Wild Shadow : A Sweet Paranormal Romance

by Martha Dunlop

  Also by Martha Dunlop

  The Starfolk Arcana, book 1 of The Starfolk Trilogy

  Coming later in 2021 - Starfolk Falling, book 2 of The Starfolk Trilogy

  Wild Shadow

  Martha Dunlop

  Copyright © 2021 Martha Dunlop

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Martha Dunlop to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission from the publishers.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by the way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that, in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Produced and published in February 2021 by TanLea Books, tanleabooks.com.

  ISBN 978-1-913788-04-9 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-913788-05-6 (ebook)

  Cover design by Ravven, www.ravven.com

  Edited by Kathryn Cottam,

  Copy edited by Eleanor Leese, www.eleanorleese.com

  www.marthadunlop.com

  For my Parents,

  thank you for your never-ending support.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  Letter from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Starfolk Trilogy

  1

  Dylan

  The barn owl screeched as it landed on a tree beside the removal van. It fluffed its wings and peered into the open door of the small, grey stone cottage. ‘Well, I’ll be …’ Dylan tailed off. He stopped walking and smiled. The owl settled onto the branch, apparently unconcerned by the sway of the perch in the blustery wind and turned its head impossibly far around to look at him.

  The man unloading furniture from the lorry in front of the house stopped beneath the branches and looked up into the tree, shielding his eyes from the bright, autumn sunshine. ‘Is it normal to see owls in the middle of the day?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dylan shrugged. ‘But I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen a single owl before, day or night.’

  ‘It’s not normal, as such, but it happens,’ a woman’s voice said.

  The two men spun around. The woman leaning against the doorframe had arrived so silently she seemed to have come from nowhere. Her long hair shone copper in the chilly sunshine, the tresses glossy, curling into ringlets at the ends. She was framed by the spread of dark-green leaves that claimed the stone cottage back into nature. In the summer it would be ablaze with pink roses. Right now, it was hunkering down, a reminder of the bad weather to come.

  Dylan caught his breath and shifted so he was sheltered by the hedge that bordered the cottage. She looked ethereal in her wide-leg trousers, clutched in at the ankle. A top with spaghetti straps that spread across her shoulders like a web, stopped just above the red stone that glinted in her belly button surrounded by pale skin and taut, flat muscle. Even her slender arms and shoulders were sculpted and well-defined. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She held all the grace, power and beauty of a predator.

  The removal man nodded towards her. ‘Sorry, miss. I didn’t see you there. Any chance of a cuppa?’

  She laughed, and the sound was deeper than Dylan expected. ‘If you can find the box with the kettle, I’ll make you one.’

  ‘Well there’s an incentive to get back to work if ever I heard one.’ The removal man chuckled. He looked up at the owl, and then went back to the van for another box.

  When Dylan turned back to the woman, she was gone. He took a ragged breath. Why had he been so thrown? What was wrong with him? He walked through the wooden gate and up the paved path to the front door of the cottage. The lawn was over-long and weeds filled the flowerbeds. He knocked. There was no answer. He looked through the front windows into a room that was filled with boxes. They were piled one on top of the other and arranged in rows. Just one box had been opened and an easel was set up in front of the window. Paints, brushes and sponges were spread over every available surface.

  Dylan knocked again on the open front door. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

  Nobody answered. Only the sound of a meow broke the silence. He looked around for a cat but didn’t see one. He shrugged. ‘My name’s Dylan, I just popped by to welcome you to Wildley Forest Village,’ he tried again. Nothing. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back up the path. ‘Do you know her name?’ he asked the removal man, who was headed back to the cottage with an armful of boxes.

  The man laughed. ‘You too, eh? Tabitha, she told me. That’s all I know. I wouldn’t mind knowing more, but she’s a private one, that’s for certain. Maybe if I looked like you, she’d welcome me in and spill the beans. As it is …’ He chuckled.

  Dylan smiled, not sure what to say to that. He nodded to the man and walked away. He knew the owl was still behind him and noticed the silence of the other birds as he made his way down the road for his shift at the café in the centre of Wildley Forest. There was another meow. He stopped. A white, long-haired cat with black tiger stripes watched him from beside the rose bushes, head tilted to one side. He bent down, holding out one hand. The cat walked over and snaked around his ankles, rubbing its body against his legs.

