by C. D. Gorri
This is a reminder folks, that Daniel, our Clan Enforcer is not at your beck and call! He is a serious guy with a serious position. I don’t know why or how the high school cheer squad got his cell number, but please if you have a child on the squad tell her to delete it. The man is busy protecting your Clan, so please, do not waste his time.
Lastly, with Marcus gone for a few weeks I know folks are bound to get antsy, but I assure you it is business as usual in Barvale.
Thank you!
-Taylor Devlin, Barvale Clan Keeper and co-owner of Bear Claw Bakery Inc.
Prologue
“Where is she?” His voice spiked in his anger, like a childish whine that made her cringe and wish she could just shrink into the shadows.
Lacey held her breath, listening as he kicked and stomped. His outrage almost tangible in the cold night air. She ducked deeper behind the dumpster praying the dark alley would be enough to shield her from his eyes.
A rat scurried over her feet, and she stifled her scream. Rats had nothing on the monster that stalked her. The crushed pizza box at her stocking clad feet was crawling with bugs. She’d lost her shoes somehow when she’d run from him. Tearing the sheer material that had covered her toes in the process.
God, she hated her feet. They were huge. A whopping size ten. But that was the average size for many runway models. She learned that years ago when she’d first moved to New York City, the place where she thought all her dreams would come true. The clash of garbage cans being thrown tore her from her thoughts. The nightmare of the evening’s events rushing back in like clouds in a thunderstorm.
Oh God, please help me, she prayed as she shivered in the torn remnants of the silk dress she’d been modeling for an up and coming new designer. His stuff was edgy and fun without being ridiculous like so many of the designs she wore. She wondered if she’d have to pay for the ruined sample. Shit. Probably cost ten-grand. Still, she’d happily hand over all her savings if it meant she’d survive the night. The pain in her face had dulled to a slow throb, reminding her of the damage she’d yet to see.
“Esme, Eeeeesssmeeeee,” he called out in a sing-song voice, a sick parody of the way he’d serenated her months before. She was such a fool! She thought all the attention he paid her was flattering at first, sweet even.
“ESME!” His outraged scream shook her to her core.
This was not the Tim she knew. The one she’d thought harmless. Lacey pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs racking her thin frame. She winced at the sting of pressure from her fingers over her split lip.
Cold flakes stuck to her eyelashes and she blinked rapidly. When did it start snowing? Sometime since she escaped the wrath of the man who claimed to love her. Her boyfriend, he’d called himself though she never agreed to that relationship status. Still, she could have been firmer in the beginning she supposed. But how was I to know he was a monster?
It was strangely quiet in the alley. Beautiful even with the play of shadows and light from the falling snow and the one streetlamp shining on the corner. She almost snorted aloud. Only an idiot like her would think such a dirty place was beautiful, especially with the enraged man throwing things around and screaming her name.
“ESME!,” he bellowed, “I’ll find you, precious, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Filthy fucking whore!” He yelled and spit. Using her professional name that most in the modeling world called her by, despite her asking him to call her Lacey.
She was not Esme. Esme was made-up. Someone she invented a long time ago to cope with the burden of having a face most of the world envied. Not anymore, she thought and found it didn’t upset her as much as it should. Must be shock.
Esmerelda was her middle name and she’d adopted a shortened version as her professional name. Esme had been a supermodel once upon a time. Gracing the cover of many magazines the world over. It was work to her, but to some, it was a lot more.
To Tim Shaw, her status was everything. Tim always called her Esme. At the moment, he was raging and screaming the name as he flipped over boxes and flung trash bags and cans in his rage. One landed with a loud bang a little too close to her hiding spot. She flattened herself back into the brick wall, praying her blonde hair didn’t catch the dim light.
