Avalon Expandable Heart: The Wild Heart Series

by Shantelle McKinnon

  AVALON

  ✽✽✽

  By Shantelle McKinnon

  Copyright © 2020 Shantelle McKinnon

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798560703448

  Imprint: Independently published

  DEDICATION

  To all the people out there that love their horses and do everything to stop them struggling and to all those people that pick up the pieces of those who don’t.

  COVER INFORMATION

  “Andromeda”

  There are many organisations in countries around the world that desperately needing funding and support to continue their amazing efforts at saving and rehabiliting horses. The photos on the cover are from an organisation called Heart of Phoenix (HOP) (https://www.wvhorserescue.org/about/) who took the images within the first period of rescuing this beautiful horse who I imagine to be very much like Outlaw.

  HOP have the mission statement ‘To Save as Many Horses as possible by rehabbing adoptable horses and finding them the right homes’. To date 400 horses have been saved, this from a time when there were no active organisations to assist horses in need. HOP assist counties’ animal control & law enforcement officers, teach the public and have become leaders in the equine industry creating lasting, positive change. Like many rescue organisations they see the potential in recused horses and hope that with education fewer horses will find themselves in sorry situations.

  Please search for a local rescue organistion in your area.

  MONSTERS

  Avalon

  His eyes green eyes flick my direction and widen like he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing down here. I get myself comfortable like I meant to have just plopped down to get all comfy and listen, that falling down like a huge freaked out dork at the sound of his voice was totally not what happened.

  I smile up at him, encouragingly. I hope my eagerness to hear his voice again isn’t so obvious as the flashing billboard I feel almost pulsing ‘TALK’ on my forehead.

  He doesn’t smile back at me. His face is grim and stark. Focused. Angry. It’s everything and anything but friendly.

  After a few minutes, my eyes leave his face to wander over his body again, its curves and angles highlighted in all good ways by the flickering flames. I muse over the stories written in plain sight on his golden skin and visualise stumbling across the very first one, maybe then I would have a chance to unravel them. Unravel him.

  Time ticks by. Did I imagine his voice? Did I imagine the Mooves, the truck, the roses? Because how he is right now, wherever he is right now, those thoughts would never have been able to blossom, let alone bud. Well, I’m pretty sure there are no flowers in hell unless they are of the vicious carnivorous type born in horror movies. I would love to get my hands on one and place it near a feral pig track! I get lost in that thought – the whole thing, right up until the flower dribbles pig juice. He suddenly moves, rubs his hands over his face repeatedly, then turns squarely to pin me with his green gaze. His fists clench and relax, clench and relax.

  “This is all your fault you know?” he huffs. His tone is not hostile like his body, it’s more, well, exasperated. Overwhelmed. Lost.

  Either way, say what?

  “What part is my fault? That I’m apparently really stalkable, that my conversations are so insanely interesting that you had to eavesdrop on them in the dark, or is it due to my photography and petal placement skills that you have now obtained an unnatural obsession for naked older ladies and were actually loitering to catch a glimpse of some bosom? Just which one am I responsible for?” I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows at him. I’ve never been particularly adept at accepting fault but most of all, I just want to knock him sideways from this foreboding path he’s treading.

  He mimics my body language, biceps bunching, but tilts his head to the side with this expression that Frank would be jealous of. I’m jealous of it. I picture using it on Dad and him quivering and stuff.

  “No! That I realised I don’t have a goddamn fear, that I’m bloody riddled with them,” he growls at last and kicks the sand with his foot, reminding me of Nathan when he goes agro after a discovery about himself that takes a while to sit well inside of him.

  These discoveries I have found are generally only hideous to the owner, as if they instantly brand us a mutant that will never be loved or accepted if anybody knew that we possessed them. Like before, when I told my fear, I wondered why it sounded so terrible before I said it, but now it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Well, it does, but it doesn’t as well. If I’m really honest, I’m raw but healing. Like a soggy, dam soaked sore drying up in the sun.

