Prologue
Five Years Ago
Lying naked, with his hands intertwined in mine, Thorn Grantham made me promises. A promise for us to try to make our long-distance relationship work. A promise for him to move closer to New York City to be with me. And finally a promise to remove these handcuffs once he’s had his way with me.
With mischievous hazel eyes, Thorn pulled a bottle of chocolate syrup out of his suitcase.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered. My gaze darted from my perfectly pressed sheets to my pristine bedroom. It would take hours to clean up the evidence of our lovemaking.
His eyes darkened. “You gonna stop me?”
In a flash, he popped off the top and jumped on my bed. I jerked against the cuffs holding me hostage, but it didn’t do any good. Thorn knew all too well that I wouldn’t so much as scratch let alone break my antique Victorian headboard to escape. Especially after he squeezed a line of warm chocolate from my neck down to my inner thighs. My heart skittered from the heat in Thorn’s eyes. From the sweet scent of the chocolate in the air.
Thorn’s gaze never left mine as the tip of his tongue traced a path along the chocolate. Swirl after swirl of his tongue heated my flesh.
Shouldn’t I be worried about the mess? What mess? The mess of having my toes curl in waves of ecstasy?
Thorn’s head descended, proving to me again and again how he could unravel me like a tightly bound corset.
Making love to Thorn wasn’t a casual affair—it was an Olympic event that taxed both the mind and body. When we’d decided to hook up at my place a few days ago, I hadn’t expected him to use such things in my bedroom. Nor did I expect that in a million years I’d allow food in my bedroom. And have it smeared on my bed…
After he’d indulged in every inch of my body until we were both satisfied, I wanted to sleep. But that sure as hell wouldn’t stop me from keeping my room clean. With a chuckle, Thorn obediently helped me wash the bedding. When we’d wrapped up cleaning and had a bite to eat, he bid me farewell.
Kissing the top of my head, he whispered, “See you in a few weeks.”
“You promise?”
“Of course. It’ll take the apocalypse to keep me from you.”
“A zombie one or the Mayan kind?”
He thought for a moment with that smile of his. “Both.”
With me assured, he left the bedroom. As I sat alone in my apartment, I had no idea that this would be the last time I’d make love with Thorn. And that there were some promises that couldn’t be kept.
Chapter 1
Werewolves in no shape or form should own a fast-food restaurant. No pancakes, no frozen custard, and for goodness sake, my people needed to stop peddling pizza. In my opinion, any establishment where my food could potentially grow microscopic wildlife wasn’t my kind of place to eat. That pretty much left fire-grilled food on the menu and the only good thing any werewolf grilled well these days was a well-done burger. And Archie’s sold the best double-stacked burger on this side of the Toms River. If the animal walked and men speared it, then Archie burned it the best.
“Hey, Natalya, you’re here early,” said Jake, the cashier.
I averted my eyes after I placed my order. As usual, I was the lowest-ranking werewolf in the whole joint. “We’re really busy now that the weather’s cooling off.”
Jake offered a friendly smile. “How’s Bill?”
“He’s fine. Still the grumpiest boss ever.”
I ended the conversation and hid out in my usual booth while my food cooked. As much as I loved Archie’s burgers, I preferred to keep to myself while I ate.
While I waited, travelers coming off the Garden State Parkway came by for chow. They weren’t like those tourists who walk around with fanny packs and cameras. Instead, they smelled of money—the cash they were about to spend on other people’s old junk at one of the many flea markets that lined the Parkway.
Ten minutes later, Jake’s younger sister, Misty, brought out my food on a tray. My mouth watered at the sight of the double cheeseburger and fries. But that snotty werewolf didn’t even bother to acknowledge my presence. She simply dumped the food in front of me and strolled off. A single bright-red gob of burger sauce landed on my pristine blouse.
My eyes wide, I gaped at the stain as my chest tightened with alarm. And I thought I was crazy. The way she flung food on my table each week, it was clear that she had no idea that every spill, glob, and splatter drastically increased my stress level. With a shaking hand, I frantically wiped the spot with a stain pen.
And all this after I’d spent a half hour this morning meticulously pressing my clothes. With my light chestnut-colored hair brushed to perfection and my low-heeled shoes shined, I’d felt like I could survive the day in relative peace.
