Freefall-Book One

Chapter One

Chapter One

Two Years Earlier

                “I’ll pay you whatever you want.  Leave the gates open, and I’ll give you whatever you want the most.”  The words were said pleadingly, a hint of desperation tainted them even more.  Pressing my ear against the door, I took a soft, deep breath, begging them not to hear me as I strained to hear their voices again.

                “What I want, you won’t give me.”

                “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.  Money’s not an issue, Robert.”  Who the hell is Robert?  Daddy, what are you doing?

                “I want your blood on my hands.  I want a fight in front of the alpha; I want your position.  If you want her to get through those gates in one whole piece, I want a blood oath that you will fight me to the death, Jace, for your position; a blood oath that I’ll win.”  This voice was cold and brutal sounding, but familiar.  Did I know a Robert? The only Robert in the pack was the lead of our sentry, the men who patrolled the outer perimeters of our borders.  They were known throughout the pack for their cruelty and harshness.  The only thing they placed value in was either Dominic, or a blood oath, and these oaths were dangerous.  Although my heart thundered within my chest, and I wanted to burst through the barred oak doors to scream at my father for this moment of insanity, I stayed crouched against the door, listening.

                “A blood oath?  Your own blood oath that she will make it through those gates and beyond our territory unharmed.  I want your blood on my own hands swearing this will be true, Robert.  If you can’t do this, then my position within the pack will be fought for with honor, not deceit.”

                “Fine, then we will settle this.  Jace, think on what you’re doing first, though.  All this for a bitch entering her first heat?  Your life for hers?”  The sounds of chairs being forced against a wall, scraping the wooden floors of my father’s study fell on my ears, and then more whispers, filled with anger and hatred.

                “She is not a bitch.  She is my daughter, my flesh and blood.  She is all I have left of Margret.  She is all that I hold dear in this world, and you will not say a word against her.  Our oath stands, but her name shall not fall from your tainted lips.”  There was the soft rustle of clothing being straightened, and a strained silence fell.  My father was in there bargaining his life for my freedom.  My father…

                “Yes, it stands.  I’ll not go back on that, but there’s no protection outside these borders for her, Jace.  For all this planning, it will be up to her where to go, and up to her to fight for her own life.  She won’t last long.  I wish you, and she luck.  You’d best tell her soon, as the window is only a short one.  Tonight, at midnight, have her meet me by the road.  I will lead her out, but she is on her own once the outer gates close.  There is only so much I can do.”

                “Midnight, then,” my father said, strength coloring his soft voice.  Booted feet moved across the floor; I pulled myself from the door, flying towards my room at the end of the long hall.  A soft click, and the oak doors opened, Robert standing in the hazy yellow light, his black cotton t-shirt stark against his white, muscled arms, his blonde hair blending in with the light. He looked straight ahead, his black eyes boring into my own, and I shrunk further into the room, moving out of the light of the hallway.  He nodded in my direction, and then began his descent down the stairs, the black leather boots thumping softly on the carpeted wood.

                “Sofia, come here,” my father’s voice trailed softly down the hall.  Standing slowly, I pulled at my short black t-shirt, trying my best to pull it down over my flat stomach.  With a final pull, I made my way down the hall again, taking in all that I could.  I knew what he would say, and I hated this moment, but I thanked him for it as well.  My eyes flitted up to the cream walls, moving slowly over the family portraits that lined them, feeling as if their eyes were upon me.  My mother stared down at me, her soft lips upturned in a gentle smile; her hands placed on the Victorian chair that my father sat in, directly in front of her.  At last, the oak door stood before me, and my father stood within this door, his jeans faded, his white shirt clinging to his skin with sweat.  His grey eyes looked at me with a deep sadness, a deep heartache that I could only begin to understand.