Chapter Six
Sally put down the first diary. Her grandfather was the son of a pioneer. The man started as a logger before inheriting the orchard, which had long been sold to a neighboring farmer. Her grandfather’s brother had died in World War I, the insurance paying the mortgage on the family farm. Grandpa had expanded the original orchard, clearing a total of ten acres of woods. He constructed a primitive sawmill on the nearby stream, and used the planks to build this house, replacing the cabin before it. Solitude had driven him to build a bar out on the crossroads. It was while doing it that he met a man who would change his life.
“Fifteenth, May: A stranger happened upon my construction—the largest man I’ve ever seen. He was dressed in furs—a trapper is my guess. He asked why I would build a tavern on a road rarely traveled. I said out of loneliness. He offered to help.”
“Twenty-sixth, May: My friend opined that I need a house much closer to the tavern. Trees cleared to the road make a suitable clearing. We will construct a modern home there.”
“Thirtieth, July: Tavern opened. No customers yet, save my friend. We are thirsty from the heat.”
Sally read through the diary. As she did, she placed documents on the floor in chronological order. Medical records, deeds, licenses, permits and letters formed a graphic of the man’s life. Most startling was his death certificate. It should have come last among the papers, but it was dated forty years before a marriage license, forty-one years before Sally’s father was born.
She studied her work with a frown. Was this her great-great grandfather? Had she missed an entire generation? Confused, she lifted the diary to read when something fell out. A photograph.
Sally picked it up, and felt a shock run up her spine. Eyes locked on the image, she fumbled for her phone and called Oscar.
***
The farmhouse in the woods behind the bar charmed Oscar. Antique furnishings in a maze of rooms gave the place a cozy feel. As Sally led him toward the cellar doors, he asked, “Why is it you don’t live here?”
Sally shrugged. “It’s cute, but I don’t feel comfortable here for some reason.”
It wasn’t until they mounted the steep steps to the cellar that a disquieting feeling plucked at Oscar’s nerves. Initially, he couldn’t put his finger on it. His cat did that for him.
A smell of a long dead-fire became acute as they reached the stone floor. Sulfur tinged the air. He noted the granite arch of a huge outside access doorway looked flaky and discolored. Imposing riveted steel of the storm doors beyond drooped and sagged as if they had once been melted. Silver-colored decorations adorned the metal, like glyphs from an ancient language. The figures swarmed in his vision, as if alive.
“Where do those doors…?”
Even as Oscar asked the question, he felt something like a static shock in his brain. The strange symbols made him nauseous. He turned from the doors, not of his own accord. Almost immediately, his curiosity diverted toward the room itself.
Wide depressions dug into the hand-laid stone floor, cracks in the rock and grout surrounding the strange impressions. Something heavy had been down here, and whatever it was, it raised Oscar’s hackles. He fully understood Sally’s feeling less than comfortable in the house above.
“Why is this cellar so huge?” His eyes were drawn to the shadows made by the groined arch of the vaulted ceiling. The place resembled a squat cathedral—or a dungeon.
Sally shrugged. “No idea. This used to be attached to a pretty big orchard. Maybe they needed to store a lot of fruit.”
Something was certainly kept down here. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough to damage the mortared stone floor. And those metal doors… Again, Oscar felt the uncomfortable charge in his mind, dizziness that forced his thoughts away. For the time being, he filed this in the back of his mind, for a pattern of documents was laid out under the suspended light bulbs and thankfully caught his attention.
“What is this?”
“Kind of a diagram of my grandfather’s life. I never met him—heck, I barely knew my father.”
“You are a natural as an investigator.” He took in the documents, some of them quite old. “How do you think this has anything to do with your situation?”
“At first, because it was just bizarre, but now that I have a better understanding… Well, I’ll get to that part.”
Oscar paced around, instantly getting a picture of a man’s life. Except. “You have him dying before having a son,” he noted.
