Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  “And,” she continued, wrestling my hands away from my ears, “he probably made those weird prints outside your door the other night to scare you, hoping you’d go spoon with him in his room.”

  That was another thing she was adamant about. I’d showed her the blurry picture of that weird footprint the same day I’d met her, but she’d shrugged it off as just a hoax. She’d promptly decided that Chris was the mastermind behind it—apparently, he was something of a prankster.

  “What about the snuffling sounds?”

  “He was heavy breathing at your door all night.”

  “You’re a sick woman. Now you owe it to me to come jogging.”

  “I get enough exercise running my balls off between both my jobs.”

  “Your lady balls?” I scoffed. “Classy.” I headed off to clear some glasses.

  When the door opened unexpectedly, admitting a chilly gust, I looked up from where I'd been wiping a table top. Half expecting to see the Eisens again, I nearly swallowed my tongue when Tristan strolled in instead.

  He gave me one of his signature crooked smiles and a sexy nod of hello before he beelined it to the bar, oblivious to the chaos he’d just unleashed in my chest.

  My heart was doing backflips in my throat again. Stop drooling, Ev. Play it cool. I gathered as many abandoned beer glasses as I could carry, watching as Melissa poured him a draft of some local IPA. Don’t be so creepy, he has a girlfriend. Well, we don’t know that for sure. Ugh, now you just sound pathetic. Yeah, and desperate. Oh, piss off, all of you! Seriously, if anyone could hear half the crap my inner legion and I squabbled about, they’d shove me in a nuthouse! Or call the priest. Yeah, I thought, that too.

  I watched as Tristan’s hand delved languidly into the same bowl of nuts Mr. Eisan had been slobbering over earlier.

  Should I go over and talk to him? I bit my lip. Do it! I shook my head. No way! What witty remark could I offer? Just go over there. Remember, when in doubt…tits out. With an impish grin, I strode over determinedly, shoulders back, and then leaned across the counter next to him, depositing the glasses safely out of sight behind the bar. That done, I placed a casual elbow on the granite and faced him. “Pardon me, sir, but have you considered how many dirty old hands have rifled through those nuts?”

  Tristan’s lips twitched slightly as he lifted a single salted peanut, twisting it this way and that so as to study it carefully. He regarded me from the corner of his eye as he popped it into his mouth. “Adds to the flavor.”

  “But think of all the sweaty places all those filthy hands have been.”

  “That does sound disturbing,” he said, reaching for another helping. “I generally have a healthy aversion to sweaty nuts.”

  “Well, no one likes sweaty nuts,” trying not to smile.

  He turned to face me fully, a broad smirk curling his lips. I now had his full, keen, and undivided attention (and Melissa’s for that matter). “Evan, are you trying to turn me off my nuts?”

  “No, I just hate to see a man nibbling on contaminated nuts.”

  “Should I assume you have a nut fetish?”

  “I did till I escaped the nuthouse.”

  “I feel a few bad nut puns coming on.”

  “Negative.” I shook my head, innocently. “The only ones I can think of just now are…salty.”

  “Now you’re pecan my interest.” He tilted his glass to his lips, turquoise eyes spotlighting me over the rim. “Do tell.”

  “I walnut,” I said, folding my arms smugly.

  He snorted and raised his glass at me. “Nut bad, Spencer. Well played.”

  “That can’t be the extent of your punny nut-isms,” I said, chuckling.

  “Afraid so.”

  The sound of his thumb brushing softly over stubble, as he languidly stroked his jaw, seemed to reverberate over my own skin. It was mesmerizing. I was hardly even aware that Melissa had, by now, skipped off to serve a newly occupied table.

  I was loath to let the moment pass just yet. “You sure? Even a bad pun will do.” Unwittingly, my voice had turned husky. And hopeful. “Any pun.”

  “Any big bad pun, huh?”

  “Any,” I murmured, nodding.