Well, as peacefully as a werewolf who obsessed over everything could. I didn’t advertise my condition, but if you saw a chick scrubbing her clothes with an industrial-strength stain pen, you might assume she’s a bit of a clean freak. With an obsessive-compulsive disorder, I took clean freak to the next level. But even with my condition, I lived what could be called a normal life.
Archie’s had been my lunch spot for the past few years. And no matter how bad the service was, or the conditions, I refused to eat lunch anywhere else.
My food was cold before I had a chance to take a bite. But it didn’t matter. I savored the burger anyway—that is, until two familiar faces entered the restaurant.
Everyone in South Toms River knew Erica Holden and Becky Knoll. They didn’t work. Well, they worked at being rich, I guess. After college in New York, they came back into town to spend Erica’s rich daddy’s money.
“Jake!” Erica gushed. “You have the order ready?”
Jake’s hungry eyes took in Erica’s perfect blonde hair and cotton candy-pink sweater. The garment stretched across her boobs and hung on for dear life.
“It’s coming up right now. Took us awhile to fry up that many deluxe burgers.” He leaned forward. “Are you having a few guests over?”
Becky laughed and flipped her chocolate-brown curls behind her ear. “Erica’s picking up Thorn’s favorite burgers. She’s so sweet.”
“Nice to hear the prodigal son’s returned home.”
They were ten feet away, but even from that distance I could sense the excitement sliding down Erica’s back. The name gave me the same honeyed feeling.
Thorn Grantham.
My heartbeat quickened and the burger nearly caught in my throat. I flared my nostrils and focused on Erica. Through the scent of fancy perfume and chemical-strength deodorant an underlying scent was there. Thorn was back. And Erica had likely tried to run her manicured fingernails all over him. Probably made a valiant attempt to rub herself against him too. Over the years, her stints at becoming Thorn’s groupie weren’t anything new to me.
I averted my eyes and finished my food. I had just seven minutes left in my lunch hour—and no time to waste sitting there staring at Erica.
By the time I left for work, she was long gone. As I stalked out of Archie’s, I caught the scent of Misty’s satisfaction as she cleared my table. Even though she always mistreated me and never cleaned up after her customers, I’d still left her a full tip.
I worked at the Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals called it, which was three blocks away from Archie’s. I didn’t mind walking over every day. The fresh air was good for my soul.
And maybe I would even see Thorn on the way to work. I had a feeling, though, that he would be back at the Granthams’ log cabin off in the woods—meeting with his father, the town’s abominable pack leader.
On the way back, a local organic farmer in overalls waved at me. “Have a good afternoon, Nat.”
“Same to you, Stanley.”
Every day after lunch he waved at me, and then, after I passed by, stared at my legs. I didn’t have any interest in sixty-year-old men—especially ones with pencil-skirt fetishes. But like the majority of humans in the world, he didn’t know that he was ogling a werewolf every day.
And perhaps he’d be even less inclined to act so friendly if he knew that werewolves weren’t the only strange thing lurking around here.
Eventually, I reached The Bends, a large, old building nestled between a parking lot and another flea market. But The Bends wasn’t just another flea market.
The Bends offered the best deals among the flea markets along the eastern seaboard. Bill was a great employer and all, but I was the brains of this operation. With a computerized inventory system and online store for our more expensive stock, we offered a level of service most flea markets—supernatural or otherwise—just couldn’t match.
Growing up as a natural-born werewolf, I’d been exposed to the supernatural world from the crib onward. It ranged from witches visiting for grade school sleepovers to band practice with the fairy folk. After selling all the strange things we had in the store, I suspected that even stranger things than crooked witch wands and haunted capes lurked around New Jersey to buy. If you checked the right places and had the enchanted eyesight to find them you had a chance. Of course, that left humans out of the mix.
I entered through the back, an outdoor area covered with a long, steel awning. During warmer weather, we sold more of our wares on the rows of tables out here. I headed inside the shop and dropped off my purse in the business office. The office was closed off from the shopping floor by a large set of wooden doors. Two minutes later, I was back in the mix—in the crowded main room, with a roomful of Saturday shoppers browsing the long aisles.
My boss approached me from the loading dock. “Hey, Nat, about time you got back. The harpy who bought that Victorian vase on Thursday is back. She said the merchandise had flaws.”