Sally shook her head. “It’s in chronological order. He died in the 1920s, and had a son in the 1960s.”
He knitted his brows and gazed at her sideways. “Venga.”
Sally pointed to a row of papers. “No, it’s true. In between, he signed a few bank statements, a few business transactions.”
“Qué susto, he faked his own death. But why?”
The woman produced two leather bound journals. “I’ve only read through the first one. Here’s the story. My grandfather built the bar I own to keep from going crazy from isolation. He met a man who helped him with the labor, and they became best friends. Later, a woman shows up at the bar. It wasn’t legal for her to drink in a bar back then, but the locals liked her. She’s beautiful, and both grandpa and his buddy fell for her.”
Oscar watched Sally’s features light up as she warmed to the tale. The sound of her voice aroused him, and he could not take his eyes off of her mouth as she spoke. “Sigues, segues,” he urged her. “Go on.”
“Then, just when my grandfather thinks he’s going to win the girl, he gets sick—like fatal sick. He’s diagnosed with tuberculosis and locked up in a sanatorium. The doctors think he has a few months to live. Yet he is miraculously cured a few months later. He takes up with the woman, but his best friend is jealous. Grandpa thought he might be murderously jealous, in fact. But it’s too late, because my grandfather knocked this woman up. Two women, maybe family, showed up to take granddad’s hottie and the baby away to safety.”
Oscar gave her a sharp look. “Would their names be Mathilda and Lily?”
Sally tilted her head. “How could you know that?”
“I investigated Thorn a month ago, and I encountered two surrogate mothers. The one, Mathilda Sommers, died defending Thorn from an early attack. It was the name Thorn’s birth mother gave to the hospital when she delivered, but these were two different women. I know nothing about Lily, other than she raised the boy.”
“When was the baby born?” Sally asked.
“About twenty-seven years ago.”
She shook her head. “That can’t be the same baby, the same women. This was more like a hundred years ago.”
Oscar’s gaze moved across the stone cellar, the hollows on the floor, the damage to the outside doors. He tried to catch a fleeting thought, but it escaped him. “Go on with your story.”
Sally raised her brows. “Well, that’s pretty much all I know. Oh, except for one thing.”
She reached into one of the boxes on the floor and came up with a sepia toned photo. “The man on the left is my grandfather. Obviously, their love interest is the woman in the middle.”
Oscar studied the photograph. The men were dressed in striped suits, with straw boaters on their heads. The woman was beautiful, her hair caught in a snood beneath a broad brimmed hat. He turned the photo over, but nothing was written on the back. “I thought you said you didn’t know your grandfather.”
“I don’t. But the man on the right? He’s the one who bit me and turned me into a were-bear.”
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Chapter Seven
Oscar flipped the picture back over and gazed at the three. While Sally’s grandfather was smiling, and the woman looked to be suppressing a grin, the other man gave the camera cold eyes. “What is the man’s name?”
“No idea. Granddad doesn’t ever write a name. Here, I’ll give you an example.” Sally opened one of the diaries near the end and read. “‘When my greate
st friend learned that I had lain with my love, his eyes went dead and his face lost all expression. He fled without a word. The impression left upon me is a fear for my life, and the lives of my love and future child.’”
Oscar scowled. “Qué irritante.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means ‘how irritating.’”
Sally blew out her cheeks. “No, I got the gist. What does it mean that my grandfather was palling around with this psycho a hundred years ago?”
“It means that your grandfather is the father of Thorn.”
Sally’s eyes popped. “That’s impossible.”
“More impossible than your grandfather dying, and having a son four decades later?”
She threw up her hands. “Well, yeah, if the guy just faked his death. But who’s pregnant for seventy-two years?”
Again, Oscar’s attention was drawn to the odd but subtle destruction of the massive cellar. There was something there, but he could not pin the thought down. It was as if a stiff wind blew the thoughts to scattering dust. Instead, he took Sally’s hands in his own. “We are shifters, cariña, very long-lived creatures. Time does not have the same power over us as it does with humans or animals.”
