Birthright: Book 1: Know Thyself

  Birthright

  Book 1: Know Thyself

  Bella Colt

  Copyright © 2019 Bella Colt

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781072317579

  DEDICATION

  For my Sisters (Blood and non-blood alike). You all know who you are! There have been so many different points in my life that you guys have been there for me in one way or another that I can never truly say Thank you…other than by dedicating my first book to all of you beautiful ladies!!

  (K.W.; T.L.W.; T.M.W; C.W.; T.H-W.; R.R.; M.H.; T.C.; K.C.; A.L. and R.L.)

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Prologue

  PART 1

  Chapter 1: Amara

  Chapter 2: Declan

  Chapter 3: Brianna

  Chapter 4: Amara

  Chapter 5: Declan

  Chapter 6: Amara

  Chapter 7: Declan

  Chapter 8: Amara

  Chapter 9: Declan

  Chapter 10: Declan

  Chapter 11: Amara

  Chapter 12: Amara

  Chapter 13: Declan

  Chapter 14: Amara

  Chapter 15: Amara

  Chapter 16: Declan

  Chapter 17: Amara

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19: Amara

  Chapter 20: Declan

  Chapter 21: Amara

  Chapter 22: Amara

  Chapter 23: Declan

  Chapter 24: Amara

  Chapter 25: Amara

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27: Declan

  Chapter 28: Amara

  Chapter 29: Declan

  PART 2

  Chapter 1: King Dierk

  Chapter 2: Amara

  Chapter 3: Luther

  Chapter 4: Declan

  Chapter 5: Amara

  Chapter 6: King Dierk

  Chapter 7: Amara

  Chapter 8: Declan

  Chapter 9: Adair

  Chapter 10: Amara

  Chapter 11: Luther

  Chapter 12: Declan

  Chapter 13: Mason

  Chapter 14: Amara

  Chapter 15: King Dierk

  Chapter 16: Amara

  Chapter 17: Declan

  Chapter 18: King Dierk

  Chapter 19: Gerd

  Chapter 20: Declan

  Chapter 21: Declan

  Chapter 22: Declan

  Chapter 23: Amara

  Chapter 24: Declan

  Chapter 25: Amara

  Book Two Sneek-Peek

  Chapter 1: Amara

  German Translations

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, I’d like to thank my family. My Dad Joseph and Mom Kathryn for taking my kids on the weekends and giving me uninterrupted time for the book. Thank you so much for that and always loving and supporting me. Next, I’d like to extend my eternal gratitude and thanks to Tanya Clark, Meaghan Henderson, and Christina Perez. My very first proofreaders, who were honest, supportive, and impatient to read chapters. I really feel like my first draft wouldn’t have been possible without you guys!! Also, another big thank you to Casandra Ward, who has spent countless hours listening to me read aloud and helping me with edits. As well as Adrianne Levno who wouldn’t let me slack on days when I felt like doing nothing by keeping me on track with my self-imposed goals. You are a great taskmaster, and I love you for it. My next thank you goes to someone that is my biggest supporter and contributor. My editor/promoter Dr. Rheanna Reed. She not only gave me the equipment and software needed to effectively get publish-ready, but she has also invested hours in editing. Doing research on everything from formatting to the best possible ways of getting this out to the public. She has truly given me and the book her all on top of her already busy work schedule. I am so forever grateful to you for everything that you have done and continue to do! And of course, my husband Bryn who’s my rock and literally my biggest supporter. Celebrating fifteen years together and I can’t wait to go through the next fifteen. I love you more than any words on paper could ever express! Thank you so much for everything that you do for our family and me!

  Prologue

  Tonight is much colder and darker than usual. The temperatures have dropped dramatically, leaving a crisp chill in the air. As I look up from the ground, an icy blast of wind gusts in my face and almost blows the hood off of my head. Instantly, I tremble from the cold and snuggle my perfect little package against my chest for warmth. I blow out a visible breath that somehow gives me an ominous feeling. So much is riding on this visit. I really should have called first, or at the very least, attempted to do so. Realistically, I know better than to try anything like that. No form of communication is truly safe. Information about me can be bought, and people with money often run rampant with control and power. I can only hope my friend will be up and willing to help me. I have no one else to turn to. Considering the impending weather, walking two miles from my motel room to her house is risky, but it’s the safest way. Assuming I wasn't followed, this is the best chance we have.

  Passing a small garden to the side of the porch, I keep my head down and my face covered with the hood of my sweater as I approach the quaint little house. Even in the dark, you can tell it is well tended. I notice a blanket on some of the bushes to help them fight off the chill throughout the night. Avoiding the porch light that will illuminate my face, I slowly walk up the stairs. I glance around quickly as I knock on the door with a sudden staggering sense of urgency.

  The only reason I'm still alive today is thanks to that sixth sense, my gut, telling me when to hide, fight, or flee. Right now, I feel rushed like I need to move and move fast. I pound on the door again, and I am rewarded when I hear footsteps a few moments later. I release a breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding. A slender blonde woman answers the door, eyes half-lidded from sleep.

