

Yeah. You know, the rugged, manly, take on the world type women go crazy over.

Uh-huh.

Like Indiana Jones.

Indiana Jones’s hair was short.

Well, you tell me, then. What cinematic hero would I look like with long hair?

Jenn shrugged. I don’t know. Captain Jack Sparrow?

Damian raised one eyebrow. Jack Sparrow? Really?

What? Not what you wanted to hear?

"Well...don’t get me wrong...no man in his right mind would argue with a woman telling him he looks like Johnny Depp. It’s just that...if we’re talking Pirates of the Caribbean...I thought Orlando Bloom was more your type."

He is.

Gee. Thanks.

She giggled, gave him a peck on the cheek, then stood up. I’m going to the shower.

"Don’t be surprised if I’m not here when you get out. I might go find myself a woman who prefers Captain Jack Sparrow."

You do that. Just don’t expect to get the engagement ring back. I waited too long for that thing. She slipped out of the kitchen, taking off her bathrobe and hurling it into the hamper by the washing machine on her way to the bathroom.

Chapter 3

ASHLEY’S ALARM BEGAN to beep for the second time that morning. She snaked an arm out of the protection of her heavy quilt and hit the snooze button. Again. It was too damn cold to venture out of the covers yet.

The delicious fog of sleep was just beginning to overtake her again when the doorbell rang. Nick. It had to be Nick. No one else in their right mind would come calling at seven in the morning.

She lay on her side with her knees pulled close to her chest. When the doorbell chimed again she slowly uncurled from the tight ball which was her typical sleeping position on cold nights, shivering as her feet slid against the icy sheets, then threw back the covers and braced herself for the full-on assault as the crisp air penetrated her pajamas.

The doorbell again. Just a second! she yelled down the stairs as she shuffled into the bathroom to empty her bladder. The toilet seat was so cold it almost burned. Darn furnace. She was going to have to replace it soon. Old houses were beautiful, but they did come with their unique set of problems.

The doorbell continued its impatient dinging as she shrugged into her bathrobe, dug her feet into her slippers, and groped her way down the stairs.

Just hold on a minute.

She rounded the corner and stood in front of the ancient furnace that took up most of one wall of her utility room. Picking up the hammer, which she always kept close by, she gave the prehistoric machine a couple of hearty whacks. The burners roared to life and the air handler kicked in. Things should start warming up now.

The ringing of the bell had been replaced by the incessant pounding of a fist. Ashley hurried back up to the front of the house, undid the deadbolt, and threw open the door. Nick stood there, wearing his heavy winter coat over his paramedic uniform. He was balancing two coffees on top of a box of donuts.

He smiled that goofy smile of his, all teeth and dimples. Ashley moved out of the doorway and let him come in.

Thought you’d like some breakfast in bed, he said as he sat down on the sofa and removed his coat.

Ashley sat next to him. I think you forgot one minor detail.

Yeah? What’s that?

"I had to get out of the bed to let you in."

Well, you wouldn’t have that problem if you’d just give me a key to your house.

Don’t you think it’s a little soon for that?

Soon? We’ve been dating for two years. What are you waiting for, a wedding ring?

Ashley shrugged. "Maybe. I am a good Catholic girl, after all."

Catholic? Sure...

You know I’m Catholic.

"I know you were raised Catholic. When was the last time you went to church?"

I go to Mass with my parents every Christmas Eve.

One midnight Mass a year hardly qualifies as piety.

"My struggles with my faith