by Tasha Black
When she turned around they always cast down their eyes. She thought that was just how boys were – cowardly. Until the new boy had met her eye and gulped when she looked his way. Her heart turned to ice at the thought.
“The last, the absolute last thing on this earth that I want to date is another wolf. It’s bad enough that I can’t get out of this.” She paused. “Wait. Is there any way for me to get out of this?”
“No, Ainsley,” her father said. “No, there isn’t.”
“So no matter what, I’m going to turn into a gigantic wolf?”
“Yes.”
“Did I turn into a wolf because… because I was making out with Brian?”
“No,” her mother said. “Although that sort of… activity can draw your wolf to the surface. Your cycle as a wolf has to do with the cycle of the moon.”
“Do I have to turn?” Ainsley asked. “What if I don’t want to?”
Ainsley shot her a pleading look. Her mom had always been able to make things right. Ainsley wished more than anything that she could go back to being that little girl with the pigtails and the skinned knees, running to her mom for a bandage and a glass of homemade lemonade – to go back to a simpler time, before all this mess.
Her mother sighed.
“You can’t change who you are, Ainsley, and turning is part of who you are now.”
“There are stories,” her father said, slipping into the academic tone he used with his students. “Of wolves that were under duress and couldn’t turn. They say the pain was excruciating, both mentally and physically.”
“Michael.” Her mother shook her head at him.
“So it can be done!” Ainsley said, latching on to the possibility of a normal life.
“It may be technically possible to withhold from turning, Ainsley. But I would advise against it,” her father said. “The amount of self control it would take would be monumental. Your mind and body will be consumed with your new life at every moon cycle. You should engage with it, master it, and enjoy it. It is who you are. You can’t just run away.”
“Watch me,” Ainsley said firmly. The teeth of the zipper came together with a satisfying hiss and she swung the suitcase off the bed.
She was going away to college, she had a full scholarship to Columbia, and there was nothing they could do to stop her.
“You’re coming home two days before the full moon.” Her father’s tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request.
“Yes, Dad.”
Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t set foot in the house since. Until the car accident had claimed her parents’ lives and forced her back into town.
Her parents had hidden the truth from her just long enough to make her a murderer.
And now their degenerate lifestyle meant that Ainsley couldn’t just hire an army of ladies armed with boxes and stickers to empty the house. Instead, she had to put her life on hold and risk damaging her career to go through their belongings herself and annihilate any trace of what her parents had been.
Chapter 4
Ainsley realized that her cup was empty and she was drifting again, losing herself in memories of a past she’d tried to forget.
She got up quickly, washed her mug, dried it and put it away. When she was satisfied that the kitchen was as tidy as when she’d come down, she headed back through the dining room and parlor to the stairs.
As soon as Ainsley found herself back between the sheets all her drowsiness was gone. She stared at the stick-on stars glowing on her ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.
At some point, she must have drifted off.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Ainsley woke early to finish sorting the pile of papers on the dining room table. She sat at the table sipping a mug of hot English Breakfast tea - she couldn’t bring herself to make coffee using the Keurig that perched on kitchen counter, those little pods seemed insulting, to her and to the coffee.
She set aside any invoices and receipts related to her mother’s hardware store. Those would be for the estate attorney to worry about. There didn’t seem to be any references to werewolves so far.
Ainsley knew that sooner or later there would be nothing else that needed sorting downstairs and she would have no choice but to tackle her father’s study. The prospect both excited and depressed her.
Michael Connor had a perfectly wonderful book collection. Its volumes included all the classics of Russian literature. From Tolstoy to Turgenev, he had them all – in most cases, he had multiple copies.
There were dog-eared paperbacks with copious notes in his careful handwriting – those had sentimental value and would find their way onto Ainsley’s own shelves.
There were also hard backed volumes in shining leather and in paper jackets – some in the original Russian, some translations. Some were gifts from her father’s students and colleagues. A few were even yard sale finds, which he bought and gave away if he found the translation acceptable.
And then there were the rare gems. A few of them she would recognize on sight, because she had been with him when he bought them. Each was worth thousands or even tens of thousands.
Michael Connor hadn’t believed in locking away rare books. They lived among the rest of the collection. Ainsley recalled the way he used to pull out a volume to pore over it, noting slight differences in the translation. She had even seen him caress their spines in passing with an unconscious tenderness, the way he had sometimes tousled her hair when she was little.
Unless he had made an inventory that she hadn’t found yet, Ainsley had no idea which books ought to go to the library sale and which should be sold at auction. Although she knew she ought to ship them all off to a book dealer, it felt wrong to send them away.
She wished that she had someone more versed in rare books to help her with the job.
Ainsley stretched her arms over her head. It was impossible to keep working. She needed a walk, and to open up a conversation with a local real estate agent.
She was going to have to leave the house.
Maybe she would even reward herself with a cup of coffee on the way. Tarker’s Hollow had avoided the Starbucks revolution, which was a shame. Ainsley imagined the jolt of a hot Pike’s Place with soy as it warmed her chest and belly and brought her to life. Surely there was still a place to get a half-decent cup in town somewhere.