  “Who’s there?” She asks, cracking the door open a few inches.

  “Me, old friend,” I squeak out, as I move to stand in the light and lower my hood revealing my face.

  She peeks out of the cracked door to get a better look and gasps.

  “Oh my!!” She says, before embracing me in an extraordinarily strong hug.

  I am careful to not crush the tightly wrapped bundle in my arms, in which she has yet to realize I’m holding.

  “Can’t breathe,” I choke out.

  She lets go and takes a step back, looking like she genuinely can’t believe it is me.

  “Can I come in?” I ask, glancing around again; making sure I wasn’t followed.

  “Of course, of course, come in. I'm so sorry I…just...in shock…is all.” She stammers through a big smile.

  I follow her as she turns back into her house through an arched entryway to her living room. The room boasts a comfortable looking blue recliner and a matching love seat. Arriving at the couch, I sit down at the opposite end facing her.

  “Where have you been? What happened? Your parents told everyone you were dead!” She blurts out in one long breath.

  I sigh heavily as I gently shift the bundle in my arms while struggling to get comfortable on the couch. During my struggle is when she notices the sleeping baby completely wrapped in cozy blankets in a lame attempt to shield her from the world. Her face pales, and for a moment, she looks catatonic. If the situation weren’t so dire, I would laugh at my childhood best friend.

  “Natalie, take a breath! I'll explain as much as I can, without putting you in any unnecessary danger.” I shout to interrupt her catatonic state.

  Natalie’s curiosity is burning on her face as she takes a moment to compose her features before nodding her head. Seeing that she is ready for whatever I can
throw at her, I take a deep breath as I unbundle the blanket. Carefully, I shift to show her my beautiful blue-eyed baby with dark brown hair, the same shade as mine.

  “This is my daughter, Amara. She's two weeks old.” I say, smiling. It is impossible not to smile while looking at her.

  “We are in danger, and her father is gone. He is no longer able to protect us.” I say, waiting a few moments to see how she will react.

  “That doesn’t answer any of my questions,” Natalie says.

  One of the many things I love about her is her typical cut-straight-to-the-chase manner.

  “You’re right! Honestly, I doubt I can even answer most of your questions. Not because I don’t want to but because there isn’t time for a full explanation. What I can tell you, I will.” I say.

  Before she can interrupt, I continue, “My parents told you I was dead because they disowned me with extreme prejudice. Obviously, they lied about me being dead, but saying I died was so much easier and less shameful than telling everyone the truth.”

  I take another deep breath, bracing myself to answer the question that I know is coming.

  “Why?” Natalie asks, wasting no time in asking the simple yet damning question.

  “Because of who fate chose as my mate. Amara’s father was a werewolf and a prince no less!” I say as I relinquish a bitter laugh at the irony.

  “You have got be shitting me,” Natalie thunders, rejecting her natural aversion towards foul language.

  I stare at her, entirely shocked for a second.

  “I wish that I were. Not because of the laws or any of the punishments. Honestly, I never cared about those damn laws; neither of us did. That was why it was so easy when we were together to forget that there were very few who think like us and so many who would be against it. Our relationship was quickly discovered, and we were both banished from our homes and families. All because we chose love over our species and blood laws. It was worth it. Every second with him was worth it. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.” I say defensively.

  Natalie’s eyes soften at my passionate outburst.

  “I'm sorry, I am just trying to make sense of all this. I’m still struggling with the fact that you’re still alive.” She says.

  “I know Natalie, and I’m sorry. Really, I am. This isn’t just a friendly visit to say hey I'm not really dead or to catch up on old times. We desperately need your help! Amara’s father was killed, protecting us from the rogues that his family hired. They were trying to kill me, not him. They didn’t know I was pregnant back then. They don’t know that she has been born either. I need your help protecting her. This beautiful, innocent baby.” I say weakly, letting out an exhausted breath.

  “Rogues are still after me, and they won’t stop until they get me! I have come to terms with my fate. My choices were mine, and she shouldn’t have to suffer for them. If people know about her, then her life will be in great danger! As it is right now, nobody even knows she exists.” I plead.

  “Amara is so special. The first of her kind. We have never mixed our races before because of the laws. Honestly, I’m not sure what she’ll be like growing up. Until she is old enough to understand, I think it's safer to have her raised as one of us.” I explain.

  I hope Natalie understands the possibility of the danger to herself by raising Amara. I only wish I had the time to explain it to her adequately, but I can feel that sense of urgency returning. The need to flee quickly, a tightening in my stomach, like a weighted knot.

  “I understand, but what would you have me do?” She asks with a confused look on her face.

  “I have to ask you the biggest favor I’ve ever asked anyone in my life. I need you to raise Amara as your own child. Protect her as your own and most importantly love her as your own. Know that you are my only option, but even if you weren’t you are the only person, I would ever trust with this. Also, assuming you do say yes, please give her this letter before her eighteenth birthday. She won’t completely understand who she is until she reads it.” I say as I pull out a white sealed envelope from inside my sweater.