“Tim, man, we gotta go. The chick across the street is coming with her flashlight and she’s got a phone in her hand. I think she’s filming us, man. Come on! Put on these clothes, man, we’ll get Esme later,” Ricky, one of Tim’s constant companions, attempted to reason with him, but Lacey knew he wouldn’t give up that easily.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she heard him slip on the clothing, but he wasn’t through tormenting her just yet. She watched in horror as claws sprung forth from his hands. Thick and long the blackened nails were wicked looking and incredibly sharp. She knew that now; her hand went to the long scratch that still burned down one side of her face.
He scratched something into the side of the building, laughing maniacally as he shouted her name one last time. Oh God, please help me, she prayed again. She must be in shock, she thought again as the pain and anger faded. No more tears or hysterics. She just felt numb. Like everything that happened had happened to someone else.
“Honey, honey, you can come out now. I watched him. That creep and his buddies are long gone. Come on now, love,” Lacey had been sitting there for God knew how long before she heard the woman’s calming voice.
A bright light shone on her and she shied away from it. Her face throbbed and her jaw ached from how hard she’d been clenching her teeth.
“Oh my goodness, you’re about halfway frozen, sweetie. Come on, my name is Amelia Grayson. I own Skin Deep, the boutique across the street. Now, I’m not gonna hurt you, come on out, let me see if I can help,” her rounded face smiled down gently at Lacey.
She looked blankly at the woman. Skin Deep? Yes, she knew the place. A couture house for plus-sized women that Lacey greatly admired. Being a model, she was almost six-feet tall herself and had to have most of her clothing custom made.
At almost thirty, her figure had lost that waifish-ness of her youth that had made her so famous. That and her love of pastry cream with strawberries had left her with rounded hips and full breasts that were not exactly popular amongst the magazines these days.
Still, she’d found runway work for some minor houses and new designers. She was also about to feature in an art show by a very chic, local photographer, Parker Fiore. She was so grateful for the opportunity. Nearly broke and almost past the age where models could get work, Lacey had been more than willing to pose for the photographer.
How would she pay off the rest of the bills her mother had left? Lacey wondered if Mr. Fiore would still be interested in her now that Timothy had savaged her. She was sure to have a mark or two on her perfect face.
She realized she’d been staring at the hand extended by Ms. Grayson for quite some time before pulling her thoughts together. She took the hand, grateful for the help as her legs and back seemed frozen in her huddled position.
“S-sorry,” she said, her voice sounded raspier than normal. Probably from when Tim had grabbed her by the throat and squeezed before he-
She shuddered at the memory. Tim had been such a nice-looking man. Charismatic and handsome with his thick brown hair and matching eyes. He’d been the perfect gentlemen for months.
She was perfectly fine being friends with him, but he wanted more than she could give. Then he’d started with the whole jealousy thing. Angry and nasty to her when she had runway assignments. He criticized the clothing she wore and commented loudly when she was working with male models, designers, and photographers. She’d tried to be patient.
She was used to some degree of jealousy from others. Heck, it had happened any time she’d had a relationship. Friends, boyfriends, even her own mother had been envious of her daughter’s beauty.
It’s not my fault, I was born with this face and can’t do anything about it, she’d often cried hating herself f
or not being able to keep any friends. It was lonely growing up. She didn’t go to regular school because her schedule hadn’t allowed it. Esme was a star by the time she was fourteen years old.
Her mother had controlled her career and managed her accounts. After her death, Lacey learned she was broke. Her mother had taken on enormous debts in her name leaving her with the balance. And she was utterly alone.
She had no choice but to work. Her face had been celebrated far and wide at the height of her career. Lacey had just turned twenty-nine, but she still garnered a lot of attention despite being “too old to model”. Gotta love the fashion world.
She met Tim Shaw at a show. He was interested as many men had been, but he was sweet and kind. Or so she thought. Things changed when he started pressuring her for a commitment. She liked Tim, but she was not in love with him.
Lacey had watched what a loveless marriage could do to a person in her own mother. There was no way she’d end up like that. Stuck with a man and child she didn’t care about.