  ‘Aren’t you the pretty one,’ he said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. Straightening up, he looked back at the house. The removal man was headed to the van for another load of boxes. Dylan shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he should care where the woman had gone, but he saw her face so strongly in his mind’s eye, and he had a weird conviction that she was watching him i
n return.

  TABITHA

  Tabitha leaned against the wall and peered out through the window.

  She had no idea why she was still watching. He was too perfect. His blond hair was carefully messy, his stubble well-intentioned. His jeans were both faded and immaculate, and his shirt was smartly buttoned under a fitted black jacket. He looked like he belonged in a romantic comedy.

  She looked around her new room. To her, it was heaven. To him it would be a mess. There were boxes everywhere, as well as paints, easels, paper, pencils and a huge pile of paintings. Most people her age were out socialising. Tabitha spent her time in her studio, painting the tigers at the zoo or putting on her work face and attending art events. Her reputation as a reclusive artist was her armour. Men like that guy just didn’t understand her differentness.

  She smiled when he walked up to the door, but ignored his knock. Shifting further out of sight, she held her breath while he peered in at the window. Talking to him outside had been a mistake. She wasn’t ready to meet the locals.

  He knocked again.

  ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ His voice was deep and resonant. She wondered if he sang. She held her breath, not saying anything.

  ‘My name’s Dylan. I just wanted to welcome you to Wildley Forest Village.’

  Silence. He turned and walked back up the path.

  ‘What am I doing?’ she muttered. ‘I’ve completely lost the plot, hiding in my own front room.’

  Emily meowed and rubbed up against her legs.

  ‘You can’t go out now,’ Tabitha said, leaning down to stroke the silky white-and-black fur. We’ve just moved in.’

  Emily tilted her head.

  ‘I don’t want you to get lost.’ Tabitha frowned.

  Emily ran over to the door and meowed again.

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, but please, prove I can trust you to remember your way home and not run off, or end up underneath a car.’

  Tabitha opened the door and stepped back, allowing Emily to slip through the gap. It clicked shut after her and Tabitha sighed, adjusting her position and watching the cat pad up the path. The man was walking slowly towards the village, but Emily caught up with him. He reached down to stroke her. Tabitha wondered whether the cat was purring when she rubbed her ears against his leg as though he was one of her people. Emily had never been unfriendly, but she kept her distance. She trusted Tabitha, protected Tabitha, adored Tabitha. No one else mattered.

  Watching Emily love this man, Tabitha felt oddly jealous. She clearly needed to socialise more. She shook her head. ‘Enough of this,’ she said out loud.

  She went back into the main room and surveyed the space. She loved this room. She loved it so much she had given up a much larger house in favour of the tiny stone cottage. This room would be her gallery. It wasn’t the ultra-modern, airy space her work was usually displayed in. Instead it had an organic feel that matched the impressionistic wildlife that inhabited her paintings. There would be tigers everywhere. She would have an easel over to one side so she could paint while people browsed, and a kettle in the small room at the back so she could offer her customers a hot drink in the winter.

  There was a thump as Emily jumped in through the window and padded over to Tabitha. She purred as Tabitha crouched down. ‘What do you think, Emily? Have we found somewhere good to settle?’

  Emily padded over to the closest box, jumped inside, turned around a few times and then curled up and went to sleep.

  ‘Well, I guess that’s a yes,’ Tabitha said with a chuckle.

  She ignored the hum in the air that she had learned to recognise as a forerunner to change. Picking up the instructions for the first shelving unit, she frowned at the tiny, imperfect pictures, pretending she couldn’t hear the annoying sound. Moving house had been enough. She wasn’t ready for more upheaval.

  2

  Dylan

  ‘I can’t get used to you turning up to rehearse in your work clothes.’ GJ adjusted his guitar and rolled his eyes as Dylan shrugged off his smart coat and laid it over the back of a chair. ‘You’re not seriously going to perform like that, are you?’

  There was a chill in the pub’s back room and the stench of its damp dinginess was even more overpowering than usual. Dylan sighed. ‘It’s always about the clothes with you, isn’t it? Has it ever occurred to you that your vision for the band’s look might not be the only thing going on in our lives?’

