The Last True Hero Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

“ANOTHER,” ADAM MCCLAIN slurred, shoving the empty tumbler glass across the counter.

The woman behind the bar arched a brow and stayed where she was, polishing a glass. Then she pointed to the white line that had been painted across the timber floors.

Adam stared at her. Mia stared back. This was one argument he had no hope in hell of winning, despite the fact she barely reached his shoulder.

If there was one thing that drove him utterly crazy, then it was hard-headed women.

Scraping the chair back, he stood and crossed to the start of the line. Holding his arms out, he walked swiftly along the line and then turned with his hands held wide in a somewhat mocking salute.

Mia's dark eyes narrowed, but she poured him another whiskey. They were her rules. Walk the line and you got another drink. But she had to be wondering how he'd downed nearly two bottles of the stuff, and wasn't even staggering.

Casual slip-ups like that might get him caught. He was just drunk enough not to care.

“Any particular reason you're trying to drown yourself on my good whiskey?” She slid the full glass toward him then held it there, her gaze a challenge.

“Nothing I'd like to share.”

Adam threw the glass back, and the fiery liquid burned all the way down. Within half an hour his body would have burned through it, so he had to drink fast to get drunk these days. Not that getting drunk made the world any rosier.

“If you wanted to talk about it, McClain…” Mia picked her words carefully, “then I'm a good listener.”

“Why? You want to make it all better?” He leaned closer. “We don't need to talk for that.”

Those dark eyes narrowed again, the thick lashes doing nothing to obscure the heat in them. It seemed to be her favorite expression. “Now I know you're drunk.” She screwed the cap back on the whiskey bottle. “No more.”

Frustration lanced through him but he tipped his head to her. Mia Gray reminded him of another woman he'd once known. Sometimes he wondered if that was why he'd lingered here, in this tiny shit-forsaken town for over a month. Oh, she looked nothing like Riley, and she had far more tact than Riley had ever had, but Mia's favorite word was also no.

Tracing a puddle of amber liquid on the timber counter, he wondered what Riley would be doing right now. He'd lost his chance with her over a year ago–or maybe he'd stepped aside when it became clear that she was the only person who could find Lucius Wade's heart, let alone cause it to beat–but Adam still thought of her now and then. Of what could have been.

More irony. He'd sworn to try and redeem Wade, but Riley had done it for him. Wade had taken everything from Adam–his woman, the daughter he'd sworn to raise for Wade, and the respect of the townspeople that Adam had protected over the last eight or so years, as he rebuilt his life. He missed them all, particularly Eden, who he'd left behind for her own safety, but he didn't dare feel bitter.

After all, you stabbed him in the back. You took everything he ever had from him with one act of treachery, so karma's a bitch.

The hardest thing was missing his old life. He'd been a man worthy of respect then. Who was he now? A clapped out bounty hunter who spent more time in bars than hunting?

He felt so lost now. At least after he'd first become a warg, he'd had a plan. He'd been driven then, searching for his own redemption, building a town, gathering people together where he could protect them, and striving to create a life for himself. He'd thought he'd found redemption, and then it was all gone the second they discovered they had a warg in their midst.

A brutal lesson to learn. No matter what he tried to make of himself, at heart he was still just a monster in everyone else's eyes. That was his fate. There was no side-stepping it.

“That looks like woman trouble in your eyes,” Mia noted. She swiped a rag through the sticky puddle he'd been fingering, then lifted his wrist and cleaned his finger too. Her touch was warm, though her milk-coffee skin wasn't as warm as his. The fever burn in his veins promised that the full moon was only three days away.

He could always feel it now.

The full moon was the hardest to ignore, despite the burning cold of the amulet against his chest that kept the monster at bay. And the feel of Mia's skin on his awoke all manner of longing. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd turned his wrist, capturing her own in his strong fingers, his thumb rasping over the sweet kick of her veins. Just a faint caress, but from the sudden shocked flash of her eyes, she felt the burn too.

They stayed like that as the clock ticked out long seconds.

Adam's gaze lowered to her mouth; that dangerous mouth that liked telling him no. He wanted it to say yes. He wanted to capture the word on her lips, and steal it deep inside. Mia's mouth parted… but the word never came.