So, she’d calmly explained to him that though he’d been fun to hang around with, she didn’t feel that way about him. She told him it was better if they could just be friends. She had no idea what her words would instigate. Couldn’t believe it now.
“You think you’re breaking up with me? You fucking cock tease! You’re supposed to be mine!” He raged.
“Tim, please, I am sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you,” she tried again.
“It’s that fucking Parker Fiore isn’t it? You are fucking him! I knew it! Dirty fucking whore!”
“Tim, no! That’s not it,” Lacey backed away from his anger, but he caught her with one hand around her throat.
Before she could speak or try to defend herself, he used his fists on her. The first strike split her lip. The second knocked her to the floor. She was still in a daze when his yells turned to loud animalistic snarls. His friends were in the background just watching. Ignoring her pleas for help.
And then something out of a horror movie occurred. Tim’s skin stretched and the sound of muscles popping and bones breaking ensued. Growls and snarls erupted from his throat as spit and saliva ran down his fur covered skin. When it was over, a huge brown Wolf stood over her. Tim was a real live Werewolf!
Horrified, Lacey bolted. She knew she couldn’t outrun him for long, so she ducked down an alley and hid behind the piled-up trash hoping the stink would mask her human odor. Wolves had a superb sense of smell. Something her hours watching Animal Planet had taught her.
The rest of the night was history. Or it would be. Please God, let me forget this ever happened.
“There you are, love. Here put this on,” Amelia Grayson draped a bolt of soft gray fabric over Lacey’s shoulders and she almost collapsed against her.
“I’ve got you,” she helped Lacey stand and walk forward. Shit. She must have lost her shoes.
“One step at a time,” Amelia said, her arm felt solid and strong beneath Lacey’s trembling hand.
“Th-thank you,” Lacey said. She stopped walking when she reached the wall where Tim had stood earlier. Looked like he did scratch something into the surface with his horrible claws. The message made Lacey fall to the ground on her knees.
You’re a dead woman. The sentence was ripped into the brick with deep, harsh gouges. Lacey trembled at the sight.
“Oh, shoot, I should have stood on your other side. Damn that stupid Wolf, scaring you like that. Come on now, upsy-daisy,” Amelia practically lifted Lacey off the ground and frog marched her across the street to her boutique.
Lacey barely registered Amelia’s words until she was right in the middle of the woman’s apartment that sat over her boutique. Her husband stayed in the other room, to give them privacy and for that, Lacey was grateful. She didn’t want to be around men just yet.
“Now, is there someone you can call or somewhere you can go tonight? That Werewolf won’t stop, you know.”
“Um, so yeah, he was a Werewolf then?” She gasped after she uttered the last word. Kind blue eyes met hers and Amelia nodded.
“Honey, there are many things out there that would shock a normal like you. But not all of us are scary,” in that moment something flicked across Amelia’s purple eyes and Lacey’s mouth dropped.
“There, there I won’t hurt you, dear. Now, about where you can go?”
“Um, I, I think I can go to my cousin, she lives in Barvale, in New Jersey,” Lacey said.
For some reason, the thought of her cousin’s sleepy little hometown made her feel calm inside. Actually, it wasn’t the town per se, but the image of a certain stone-faced man she’d met a few times while there last summer.
Daniel Devlin was a co-owner of the Bear Claw Bakery, and he was also one of the most confounding men she’d ever met. He had clear, light blue eyes like a December sky and short, thick hair the color of honey. His body was like that of a professional athlete. Tim had muscles, but Daniel had muscles on his muscles.
He was, in a word, gorgeous. And Lacey had wanted him the second she laid eyes on him at The Thirsty Dog, a popular bar in South Jersey. For once she didn’t mind having a face people stared at, hoping to catch the handsome stranger’s eye. Imagine her surprise when he’d glared at her for half the night and ignored her the other half.