  GJ bounced out of his chair and plugged his guitar into the amp, cranking up the volume. ‘It’s not just about the music, you know. Only bands that look right make it big.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Mum promised she’d bring my gear over since I was coming straight from work. Now, can we play? I’d really like to warm up before going on stage.’

  ‘You’re snarky today.’ Linden laughed, rubbing a smudge off his bass. He took a gulp of beer. What’s going on to give you such a wedgie?’

  ‘Never mind that. Let’s do this.’ Dylan grabbed a set of drumsticks from the top of the upright piano in the corner of the room and strode over to sit behind the kit. His foot tapped as he ran through the tunes in his head. He stretched out his shoulders and neck and did a drum roll. Linden grinned, picking out a bass line and Dylan fell into rhythm with him. Fingerpicking the intro over the top, GJ’s body was loose as he moved in time to the backing. When the voice came, it cut through the emotional heartbeat with a clarity that sent shivers down Dylan’s spine. Linden irritated the hell out of him, but his voice was incredible. Linden winked at him, soaking up the appreciation. GJ smiled and sank deeper into his knees. Dylan nodded in time with the music as Linden’s voice soared and swooped, carrying him over the waves of emotion he was never able put into words.

  As the song ended, a familiar voice rose over the top, clapping and shouting. Dylan grinned and did another drum roll.

  ‘Sounding great, boys.’ Dylan’s mum manoeuvred her electric wheelchair through the doorway of the practise room and down the ramp. She beamed.

  ‘Rachel!’ GJ stretched his arms wide and strode over, bending to kiss her cheek. ‘These are spectacular,’ he said, fingering the brightly coloured filigree butterflies that rose on tall stalks from the back of her wheelchair. ‘Where did you get them?’

  She laughed, flushing slightly as he sat down next to her and crossed his legs, facing her. ‘A friend made them for me. Aren’t they pretty? How’s that new boyfriend, GJ?’

  GJ grimaced. ‘He’s gone. I’ll tell you all about it over a drink later.’

  ‘Come here,’ Rachel spread her arms and he leaned in, laying his cheek against hers.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll always have you guys? Right?’ GJ pulled back with a grin.

  ‘Right.’ Rachel beamed. ‘And your adoring audience.’

  Dylan walked over and Rachel tapped her cheek for a kiss.

  He crouched down and kissed her on the end of her nose. Then he touched his cheek to hers.

  ‘Your gig clothes are in the bag.’ She smiled and inclined her head towards the back of the chair.

  ‘Thanks for bringing my stuff, Mum.’ He unhooked the bag and rifled through the clothes.

  ‘No problem. You make yourself pretty. I don’t know how you can bear wearing those beach clothes when it’s so cold, but who am I to say.’ She winked and pulled her woollen wrap closer round her shoulders. ‘They’re not beach clothes, Mum,’ she said, putting on a deep voice that was impressively similar to Dylan’s.

  Dylan laughed. ‘I know, I know, but it’s boiling up there, particularly when the beat gets physical.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Go and get changed. I’ll claim my space at the bar before the place gets busy. Are you ready to go?’

  ‘We certainly are.’ Linden strode over and kissed Rachel’s hand. We’re always ready, Mrs McKenzie. GJ and I will move Dylan’s kit through to the stage while he changes.’

  ‘Is there any point in me reminding you to call me Rachel?’

  ‘Nope, I can’t switch now. Doesn’t mat
ter how old I get.’

  ‘I’m sorry …’ A musical voice came from the door.

  Dylan looked around and his breath caught. The woman from the cottage leaned against the doorframe, smiling. Her eyes were bright and her long, pale-copper hair was looped over one shoulder in a loose plait. She had changed since he saw her this morning, swapping her loose trousers for a sheer, floaty dress over a vest top, leggings and Doc Martens.

  She held up a poster. It was an advert for their band, Instantaneous Rock. There was a rip in one corner and a piece of Sellotape hung from another. Dylan had stuck the posters on all the lampposts along the main street a couple of days ago. He vaguely wondered which one this was.

  ‘I’m looking for the gig?’ she said, turning from Rachel to Dylan. ‘I’m new so I’m not sure where I’m going.’