She pulled off her t-shirt and yoga pants and slipped on a sheath dress and a pair of heels. She even remembered to grab a pair of big sunglasses, hoping to preserve her anonymity.
Chapter 6
The walk to town was short but beautiful. Tarker’s Hollow had a shade tree committee, dedicated to maintaining the glorious canopy of maples and oaks that met over the streets, dappling the old sandstone sidewalks with soft green shadows.
Each house she passed belonged to a character from her youth. Sadie Epstein-Walker squatted in her garden across the street, big floppy hat and sunglasses in place, harvesting late summer roses just like she had when Ainsley was in high school.
Was she a wolf?
Ainsley studied her back, trying to decide. When Sadie turned, Ainsley shifted her gaze straight ahead and sped up her walk.
A few houses down, Mrs. Hooper’s bicycle still sat on her front porch, even though Mrs. Hooper must be seventy by now.
As she turned the corner onto Elm she could hear a few cars a block away on Yale Avenue. All the streets in town bore the names of either trees or colleges. There was a gorgeous garden in front of the post office and even in late summer plenty of flowers were in bloom.
She turned the corner onto Yale and passed the flower shop, the toy store, and some new place that sold eco-friendly home décor. Then there it was – the hardware store. There was a lump in her throat when she saw the old sign was still in place.
Selling her mother’s family store had been really hard for Ainsley. She remembered how her high school History teacher, Mr. MacGregor, had approached her at the funeral:
“Ainsley
, please come home,” he said simply, hands pressed against his sides. His blonde hair was still a little long. All the girls at Tarker’s High when Ainsley has been there mooned over him.
“Mr. MacGregor, thank you for coming.”
“Can we please talk after the service? There is so much I need to tell you.”
Ainsley squirmed. “I’ve really got to get back to New York.”
“I’d like to buy the hardware store. Can we at least talk about that?”
Ainsley had resisted the instinct to snarl at him.
Why did she feel so protective of the old place?
Of course she wasn’t going to come home to Tarker’s Hollow and run a hardware store. Something had to be done about the business and the building.
She agreed to meet him after the service. MacGregor, it turned out, was the beta of the Tarker’s Hollow wolves.
He perched on the edge of her father’s brown leather chesterfield with his hands clasped in front of him.
“Ainsley, a beta can’t lead a pack forever,” he said. “It’s complicated, and the wolves are patient, but something’s going to give way soon. We need an alpha”
Ainsley shifted uncomfortably and re-crossed her legs. His heart pounded in response and she froze.
“I’m sorry, Ainsley, I know this isn’t the world you chose. But we are your people and we need your help.”
“Why don’t you just choose an alpha?”
“That’s not the way it works. Lineage is important.” He twisted in his seat. “We need you to choose.”
“Fine. I choose you,” she said immediately. “Does that fix everything?”
He swallowed, “Do you know what it means for you to choose?”
“Um, you become alpha, right?”
“The only way for an alpha to emerge is for you to choose a mate.”
Oh Jesus.
She studied the face of the teacher she’d fantasized about in high school. He was gazing miserably at her and sweating a little. The scent of his growing arousal was overpowering. A soft, golden haze formed around him. The creases at the corners of his eyes disappeared and his shoulders broadened.
What the hell was going on?
“So, if we just?” she whispered.
His eyes widened and he leaned toward her hungrily. The thundering of his heart vibrated through her whole body as her own pulse struggled to match its rhythm. His face had gone from mildly attractive to dazzlingly handsome; he looked like a young god. The air seemed to crackle with energy, and she moved to bridge the distance between them.
At the last second, he pulled back with obvious effort and sighed, looking away from her.
“We don’t just have to couple – choosing a mate means choosing a mate. It’s for life.”
Ainsley shook her head, and the haze disappeared. The room returned to normal. Mr. MacGregor looked just as he always had – handsome in a rumpled way.
She had only been home three days for the funeral, and already strange things were happening. She couldn’t wait to get back to New York.
“Sorry, Mr. MacGregor,” she said. “I’m not interested in choosing a mate.”
“I know you’re not. And even if you were, I shouldn’t be on your list.” He smiled ruefully. “There are several promising candidates, and one in particular your parents hoped you would choose.”
Her parents had a mate in mind for her? Lovely.
“Okay, I’ll bite, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Erik Jensen.”
Ainsley swallowed. The thought of Erik Jensen always made her feel a twinge of regret. Erik had been her best childhood friend. When the boys in school decided that girls were dumb and couldn’t play in the woods, Erik had stubbornly insisted that Ainsley Connor was super neat and that they would kick her out over his dead body.
He’d won out over the other kids and Ainsley was allowed to keep her place by his side. By third grade they had ruled the woods and creek and even built a massive tree fort, just the two of them.
