Kept: A Coveted Novel

by Shawntelle Madison

  My gaze went to the window and the world beyond it. I could go back with him. A part of me didn’t want to be here to face this without my brother. Or be alone with Thorn. And for all we knew, my dad could already have obtained the compact and be heading back to Roscoe.

  I sensed Thorn’s gaze on my back. He really hadn’t looked at me this way since we’d begun our trip. It was like a caress at the nape of my neck that swirled down my back.

  I swallowed a bout of nervousness.

  “It’s an hour drive,” Alex said, “but I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll rent a car.”

  “No you won’t!” I piped in. “You’re borrowing my car. This is Atlantic City. If I can’t find a rental to use, then this tourist trap isn’t doing its job properly.”

  So, it was settled. And hopefully in a few hours I’d be an aunt.

  We all left the hotel at the same time. Not that I couldn’t tolerate being in a room alone with Thorn, but due to everything that’d happened with my father, I was as jittery as a newborn pup. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen Thorn lately. I’d seen him the other morning at the track, certainly. But today something was different. As we walked to pick up my car from valet parking, I sensed a change inside me. I was looking forward to being alone with Thorn. I had so many things to ask him since the battle with the Long Island werewolves. Most were about that night, when he’d saved me from the pack leader. What had happened to him?

  “You got plans to get in the car, Nat?” Alex’s tone was persistent.

  I’d drifted off again. It was all too easy with Thorn, my father, and my brother’s new baby weighing on my mind. This whole situation was an information overload.

  Not more than thirty minutes later, even in the middle of night, Alex had driven off in my car and we had a rental. An SUV. Not my first choice, but Thorn had haggled me out of a nice little four-door vehicle.

  “Do you seriously want to do a getaway in that?”

  “What’s wrong with a Honda?”

  He sighed. “If something goes wrong, I’m not making a run for it in a Honda Fit.”

  I laughed. “Have you seen the gas prices around here? In the city?”

  He got into the driver’s side of the SUV and sighed. “It’s the principle of the matter. You wouldn’t get it.”

  Thankfully, I did get my way in one regard. I got my leather seats. Cloth seats weren’t the easiest to clean, so if I had to ride in a rental, I made sure it had leather seats. Easy to wipe off with an antibacterial wipe. Still, the leather seats in the SUV had a strange smell, as if the rental company hadn’t cleaned them very well, or often enough.

  “You need help?” he asked.

  As I cleaned the head support I mumbled, “No, I’m good.”

  He didn’t hurry me, simply checked the stations on the radio until he found a mellow jazz one. Quite nice.

  “You still like to listen to Miles Davis before bed?” he asked.

  The question came out of nowhere, making me halt my cleaning. “I’m more into John Coltrane now. The local station turned me on to him. He’s really good with the tenor saxophone.”

  I finished my work and settled into my seat. We had a few possibilities in mind for the location of the goblin’s market, so I sat back and kept my eyes on the well-lit road.

  Questions bubbled in my mind while the music played. Why did Thorn come here with us? Why not let us find Dad and settle this debt on our own? Since he belonged to Erica now, he had no business helping my family—yet here he was—with me, all alone. Was it friendship or did he still care for me?

  The soft lilt of the sax and drum set pulled me in and pushed my mind away from my troubles. I think that’s why I’ve always preferred jazz music. Especially when I was a kid. My aunt Vera loves jazz music and used to play it whenever we ate dinner at her house. Since my mom’s food is far better, and she loves cooking and serving it, I could pretty much count on one hand how many dinners I’d had at Vera’s house. But the exposure was enough to teach me the greats of jazz and harness their soothing effects on my anxiety.

  “You never answered my question,” Thorn said. “Do you still listen to Miles Davis before bed?”

  My mouth went as dry as my lips. The question brought about memories I’d buried deep and only retrieved on my loneliest of days. Us naked, with limbs intertwined. His fingertips lazily drawing figure eights along my clavicle bone. My soft sighs as his hands drifted over the tips of my breasts. All the while, in the background, a haunting trumpet would play, its horn lulling me to sleep with the promise of a sweet dream next to Thorn.

  My voice was jittery when I spoke. “Once in a while I do.”

  “I still do, too.”