  His smile lengthened wickedly. “All right.” He leaned in a little closer, his eyes darkening. “In the forest, late at night, you feel something watching from the shadows…”

  Unprepared for his sudden sexy change of demeanor, and the smoldering tone of his voice, my arousal spiked—puncturing my heart and sending a rush of feverish blood straight to my belly. I unwittingly licked my lips and dropped my eyes to his mouth. “This already sounds like a campfire ghost story, not a pun.” Actually, anything he’d have said just then (even a bible verse) would’ve sounded like word porn to me, his sex appeal was that potent.

  “But this isn’t a ghost stalking in the dark. It’s something big. Something tangible. It has teeth. It bites.”

  I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth, thrilled by that hungry stare.

  “You can’t see it, but you know it’s there. Watching you. A monster.”

  I nodded ponderously, distracted by the hypnotic timbre of his voice—low and sensuously masculine.

  “What is it, d’you think?” He leaned in a fraction closer, our noses almost touching.

  Amber flecks seemed to glint brighter in amongst the greens and blues of his eyes. It took me a moment to snap out of my sudden trance. When he asked the question again, I dragged my eyes down to his mouth as though reading his lips might better help me parse his words. “Hmm?”

  “What do you call that monster you can’t see, Evan?”

  “I-I don’t know.” What the hell were we even talking about?

  Strangely, there seemed to be shadows in his smile as he finally leaned away. “A where-wolf, Evan.”

  “What?” I was still too muddled by that seductive little interlude that I’d completely forgotten about puns. If this was how he told jokes then I wasn’t sure my heart could take any more “big bad puns” before leaping out of my chest at him.

  “A monster you can’t see—a where-wolf.” As if he hadn’t just thrown my hormones into turmoil, he nonchalantly reached for his glass. “You’re welcome.”

  While I was struggling to douse the fire in my loins, Tristan finished off the last of his beer and aimed a furrowed glance at the door. The humor effectively and suddenly deserted his mouth.

  Curious, I followed his gaze, but there was no one there. No ghosts in the darkness and no stalking monsters. When I turned back to face him—or rather his chest now that he was standing—he was peering down at me so intently that it robbed me of all breath.

  After a long look, he finally gave a brief salutational quirk of his lips—hardly even a smile—and then left my side, making his way over to the oxblood chesterfield in the corner by the fireplace. Whatever the myriad of secret thoughts quickening behind those unfathomable variegated eyes, he gave nothing away.

  I was still musing over Tristan’s sudden withdrawal when the door flew open, as if from a gust, and a stranger prowled in, stomping dirt from his boots.

  What the hell was in the water here in Thorne Bay? This man was just as beautiful as Tristan. He appeared as tall, if not taller. His features were sharp and alert and his hair was a windswept, autumn gold. Nearly brown but not quite. From this distance I couldn’t tell what the colors of his eyes were, only that they were dark. The tail ends of black tattoos, disappearing beneath the sleeves he’d rolled up over his corded forearms, only added to his already feral mien.

  By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…

  His eyes flickered over me a moment, narrowing disapprovingly before he seated himself on the recliner under the antler chandelier next to Tristan.

  That look very nearly crippled my meager confidence. I wanted desperately to sniff my armpits for the source of his instant dislike of me. Did I smell bad? No wonder Tristan had withdrawn so quickly.

  Since Melissa wa
s closest, she detoured and greeted the stranger familiarly, her bright red lipstick accentuating her winsome smile and cute dimples. “The usual?” she asked, to which both men nodded.

  I had a hunch that he was Tristan’s brother. They looked enough alike. Yet for all their striking good looks they were both still so ineffably peculiar, and so unlike anyone I’d ever seen. What it was that set them apart had nothing to do with male beauty and everything to do with some impenetrable energy that seemed to stir the adrenaline in my blood. From the first day, my awareness of Tristan had been tinged with something dark. Even now my gut twisted with both lust and sobering disquietude, but, with the arrival of the stranger, the latter now outweighed the former. Even Melissa, who was the most gregarious person I knew, seemed uncharacteristically wary around the brothers.

  The firelight flung carnal hues across their features, augmenting and disfiguring the shadows that were cast on the wall behind them so that when they moved their heads together to speak lowly, there appeared behind them formidable black giants crouched in quiet collusion. It was an unsettling and sinister impression. Evidently, I needed to stop reading horrors before bedtime. And stop believing that Sasquatch was hiding in the woods behind my room.