  “Well, where’s my thank you banner then?” I stand up tall showing him that I’m not intimidated by the aggression radiating from his tense body. “It should say ‘Thank you to the amazing Avalon Smith, for showing me I am a human. YAY’. If you need a hint, that is, it should be in sparkly letters too and about twenty foot long. I’d be content with that.” I grin at him because he wavered slightly but... Noah is not in a playful mood, not in a bantering mood, not in a good mood at all. Which is fine, I was a bit narky before I finally aired my ‘laundry’. Matilda gets stroppy before doing the actual laundry at home, grumbling as she goes searching in everyone’s rooms. Daryl hates it when she doesn’t find enough in mine. Once he even gave me a talk on the appropriate rate of rotation for underwear.

  Something dark is pulsating within Noah, poisoning him. He needs to lance it. He’s has about ten seconds to start, or I will begin pestering it until it pops. He stares at me, that something swelling by the second.

  “You got the bra on, sister, you only get to take it off when you burn it with your fear,” I smirk, pushing his buttons. I’ve seen people at these moments. They are pivotal. Hell, I’ve been at them. One voice inside urges you to do it, another is whispering desperately that you shouldn’t, along with all the compelling reasons why. If he walks away, he will never do it, that second voice will win, and he will hate himself and regret this moment for the rest of his life. Plus, I’ll admit, I’m nosey and desperate to know.

  I could be all motherly like and try to baby it out of him but that’s not me and he doesn’t need mothering. “Mate, I only bought so much wood and just a heads up, I will follow you to the ends of the earth to make sure you wear that bikini top until you spill it. You obviously heard mine. Fair’s fair, princess.”

  He huffs and gives me a droll look, without moving seemingly growing another foot to tower over me, but there it is; the resolve back in those eyes. His mouth works though he seems to have trouble talking again.

  So close yet so far.

  I put my thinking cap on. How to get a fear open? It was way easier before because everyone did it... bar Seth, who appeared on the precipice. Sam said his mum called him or something. She probably peered down on the beach and practically had a coronary. It’s probably not a professional way to do this stuff, but it works. And that should be all that matters.

  One memory grabs my interest, the girl in the tattoo shop that touched him. He hated it, detested being touched. I’ve touched him but not like that, the way she did. I’m not sure I could pull off the Foxie eyes or even if I want to.

  Once, I actually tried to be sexy, it was a disaster. Nathan practically drowned in the torrential waterfall of tears billowing out of his eyes from his fit of uncontrollable laughter. Stupid parodies, great idea, Dell. Not. Although... a pearl... hmmm.

  Righto then, no sexy eyes tonight or I could be adding another terror to his list. I’ll just be me and I’ll harass him until he pops.

  I walk right up until I’m standing in front of him, h
e looks down at me warily. I smile up at him, he frowns.

  My arm raises, he watches its movement, reminding me of the conjured-up stallion I compared him to in the tattoo shop. He still is that horse just more... more what? Interested? Willing? I let my hand fall on his bicep, it flexes immediately under my hand. Nice and hard.

  And trembly. I raise my eyes to his and search for some sign this will work. His apple-skin coloured orbs seem to drink in my features, and I find my heart flounder before picking up speed.

  Only his eyes move, twinkling darkly with the firelight. There’s a lot of pain in their depths.

  I raise my other hand and put it on his chest, his breathing sounds heavier and I can feel him shaking under my hand.

  A certain awkwardness tinges my whole being because my fingers are trying to wrestle for the permission to move off the triangle of material and trail over his smooth skin. Our eyes meet.

  He’s definitely breathing heavier now, and my heart is racing like I’m Demon Fury on the home turn with the whole of Australia backing me.

  The awkward stakes rocket sky high now as my fingers’ demand to trace over his skin but that whole feeling seems kind of tame compared to what some other parts of my body are readying for. Shit! Don’t look at his lips, Avalon. Boobs stop tingling!

