Legacy Nora Roberts Novels & Stories

Nora held the phone and typed. She sent the message. Then she looked at the archive around her the centuries of record, the careful notation, the specific weight of a place that had been holding what mattered for a very long time and she thought about a woman who was ninety-four years old and had a granddaughter who wanted to be a doctor and had spent the last two weeks speaking to her family about what had been kept and what had been lost and what was being restored. The granddaughter's name, Mara had mentioned in one of the calls, was Nora.

The neon blue glow from three curved monitors reflected off Noah Valen’s glasses, casting a futuristic aura that contrasted with the piles of instant ramen cups and energy drink cans on his peeling wooden desk. His fingers danced across his mechanical keyboard with the rhythm of a frantic symphony, triggering a clackclackclack that filled the cramped apartment on the city’s outskirts. On the center screen, a glowing green progress bar hit 98%. "Almost there, you bastard. Almost there..." Noah whispered, his voice raspy from fortyeight hours of sleep deprivation.

// A/N: *mes pattes* is cajun slang for " my paws, or feet" BIG ANNOUNCMENT! Legacy is now available on multiple platforms, I will leave details on my Facebook page @facebook.com/danger.beanz.3 Happy Reading <3

The connected call only carried the sounds of Jaime Walter and Derek Surrey’s pleasure. She did not seem to hear what I said. After an impatient click of her tongue, she hung up. I lowered my arms and stared at my mother’s decomposed body. My strength felt completely drained. Derek then sent me a series of messages. When I opened them, I saw videos of the two of them having sex that night. Their intimate sounds filled the room. Derek smiled in the video and asked Jaime, “You really are not giving him the miracle drug?”

Sorens stated as I frown at him. “What did you say about the forgotten world? Do you know more about that part?” I asked him but he shook his head. “The forgotten world was when Northshore became Northshore, it was the last legacy before Northshore as we know it was built. The forgotten world is a myth, long forgotten.” “I need to know more about this world Sorens.” I asked him, my head already growing with possibilities. This exists, that means what this lady was trying to warn me of exists, for the forgotten world to rise. What does it mean?

Lucky me. Dad stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Let us begin this meeting by taking a moment to remember the life of our comrade, Caleb Manser." The morning light filtered in through the curtains, tinting the room in the tawny grey of the cloth. As everyone else bowed their heads in respect, I surveyed the gathering. In this little living room, on a shabby mountaintop cabin, were the precious few people in the country who had mastered the necromantic arts. My father and brother were the last two living with enough power to reanimate the dead. Avery and Thea Manser had the Sight, to see truths and that of the present and future. Lyssa Amerson carried her family's ability to speak with th

The woman standing next to Max was a ghost she had buried seven years ago, a memory she had filed away under "unsolvable grief." Nora. Her mother looked older. The vibrant, often frantic energy that had defined Nora Cepheus for most of Isis’s life had been replaced by a heavy, settled quiet. Her hair, once a deep, obsidian brown, was now shot through with thick ribbons of silver at the temples. She wore a simple charcoal coat, her hands tucked into her pockets, her gaze fixed on the ground until the car door clicked shut.

, she replied. The woman, apparently unfazed by Mr. Samuels's demeanor, extended her hand towards me with a gracious smile. "And who might this be?" she inquired, her gaze lingering on me with a hint of curiosity. I offered a polite smile in return, though I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over me in Nora's presence. "I'm Sara," I replied evenly, careful to maintain a neutral expression. "Pleased to meet you." Nora's smile widened at my response, though there was a calculating glint in her eyes that didn't escape my notice. "Sara, how lovely," she remarked, her tone dripping with faux sweetness. "I'm Nora Roberts, a friend of Zack's."

Nora nodded. She looked at the door. The frosted glass. The light behind it. She thought about what Rachel had said. Fenn had represented Robert eight years ago. Cross had been running money for eleven. The math put Robert inside Cross's world before Nora had any idea any of it existed. Before the gala, before the diagnosis, before any of it. She'd been a target before she had a reason to be one. She pushed the door open. The room was a conference space, small, one table, four chairs. A woman in her sixties occupied the far end. Silver hair, straight posture, hands folded on the table. No laptop. No papers. Nothing between her and the room except her own composure.

The face that made cartel bosses piss themselves didn’t scare my seventy-eight-year-old grandmother. I did as I was told. Smiled when I was supposed to. Danced when I was supposed to. Let widows and divorcées and debutantes flutter around me like moths to a flame they didn’t know would burn them alive. I was in the middle of excusing myself from a redhead who kept touching my arm when I saw her. Across the room. Nora. In a simple black dress that hugged her like it was jealous of anyone else touching her. Hair down, loose waves, lips painted blood-red.