The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

Concerned, Arden bounced off the couch to meet him from the opposite side of the house. Malik looked startled when Arden entered.

  “Oh, hey, man,” Malik said, opening the fridge and withdrawing a beer. “Want one?” Arden shook his head and then glanced up at the wooden cuckoo clock over the gas stove.

  “Uh… no… it’s nine-thirty in the morning, but thank you for offering. Is something wrong?” he asked slowly. Malik cracked the top and took a swig of his beer, finishing half the bottle. He wiped the back of his mouth and set it down on the counter.

  “We need to talk about something,” he replied, and Arden felt himself tense. He did not want to go another round with Malik. A part of him wished the agent would simply go back to Los Angeles and leave him in peace, but he hadn’t uttered his desire yet. It was going to take Malik time to adjust to the news of Arden’s retirement. He couldn’t throw him out yet.

  “Mal, I really don’t—”

  “If you’re serious about staying here, Arden, you need to do something about your security,” Malik interrupted. Startled, Arden looked at him. His mind went to the security footage of Gena Averson leaving his house.

  So it wasn’t Mal who gave the picture to Jespers. Someone has been on the property. I wonder if the girl sent the reporters over here for revenge. Arden didn’t think that to be a likely scenario, either, for he had not seen anyone suspicious, and the paparazzi were not known for their discretion. She also doesn’t seem like the time to be vindictive, Arden though quite arbitrarily. He scowled at himself. How could you possibly know that? You spent three minutes with the girl.

  He turned his focus back to the agent.

  “What happened?” he asked with concern, but Malik shook his head.

  “Nothing yet. But the paparazzi have followed that girl to her work and are camped out around her place all night, every night. It’s only a matter of time before they do the same to you. I’ll make some calls, but you should get a gate immediately.”

  Arden looked at the publicist, his heart beginning to thud with expectation. They have followed her to work, and they’re still at her house. Who’s protecting her? His mind filtered to his early days in Hollywood, when he had just been discovered and vetted by his first agent.

  The press had staked him out relentlessly, cornering him in bathrooms, following him when he rode in public transportation. There had been no reprieve from them. He had been somewhat prepared for the paparazzi, and yet he had still found their constant presence unnerving. Occasionally, some overzealous reporter would do some borderline criminal activity, scaring the hell out of him. This small-time girl who had only been minding her own business could not be faring well with the constant watching.

  Not your problem, he reminded himself callously. He had other things to worry about, none of them a vibrant, fiery woman.

  “I’ll call about getting a gate. Although you must admit, it’s going to look ostentatious around a property like this,” Arden commented, smirking at the thought of wrought iron surrounding the quaint farmhouse. Malik did not smile, his brow furrowing.

  “I would really prefer if you come back to Los Angeles,” he told the actor seriously. “If you insist on going into hiding, I recommend that you go somewhere new, somewhere where you haven’t been found. It’s only a matter of time before they are squatting on your property.”

  Arden shrugged indifferently, though his pulse began to race.

  “It isn’t anything I haven’t encountered before, Mal. I’ll get a few dogs,” he replied lightly. “It’s not a farm without animals, anyway, is it?”

  If the press ended up flocking over here, it completely defeated the purpose of coming to Apple Orchard. Malik was right; if that happened, he might as well start over somewhere new.

  He looked sadly around the old farmhouse. He had grown attached to the building in the short time since he had been there. He had always known he would put in an offer for the house, even before he had made the final decision to retire. He had contractors come and bring the old property up to code, adding two more bathrooms and updating the appliances. Looking about the large home, Arden knew with certainty that he did not want to give it up.

  It is going to take a crapload of reporters to uproot me from here. This is where I am meant to be. Something called me precisely here, and I’m not going to argue with fate. Idly, he wondered if fate’s name wasn’t Gena Averson.

  “No need for mass panic. This weird, unfounded story will fail eventually. I’m surprised it has gained as much steam as it has, considering it’s based on nothing.”