  “Av, please… don’t,” his voice is husky and low but is saturated with a warning. My cheeks catch fire, did he read my mind, did that thought just show in my eyes? Or worse, I’ve got no bra on. It’s probably a dangerous place to be let alone push his limit that way.

  “Don’t what?” I ask. I give in moving my hand down his arm like I’m feeling a horse’s leg. Soft but firm. He quivers. At least I’m not, I’m back on the job. Focused.

  “Stop it,” he manages to get some words through his gritted teeth. I’m impressed. At myself.

  “Okay,” I smile up at him again, trying for a smile that will distract him for two seconds. It works, and just as he breathes a sigh of relief at the fall of my hands from his body, I leap up and monkey myself to him. Wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his waist like he is the last tree standing in a flash flood. “Is this better?”

  His body answers with tremors, every muscle in his body is at war with being touched. He doesn’t make any move to peg me off though, it’s like he’s doing everything in his power to not harm me, which is what I was banking on. I think back to when I hugged him at his club thingy joint, it was probably so sudden he didn’t have time to react, now he’s able to process it I wonder what he’s thinking.

  I start envisioning what he would have done if I kissed him. What a memory it would have been considering, firstly, I would have had to construct a mega sandcastle to stand upon to reach his lips and then to finish the whole thing off with a bang I would have probably been pegged into the fire.

  I imagine my conversation with Nathan, ‘Umm, yeah, so I’m in the hospital, third-degree burns. Nothing too serious. What? How? First, I took my bra off and burnt it in a wild bonfire of fear with about eleven semi-naked old chooks and then this guy came down that really did not want to be touched. So, haha, I got this crazy urge, built a sandcastle deadset in front of him and yup, kissed him. He was obviously overwhelmed by my pashing skills and threw me off into the giant fire in a fit of overpowering passion. Great night, how’s Frank?’

  I sneak a peek at those lips, flattened in a grim line. Part of me thinks it would have been worth it just to see his face and hear Nathan go off his rocker.

  Kissing skills is a joke. I’ve never kissed any human person, except like on the cheek or whatever, I’m not sure if the whole deal is what they make it out to be.

  Minutes pass as I try to forget my stupid ‘ovulating’ thoughts, I actually can’t believe I’m consumed with them in this serious situation. I mean, Noah is here clearly battling to even speak one word of his internal battles and I’m here mesmerised by his lips, eyes roving like I’ve stepped off a Navy ship that’s been at sea for ten years. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe getting the whole Cayden thing out of my system opened some kind of weird floodgate.

  I thank God how lucky I am to ride so much that I can hold on to this statue of a boy though. And Nathan too, I guess. I better thank him.

  Nathan wanted me and him to go in a gameshow thing once. ‘It’s a Knockout” I think it was called. He’s over that now and has moved on to Survivor. He held practice sessions for us like holding on to a rope for the longest time, well that’s how they started and then we got crazier and crazier because that was boring. Angus put a stop to our ‘practice sessions’ when we strung each other up from the excavator over a ‘pool’ constructed from a few hay bales and a tarp.

  It was probably lucky he did because Nat said the next ‘cool’ training aid would be to put a couple of crocs in there because that would really make us stay up. We would be unbeaten! He still wants to do it. When we go on stock camp together, we pretend we are on the show and make the hands play. It’s really fun.

  And there it is folks, the smallest give, the slightest relaxation of those tight muscles. Noah has an extremely mm mmm back, all lumps and bumps and... and I shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. Same as I shouldn’t be thinking about how nice he smells. Or how soft his skin is. Or how my traitorous fingers have started to curl in the hair on his neck. Or the fact that part of me is happy my tattoo is now forever on that beautiful, smooth skin.

  I’m giving myself a good warning about thinking how sumptuous it feels when finally, his arms wrap around my back and just stay there, holding me. His breathing slowly relaxes.