To regular folks, Bill looked like a tall, thin man with wire-framed glasses. To my eyes he resembled the cartoon character Dilbert—but to my nose he reeked of magic with a bitter tang of iron.
He was a goblin, entrenched in a glamour—an invisibility spell that hid his true appearance.
“Flaws? You’re kidding, right?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “She said something about scratches on the bottom.” He tilted his head to glance at the customer. “She’s upsetting the other patrons.”
Normally, I would have taken over for the other cashier so she could have lunch, but now that would have to wait. “I’ll handle it.” Like I always do.
As I walked over to the harpy, I first noticed another scent overpowering the haze of magic. The woman had doused herself in cheap vanilla perfume. Her flashy ensemble matched garish bright pink sandals with a beaded denim shirt and capri pants. Her platinum-blonde hair was stark against her penciled eyebrows. I stifled a laugh as I wondered what wildlife dwelled within her teased mane.
My irate customer wasn’t an ordinary woman. Under the guise of a heavily makeup-covered dame she lived day to day as a ghastly bird-like creature with sharp claws. She hid from human eyes using her magic. This whole encounter didn’t surprise me one bit. Along with the unfortunate circumstance of having a human head on a bird’s body, the poor thing had a name derived from the Greek word for “snatching stuff.”
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I bought this original 1889 Moser glass vase on Thursday.” She pushed the fragile vase into my hands. “I unwrapped it this morning to find my purchase scratched on the bottom. I paid a lot of money for that damn thing.”
“Scratched? That’s impossible. I wrapped this particular package before you picked it up.”
“Well, you don’t know how to handle expensive antiques then.” She shifted and put her hands on her hips. I could almost imagine black feathers rustling.
With a huff, she searched for Bill. “I asked to talk to the manager.”
I leaned forward. “I’m more than qualified. First of all, you bought an 1885 vase. I had our specialist catalogue it. And second, I don’t mishandle the merchandise.” I checked and sure enough the bottom was marred with scratches.
“Well, your staff is incompetent.”
“Incompetent? I handled and prepared your purchase—” I was just about to really begin my rant when the door swung open and Thorn Grantham entered the store. For half a second, I paused. The mere thought of him being in the store knocked me off-kilter.
At over six feet tall, he towered over the rest of our customers. His messy wheat-colored hair appeared windblown. The man was as attractive as I remembered him. He didn’t look in my direction, but before he turned his back to me, I caught the glint of his amber-colored irises. How many times had those eyes hypnotized me? My belly quivered slightly. From the back of the room at one of the computers, I continued to explain to the harpy how the staff, or should I say, how I meticulously catalogued everything on the computer.
“As you can see by these photographs and the time stamps on the front, your merchandise didn’t have scratches on it. Matter of fact,” I glanced briefly at Thorn’s back, “these scratch marks are rather tiny and resemble claw marks.”
Thorn finally turned in my direction—and winked at me. Damn, he’d seen me. Pleasure poured down my back, but still I continued my tirade against the cheapskate harpy who hoped to con my boss out of two hundred dollars.
The harpy hissed, “Are you trying to imply that I made those marks?” A swirl of dark magic floated around her and tickled my nose like black pepper.
I stifled a laugh. From across the room, I heard Thorn talking to Bill.
“I never thought I’d be taking over as pack alpha so soon,” Thorn said. “And I’d almost made a life for myself in San Diego. But with the Long Island pack closing in to take over the township and the forest, I’m afraid this whole area is in danger.”
The news was quite unexpected. I clamped down on my emotions, hiding them from both Thorn and the harpy. I couldn’t allow this crazy lady to rile up the wolf straining under my skin. “Would you like to look at the video cameras that record the packaging room? Perhaps we could show you the video of the packaging process?”
If the harpy were a teapot, steam would’ve shot out of her spout. She ignored the computer and continued to stare me down.
I hadn’t hunted in a long, long time. My skin burned at the possibility of a full-out fight. But my control was solid, unmoving. Like a caged animal, the hungry wolf inside whined as I whispered, “Either way, Mrs. Kite, there’s no evidence for a claim that The Bends is at fault. If you’d like to take this problem up with my manager, I’d be more than happy to call Bill over.”
