Lora Leigh - Elizabeth's Wolf

I promise, Dash. I know a real fairy. I told Momma and she smiled and said I could ask her in for cookies and milk if I liked. I had to tell her that fairies don’t eat cookies and milk. They really like candy bars … The fairy eventually got to share the candy bar with Cassie. But still, Dash heard a woman’s muffled sobs.

The kid’s letters became a lifeline through long, bitter months of recuperation. It gave him something to hold onto. He had no one. He was a man alone in the world and he had thought this was the way he wanted it, until one little girl’s letters touched his soul.

They were often peppered with amusing, cute little displays of affection toward a mother who apparently loved her daughter very much. And the daughter showered him with a sprinkling of the love her mother gave.

Sometimes my momma is sad. She sits alone in our room and stares out the window and I peek through my eyes and I think I see tears. I think she needs a daddy too, don’t you?

The soldiers who had accompanied the Major that day had ribbed him over that one. But Major Thomas had shushed them quickly and continued to read. Dash was conscious now, but still weak and had a long road ahead of him. But he fought. Fought like the animal he was, because of the woman’s tears and a little girl’s fears.

I wanted to send you a sparkling present for Christmas. But Momma said we just didn’t have the money this year. Maybe for your birthday, she said, if you will tell me when it is. So I emailed Santa instead. I told him exactly what he was to get you, but I bet your other little girls already thought of it too. I wanted a bicycle, but Momma said Santa might not make it this year. I told her he would. This year, Santa would know I’m big enough for a bike. I’m seven years old. Seven years old is a good bike age, I think.

She wrapped around his heart, with her youthful wit and humor and her belief in everything good in the world. He wanted her to have that damned bike. He wanted her to know Santa looked after good little girls who saved worthless hides like his. He wanted her to know he was coming for her. He sent her the bike. So she would be comfortable when he arrived. So she wouldn’t be scared…

She was a matchmaker, though. Major Thomas finally started reading her letters without the presence of the other men who visited. And Dash finally got around to speaking, finally managed to give her a letter in return. It was short. He tired easily but he wanted the little girl to know what her letters meant to him.

I got my bike, Dash. Momma was really surprised. On Christmas day I was sure Santa didn’t trust me yet. My bike wasn’t under the tree. Then the doorbell rang, and when Momma answered the door, there was my shining red bike. It had my name on it. It was just for me alone and it was brand new. And it had a helmet. And I have little gloves. And I have elbow pads. And I have knee pads. And there was even a present for my Momma from Santa. Can you believe it, Dash? It was the best Christmas ever. Santa even remembered my Momma.

Of course Santa remembered. Dash had smiled and roughly thanked the Major for taking care of his request. The long robe would keep the mother warm until his arms could do the job. Cassie had said her momma was often cold…

Then the letters stopped. A month before he was released from the hospital, his eyesight back, his legs working once again, his strength back at top peak, they had stopped. Concerned, he had asked Commander Thomas to check into it. To find out what happened to the bright, cheerful little girl whose momma had raised her to give her love so freely.

Commander Thomas, I regret to inform you that little Cassidy Colder and her mother, Elizabeth, died in a fire that overtook their apartment building several weeks ago. The bodies were unrecoverable, but there is no doubt that they, along with several others, were caught in the blaze. There was some trouble associated with the child and mother, rumors I’ve heard of a contract on their lives. Please let me know if you would like me to obtain more information…

The fax had arrived from the private investigator he had hired.

Commander Thomas had checked it out immediately. Neighbors had heard the screams, had seen the apartment building explode, flames overtaking it in a matter of minutes. Dash felt his world crumble. The little girl who had saved him, who had given him his will to live, was gone.

For days he sat silent, staring broodingly at the ceiling. For so long he had been alone. He had awakened each day knowing he had no one. Had gone to sleep each night feeling the loss. Yet, while he lay near death, God had brought him angels. Only to take them away once again. It was a terrible blow to the soul he thought had withered away years ago. He knew only blood and death. Had never known innocence until Cassie and her Momma, Lizbeth. The immature, childish scrawl of the name had lingered in his mind. Elizabeth . His Elizabeth .

In thirty years of living, Dash had never claimed any one person as essential in his life. He had grown up knowing his survival depended on having no one, knowing he was different, knowing how imperative it was that he hide those differences. He had made his own way in life, had literally raised himself as best he could until he was old enough to join the Army.

He had made the service his home. The men he fought with, though not close to him, had given him a base to interact, to sharpen his intellect, to learn how to lead. For twelve years he had done just that. Led. He moved up the ranks, joining the Special Forces and proving his capabilities there. He had thought he hadn’t needed anything more.

Dash realized now how wrong he had been.

Elizabeth and Cassie’s deaths tore a wound in his soul he couldn’t explain. He had never touched the woman, had never held the daughter. She wasn’t his mate, wasn’t his child, and yet his heart screamed something different. His soul howled at the loss and some instinct, some inborn knowledge, refused to allow him to deny the bond that existed between him, mother and child.

“Dash, you have to snap out of this.” Commander Thomas sat beside his hospital bed, his green eyes somber, intent. “These things happen, son. You can’t explain them or make sense of them. At least you have a part of her to remember.”

Dash stilled the howl that wanted to rise to his lips. He had nothing. A pile of fragile letters wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

His fingers curled into the sheet as he stared up at the dull white ceiling silently. They thought he had sunk into depression. Lost his will to fight. Nothing could be further from the truth. He had one last battle to fight before he could give into the soul-deep need to rest. Vengeance. It kept the blood pumping in his veins, kept his heart beating in his chest.

He gave his commander a long, brooding look.

“I want to know what happened.”

Commander Thomas sighed wearily, shaking. “What does it matter, Dash? They’re gone.”

Dash felt fury engulf him. It mattered. It mattered because he intended to exact his own form of justice. “I want to know. Contact the investigator. I want the information before my release.”

He had his plans in place. The investigator could provide the background he needed, then Dash would finish the job.

“So you can do what?” Commander Thomas leaned back against his chair, watching him with a frown. “You’ll be assigned a new unit…”

“I was given the option to return stateside on deactivation.” It was all he could do to keep from snarling. “I won’t be returning to duty, Commander. I’ve had enough.”

Surprise glittered in the commander’s eyes, and Dash knew why. He had been in the service since he was eighteen. He hadn’t once taken a deactivation. Twelve years he had given to first the Army and then to the Special Forces Units. He was one of the best, a natural leader and a savage fighter. But he’d had enough. The unit he had fought with for over a year was gone. The little girl and the mother who had seen him through the need for death were gone. He needed justice. He needed a way to balance the scales and then he needed to find the part of himself he had hidden for most of his life.