  Malik did not respond, rather picking up his phone and shoving it in his client’s face. “While I have you here, I should tell you that you have ten new offers.”

  Arden barely glanced at the emails and turned away. “Well, feel free to politely decline on my behalf,” he responded. “I’m retiring.”

  Malik clenched his fists to keep from yelling, reminding himself that Arden was fragile and therefore needed to be spoken to gently.

  “Maybe you should take on a job or two before you announce it formally,” he pressed, but Arden shook his head vehemently.

  “No. I’m done,” he insisted. “Stop asking me about it.” Malik threw his hands up, the phone flying across the room in the process. “That’s going to leave a scratch,” Arden commented lightly. Malik’s face had turned furious.

  As the agent had expected, the breaking news of Arden’s love affair had affected his numbers substantially. The press had inadvertently fed his ratings, pushing the call for Arden Morrow back on the screen to shrill proportions. It was almost more than Malik could bear, for his hands were tied without the actor’s consent to sign.

  There has to be a way to get him out of this funk, Malik thought woefully, but he had no answer. Arden’s stubbornness was clouding his ability to recognize how much detriment his little meltdown was causing everyone else. If he walks away, he’ll never be welcomed back the same way. I have to make sure he understands that before it’s too late.

  Malik’s mind drifted toward the girl, and he wondered if she might be the key to snapping him out of his unwarranted melancholy.

  8

  To say Gena was dead on her feet was an understatement. She could barely hold herself up as she stumbled through her shift. Counting down the minutes was just as painful as ignoring how slowly time seemed to be slipping by. Just a few more hours. She was almost there.

  She pushed her way through the double doors separating the two sections of the ICU, where she froze in her tracks and then impulsively turned to flee. Before she could disappear, however, a flash of light exploded in her face.

  Oh, my God! They are here! In the hospital! They finally crossed the line! As she retreated into the sanctuary of the Intensive Care Unit, she heard a nurse call for security. Gena began to hyperventilate, ducking into a supply closet. Anxiety overcame her, and she willed herself to breathe. It was just a fluke, renegade reporter, she told herself. It was bound to happen. I’m shocked it didn’t happen sooner. No harm done. Security will escort him off the property and hopefully have him arrested. He’ll be an example to the others.

  Steadying her breathing, she peeled herself off the rack and out the door. Her pager sounded, and she looked down. It was Nurse Barkley buzzing her emergency code.

  Swallowing, Gena headed toward the nurse’s station, keeping her head low. The whispers had become loud, obnoxious conversations now. No one cared if she heard the filthy rumors they spread about her—they were convinced she was the mistress of Arden Morrow. The newspapers said so; it must be accurate information, no matter how much Gena Averson protested.

  If that were true, Gena thought with increased bitterness. That’s not saying a lot about Arden as a sugar daddy. I’m still working twelve hour shifts in cheap, uncomfortable shoes and living in a rundown row house on Shearer Crescent. You would think that a man with his means would set up his girlfriend in a better situation.

  Gena approached the desk. Nurse
Barkley looked up sharply at her. Immediately, she rose to her feet and gestured for Gena to follow. They entered an unused patient room, and her superior shut the door with finality. Gena knew what was coming. It was no shock, but it did not stop her heart from pounding dangerously.

  News travels fast around here, she thought bitterly. She hadn’t even had a chance to reclaim her breath.

  “Gena, I don’t think this is working out,” Susan Barkley told her. Gena could read regret in her eyes. She didn’t have a response. Instead, she looked into her open, damp palms and willed herself not to cry. What did she think was going to happen? Of course they were going to fire her. She had brought mayhem into a hospital. No one was going to stand for that.

  As if reading her thoughts, Susan sighed heavily and continued her obviously prepared speech.

  They’ve been planning to let me go since this story broke, Gena thought, gritting her teeth. They were just waiting for the straw that broke the camel’s back, and this is it.