He looked back up. She had beautiful eyes. They were the same color as the whiskey she brewed in the distillery out back. They also told him a thousand things without saying a word. And right now they were saying no, even if she looked half-tempted for a second.

McClain let her go.

Heat simmered in her cheeks and Mia turned away quickly, rubbing at her wrist. “I'm not the answer to your problems.”

“I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back a little. “I'm not looking for an answer, but maybe I'm looking for a distraction. Maybe we both want the same thing.”

“What's that?” Her eyes met his in the mirror, but she busied her hands with the bottles of liquor, as though they weren't already perfectly straight.

“Something uncomplicated,” he replied.

Those broad shoulders straightened and she tilted her head to the side, as if thinking. Her entire outfit was no-nonsense; tight denim jeans that showcased a fine ass, a white cotton tank, and only a pair of pretty jade earrings to hint at femininity, though she had that in spades. The tank clung to her rounded curves, and though he'd rarely seen her without her black hair knotted back, or in a tight braid, soft frizzy tendrils of it constantly escaped. The effect was immediate. And effortless. He'd be surprised if she even knew how often men's gazes lingered on her, though they rarely pushed for more than that. The sharp tongue had its own ball-tightening effect, but it scared off most of the locals, he'd noticed.

More fool them.

“Turn around,” he said. “As much as I enjoy looking at your ass, I much prefer your pretty face.”

That made her scowl. She leveled a force one glare upon him. “Sometimes McClain, you just shouldn't open your mouth.”

“My mouth does wonderful things, or so I've heard. Maybe you should teach me to put it to better use.”

Mia crossed her arms over her chest. “I run my own bar, McClain. I'm a respected woman in town, who can earn her own way, and I do not need a man for anything. Even something uncomplicated. So don't go looking at me as a means to scratch that itch you've got. Why don't you go visit Jade?”

“Jade's not going to scratch this itch,” he replied. “This itch has got a mean mouth, the prettiest pair of eyes north of the borderlands, and skin that just begs to be licked. Why else do you think I drink here? The service with a smile?”

“I thought it had something to do with the best whiskey this side of the Divide.” She was flustered again, self-consciously tilting her face so that her dark hair fell across the left side of her face. He knew her scars bothered her. They didn't bother him. “Christ, McClain. Is that what the women fall for from the Badlands?”

“How'd you know I come from the North?”

Mia rolled her eyes. “I've got a gift for dialect. We get all sorts wander through here; bounty hunters, the Eastern Road Warriors, sometimes even Confederate militia.”

“Hmm.” He considered her. “One night. That's all I want.” Then he could burn the yearning for her out of his system, and move on.

“Why me?”

A tricky question. “You remind me of someone…”

“Oh, hell no.” Mia bristled. “You want to switch off the lights, and pretend I'm–”

“No, I didn't mean it like that.” With a scowl, he raked his hands through his hair. It was getting long again, the ends of it faintly curling. “You're the type of woman that catches my eye.”

Mia's leaned back against the bar, slightly mollified. “And what type of woman is that?”

“The strong-willed, determined, take-no-prisoners type,” he growled. “The type that I can't have. Usually.”

Mia considered it, chewing on her lower lip. Then she shook her head. “You're the type of man I stay far, far away from, McClain. I don't need to know your story to see the shadows in your eyes. You're trouble. You don't know what you want, nor do you know how to get there. You're a man without a map or a compass. A hero without a cause to fight for. And,” she said, with the faintest smile. “You're far too pretty for your own good.”

“I'm not a hero.” I'm the monster every waste-lander fears.

“Interesting.” Mia poured them both another shot of whiskey. She nudged one toward him, with a curious glint in his eyes. “You protest that, but you don't protest the part about you looking pretty.”

This time, he was the one trying not to flush. She had a way about her that struck him straight to the gut. He lifted his glass of whiskey. “Here's to what could have been.”

“Cheers,” she said, lifting her own glass, and bumping it against his. Her voice grew a little husky. “It's not just you, McClain. You're not the only one who's a little lost. I'd be bad for you and I know enough to know you'd be bad for me.” She took a deep breath. “Here's to finding our way.” She threw the whiskey back, her long, smooth throat working. He watched her for another long moment, fighting the urge to touch her, then threw his own back.