Mrs. Kite smoothed her shirt and then gripped the denim with her claws. Claws that nearly ripped the thick material. “Like I said before, Wolf, I want to see the goblin. My problem is with him.”
The word “wolf” slithered off her tongue like a black warning. Still, I figured I was safe for now, even though I’d never tangled with a harpy before. In the middle of a store, with all these humans around, there’s no way she’d go all out—and risk ruining her bedazzled outfit.
“I’ll go fetch Bill. Just a moment, Mrs. Kite.”
I walked over to Bill, who was still chatting with Thorn. As I approached, my heels clicked on the linoleum floor. At first they kept pace with the rhythm of my heartbeat. But as I closed in on the two men, I could smell Thorn—he smelled of a warm summer breeze—and my heart sped up and my palms grew damp.
He said to Bill, “The Long Island pack’s getting squeezed for space by the Brooklyn pack, so you need to watch out.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you would’ve heard about the threat of an attack sooner or later. But you’re a friend of my family, so I thought I’d bring the information to you directly.”
Bill glanced at me briefly. “Yeah. Just another reason for me to pack up and leave this place. You werewolves always need to piss in someone else’s backyard.” Bill noticed the harpy in the back with her hands on her hips.
“I see our customer wasn’t satisfied with the anal filing system you developed.” He cursed under his breath. “I’ll catch you later, Thorn. I have to go stuff crazy into a can.”
Bill stalked away, leaving Thorn and me to stare at each other.
My breath caught in my throat when he said, “Hey, you.”
“Hey, you.” We used to greet each other that way five years ago. I thought I’d know what to say to him, but my brain locked up. All of a sudden everything in the room that needed my attention called out to me. The furniture against the west wall wasn’t lined up correctly. The vases on the fourth table were in a precarious position. Three kids with their preoccupied mother ran around a table full of lamps. I tried to ignore the loud thumps of my heart.
He took a step toward me. “You look good.”
Welcome back to Earth, Natalya.
“Nothing much has changed.”
“Oh, I can see it has. When I had left, you were on your way to becoming a hotshot New York content editor if I remember right?”
“That kind of fell apart.”
The job was perfect for someone like me. Content editors were the thorough souls who read over books and check to make sure everything is true. With my keen eye, and my neurotic tendency to remember everything, I ascended quickly up the business ladder. But after Thorn left, I just couldn’t cope with anything anymore, and receded into my own little world. And that was the end of my dream job.
His eyes bore into mine. “I’m sorry about that.”
I wanted to glance away in submission, but he held on to my gaze steadily, as he always did. Not in a battle for dominance, but in a dance of sorts, where he read my mind and caressed my soul. If I were a cat, I would’ve rolled onto my back and purred.
But then the door opened, and in came three werewolves to shit on my parade. Rex, accompanied by his two younger brothers, strolled over to Thorn and me.
“We got the supplies. You ready to head out?” he asked. As the eldest, Rex spoke for the other two as if they were mutes. I thought of it as a sign of their lack of intelligence. One of his brothers fingered the antiques while the other one stood with his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, just a moment. Go wait for me.”
With his dark eyes and attractive coal-black hair, Rex was Thorn’s dark mirror image in every way. Except for the need to dominate. For Thorn authority came naturally. Rex just tried it on like an oversized coat.
Rex turned to leave, but his eyes flitted in my direction. I averted mine immediately, but not in time. “You got a problem?” he asked.
“No,” I mumbled.
“Rex, go wait in the car.” Thorn’s growl rumbled in his chest as a warning.
When a wave of anger floated off Thorn, Rex backed away. My feet locked into place as my heart skipped a beat. Longtime rivals, the two men had always vied for dominance when we were growing up, but Thorn always emerged as the stronger one.
“It’s good to see you, Nat.” He touched my hand briefly and headed for the door.
As the men left, Rex barked, “We got fifteen minutes to get to the mill. What are you doing talking to her anyway? She’s not pack anymore.”
His words bit into my neck and slumped my shoulders. I’d heard them before, but it was worse knowing that Thorn had heard them. Now he knew I was living in South Toms River as a rogue werewolf.
For a brief second, for the first time in a long time, I had hope for something new and positive in my life.
But with the impeding attack from the Long Island werewolves, I knew things in South Toms River would go downhill—and I’d come tumbling after.