  “Gena, I’m sure you know what I’m about to say,” Nurse Barkley started, and Gena nodded miserably. “Your work started off excellent, but in the wake of this scandal, your attention to detail is suffering. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what happens if even a miniscule mistake is made in patient care. It can result in fatal errors, errors we simply cannot afford here at Hodgeson Memorial.”

  “Ma’am, the reporters have been sleeping outside my house,” Gena moaned, desperately thinking of any words which would alter the nurse’s decision to fire her. Barkley ambled to her side. She made a commiserating noise and patted her shoulder.

  “I know, Gena. I have no idea if what they are saying is true or not—”

  “It’s not!” Gena piped up passionately. “I swear it isn’t! This has just snowballed from nothing. Literally nothing!”

  The older nurse shook her head, indicating that the point was moot. “It doesn’t really affect me one way or another, Gena. What you do in your private life is none of my concern. However, when it spills into the hospital, well, you’re a smart girl. I don’t need to explain that we can’t have screaming reporters in the ICU.”

  The lump in Gena’s throat was making it difficult for her to breathe. The tears could not be stopped from flowing.

  “Please,” she whispered. “This is not something I’m doing! It is completely beyond my control. If I could stop it, I would! Please don’t fire me. They will go away soon!” Even as she spoke, Gena knew she was lying. It was never going to end. Never. Or at least that was how she felt in those moments.

  Again, Susan sighed and turned for the door. “Perhaps after this chaos has disappeared, I will speak with the board about having you reinstated. But until then, I am afraid I have no choice in the matter.”

  The head nurse hurried from the room as if she feared the histrionics which might ensue, leaving Gena to stare blankly after her, tears slipping down her cheeks. What was she going to do now?

  With a heavy, devastated heart, Gena shuffled back out of the office and down the corridor, her head lowered so she wouldn’t catch the eye of any of her co-workers. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she snatched her purse out from behind the nurse’s station and hurried back down the hall, but her legs seemed to stop her halfway down the corridor.

  The paparazzi would be waiting for her outside, and Gena wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her composure. I can’t go out there yet. I can’t stay here.

  She was starting to hyperventilate to the point where Gena thought her lungs might explode, and before she could consider where her legs were taking her, she found herself inside Millie Aldwin’s room. To her shock, the old woman was awake, her eyes open as she stared directly at the ceiling. Unable to contain herself, Gena slid the glass door and dissolved into a puddle of tears. Millie didn’t turn her head even slightly to look in her direction, and somehow, Gena was comforted by that.

  At least she’s not witnessing my humiliation. Still, after Gena gained control of herself, she sniffled and wiped her eyes apologetically.

  “I’m sorry, Millie,” she murmured. “I’m glad to see you awake. I’ve wanted to see what color your eyes are since I started, and now look at me.” Gena neared the bed and smiled tentatively, reaching out a hand to touch Millie’s. A current of unexpected energy shot through her hand, but Gena didn’t draw away, her eyes widening as Millie’s eyes came into focus.

  “Millie?” Gena choked, hope filling her chest. “Can you hear me?”

  “He’s coming,” Millie breathed, her face devoid of expression. “You must leave.”

  Confusion overtook Gena as she stared at the old woman, but before she could respond, the sliding doors opened. Gena whirled, guilt flooding her when a doctor entered, looking at a chart in his hands. Alarm prickled through Gena, although she wasn’t immediately clear on why.

  “Are you family?” the physician asked curtly without looking up from the form he was reading. Gena started to shake her head, hastily wiping away the last of her tears. Then she froze, realizing what it was about the eerily handsome man which bothered her.

  Doctors don’t use clipboards. We have tablets. Gena didn’t recognize the doctor. She’d been at the small hospital long enough to recognize everyone by then.

  She looked at Millie, but the woman had closed her eyes again. Gena’s fingers tightened around the frail hand of the patient.

  “Yes,” Gena said. “I’m her granddaughter.”

  The “doctor” looked up, interest lighting his face, but as he sized her up, the light extinguished from his crystalline blue eyes, and he snorted.