Both glasses hit the counter.

“You moving on soon?”

McClain nodded. There was his answer, right there. “No other reason to stay.”

Mia looked troubled again. “You know, sometimes you say things that make me want to smack you upside the head. And sometimes… sometimes you know just the right thing to say.”

“I–” McClain shut his mouth, hearing boot-heels ringing on the front porch. Company by the sounds of it.

Mia followed his gaze toward the door. “What?”

Three seconds later, a pair of hands hit the doors, sending them swinging inwards. A man appeared, wearing a long trench and a black Stetson he dragged from his head. There were small weathered lines at the sides of his eyes, a Kevlar vest and a pair of guns at his hips. McClain's gut clenched hard. A bounty hunter by the look of it, just like him. If anyone could recognize the signs of a warg in human clothing, this stranger would be it.

Mia sucked in a sharp little breath as if hit.

That made McClain's gaze jerk back to her, but she was hastily polishing the clean counter again.

The bounty hunter pulled up a chair at the bar, and tossed his hat on the counter. He eyed McClain with hard eyes, but didn't seem particularly curious. “Mia, long time. How 'bout a drink?

“Sinclair.” She tipped her head politely, pouring him a whiskey and sliding it his way.

The man sipped it, arching a brow. “You know you can call me Jake,” he said. “Now that I'm married to Sage.”

“I keep forgetting,” Mia said, with a tight little smile. “Since you've been gone so long.”

That earned her a wry twist of the mouth. McClain sat very still. He still wasn't certain if he was reading things correctly, but there was tension here, and he didn't like leaving a woman behind to deal with a strange man who may, or may not be dangerous.

“Just as long as your sister doesn't forget,” Sinclair replied firmly.

“Oh, she doesn't. Sage always did think that men'd keep the promises they made.” Mia looked dangerous. “I'm the one who knew better. That's why it was so easy for you to break her heart.”

“Well, I haven't missed that mouth,” Sinclair said. “That's enough, Mia. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I don't enjoy walking into this war zone every time I ride in. Can't we just form a truce, for once in our lives?”

“That depends,” she said. “On how soon it will be until you ride out again.”

Sinclair sighed. “Not soon enough.” He glanced again at McClain, clearly eager to talk to someone else. “You hunt?”

“Yes.”

That earned him an appreciative look, and a deeper perusal. “That bike out the front yours?”

McClain sat back. “Yeah.”

“Gas is hard to find out here.”

It wasn't quite a question. “An old friend of mine rigged it up for solar. Sunshine's the one thing we've got no problem finding here in the badlands. That, and scavengers.”

“Man or beast.” Sinclair grunted. “That's the truth. Catch anythin' lately?”

“Just trouble.” He spared Mia a faint smile, which only seemed to set her back up more. “You?”

“Been north.” The man raked a hand through his dark hair with a sigh. “Chasing rumors of some warg who'd been living in the heart of a town up there for well on eight years. Nobody even knew what was hiding in their midst. Hell of a strange story. Wouldn't tell me his name, wouldn't tell me where he went, or how he did it. Just clammed up real tight whenever I mentioned it. Let's just say I was encouraged to quietly leave.”

Hell. McClain went still. Those were his people. After they'd asked him to leave, he'd have expected them to sell his secrets for the price of a glass of whiskey. Eden. It had to be his sister, Eden, pleading for the town to spare her brother and keep his secrets. They might shun him, but they sure as hell wouldn't risk incurring the wrath of the only healer in that part of the Badlands. Eden was worth her weight in gold for her doctoring.

Mia's eyebrows shot up, curiosity overriding dislike. “How in the seven hells did a warg hide in plain sight for so long?”

“Don't know.” The man looked troubled. “Makes me nervous. They're isolated hicks, but they're not stupid. Everyone knows the signs out here, and how the fuck did he hide his nightly rampages? That's the true question I want to know. ‘Cause if one of them can do it, then how many of them are sitting here, right beneath our noses?”

