Chapter One

She was gone. His anchor, all he had left in this world.

A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. Stale air and the taint of neglect permeated the small cabin. She would have hated that. She’d never had much in the way of material possessions, but what she did have she kept neat and tidy.

Justin straightened the patchwork quilt on the bed, drawing it up over the pillow where a small indention remained.

He hadn’t been here for her final breaths, to hold her hand or ease her pain.

His fingers trailed over the soft, well worn material of the quilt. The framed photograph on the nightstand drew his gaze. A picture taken of him and his mother when he was a small child. It was the only photograph on display. The only one she kept. A miniature copy was tucked away in his wallet. He had only a vague recollection of the day it was taken. They’d spent the day at the beach playing in the surf and building sand forts. A rare day of carefree play.

A dog-eared copy of the Bible lay next to the frame. He’d asked her once why she still read it, why she still believed. After silently staring out the window for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer, she’d replied it gives me comfort and wisdom for the days I have none.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Had it given her solace at the end? Did she read the words once again seeking answers? Was an old book all she had to turn to in her final moments?

Justin tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t been here to say goodbye.

The tension in the air built. A soft rumbling echoed beneath his feet.

His eyes shot open. Raw power filled the room. The hairs on his arms stood on end. It was like a live current zapping the room with energy. He took deep labored breaths trying to rein the power back in, draw it back into his body.

It was no use—he’d lost control.

Windows rattled in their frames. The picture fell from the nightstand onto the floor. He stared at the cracked glass over the photo. A jagged line separated him from his mother.

Justin turned and strode out of the bedroom into the main room of the one-bedroom cabin. A glass fell from the open shelving in the kitchen area and shattered on the floor. Dishes bounced against each other. One by one, glasses leaped off the shelves and joined their smashed brethren on the floor. The little bird salt and pepper shakers he’d given to her as a belated birthday gift with his first paycheck lay broken on the red rug under the table.

The walls shook as the earth’s resonating growl echoed around him. He tried to open the door, but it stuck in its shifted frame. He leaned a shoulder against it and shoved with all his strength. It opened enough for him to squeeze through.

The bright Mexican sun beat down on him as he slid from the cabin. The ground split beneath his feet and he ran. A shudder moved through the earth and knocked him to his knees. He scrambled to his feet and sought open ground away from the cabin and the towering cypress trees around him.

A crack rent the air, and he whirled about. The Mexican cypress tree toppled, crashing into the roof of the old cabin and rendering a giant hole. Creaks and groans rose from the tree and cabin. The walls gave a last shuddering attempt to stand before crumbling beneath the weight of the tree.

Justin slid to the ground and rested his forearms on his drawn-up knees. The quake was over in a few moments. The earth resumed its slumber leaving him to stare at the aftermath. His grandmother’s cabin was destroyed. Lost to him, just as she was. Her meager belongings ruined because he lost control of a power he was born with. One he certainly didn’t ask for or want. It had only brought him destruction and despair.

It had taken his mother from him. After his mother’s death, his grandmother had always kept them on the move. They’d never resided in one place for more than a year. Once he became a man, he continued the habit, but after a while his grandmother had wanted a place to call home. She’d chosen this cabin and lived here for the past five years. He’d visited, often at first, less and less as the years went by. He called to check in and make sure she had anything she needed, but he should have been here. She never said she was unwell, never hinted that her heart was giving out.

He hung his head. He was tired of running, tired of hiding.

His mother had been killed because of the power that ran in their veins. For generations his family had been hunted. No more—now he would do the hunting. He would find them and finally make them pay.

He had nothing left to lose.