“Well, it does make a strange kind of sense.”
“How so?”
“It means that this evil a-hole didn’t come after me because he was attracted to me. I’m the granddaughter of the guy he hated most in the world—probably more than even Thorn—the guy who stole his girl. He just wanted to screw my life up, not screw me.” Sally’s cheeks colored a little at the word “screw.”
That purity, that utter virtuousness, somehow begged for just a bit of corruption. Oscar felt his heartrate step up. “I wouldn’t say that for a fact.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Mm, whatever this a-hole’s motives,” Oscar suppressed a smile at the word “a-hole,” “It has no bearing on how attractive you are.”
Sally looked down to see that he was still holding her hands. Blue eyes slowly lifted to his.
“You are decent and goodhearted, and as wholesome as milk. But even milk can be turned into the most decadent things. It needs only sweetness, maybe a little heat, perhaps a bit of… whipping.”
Sally’s face went beat red from her neck to hairline. The flush sent Oscar’s dick twitching.
“I’ve known you less than a day,” she said, but her voice was rough, husky.
“And I’ve known many, many women. Some for less time than I’ve known you. Yet for the first time in my life, I don’t feel as if I’m stalking my prey. You draw me in. The wildness of your beautiful black hair, the civility of your inability to properly curse, the depth of your blue eyes, the snow white of your skin that blushes so easily. I am torn by an urge to protect you as well as an overwhelming desire to ravish you.”
Sally swallowed. “Where did your accent go?”
He pulled her closer. “I tend to lose it when I’m horny. Así es la vida.”
She stammered. “I make you huh… ho… excited?”
“Muy excitado, si. From the moment you asked me to pat you down. Now, you are a woman not maddened by moonlight. You are free to make your own decisions. I’m hoping you decide you will make love to me.”
***
Sally thought she might pass out. A hundred thoughts went through her head. When was the last time she showered? Did her bra and panties match? Were there onions on her sandwich this afternoon? Why was her bear making a cooing sound in the back of her head? Could Oscar feel that her palms were getting sweaty? Could she really do it with a man she’d known for only half a day?
Okay, last question answered, yes she could. Oscar was smoking hot, by far the best looking man she’d ever seen, let alone held hands with. While this wouldn’t be her first time, from the blood rushing to her head, this was definitely being taken to a higher level than she’d experienced.
She meant to ask, “Here?” but instead sounded like she demanded it. “Here.”
Oscar pulled her into a kiss. Sally thought she would spontaneously combust from the wet fire of his lips. The kiss was strong, the flesh firm, the following tongue insistent. Sally outwardly erupted in one big chill. Inwardly, a fever of passion melted her, spreading from her girl parts to consume every cell of her.
Her hands automatically flew to his tie, and quickly pulled it from his collar. She then pushed back his lapels and dropped his suitcoat from his shoulders. It was like unwrapping a present with pretty paper—but she was more interested in what was beneath.
Following suit, Oscar broke the kiss and pulled her oversized shirt over her head. Sally’s first instinct was to cross her arms over her boobs. A more pressing instinct made her unbutton the private dick’s shirt and unbuckle his belt. Deft fingers made short work of her bra hooks.
As her tits bounced free, she prepared for the moment she’d experienced with all men. That instant groping, nipple-tweaking, motorboating, suckling fascination with her elephant lungs. To her surprise and delight, Oscar locked his lips with hers again, his hands furiously working the jeans over her broad hips. Then, his fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her panties.
As he parted her sex, Sally felt how utterly wet she was. Following suit, she slipped her hands down his muscled chest. Oscar was cut, from his arms and shoulders, pecs and six pack, down to those dimply hip muscles she had no name for. From there, her hands moved centrally. The size of his erect dick made her glad she used both hands.
“Holy cow,” she whispered.