  I was glad I was facing the window and he couldn’t see my face flush with heat. My body was most likely betraying my feelings. It was something wolves couldn’t hide from each other: the quickened breath, the heated skin. But I refused to look at him and acknowledge what he’d severed when he left me five years ago. It was plain and simple. We were simply friends now—maybe even something less than that if I ever managed to stomp my raging hormones into the dirt.

  To violently stab and bury my libido as quickly as possible, I asked, “Does Erica like jazz music?”

  Thorn laughed. “She’s educated and all, but her idea of music, whether classical or modern, is a pop video with dancers gyrating.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that what guys like? Buckets of breasts and thighs shaking like they’re fresh out of the oven from Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

  We’d finally left the city and were now driving westward along Highway 30. We’d hit the first place pretty soon.

  Thorn continued. “Not every man needs to see that kind of thing to be entertained.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t like watching scantily clad women doing a stripper-pole dance in what someone would call a music video.”

  “If you want to put it like that, then yes. On occasion I’ve enjoyed a video or two enough to press rewind on the DVR a few times.”

  I cringed for a moment, thinking about the conditions of the Grantham cabin. Back before the battle with the Long Island werewolves, I’d gone to Thorn’s father to seek protection by rejoining the pack. During my (blessedly short) visit, I’d come to find so much disgustingness around old Farley’s La-Z-Boy—crumpled-up chips, a greasy remote, and much more—that I found myself wondering how I’d survive another visit if it came to that. “You actually touch the remote in that house?”

  Thorn didn’t answer my quip. My gaze went to the window again. I’d seen as much of the city as I’d ever want to take in, but it distracted me nonetheless.

  A few minutes later, we pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a newer building right off the road. A sign with the words “Flat Iron Tires and Servicing” hung in a precarious manner. The building was obviously far newer than the sign, with its bright red brick and three closed garage doors. Through the windows, I spotted cars waiting for repair inside. We’d sold garage equipment at The Bends before, so I could tell the equipment didn’t appear to be in the best shape. But it was otherwise just your normal mechanics garage.

  Not far from the side of the building stood a set of tire racks. A few tires were stacked carelessly—perhaps waiting to topple over a hapless human. After a few steps toward them, I caught the goblin’s scent. A rich and earthy one, yet slightly metallic, similar to what I often noticed on Bill.

  Our target obviously had a budding black market enterprise that had garnered him enough money to buy a newer business front. I smiled, thinking about all the humans at The Bends who never knew they were handing their credit cards to a scheming goblin.

  Bill always said, “Back in the Dark Ages, I could squeeze cash out of a rock if I tried hard enough. You need to have that mind-set, Nat. Stay focused on the prize and just hand the customer some lube so it doesn’t hurt as much when you screw them over.”

  Right. I’ll be sure to keep that lube
handy.

  So far, no sign of Dad. No scents. Nothing to indicate he’d been here, from what I could tell.

  Thorn strolled around the front, but I motioned for him to join me in a walk around the back. Everything was quiet until Thorn’s cell phone rang. Didn’t he put it on vibrate like most werewolves? Otherwise, stealth with all that potential noise wasn’t possible.

  “The goblin won’t show up at the front door,” I said. “One thing I do know about them, they prefer people to think they run a regular business with normal business hours.”

  A breeze blew against my cheek and tried to sneak into the warmth of my coat. It whistled softly through an outcropping of trees next to the building.

  The back of the garage looked like any other. A few older tow trucks and cars were parked in the spaces, while one truck blocked the back garage doors.

  The shrill ring of Thorn’s phone continued.

  “Don’t you have voicemail?” I hissed.

  He cursed under his breath and ignored the phone.

  The phone rang incessantly until Thorn grabbed it and made a beeline for the street. Not glancing my way, he spat out, “What is it now?”

  I kept my distance. Enough that I could tell nothing more than that the caller was a woman.

  “Yes, I’m with her.” His face remained stiff, yet anger pooled under the surface. All I could do was wait.

  “Don’t start with me,” Thorn grumbled. “I haven’t touched her. Nor do I plan to, so you can stop calling. You’ll see me when I return.”

  I winced with every stinging syllable. I could barely hear her voice, but Erica didn’t even have to be here to drive the wedge of their pending marriage between us.

  “This isn’t the time or the place for us to get into this,” Thorn said.

  Erica practically screamed into the phone. Thorn had definitely offended her, probably making her feel embarrassed about her obvious possessiveness. Not that I blamed her. I wouldn’t want to share Thorn either.