  “Until you talked about the guilt, I thought I had one fear,” he breathes on my hair as he talks. His voice falls like soft rain down my back, soft and raspy. “But I don’t, Av, I’m ruled by it. I’m a fucked-up monster.”

  He tightens his hold on me and his head nestles into my neck. I feel for him, whatever he has been holding inside must burn like 1000 strength Rapid-Gel in your eyes. And it must be huge. Maybe he’s just not ready for this step, talking may have been the first one. Maybe that should be enough for today.

  Leaning back, I slide down and look up at him. Maybe he’s worried if he tells me I will freak out.

  “One truth in life and I had this epitome today, by the way, is that we’re all monsters in our own mind. Good monsters, bad monsters, powerful monsters, weak monsters, smart monsters, you name it. Everyone has one attribute that they want to hide or grow, something we want people to see in us, that thing we fantasise about that people will notice or something we hope people never see. ‘Monsters’ is just another term for that something. You just have to accept it, become that good monster or shrink it. Today I thought that maybe I was a monster because I could torture someone if they really hurt an animal or a girl and sleep soundly each night after, happy that someone that could do that was eradicated or scared off. I’m not a bad monster, I’ve just been bought up differently and had different... profound experiences that have changed me. There is good bad. To others, I might be a bad monster, to some an angel but in the end, I am me. Six arms, gnashing teeth and devil horned Avalon upon a fiery steed- well normally upon one, she’s at Harry’s probably annoying Outlaw now. So, don’t sweat the monster in you, just figure out why he’s there. And if he’s even bad or just keeping you alive the best way he knows how.”

  I chuckle at his slight head shake and the mystification on his face.

  “Nice try, Thornie,” he chokes out and raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. I don’t even know where to start.” He rubs his hands over his face again. Too much for one day, I’m thinking.

  “What about let’s start at the obvious,” I watch him closely when I see the formation of those muscles in his jaw, I change tack. “I’m mad about dreams, what’s yours?”

  Surprise flickers in his eyes, I knew he thought I was going to ask about why he doesn’t talk. I really want to know, but it can wait for when he’s ready.

  The surprise is drowned by something pretty
damn negative and cold. I’d give one of my belt buckles to bet on hate or revenge. Good dreams aren’t built on hate or revenge, or one particular someone else.

  He considers me and his eyes narrow. “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “I love hearing people’s dreams, it’s like mental potato scallops,” I smile totally ignoring the growing intensity in his eyes or the instinct that this dream is not to become a florist or something.

  His whole demeanour changes, kind of like he is face to face with Seth. He’s got some image in front of his eyes.

  “My dream is to bring Seth Campbell crashing down,” his voice could have frozen our big dam. In two seconds flat. Righto.

  I decide to gloss over the fact that I won’t let any of my friends be ‘brought down’. Not Seth. Not D. Not Noah. We will be excavating his other dreams shortly and burying that one. I once too had a similar thought when I first met Seth but nothing like Noah’s tone indicates or his ready to annihilate body language.

  “How long have you had this... err desire?” I sit down on the log and wait while trying to appear prim like Seth’s mother.

  “Since I was nine or ten.”

  “Nine or ten?” I repeat trying to keep my voice neutral. What did Seth do to him at nine years old? What could he have done at ten years old? Even I can’t picture me doing anything that terrible at ten.

  I stand and start to dig like a dog throwing the sand between my legs then turn to shape and pat it down. After a few minutes, I’ve created myself a sand, banana chair. Noah stands over me watching with a frown.

  “I’m ready for my bedtime story,” I say getting comfy. “Proceed.”

  He stands for a while and then with a low groan sits down next to me, not touching, of course, never touching... but I can feel the warmth from his skin. Why is it that because he is not touching, I want us to be? I move my arm so that our skin just kisses. Maybe that’s why I have this insane urge to kiss him because he’s not into it, Seth on the other hand... I roll my eyes.