The man seemed to hate her on sight. Stupid of her to think of him now. Lacey couldn’t help her attraction, but she certainly tried to hide it the best she could for the rest of her visit. It was difficult in a town that size, and she had run into him. Frequently.
He’d even accused her of following him around when she’d stopped at Bear Claw Bakery for some pastries for her aunt and uncle.
“Look, I realize most men must bow down at your feet just to get you to talk to them, but I’m not most men. I’m not interested. Period.” Lacey thought she’d die of embarrassment. She took the box a sympathetic cashier handed her and left the store without her change. The memory was one she’d like to forget. It certainly didn’t explain why she should feel so strongly about going there, to him, after Tim had knocked her around.
“Honey, Barvale is perfect! You will never guess, but I had a client recently, a bride, who married the Alpha of the Barvale Clan only a few days ago! I bet I can call them for help!”
“Well, I’m not really from there, but my cousin is-”
“Never you mind, these guys are the best and they have an Enforcer who would rip that pissant little Wolf apart of he even tried to get near you.”
“I don’t know why I even thought of Barvale, I mean I like the town, but me and Margot never have really gotten along-”
“Margot is your cousin?”
“Yeah. I, uh, have a complicated relationship with my family. You see her mom was my mother’s sister. They had a sibling rivalry thing and I guess my mom always bragged about my career. I don’t want to impose-”
“No worries, hon. Your family are all normals, so they can’t know about us anyway. The people I have in mind to protect you are good people. Not all supernaturals are like that Wolf. Most of us are just trying to get by.”
“I guess so. Um, it’s just still a bit of a shock, I guess,” she tried to smile, but this time the tears came.
“Oh, shush, come on let me make the call. You need to go somewhere tonight, hon. Somewhere that is the complete opposite of this hellbent city.”
“Okay, I guess so. Thank you so much for your kindness,” Lacey replied, surprised and happy to have found some help in a stranger. A supernatural stranger.
She barely heard Amelia as she dialed the phone and spoke in hushed whispers to someone on the receiving end. She was leaving the city tonight.
The town where she’d lived since, she began her modeling career, at the tender age of thirteen, had offered many opportunities, but never felt like home. It was her mother who’d wanted the fame and fortune. She had pushed her towards it when she was barely finished with grammar school.
“What else can you do with
your height and that fine porcelain skin? Thank God you inherited my nose, nothing we can do about those lips. They really are perverse; they are so full!”
Her mother was always saying things like that when she was growing up. Lacey had learned to accept the compliments and ignore the rest at an early age. No one would believe she was starved for affection of any kind. Not with her looks.
Pale golden hair, emerald green eyes, ivory skin, with high cheekbones and perfectly symmetrical features. Her lips were very full, but she secretly liked them that way. To hell with her mother.
Lacey cringed and bit her lip at the sudden meanness of her thoughts. Sorry mom. Two years she’d been gone, and Lacey still apologized whenever she thought badly of her coldhearted parent.
Six months ago, she’d never have believed that Timothy Shaw would have turned into a Wolf right before her eyes because of some misguided jealous rage. Lacey excused herself to use the bathroom while she waited for the person Amelia had called to come and take her to Barvale.
She didn’t know why she felt so strongly about going to the town, but she trusted her instincts. If only she’d done that when Tim had first asked her out. Stop it, she was not going to blame herself for this. Lacey had the right to expect people to behave reasonably and to treat her with common courtesy and respect.
Tim was an animal and not just because he could Change into a Wolf. He’d been rude, jealous, and inconsiderate at the best of times. No, this was not her fault.
Lacey gasped when she saw her reflection. Her already large lips were swollen from the punch to the mouth she’d received, one of her eyes was swollen and the skin around it was a dark purple, and there was a thin scratch that ran along her hairline on the right side of her face.
Photographers and fashion editors had called her face perfection for so long she wondered what they would think of her now. She could hardly bring herself to care as she ran the shower and began scrubbing the blood off her hair and skin.