  “Mel, do I stink?”

  My question furrowed her brow as she came around the bar. “No. Why?” Then she surreptitiously sniffed herself. “Do I?”

  “Never mind,” I muttered. “Who’s that with Tristan?”

  Melissa tilted a pint glass under the beer faucet and pulled the lever. “That’s Tristan’s brother, Dean.”

  I bit my under lip admiringly, ignoring the strange thrill of warning at my nape. I told myself that, like Tristan, Dean would make an awesome addition to my fantasy bank. Although, if I was being honest, I found my gaze was more fatally drawn to Tristan. “Whatever’s in the water here in Thorne Bay needs to be bottled up and shared amongst the lesser men of the world,” I sighed, giving Melissa a playful nudge.

  Both men, I belatedly noticed, had instantly swiveled their heads around to gape at me—Tristan in bemusement and Dean with a comical frown.

  What the… Had I spoken too loudly?! No, impossible! Panicked, I purposefully knocked a glass over and then swiftly ducked down behind the barrier next to an empty growler to escape those perilous sets of eyes. And to clean up the broken glass. I had definitely whispered the comment quietly to Melissa, who was now snickering heartily as she finished pouring beer, so how had they heard me?

  Shaking her head at me as I cowered, disgruntled, on the sticky floor, Melissa finally left to deliver the drinks.

  Once I had dredged up enough courage, I scrambled out from behind the bar straight to the kitchen under the guise of discarding shards of glass. The rest of the evening I spent avoiding them. And, at the risk of anything else inadvertently reaching their bionic ears, I abstained from all talking in general. But that didn’t mean they returned the favor. Occasionally, I’d feel a prickle at my nape—the press of eyes settling over me—which did nothing to negate the blood rushing wildly into my cheeks.

  I looked at my watch impatiently and groaned at seeing that my shift would not be over for two more hours. How would my little heart sustain such masculine scrutiny with any degree of calm? It just wasn’t possible.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Owen made an appearance, and the three men sat together and spoke at length. When my boss left forty minutes later, I thought for sure the brothers would too, but no such luck. The pair ordered another round and then chatted quietly amongst themselves a while longer. I knew this because, no matter what I’d resolved, I still peeked under my lashes now and then. But only when I couldn’t feel the prickling of eyes on my heat-stained cheeks.

  Eventually, though, the Thorns and their prickling eyes finally left. I quickly ducked into the back kitchenette to hide again. When I eased my head around the corner a few seconds later, to assure myself the coast was clear, I released a pent-up breath.

  “Talk about nuts…” said Melissa, raising a stern brow at me. She’d witnessed every bit of my eccentric behavior the last hour. “What was that all about, huh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re on about.“

  “Uh-huh.” She shook her head dubiously and flicked my thigh with a tea towel for good measure. “Don’t even go there, you little hussy.” Even though she was smiling, there was an appreciable dose of gravity tightening her eyes. “I mean it.”

  “And where is there, exactly?” Although I might flirt with Tristan, I was no home-wrecker. I hoped she didn’t assume I was hankering after forbidden fruits. Well, I was, but that didn’t mean I meant to do anything about it.

  As it was she surprised me with another answer entirely. “In all seriousness, Evan—” and she did look as serious as a heart attack “—be careful there. Hot they may be, but trust me, you want nothing to do with that lot or their freaky cult.”

  8

  Creep

  Melissa’s warning replayed itself in my head throughout the next week.

  So now Tristan was doubly off limits—first for having a cranky girlfriend who looked more than capable of wiping the floor with me if I so much as looked at her the wrong way (or Tristan for that matter), and secondly for being some creep in a cult. I’d sensed something hairy about him, that was undeniable, but I’d never have guessed he was some would-be Manson!

  Tristan just didn’t look or act anything like a damn cultist, not that I’d known any personally. I just couldn’t imagine that of him. The Hodges sure hadn’t been wrong about the wagging tongues, but I just wished they’d elaborated a little more about the exact nature of those rumors I’d been warned about.

