Loss and Sacrifice: The Giftless Chronicles, #4

By J. Franklin Snyder

Reeling from immense loss, Corinne and her family struggle to cope. But the problems are only just beginning. Her great-grandmother has come from England to judge if Corinne is worthy of leading her clan, and Corinne's cousin Mark has arrived with a desperate request for help. His wife has been kidnapped by the Italian mafia, who'll let her go on one condition: that Corinne stop a gang of vicious Russian mobsters from taking over St. Louis. There's just one wrinkle. The Russians are werewolves, and their evil plans include so much more than one city. It's a race against time to stop the werewolves, save her family, and prove her worth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Franklin Snyder
• Release date: Jun 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223331810

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Offer

Mark stepped out of his car and grimaced. Something wasn't right. He could feel it down deep. From the exterior of the house, nothing was wrong. This was his house, a haven from the outside world. His new wife, Sara Jean, had agreed to make dinner for him while he patrolled. There was nothing unusual about this. Sara Jean was an exceptional cook, and she loved to prepare meals for him. She'd even said that she was preparing something special for him.

Tonight, however, the one-story ranch sat much too quietly. A sense of fear and foreboding shone out of the windows instead. Lights beamed from the windows, but no sound was coming from within. Sara Jean was always playing country music. Instinctively, he wanted to run inside from the late Winter chill, wrap his muscular arms around his wife, and have a romantic evening, but he knew it was not to be.

He pulled his machete out of his scabbard and held it while he slipped his .45 out of his holster. Over the years, he'd learned to trust his gut, and he'd learned to notice signs that something was wrong. He studied the ground and saw a tire tread on the white concrete that hadn't been there before he'd left for the evening. It was a tread that he didn't recognize. Someone had been, or currently was, there.

Instead of walking to the front door, he crept around to the back. The door was open when he reached it, which made him frown. If someone had hurt Sara Jean, he would make them pay.

Come in, come in, an unfamiliar male voice called from inside.

Mark started. He didn't have the element of surprise.

We've been expecting you, the voice continued. You won't need your weapons, not if you want to see your wife again. Leave them outside, please.

Sighing, Mark laid his weapons on the ground and stood up. He'd need to play the game in order to find out what was going on. He trod into the warm glow of the kitchen, a warmth he did not feel. Two men were seated at his kitchen table, eating what he presumed was the steak and potatoes that his wife had been making for him. A tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties sat at one end. He looked up from his plate and smiled. He was well-dressed in khakis and and a crisply white, button-down shirt. The light color contrasted sharply with his olive complexion.

The other man was similarly complected but wore a leather jacket. He took up the entirety of his side of the table. He was even bigger than Mark, which was saying something. The huge man rubbed his completely shaved head and scowled at Mark with beady eyes.

The well-dressed man spoke. He gave an oily smile through his dark eyes and darker eyebrows. Mr. Durham, we need to talk. Do you know who I am?

Mark's nostrils flared. No, but I know what he is. He jabbed his index finger at the man. An ogre. Only Don Bonetti is foolish enough to use them for enforcers. Ogres were found predominantly in south-central Europe, and they were known to be particularly aggressive. In previous centuries, they'd been known to eat humans, particularly the young. Hunters had put a stop to the practice.

Good, then I don't need to make much introduction. You may call me Alessandro. My associate here is Pietro. I'm here because my employer's in need of assistance.

And you thought you could get my help by kidnapping my wife? Mark said, incredulously. His large hands balled into fists.

Alessandro dabbed his face with a napkin, then he carefully placed it next to his plate. He scooted his chair back and stood up. We didn't want to, I assure you. We have no wish to pick a fight with Hunters, even one from a family...lacking in influence...as yours.

Mark leaned on the counter in front of the microwave and crossed his arms. Then what do you need my help with?

Alessandro smiled. I'm glad that you're so reasonable. Perhaps I didn't need my friend to accompany me.

Your friend is the only reason I'm not pounding the information out of you, Mark growled. Let's drop the pleasantries.

All right, then, Alessandro said, raising both eyebrows. He placed his hands behind his back. Let's get down to business. The sooner you do what we ask, the sooner she is returned to you.

What do you want?

We need you to contact your Matriarch, Ms. Corinne Durham.

CHAPTER TWO

A Hunter's Search

Corinne struck the punching bag over and over, flowing from knee strike to elbow strike to eye gouge in quick, fluid motions. Over the past several months, she'd spent a great deal of time practicing in the basement of her house. Hitting the bag helped her think. And she needed to think.

Nine months had passed since she’d been mortally wounded during a fight with an assassin. Shortly afterward, her mother died in order to give Corinne the Gift. While the ache from Corinne's physical injuries had quickly disappeared, her heart was another story. Depression hungered for her. The abyss yawned wide, wanting to swallow her whole. She'd kept herself from the brink, but she was afraid that if she fell into it, she would never climb out.

She grunted as the bag danced in front of her. One good thing from her mother's sacrifice: Corinne finally had the Gift. She moved so much quicker, hit so much harder, and healed so much faster.

Her Gift had been stolen from her, a fact which enraged her. If she'd had the Gift, her mother might not have needed to sacrifice her life for Corinne. From that day onward, Corinne had made a vow. All of those who were involved would pay for what they had done.

Unfortunately, they had been hard to find. She'd searched high and low, but she wasn't a particularly good detective. And she couldn't think of how to get the information she wanted. She desperately needed to see a way forward, a way to win, especially with the Grand Assize only several weeks away. Her family was to be judged, and there was nothing she could do about it.

A knock at the top of her basement stairwell shook her out of her reverie.

Madelyn's tentative voice called from the top of the stairs. Can I come down?

Sure, Corinne answered, her voice even higher from the physical exertion.

Madelyn's feet lightly stepped down the creaking boards. Corinne made a mental note to fix them at some point. Madelyn was thin and beautiful in an unconscious way. She'd stopped wearing glasses since last summer, which had brought more attention to her gray eyes. Her sandy blond hair was in a loose bun, which made her look like a librarian. She'd also carried herself with more assurance since last summer, and she'd started acting more secretive. Corinne would need to ask her about it at some point.

A vague memory of the night Corinne was attacked flashed in her mind. Something had saved her, something monstrous. That much she remembered. Madelyn had been involved somehow, but Corinne's friend had never mentioned it.

When Madelyn reached the concrete floor of the basement, Corinne grabbed the bag with both hands, stilling it.  All this strength and the bag still pulls me when I try to hold onto it.

Madelyn laughed. It probably weighs more than you do.

The smaller they are, the farther they fly, Corinne said. Uncle Sam used to say that.

At five feet, Corinne was smaller than most. She'd taken after her Filipino grandmother in many ways, and so she knew that she would probably not grow much taller. She was darker skinned and dark-haired, and she pondered the world with amber eyes.

Physics isn't your friend, Madelyn said with a laugh.

Corinne touched the scars on the left side of her head. Two scars had been etched there. One scar traced the side of her skull and stretched down her jawline. The other was an ugly, murderous cut above and below her left eye. Both gleamed a bright red in her imagination, although they were actually