This story takes place seven months before Coveted begins.
The bid button on auction websites was an evil mistress that I’d love to drop. Whether their font was bold, cursive, or some other customer-grabbing style, those auctions snagged me each and every time. They also made me a promise. All I had to do to add to my ever-growing collection of trinkets was periodically press on my mouse like a junkie pining for the next fix. The only way to stop me from drying up my bank account with repeated bids was the satisfaction of seeing my username, NatalyaStravinsky, as the highest bidder.
Thankfully, with a high-speed Internet connection and quick-moving fingers, I collected my latest prize: A haunted Victorian figurine from the 1800s that a woman had once used to off her philandering husband. Cast in bronze with a perfect sheen, it was ideal for either inducing blunt force trauma or as a centerpiece for an end table.
That last auction I won ended five days ago, and I knew my winnings were due to arrive today. I’d taken the afternoon off work and drove slightly over the speed limit down Garden State Parkway. Along the way, I berated every slow-driving citizen of South Toms River, New Jersey. Didn’t they know my prized package was waiting on my doorstep?
Anticipation tingled down my arms as I drove up my long driveway to my cottage. On any other day, I would’ve admired all the hard work I’d done to prepare the flowerbeds along the road. Or even the fragrant flowers that had recently blossomed below the dogwood tree near the house. No, what caught my eye was my doorstep.
My box was missing.
My nose, quite keen even for a werewolf, told me that no one had been here since I left the cottage. And I knew the deliveryman’s aftershave-laden scent too well. Since I lived right outside of town there were no neighbors to consider. No one had taken it from the house.
A sane person might track the package online or call the delivery truck. Since I ordered so much from the Home Shopping Network, the deliveryman—James—knew me by name and was also aware of how twitchy I became if a package didn’t arrive on time.
Instead of calling him—I’d show some self-control for at least five minutes—I focused on my prize and waited patiently. Two minutes later, I caved and my smartphone told me the obvious: PACKAGE DROPPED OFF. SIGNATURE RETRIEVED AT 10:50 A.M.
Naturally, as I clutched the phone tight enough to crush it, my first thought was by whom. Especially since I lived alone and didn’t expect any friends—you needed to have some in the first place—to come by and pick it up.
My fingers trembled as I dialed James’ cell phone. With each ring, my heartbeat thundered, leaving me bitter that it took so long to connect. After the fourth one, James finally answered.
“Hey! You like your gift?” His gruff voice always sounded cheerful during the spring time. He was less cordial when snow was piled on the walkway.
“Gift? I just got home.”
He laughed softly. “So you’re telling me you forgot you met me at the mailbox this morning?”
If a heart defibrillator had been nearby, I would’ve jolted myself with the damn thing.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, c’mon,” he jested. “You were standing by the side of the road. It was rather nice of you, by the way, instead of forcing me to drive up your long driveway. At first, I was kinda surprised since you looked so unusual.”
My voice came out higher-pitched than usual. “In what way?”
As a human, James didn’t know about the world of supernatural creatures around him. Surely, the most he knew about werewolves were from what he’d seen on TV or in books.
“Usually, you’re so dressed up, but you were in jeans for once. You should wear them more often.”
His voice faded as the phone dropped out of my hand. I could still hear him, but that didn’t matter anymore. Someone, looking just like me, had taken my package. My fingertips brushed against my blouse and pencil skirt. They were clean, of course—even after a few hours of work. My standard uniform. Since I wore the same set of clothes every day, anything off from my routine should’ve stood out to someone like James.
Which led me to my super genius moment: I’d been robbed in broad daylight.
I barely remembered how I ended my call with James, maybe I’d mumbled thanks or something, but I did recall racing down my driveway—in low-heels and all—to reach the road. My gaze quickly went to the ground. Then my nose went to the air. All the clues should be here waiting for me.
While I scanned the grass and surrounding tree line, my brain chewed on ideas. I paced back and forth, trying to wrap my head around what could’ve happened. A small branch broke in the distance, drawing my eye—but it was nothing but a large bird. The whole forest had a bunch of wildlife. Even the fragrant pine and ash trees would’ve been a delight to visitors, but to me they were an olfactory distraction.
As I walked, I approached a familiar large rock. The sight of it stirred memories in my mind. The dark gray stone—about the size of a head—reminded me of the “for sale” sign that had leaned against it five years ago. The grass had been overgrown back then, but I’d ignored it. At the time, I’d been steadfast for a new start. That included a new job as a clerk at the Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals called it. I worked day-to-day for a goblin boss named Bill, selling antiques to finicky supernatural creatures along the Parkway.
All of those things, including my new home, were a way to forget about the man who haunted my past.
The task at hand attacked me like a horsefly. Dwelling on what I did with my life after I got kicked out of the pack wouldn’t help me find the package.
First of all, whoever did this knew I’d been expecting a package. Second, it had to be a supernatural, someone with the ability to alter how they looked. A glamour, or appearance-altering spell, could be thrown about by most forest-dwelling creatures such as brownies, goblins, and the like. Sure, those magical troublemakers operated businesses around here, but a few of them made mischief whenever possible.
All of this meant another werewolf didn’t do this. A lingering scent confirmed my suspicions. It flowed around my nose, damp and heavy like rich moss sprinkled with a metallic smell. A distinct one at that. A pair of tracks revealed someone with tennis shoes. My size, no doubt. Whoever did this had waited in the grass by the road and strolled right up to it. From there, the shoes walked twenty feet and then somehow shrank down a bit. The trail led southward.
For a split-second, I was tempted to discard my shoes and track them on foot. That’s what any other werewolf would do. But I didn’t operate that way, nor would I even entertain that idea, no matter how much I wanted that box. The very idea of ruining my pantyhose was enough to make me get in my car. With my options limited, I rolled down the window and hoped my prey wasn’t far away.