If only you knew… McClain smiled grimly. The ‘hicks' comment had put his back up. Wastelanders grew up hard and they were wary, but they weren't stupid. Down here in the Badlands, where it rained more, and towns were closer together with more supplies running up from the border landers down south, they grew too soft. Soft and arrogant. “Sounds like a tall tale to me.”

“That's what I thought when I first heard it.” Sinclair leaned on the counter. “Found a reiver gang out there. Once I were done cutting them down, I got some time to ask the last survivor a few questions.”

“You trust a reiver?” Reivers were lawless, barely-human scum who rode in gangs, stealing whatever they could lay their hands on, burning down settlements, and either raping, killing, or taking the people there for slaves.

“I had good reason to believe what he was telling me,” the man replied, and McClain knew exactly how he'd asked the questions. “He said there were more reivers originally–nearly a hundred gathered out there in one of the old mines–and they had three wargs on their side who wore some kind of medallion that kept their inner beasts caged. Pissed off another warg who came looking for them. He and his woman killed two of them wargs, half the reivers, and the other warg escaped. That leaves two of them out there, wearing amulets, maybe three, if this warg at Absolution wasn't the one who came down on them reivers. What do you think of that?”

Luc and Riley. It had to be them.

The amulet was a cold reminder against his chest. McClain forced himself to relax, grateful that it was the kind of thing he kept hidden, beneath his shirt. I think there's four of us with medallions, a part of him whispered, and that you might just be a dangerous man to keep alive. But he wasn't a killer, no matter what others thought of him, and there were better ways to deal with this. “A single warg killed that many people? I think stories grow. That's what I think. Besides, if they're content to kill each other then let them.”

Sinclair pursed his mouth. “Maybe. It's still troubling.”

“Damn, right.” Mia said, pouring them all a shot, and throwing hers back before they could argue. Her dark skin had paled slightly.

“Hell, Mia,” Sinclair said, leaning on the counter. He didn't take her hand, though a part of him clearly wanted to. “I didn't mean to remind you of the past.”

What past? McClain glanced at her beneath his lashes, but she shook her head.

“Just shut up, Jake.”

She was the wrong kind of woman. Or maybe he was the wrong kind of man. And he was just drawing this out. There was no point staying, especially now there was bounty hunter in town, out to claim his scalp, and a woman who'd shoot him if she ever knew what he really was.

And wasn't that the kicker, for he realized that a part of him would actually hurt to see that look of horror in her eyes. Idiot. He needed to get moving. He'd stayed too long here, started to… feel something for the town. Or perhaps, for one stubborn woman.

He couldn't do that again.

“Well, thanks for the company–and the story.” McClain slid his chair back, tossing a few coins on the bar to clear his account, and grabbing hold of his black Stetson. “Time for me to move on, I think.”

Mia looked startled, just for a second. Then she shuttered her emotions, and nodded. “Good luck, McClain. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

“You too,” he said, taking the time to look at her one last time, as if to imprint her image in his memory. Just one more lost chance. McClain swallowed hard, then turned for the door, giving Sinclair one last nod, bounty hunter to bounty hunter.

Time to rip that Band-Aid off.

You don't belong here and you never did.

            You don't belong… anywhere.

***

“Didn't think he was your type,” Jake said, tapping his fingers on the bar, and watching as the doors swung shut behind McClain.

“He's not.” Mia pulled her mind out of wistful nothings, and gathered up the coins McClain had left. They were stamped with New Merida symbols, no doubt paid out in blood money. She didn't particularly like that they came from the slave towns down south, but money was money, and it was far more than what he'd owed. Most of the time she was paid in Wasteland coppers–the square bits that were stamped with whatever the maker decided to put on them and worth only the metal that they were made out of. A good bar owner could tell when someone had mixed too much metal with the copper. A good bar owner also knew when she was holding onto solid gold. She looked toward the fluttering doors, and had a moment of doubt.

That itch she couldn't scratch.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so hard headed, but McClain made her feel nervous, and she'd burned her fingers before. Indeed, she wouldn't be in this situation if she'd listened to that quieter, warier part of herself.

“Yeah?” Heat darkened Jake's eyes, a mix of jealousy and something else—something he had no right in feeling. “I know what you look like when you want a man.”