But when the school labeled Ainsley as gifted, she had been pulled out of their shared classes. The extra homework cut into her playtime, and she found herself spending more time with Grace Kwan-Cortez and her studious, less “outdoorsy” crowd.
She never exactly had a falling out with Erik. But by middle school, Ainsley realized that not only did she not hang out with him anymore, he wouldn’t even look at her when they passed in the halls.
By high school he was really handsome. His strong jaw contrasted with soft, dark eyes that were framed with long lashes. His hair was so dark it almost black. He wore a black leather jacket that Ainsley secretly thought was pretty cool.
Although he had bad boy good looks and excelled at sports, it was common knowledge that he was a nice person. He even headed up a group of boys who would shovel out the senior citizens around town in the frequent winter storms.
Realizing now that Erik Jensen was the man her parents wanted for her gave Ainsley a pang of longing. At ten years old, Erik had shown her more respect and kindness than any other man she’d ever met. And like every other person of importance in her life, she’d dropped him like a hot potato.
Ainsley realized Mr. MacGregor was waiting for her to respond.
“Wow, Erik Jensen?” she said.
“That’s who your father told me he hoped you would choose. That was a long time ago, but I know he didn’t say it lightly.”
“Well, I appreciate the insight but I’m not going to be choosing a mate. I’m sure you guys can vote or something. Can we take care of the paperwork for the hardware store?”
Chapter 7
Ainsley shook herself out of her reverie and continued her walk. She didn’t have time to reminisce. No good would come of that.
Mr. MacGregor had kept up her mom’s tradition of putting out some seasonal items on tables out front with silly signs reminding everyone why they needed them. There was a collection of rakes and paper leaf bags laid out with the sign: You’ll be raking in the compliments on your beautiful fall lawn! MacGregor clearly did not have her mother’s wit. But she was glad he tried.
She caught a glimpse of him grinding a key for Patty Loveless, one of the local real estate agents. That reminded her that she had better stop by and talk to Charley about the house. In her periphery she could sense them turning toward her as soon as she shifted her gaze.
Ainsley wasn’t about to risk getting pulled into a conversation. She looked both ways and crossed Yale. There was nothing over there except the empty construction site.
No one to bother her.
The construction vehicles seemed out of place, especially for a town that feared change as much as Tarker’s Hollow. The former ball field was going to be an Inn and restaurant soon. The town had approved it fifteen years ago but they were only just now breaking ground because there had been such a fuss.
As Ainsley crossed Yale she studied the temporary fencing, trying to picture the size of the building and the parking area that would be there one day. Many of the trophies that still lined the shelves of her room featured miniature golden softball players. Ainsley had thrown her share of strikeouts on the field that had already been erased by the heavy treads of the earth movers.
Just as she arrived on the sidewalk on the college side of Yale, a figure appeared behind the fence in the construction area. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to describe him. But Ainsley was never the kind of girl who fantasized about Neanderthal types, so she tore her eyes away from his tantalizing shape and headed toward the overpass. She would just walk back over Yale to the café and real estate office.
“Hi!”
She turned – the guy was yelling at her. She expected that kind of behavior on the streets of Manhattan, but here? Did construction workers actually think girls liked that? She turned up her nose and sped up her walk.
“Ainsley!” he called.
She turned on her heel and squinted at him. Did she know this person? She didn’t think so. She would h
ave remembered a body like that.
“Ainsley Connor, I didn’t know you were in town.”
Well, she wasn’t going to get out of this. She swallowed a sigh and walked toward him. God, he was good-looking. A white T-shirt stretched over his broad chest. His arms rippled with muscles. Faded jeans hung low on his hips.
Why were these blue-collar types always so hot? It wasn’t fair.
“Do I know you?”
“It’s Erik. Erik Jensen.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. He had the longest eyelashes – that was the only part of him she recognized.
“Erik?” Ainsley did not remember that incredible body.
“Yeah, I almost didn’t recognize you either, Ainsley. We grew up, didn’t we?”
Yes. Erik had grown into an underwear model. Ainsley had just grown curvier than she wanted to. But she couldn’t help smiling.
“We did,” she said.
“I was really sad to hear about your parents.” He glanced down and kicked at some dirt with the toe of his work boot. “Sorry. I was out of state for the funeral, or else I…”
“It’s okay,” she said, letting him off the hook. “I’m dealing with it.”
“So you live in New York, right?”
“Yes, I’m in real estate. It’s going well.” She left it at that. He was still stuck in Tarker’s Hollow, and digging holes for a living. How awkward. It would be better to not make a big deal of her success. “How are things with you?”
“They’re great, thanks for asking. I just found out I’m on the short list for the highway.”
What could that possibly mean? Was he on clean-up duty as some sort of community service?
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Sorry, Ainsley. I guess our small-town news doesn’t make in into the New York Times.” He flashed her a playful smile that made her forget to breathe for a minute. “I own this excavation company. We’re working on the Inn project now. And it sounds like we’re on the short list to do excavation for the new highway coming in. It’s a huge opportunity.”