  Unfortunately, no matter how hard I stared at the ceiling it offered no illuminating answers. I had some free time on my hands, I should’ve been doing something epic and productive. I was in Alaska for God’s sake. Instead, though, I was lying on my bed brooding. The sound of a Darth Vader's sudden heavy breathing, alerting me to a new text message, was a welcome diversion.

  It was from Mom. “Any more spider dramas?”

  “Thankfully not,” I typed. “No more creepy spiders perving on my nakedness.”

  “Speaking of nakedness, Chris Hemsworth stayed over last night. He’s gonna be your new step-daddy. Thought you should know.”

  “You’re outta control, cougar. TTYL. Gotta run.” Literally.

  The treadmill in the gym had been a good enough substitute thus far—like eating hardtack when all I craved was a fresh cookie—but I needed a decent run. And seeing as it was my day off, I decided to go for a brisk jog. Outside.

  I yanked my fluorescent orange runners on and secured my hair into a high ponytail. Then, heeding Melissa’s warning about not wearing earbuds, I shoved my phone snugly into the pockets of my leggings. Listening to loud music over the iPhone speaker would serve me well enough as a bear deterrent. But my primary defense, in the unlikely event that I still managed to sneak up on any hyperphagic bears, was the bear spray resting in the opposite pocket at the side of my thigh. I felt a little like Lara Croft actually.

  With Portishead streaming from my left thigh, sadly disrupting the mellifluous eagle calls, I left my room and began jogging along the incline towards the tree-lined main road.

  A part of me missed the cypress trees, pale beaches, and the lazy mangroves back home, but the distant slate blue of the sleeping mountains, the glorious stretches of purple fireweed blanketing the roadside, and the trees soaring sharply into the sky of this northernmost state definitely all had their own dark allure. As far as I was concerned, this vista was by far the more dramatic one. Though the tropical waters were unquestionably beautiful, Florida seemed so tame by comparison.

  The crisp Alaskan air filled my lungs with its sweet, piney redolence, I pushed myself harder and further. Three miles in and not even the stitch gnawing at my side could slow me down. I felt free and—

  “Hey there!”

  At the unexpected greeting, I shrieked like
a strangled cat and fell ass over teakettle down the slope.

  Leaves shot up and blurred around me as I tumbled down into the gully that ran parallel along the road. I was slammed against pine cones, roots and rocks before finally plowing into a pile of dead leaves at the base of an unyielding tree.

  Gingerly, I pushed myself up and settled back against the knurled bark as Tristan’s alarmed shouting registered through my dazed mind. He’d already rushed from the cab of his truck and clambered down after me. The volume of my phone had been turned all the way up, and my mind deeply lost in thought, so I hadn’t even heard the diesel engine pull up alongside me until he’d yelled over the music and, subsequently, sent me rolling down the slope.

  “Shit, Evan, I’m so sorry!” He’d reached the bottom almost as soon as I had and was now looking me over assiduously, his sleeves rolled up over his sinewy forearms. No tattoos there to mar that perfect golden skin. “Are you ok?”

  “I think so,” I groaned, turning the blaring music off. “Here I was stressing about bears when, all along, it was the sneaky Thorn at my side I really needed to worry about.”

  “Funny,” he replied distractedly, his brows knitting in consternation as he looked me over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  I’d already taken a mental inventory of all my aches and pains, especially the sharp throbbing at my ankle. “Just my ankle and a few scratches, I think.” I gave an involuntary hiss as I tried to move my foot.

  He transferred his gaze to my foot and I winced as he began prodding it gently. “What’s with the loud music anyway? I thought jogging outdoors was about enjoying the peace of nature.”

  “I was trying to scare the bears away,” I explained, a bit defensively.

  “Don’t forget the wolves,” he added. “And the giant spiders.” There was no lip twitching this time, but I clearly detected the swift glint of amusement beneath his lashes.

  The mention of spiders had my eyes popping wider in dread. I threw a suspicious glance about the forest floor, lifting my hands safely into my lap, suddenly convinced that I’d see another wolf spider wiggling its brows suggestively at me from some nearby mossy log.