“You would know.” She turned away, sliding the sticky glasses toward her. Once he'd been her best friend, her only ally. Now? “That doesn't mean that this is any of your business, now. I'm not your business, and you heard him. He's leaving.”

Too late for her to do anything about her choices. Maybe it was for the best?

“Hey.” Jake caught her wrist, leaning forward. “It's not my place to say it, I know that, but he's not the type of man–”

“You touch me again, and I will cut off that hand,” she told him, staring him down.

With a grimace, he let her go. “I'm trying to–”

“You're married. To my sister.” That hadn't stopped him once upon a time, when they'd been barely adults, though she'd been completely unaware of the promises he'd made to Sage just four fucking hours earlier. Four hours. Mia shut her eyes. All of it had been a mistake—telling Jake that she wanted something more than him, wanted to see the world, and him taking all of that fury and rejection and asking her sister for something he shouldn't have… And then later that night, for not telling her the truth of what he'd promised Sage when Mia changed her mind, and went looking for him.

Yes, she'd kissed him. She'd done a hell of a lot more than that. But he'd had his chances to tell her he'd proposed to Sage, and he hadn't. Now Mia had to feel that crawl of guilt every time she looked at her oblivious sister.

Sage had been so happy to marry the man they'd both loved, that she'd never even known what was in her sister's heart. Maybe it was Mia's fault, for not telling her how she felt about Jake? Love wasn't something to hide, but she'd been wary, even then.

She didn't know how to fix this. Sage's heart broke every time Jake rode out of town, but he couldn't stay here with everything that lay between them. They just kept cutting at each other, and Sage had noticed and didn't know why.

“I've been thinking,” Jake said. “About… this.”

Mia buried her hands in the sink. She just wanted him to go. It had been seven years since that disastrous night and she felt sick every time she saw him.

“Mia, are you listening?”

“Only occasionally.” She sounded weary. “You should go home,” she said. “To your wife. She misses you.”

“I know.” Jake's hesitation lingered. “I'm thinking of taking her north.”

“What?” Mia smacked her head on the counter above the sink. Her heart plummeted into her feet. “You can't take her away. This is our home.”

“But it's not mine,” he said firmly. “I can't keep doing this. I care for your sister, and you're the one who keeps throwing it in my face about the promises I made her.” He let out a sigh. “I know you don't want to see her go, but she and I could make a life together, away from all of… this.”

This. Mia scowled. Her was what he meant. “And what about me? You're going to take away the one piece of family I have left? Haven't you done enough damage?”

“You know she'd go,” he said. “And maybe I could learn to give her what she wants? I care for your sister, Mia. Really care. Sometimes I think there could be more between her and I, if we gave it a chance. I don't want to see her hurt any more than you do. Maybe she'd be happy? It's either you or me, who misses out. I could divorce her and leave forever, but you know what she was like after she lost the baby.” His voice dropped. “I'm a fool who's made a lot of bad decisions, but I'm not a bad man, Mia. I hate being the villain in all of this. I fucked up. I fucked up badly. But I don't want to drive my wife back into that walking zombie-state by leaving her, and I can't see any other way out of it.”

That hurt. Mia didn't love him, not anymore, and he didn't love her. There was too much bitterness between them for that to have lasted. But why did she have to be the one who kept missing out?

“I owe her better than what I've given her,” Jake said. “I owe you better, but I can't change the past. The only thing I have left is to change the future.”

Tears sprang to Mia's eyes. She knew what he was saying was the truth, but that didn't make her feel any better. Sage was her only… anything. “You bastard.”

“I'll wear that,” he said in a roughened voice. “Let me pay my dues, Mia. Please.”

Swallowing hard, she brushed her wet cheek against her shoulder. Enough of that nonsense. “Where will you take her?”

“Thank you,” he whispered, as if she'd given him her blessing. “I don't know. It's a hard land up north, but there'd be plenty of work for me, and Sage would fit into the communities up there. They don't take to strangers easily, but when they do it's forever, and Sage's talent in salvaging electronics would make her valuable.”

“When?”

“I don't know. I'll have to ask her first.” He hesitated. “It would help if she knew she had your blessing.”

Mia smiled bitterly. “More lies I have to tell my sister. Don't you ever get sick of it? I do.”