  “No, you’re not,” he retorted. Gena felt a flash of panic.

  “How do you know?” she demanded as he ambled closer. At her hand, she felt a burst of heat, and suddenly, Gena was overcome with a heady feeling that she didn’t understand.

  Adrenaline, she thought, but she knew it was something more than that. Millie seemed to be emanating something into her skin.

  “Step aside,” the fake doctor instructed. “You can wait outside until I’m finished.”

  Millie’s only words echoed through Gena’s head in a wave. “He’s coming. You must leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Gena said firmly. Even though the icy stare seemed to freeze her in place, she held fast to her stance and returned his gaze. “Whatever you need to do, do it with me here.” She eyed the nurse’s call button through her peripheral vision.

  “Suit yourself,” he replied, and Gena watched him lunge forward in horror, his teeth baring as he moved. In a traumatized haze, the stranger’s face seemed to contort into a demonic mask, his teeth silver and gnashing, lunging for Millie’s neck.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Gena threw herself over the old woman’s legs and instantly regretted her actions when the slice of razor sharpness sank into her jugular.

  The doctor hissed, pulling back as Gena gaped up at him in shock. For a paralyzing moment, the two stared at one another, until Gena broke the spell and kicked at the call button, blood dripping along her neck.

  “You bitch!” the demon hissed, his face undoubtedly a sneer of fury. “Get out of my way!” He pounced again, baring his teeth, but Gena kicked upward, feeling a wave of dizziness overcome her. The beast fell back as the sliding doors opened, and suddenly, two nurses stood watching the scene in shock.

  The being howled in discontent but must have felt outnumbered. Without a third attempt, he flew through the halls, leaving Gena in a simpering pool of blood.

  “GENA!” one of the nurses choked, rushing toward her. Gena clamped her hand over the wound in her neck and pushed herself off the bed. From somewhere primitive, she knew she needed to get out of the hospital. She had to move, and now. The press was watching her.

  Her thoughts were muddled as she managed to stumble past the nurses, even though they tried to stop her. She was determined to escape. The last thing she needed was the press calling her not only a whore, but crazy, too.

 
I was right, Gena thought, fumbling down the cement stairs and into the parking garage. This is never going to end. In fact, I think this nightmare is just beginning.

  9

  “Oh, this girl is a hot mess!” Shari squealed gleefully. “And look, she has daddy issues, too!”

  There was no one in the room to hear her chortling, but as she continued to search the background on Gena Averson, she found herself becoming more excited. No wonder Arden Morrow wanted to keep his love affair with her hidden. But nothing stayed hidden from her for very long.

  Gena Averson had been born and raised in Apple Orchard by her parents, Andrea and Dean Averson. She had been a moody child, barely passing high school and surprising everyone when she applied for nursing school. It had remained a great mystery how she had been accepted, given her poor academic record. But it was what happened in those formative years which had Shari’s eyes lighting up like a Jack-o’-lantern on Halloween night.

  I have my suspicions on how a girl with bad grades could woo her way into college, Shari thought smugly. A girl who hooks up with a movie star in her shabby house probably doesn’t have many qualms about doing whatever needs to get done.

  She made a mental note to investigate that aspect of Gena Averson later. First, however, she was trying to determine how long she and Arden had been together. His relationship with Leona Davis had ended quite abruptly. Shari wondered if Gena was the reason behind that. She intended to find out.

  “Brandon, do you have a number for Marley Silver?” she barked into the intercom.

  “The agent, ma’am?” came Brandon’s monotonous reply.

  “Who else?” she snapped back. “Do you know another Marley Silver?”

  “No, Ms. Jespers. Yes, I have a number for her.”

  “Give it to me.” She scrawled the digits onto the pad and disconnected from her assistant, scowling at his tone. She would have fired the kid months ago if he wasn’t such a brilliant investigator. The word “can’t” did not exist in his vocabulary. Any time Shari asked for anything, it was always just at Brandon’s fingertips. She often wondered if he aspired to be her protégé.