Page 79 of Dragon’s Rebel

“It’s supposed to be freely given,” Zane reminded her. “But I don’t know what would have happened if she died without passing it on. Maybe it would go dormant? Waiting?”

“All the more reason to try the cemetery,” Rebel said. “And besides, I’d like to lay some flowers on my parents’ grave.”

The cemetery was next to an old stone church, its arched red door standing open as if inviting people in.

They walked around the side of the church, under a green canopy of leaves from the huge old trees that shaded the grounds. The leaves rustled in the slight breeze, and dapples of sunlight danced over the well-tended grass and neat gravestones.

It was the middle of a weekday, and there was no one around except an older man sitting on a stone bench on the other side of the cemetery, his head bowed as if in prayer.

Her parents were in the back. They shared a simple gravestone, with nothing but their names and a single date.

No one had known who they really were, or when they were born. But someone had paid for the gravestone, she realized.

And for the flowers that had been planted on either side. As she added the small bouquet she’d bought from the local florist, Rebel wondered who had done that.

Blaze and Zane, after exchanging a glance, wandered off. Giving her privacy, Rebel realized. Thorne stayed with her, a little behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked.

Rebel thought about that, looking at the memorial to the last people who’d loved her, who’d died trying to protect her.

Whose loss had shaped her whole life.

“No,” she said finally. “I think I’m tired of being alone.”

Thorne moved in behind her, his arms sliding around her waist. She leaned back against his strong, warm chest, soaking in his strength. He kissed her temple softly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She thought about that too. “No,” she said. “I just want to think about them.”

So she let the memories flow through her, there under the trees in the dappled sunlight, while Thorne held her.

She was startled out of her reverie by the older man who’d been sitting on the other side of the cemetery. “Pardon me, but…”

He was looking at her strangely. She felt Thorne tense, and saw Zane and Blaze, across the grounds, come to attention as well.

“Ellie?” the man said. “Eleanor Miller?”

Rebel stared at him. Thorne let go of her, and she turned to face the man. He was about sixty, ordinary-looking, balding with a slight paunch. Not exactly a threat, but Thorne remained wary.

“Ellie was my mother.” She indicated the gravestone.

“Of course. I’m a fool,” he said. “But you look enough like her—”

“To be her daughter,” Rebel said. “Rebecca.” She stumbled over the name.

His eyes went wide. “Of course you are,” he said. “Imagine you back here, after all this time.” He shook his head. “I was real sorry about what happened to your Ma. She was such a nice lady. So sad for her to go like that.”

Rebel felt excitement washing through her. This man knew her mother. “How did you know her, exactly?” She smiled at him. “My parents didn’t socialize very much.”

Like, at all. They were hiding out, far from town.

“Of course, you wouldn’t have known. I was her banker. John McHenry.” He held out his hand, and Rebel shook it automatically.

“There was money from a trust, you see. It used to get wired into her account every quarter, and she’d come to get the cash.”

Rebel remembered that now. Her mother going to town alone, every few months. And coming back with treats they usually couldn’t afford.