“I–”

A commotion sounded outside, engines roaring, and tyres squealing. She'd probably have noticed it earlier, if not for her absorption in their argument.

Jake found his feet, his body tense. Salvation Creek was a quiet town, and no commotion was ever a good omen. “Stay there,” he said, with a sharp cutting motion of his hand then turned toward the door, one hand on the pistol holstered at his hip.

“Like Hell I will,” Mia grumbled, grabbing her shotgun from under the bar, then leaping over the counter.

Outside, dust clung in the air as four vehicles jerked to a halt in the streets. Three of them were salvaged from scrap with different coloured doors, and a window missing in one, but one of them was whole, a dull red that had once been shiny.

Her heart dropped through her boots again, as she saw it. “Thwaites,” she whispered, pausing at Jake's side. The rancher owned a good portion of the land near Salvation Creek.

His farmhands spilled out of the vehicles, two of them carrying another. Then Thwaites himself appeared. There was blood smeared up his face, and his shirt was soaked with it.

Mia's heart twisted, as she searched through the faces. No. No. She darted forward, shoving through the men, searching for the one face she didn't see. “Sage? Sage!”

Ethan Thwaites turned toward her, his arm hanging bloody at his side and his face smeared with dirt and sweat. He was a big man with a hearty laugh and a booming voice, but she'd never seen him look so beaten down, so small. “Mia,” he breathed. “Sweet Jesus, I'm so sorry.”

A chill ran through her. “What happened? Where is everyone? Where's my sister?” Sage worked on retainer for Thwaites, and the last Mia had seen of her sister, she'd taken the old jeep out toward his place last night to see to some problem with Thwaites' water pump. Sage planned to stay the night there.

She barely felt Jake's presence at her back. All she could do was cling to Ethan Thwaites' coat.

“Reivers,” he said. “A good forty of them. They hit us this morning, just before dawn. Came in quiet-like with no cars, or bikes. One minute I was eating breakfast, the next they were there shooting at us. Jesus.” He scraped his good hand over his face. “They dropped Maggie in the kitchen, whilst I still had a fucking spoon of porridge in my hand. If I hadn't reacted as quickly as I did, then this–” He gestured to his limp arm, “wouldn't be my worst problem.”

“What about the outposts?” Jake asked, his voice hard. “How'd they come in so quietly? The men on duty should have seen something.”

“Don't know,” Thwaites replied, dully. His eyes were glassy with pain. “No word from them.”

“Those men had radios,” Jake said grimly, searching Thwaites' eyes.

“Then maybe they didn't see the reivers coming either? I gathered those I could and came here. The rest of them I left at the ranch, to bury the dead.”

Dead. “What happened to Sage?” Mia demanded.

Thwaites wouldn't meet her eyes. “They took all of the women they could, Mia. Those that didn't die in the first attack. We were holed up in the barn trying to keep them at bay, but most of the household staff was trapped inside the main house. I don't know where Sage is–maybe she got free, maybe she ran–but I didn't see her body anywhere.”

Her breath caught in a half-sob. “You left them in the main house, defenceless?”

Thwaites flinched as if she'd struck him. “All of the women, Mia. You don't see my wife here, do you?” he demanded. “Or my daughter. I was trying to gather the men to fight them off. We were trapped like fucking rats.”

“Mia,” Jake warned, grabbing her arm.

“I'm sorry.” This couldn't be happening. She clapped a hand over her mouth. She'd lost both parents to a shadow-cat attack, when she was only twelve. Her aunt Jenny had taken her and Sage in, but Mia had always known that it was just the pair of them now, against the world.

She'd sat in the dirt at her parent's grave and promised them that she'd look out for her little sister. No matter what happened.

“What are we going to do?” Jake was asking, low and soft.

“I'm riding after them,” Thwaites said. “I need men though. And guns. Are you with me?”

“Never any doubt.” Jake's lips thinned. “That's my wife out there. I know what reivers do to women, Ethan. If we don't get them back and soon, then there might not be much left to get back.”

Tears shone bright in the old rancher's eyes. “I know.”

“And I'll be riding with you,” Mia declared, daring either of them to say no.