  I feel so drained, this constant running and looking over my shoulder has me weary. Natalie sits there with a distant expression on her face. I know she’s lost in thought while contemplating what she should do. I’m grateful for the few moments of silence. I relax, just a little bit, for the first time in what feels like forever. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was able to enjoy a few moments that weren’t filled with fear.

  “I will do it.” Natalie finally says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “But what will happen to you? Are you going to let them kill you?” She quickly adds.

  “Not without a fight!” I say while smiling.

  Looking at my daughter for a final time, I commit every feature and every minute detail to memory. Scrutinizing her beautiful blue eyes and thick lashes, I kiss Amara on her sleeping head. I then hand her and the letter over to Natalie, doing my best not to cry.

  “I need to go now, so there’s no chance that I’m tracked here. I wish I could do so much more than just say thank you. As it is, I know I will never be able to repay you.” I say as the tears start to stream unhindered down my face.

  “Nonsense, do what you have to do to ensure your family’s safety but know that I will do everything in my power to protect her.” She says, smiling with glistening eyes.

  “With my life, Andromeda!” Natalie says, with quiet confidence when I am almost to the door.

  It’s a vow commonly used between our people. I smile, knowing she means it as I open the door and walk out to embrace my fate head-on.

  PART 1

  Chapter 1: Amara

  “Get up you lazy bitch! You had better not be late for school again! I swear if they call me one more goddamn time!!!” Bob yells loudly through the door.

  Shouting is entirely unnecessary. The door is paper thin, like two pieces of particle board stuck together.

  “I’m up!” I quickly shout back, cutting him off before he could finish his threat with the traditional “or else,” and especially before he can think about coming into my room. Seriously, Bob gives me the creeps.

  I crawl out of bed and grab my clothes for the day. An everyday white bra and panty set along with a long-sleeve red shirt to go with my dark-blue jeans. I head towards the only bathroom down the hall. I had learned quickly to always make sure that I take my clothes to the bathroom with me. I now dress as fast as a humanly possible after my shower. I’m the only girl in the apartment which is shared with a delinquent boy named Derrick. He is about a month younger than me.

  Bob is my current and most likely last foster parent. I have no idea how the state can continue to let Bob-the-drunk foster children. How is it possible that they don't see that he is only in it for the beer money? He started fostering children with his wife fourteen years ago. I assumed her death two years ago is what turned him into a sour mean drunk bastard. I say sour because I often smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores through his sweat. I’ve been here for about eight months, and I am shocked that a social worker hasn’t noticed he’s inebriated ninety-five percent of the time. I'm guessing he sobers up just enough to pass for a suitable guardian around those annual check-ins. Otherwise, there's no way someone would place kids in this hellhole. This is what happens when there are too many cases for social services to keep track of and not enough funding or resources for them to do their job. I have a social worker that I only see once or twice a year, usually just before my birthday.

  Once I make it to the bathroom, I start the water, waiting for it to be warm enough to get in. I take my shower quickly, not wanting to use all the hot water and give Derrick another reason to complain, which would undoubtedly result in me getting into trouble. In this house, that isn’t hard to do. Women have no rights; they do what they're told or else! As if having a vagina, somehow, makes me less of a human being. I’ve only had to endure the "or else" a few times before I learned that it was easier to do what
I’m told. It’s freaking barbaric thinking. Both of my housemates are idiots. At least I only have four months until I turn eighteen. Then I’m finally free from this wretched hellhole.

  Once I'm clean and dry, I dress rapidly because the flimsy lock on the door provides me with minimal comfort. After brushing my teeth, I stand in front of the mirror and take in my reflection. The woman in the mirror has long wavy dark brown hair, light freckles over fair skin, average lips, and, my favorite feature, dark blue eyes. I am about 5 foot tall. I have a decent chest that I try to keep covered using baggy sweaters. I’m not fat or skinny, just basic me.

  I abandon the scrutiny of my reflection to brush the tangles out of my wet hair before I exit the bathroom. I don’t own any makeup, and even if I did, I wouldn't want to wear it. Makeup is time-consuming, expensive, and it would be wasted since no one notices me anyway. I hurry back to my room to put on my favorite baggy red sweater, socks, and DC shoes. The only thing I scrape and save money is for comfortable shoes. Grabbing my old backpack, I sling it over my shoulders as I sneak down the hall and make a beeline for the front door.

  I’m almost to the door. My arm’s outstretched, reaching for the knob when Bob appears with uncharacteristic stealth. He grabs my arm, roughly jerking me to the unforgiving ground. I land hard on the tile floor, my bony ass and right elbow cushioning my fall. I look up at Bob through blurred vision. As I am fighting back the tears, he laughs before viciously kicking my leg and ordering me to make him “something to fucking eat.”