Oscar whispered back, “Usually, horse is the animal referenced.” When he bit her ear, she moaned out loud.
Her hands moved beyond her control to his tight, round ass. Nails dug in as two fingers found the nub of her clitoris and moved rhythmically. She looked into his lidded eyes and raised her lips to his. Mouths mashed together fiercely, her hands wandering over the hard muscles of his back, his shoulders, his neck. All the while, his fingers continued their motion, drawing a shiver that wracked her frame with pleasure.
“My hands can’t have all the fun,” he said into the kiss.
With a suddenness that made her gasp, he lifted her off her feet and laid her down on top of the trunk. Her panties were flung away. His hands landed on each side of her as he gazed into her eyes.
“Tell me you want me.”
Yeah, she did. “I want you.”
His face moved away, down. Kisses landed on her tits, teeth on her hard nipples. Oscar moved down, tongue on her belly, in her navel. Rough palms opened her thighs. His tongue searched the lava of her pussy, the tip touching her clit.
“Oh!”
His tongue swirled, the motion steady and sure. A firestorm stirred within her. As the friction built up, she cried out. Two fingers slid into her yearning pussy. And then—mercy!—a finger slid into her butthole. Muscles she had never been aware of clenched as the current of pleasure swept her away.
Oscar raised his head. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
Yeah, she did. “Please, yes.”
“No, tell me. Say ‘Oscar, fuck me.’”
“Oscar, eff me.”
She grunted as he pressed the head of his cock against her pulsing labia.
“Say it, and I’ll do it.”
“Yes, do it! Do it!”
“Say it!” He entered her, less than half an inch. She felt herself opening, and wanted to be opened fully.”
“Fuck me, Oscar! Fuck me hard!”
At once, he filled her, words failing her as their hips met. She feared he was too large to accommodate, but her hungry hole devoured him and demanded more.
“Yes!” Her shout echoed off the walls as Oscar pulled all the way out, and slammed back inside. Her fingers dug into his hips, urging his faster tempo. Her legs wrapped around him. She levered herself around him, dragging more sweet ecstasy from every pump.
Beneath them, the trunk scooted across the floor inch by inch. Sally held on tight, tighter. Oscar’
s dick plowed into her faster and faster, becoming a drum roll. An atomic bomb went off inside her. Sally sank her teeth into his shoulder. Oscar didn’t relent. Washed in crashing wave after wave of carnality, Sally let out a scream into his flesh before all sense was lost in a blinding white light behind her eyes.
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Chapter Eight
Iwalani stood at the back door of the bar as Sally and Oscar made their way up the path. Under the lawyer’s gaze, conflicting emotions tangled in Sally’s head. The first was shame. Jeeze, when had she become such a slut? She was boinking this guy the first day she met him. Oddly, the other was pride. If she was going to boink any guy the first day she met him, this one was a god, a demon and a sex machine all rolled into one.
Good choice, Sally.
“So, you took my advice and got a room.”
Or maybe not. “I, uh…”
“Where have you two been?” the lawyer asked.
Oscar gave Iwalani a quizzical look Sally couldn’t read. Blushing from head to toe, she studied the ground as the attorney spoke.
“My guy in the police lab says they found only your fingerprints on your phone, Sally. There weren’t any signs of cloning or hacking. In court we can say the phone wasn’t in your possession at the time of the text.”
Sally swallowed. “In court? But the cops will have to say I didn’t have my phone on me.”
“The deputies will have to verify that your phone was in your apartment when they contacted you. On the other hand, there’s no way to verify your whereabouts at the time of the text. It’s the only real evidence they have, and because they took it from you before reading you your rights, I’ll file to suppress it. If the judge agrees with me, the DA will probably drop the case.”
Oscar’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and walked out of earshot to answer.
The word probably stuck in Sally’s craw. “But?”
The Apex Shifter Complete Set: Books 1 - 3 Page 18