That was the perfect opportunity for Sam to find the small trunk Ginny kept all the important personal papers in. Maybe she would be able to figure out how the strange shifter link had emerged in her life.
“Let me run over to the house, I have something I need to pick up anyway. Do me a favor and make me a sandwich, I’m starving. Ry and I ran out without getting a chance to eat.”
Nat waggled her brows. “Yeah. I can imagine what kept you so busy you didn’t get a chance to eat.” She laughed. “Go. I’ll have something by the time you get back.”
Guilt made her rush. Ry had told her to stay in his house, but she wasn’t going to be gone for long, and she really wanted to know who the shifter was in her family. She entered the house and ran up to Ginny’s room. Once inside she was overcome with sadness. She’d been avoiding Ginny’s room, knowing it would be difficult to handle. The soft gold and purple tones that decorated the room were Ginny’s favorite colors. Pictures of Sam through the years hung on the walls and sat on every surface in the room. Moisture gathered in her eyes, making her vision blurry.
Grief tore through her, roping around her heart and squeezing hard. She took a breath, and a sob escaped. Tears fell on her cheeks, and she wiped them with the back of her hand. Her heart ached for the woman who’d taught her right from wrong and to be the person she wanted to be. She’d loved her unconditionally. She’d never hear her grandmother’s soft Latin accent telling her to live her life to the fullest. She’d never hug her tiny frame or brush her short, raven bob. But worst of all, she’d never be able to tell her how much she loved her.
She choked on her sobs. Taking choppy breaths, she swallowed at the knot in her throat and sighed. If only she’d been back before Ginny had died, but it was too late to change the past. And Ginny would never have allowed her to. She’d tell her to move on and let go of whatever went wrong, learn from it, and use it to make better decisions in the future.
Steeling her spine, she stepped forward. Ginny had always told her not to cry for her when she died. She’d enjoyed her life and didn’t want anyone mourning her. It had been hard to do as Ginny asked the first few days when pain and loss had filled her heart. Now she had so much going on, she knew what Ginny meant when she told her to live her life the way she wanted to be remembered. All she wanted was to find one man who would love her and who she could love for the rest of her life. The image of Ry’s face filled her mind. She no longer had a doubt he was the right man for her, and she’d tell him as soon as he returned home.
She marched toward the large trunk at the end of Ginny’s bed. The latch came open, and she lifted the lid to find the small trunk she needed. Thank goodness Ginny never moved it to a new spot. Although small, the trunk was heavy. Breathless and panting, she ran back to Ry’s house. In her haste she left the front door of her house ajar, but she’d send Ry to close it for her later. When she got to the kitchen, she collapsed on a chair, placing the trunk on the large kitchen table.
Nat chuckled at Sam’s panting and brought her a glass of water. “Did you get my birth certificate copy?”
She cursed. She drank some water and stood slowly, taking her sweet time after having carried the heavy little trunk. “I’ll be right back.”
Out the door again, she walked back to her house, Natalia’s laughter floating from the kitchen. Grateful she’d left the front door open; she ran back up the stairs. She'd just walked into her bedroom when she was the squeaking of the floor made her stop in her tracks. A strange smell permeated in the air. She frowned and marched into her room to look for the reason behind the smell. Someone grabbed her from behind. Like manacles, two big arms held her in place while a black material was placed over her head. She screamed and kicked to no avail. The arms around her chest tightened until she was struggling to get air into her lungs.
She felt a painful piercing on her arm, which made her wince, followed by a burning sensation, and then the numbing of her arm. Oh god. She’d been injected with something. Whatever they’d given her worked quickly. Her muscles turned heavy, and her struggles sluggish. Weighed down by her unhelpful arms and legs, her efforts waned even when she tried to fight back. Her screams grew muffled, until they stopped altogether due to her oxygen-deprived lungs.
The arms, which she was sure belonged to a giant, hauled her up some steps and a massive body fell on a bed on top of her, pinning her down. The smell of male sweat, cigars, and whisky told her the person holding her down was a man. He wasn’t alone. While the man’s large body robbed her of the oxygen needed to stay alive, someone grabbed her feet. A coarse rope tangled around her legs until she couldn’t kick anymore. Her arms were jerked over her head and also bound in a painfully tight grip. Whatever was holding her arms down was cutting off the circulation in her wrists. She still couldn’t get enough air into her lungs with the man’s heavy body draped over her.