Moonbound Series: Khadia Riverlands

Two

Chapter Two

NICOLETTE'S POV–

I was absolutely positive that I was on my dad's bed reading one of his journals when I came here. Where exactly was this place? And how did I even get here? I never recognized this place, and it was obviously not Khadia Riverlands.

I looked up just to see the sky covered with tall trees, making everything around me dim. Was I somewhere deep in the woods? Everything was murky, which made it difficult for me to see.

And to make it chilling, I just heard a wolf howl out of nowhere. My arms automatically wrapped around me, and I looked around while my eyes broadened and my mouth hung open. Nevertheless, it didn't scare the s**t out of me, which was strange. It sounded more like a… torment? The howl sounded like it was grieving over something.

Last turn, I found a golden smoke appearing within the mist. It was roughly forming the shape of a wolf. Now that gives me chills. I could feel the hair on my nape stiffen. Its green eyes were piercing through my soul, and my mind was freaking out.

As if from thin air, a silver spear struck through the smoke. It could barely hold its shape; blood traced down to its tip, and its green eyes became deep forest green. Its teeth gritted, showing its sharp, deadly fangs, blood dripping from its tip.

I gasped; my body was completely frozen stiff. The mist was gradually getting thicker, and I could hardly see anything except for those random eye colors popping up. They were all everywhere, probably surrounding me, narrowing the distance, and it felt like I was being pinched.

I needed to scream. A scream that would get me out of this f*****g place.

“NICOLETTE!” I heard a voice call me.

I jolted, enough to crash onto the wooden floor. Furthermore, I groaned in pain while gently brushing my palm against my forehead. What kind of nightmare was that?

I carefully sat up and opened my eyes, breathing without any pause, and my face was soaking wet with sweat. I could feel the droplets on my polo shirt.

“Are you okay, Nicolette?”

I recognized that voice, and I was right when I looked up. It was Uncle Arnold. He stood at the open door, arms crossed and absolutely wondering what happened to me.

I gathered my thoughts together, thinking of whatever I should respond, “I… I think I fell asleep while reading…” I paused the instant I remembered the journals. Not only that, but I sprang to my feet and searched for it on the bed, flipping over the pillow and the sheets.

Where was it? I was sure I put it next to me.

“Are you looking for something?” asked Uncle Arnold. He was probably puzzled by my unutterable behavior.

When I confirmed that it was gone from the bed, I shifted to face him, knitting my brows, “Dad's journal. I was just reading that earlier, and then it suddenly disappeared.”

Uncle's brows lifted. “Oh, was that what I saw there on the bed earlier? I put it outside the house with his other things.”

“Why would you do that?” I replied. How dare he.

His shoulders dropped. “Since Sylvester died without a will, the government is claiming his properties.”

Bullshit!

I shot a piercing glare at him. “But he had a daughter and was legally the beneficiary of this house.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, tightening his jaw. “You’ve been gone for a decade, Nicolette, so basically there’s nothing you can do.”

This was why I hated this old geezer. He always thought he was the big guy in every aspect of his illusion.

“Who do you think you are to do that?” I raised my voice in disappointment, “I am his daughter, and I also own this house.”

He cleared his throat, perhaps managing to lower his voice, “I am the mayor of this city, and I call the shots. If you would rather not be sued for trespassing, leave.”

Trespassing in my very own house? You have to be kidding me. This old geezer just needed a smack, and his mind would function accordingly.

“I am not leaving this place! This is my house!” I yelled, gripping the authority that I had.

Eventually, he sighed. He knew how difficult I could be once I raised my voice, yet I knew he wasn't the type to submit that easily.

He turned his attention outside the room and made a couple of hand gestures to whoever was outside. Then I heard a couple of heavy footsteps closing in on us. Uncle Arnold stepped back as two unfamiliar middle-aged men came in; both of them were wearing police uniforms.

“My apologies, ma’am,” one police officer said, obviously the most hypocritical apology I ever heard.

Before I could even react, both of them grabbed my left and right arms and forced me to walk towards the door. And that would be their biggest mistake.

I aggressively pulled back, stamping the foot of the officer on my right, and withdrew my hand. Quickly, I smacked the face of the officer on my left before he could even realize what was happening.

“Enough resisting, Nicolette. Leave this place at once!” he scolded loudly.

“You are the one who should leave!” I pointed a finger at him while yelling back, “I legally own this house!”

His throat tightened. “I’m not going to ask you again. Otherwise, I will definitely handcuff you.” His unsmiling expression remained while firmly holding his gaze.

I took a step closer to him, leveling his gaze with a deadly glare from me, “It will take an army to drag me out of this place.”

Then there was this intense silence, locking angry eyes at each other. Like hell I would hand this house to him. I might have been gone for a long time, but whatever my dad owned, I legally owned it.

Bring it on, old man, and you will see what you’re looking for.

Later, he lifted his hand, gesturing for his men behind me to stop. Now you know your place. Your position is not a license for cruelty.

“Okay, Nicolette,” he stated in defeat, clenching his jaw while narrowing his eyes, “You can have the house, but be sure to be gone right after the funeral.” His tone at the end sounded like a threat.

I fixated a withering look straight in his eyes. “You don’t get to order me around, Mr. Mayor,” I muttered, sarcastically emphasizing the last word.

He looked halfway to his men and motioned for them to leave. For the last time, he glared at me and disappeared from my eyesight. Their heavy footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, which echoed through the entire house.

A few seconds after their disappearance, I went outside. Just like he said, I found most of Dad’s things piled up in front of the house. He did have some nerve to haul other people’s stuff without consent, including my suitcase. He’s unbelievable.

I did everything I could to put them back inside, from books, tons of boxes, his clothes, and even small furniture like a TV and radio. Damn! My hair was drenched with sweat. I had to take off my hoodie and use it to dry my face. My vision was getting blurry because of the sweat dripping down my face.

While I was too busy stacking up those few final boxes, I heard footsteps coming closer to me. My instincts told me to look at who it might be, and I did.

I flashed a friendly smile when I recognized the person. It was James. He was my cousin and, unfortunately, the son of Uncle Arnold. Though his father and I had a misunderstanding, our relationship wasn’t affected.

“Hey, Nicky. It’s been a while,” he greeted, grinning from ear to ear.

I exhaled my exhaustion, “It’s good to see you, James. You look great.”

“Oh, let me get those.” He quickly walked to the boxes I had stacked up and volunteered to carry them.

He was always a sweetheart. If only he wasn’t my cousin, I would definitely fall for him.

James put down those boxes inside, next to my suitcase. His eyes wandered to other things that I had carried earlier; it was all gathered in the center of the house.

He looked back at me with confusion, “Are these all your things?”

“Nope. They’re my dad’s,” I stated.

“Oh,” he mumbled, “Aren’t you going to the cemetery chapel?”

Yeah, the funeral was at the cemetery chapel because Uncle Arnold wasn’t expecting that I would be coming. He intended to bury my dad two days after the declaration of his death.

I shrugged, unsure if it was okay to tell him about what happened earlier, but I still told him anyway, “Perhaps tomorrow for the burial. Your dad and I had an argument again. Seconds before you came.”

He scoffed; surely he was tired of hearing this. “Whatever he said, Nicky, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m used to it,” I assured him.

“So… Do you want to grab something to eat? It’s on me,” he invited.

“Yeah, sure. I haven’t eaten anything ever since I arrived here.”