  “You’ll be my mate in less than a month. Why can’t you just—”

  And with that, I left with my back stiffened, determined to focus on the mission at hand. I already tortured myself on a daily basis by passing up most Christmas sales. I didn’t need to do it by hearing him try to pacify his wife-to-be.

  I made it no more than five steps before a hand caught my arm. The grip was warm, yet firm.

  “You’re angry.” His voice was soft.

  I shook my head and refused to face him. “Only indifferent.”

  He was silent for a moment but didn’t let go of me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  I shrugged as my throat tightened. To speak would expose me. What could he say? What could I say?

  With a sigh, I said, “If you need to go, you should do it now.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “If your girlfriend needs you to stay away from me, what are you doing? Why are you here? Are you a glutton for punishment?”

  “I said those things to protect you from her. She doesn’t understand our friendship.”

  It took everything I had to keep my mouth sealed shut. We couldn’t be friends. We couldn’t even be acquaintances. There was no way in hell we could be anything at all if I continued to want him like this.

  A yearning as deep as I felt meant we could never just be friends.

  “Damn it, Natalya.”

  I tugged away again, and he finally let me go. Maybe if I walked fast enough I’d reach the back of the building and he’d think seriously about returning home. Maybe after I checked things out, he could take us back to Atlantic City. I could get my own car and we’d part ways amicably. It’d make things easier for both of us.

  I briskly went to the back door and then froze. A sound, very faint, came from the trees to my left. I tilted my head to scan them for movement. It was just the trees, most likely camouflaging small animals. My nose told me I was alone. So why had the hairs on the back of my neck stood up? I turned to look at Thorn, but he’d vanished.

  Damn it, Thorn! Couldn’t you have waited a few more minutes before you listened to me?

  Alone and unsure of where to go, I slowly backed toward the garage as the sound echoed through the trees again. Goblins had spells, but they only went so far. I’d never seen Bill defend himself—but he told me most goblins’ magic was defensive in nature.

  Forms shifted in my direction. A low growl rumbled in my throat from the wolf straining under my skin. When I came into contact with the building, I crouched low. They had to have seen me by now. Where was Thorn? Now I was sure he’d gone off hunting the goblin alone, leaving me behind. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this to me—he’d briefly left my side to rescue my brother.

  The strong scent of goblin magic suddenly filled my nostrils from all sides. It scratched at my throat every time I swallowed. No matter how deeply I crouched, I sensed danger everywhere.

  Something grabbed my arm, and I lunged toward it. Whatever I fell into had a solid form, but I couldn’t see it. I sure felt it, though. My weight crashed us onto the concrete. As soon as we hit, I jumped off my attacker to strike again. But nothing was there. Almost as if a breeze had swept through and wiped the slate clean of magic.

  No scent. No sounds. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat, beating loud enough to burst my eardrums. For once I wished I had a friend or two around. Nick, perhaps.

  Out of nowhere, a knife appeared at my pulse point. Its silver glinted brightly. “Don’t move, bitch!” The voice was gravelly, almost as if they’d smoked way too many cheap cigarettes.

  It cackled. “Little wolves shouldn’t come playing in Scabbard’s backyard. Unless you’re here for an oil change?”

  The olive-skinned hand that held the blade hovered close under the guise of glamour, an invisibility spell that most goblins employed.

  From the corner of my eye I peeked, but I couldn’t see its—Scabbard’s—body, only smell the overwhelming stench of its magic as it flared strongly. This goblin was more powerful than most.

  “Only cowards who offer shitty oil changes hide behind a blade,” I managed to bite out. My words stumbled a bit. “Face me if you plan to kill me.”

  He jabbed a few times with the blade again, this time eliciting a cry. I’d been stabbed before—a lot deeper, if I recalled correctly—but the new nicks on my neck and body burned like hell.

  My attacker giggled. A strange sound from such a hoarse voice. “My little intruder’s bold.” The presence shifted around me and now came from the front. “Where’s your friend? Scabbard can’t sense him anywhere.”

  His presence quivered slightly in front of me, shimmering in the dim moonlight. Then it crept closer. Close enough for me to feel the inhale and exhale of his garlic-laden breath on my face. “Perhaps if Scabbard pricks you a little bit more,” he whispered, “your friend will show up. A nick or two to wet his blade again?”

  My breath locked in my chest, and I couldn’t help remembering the feeling of another blade piercing my side. A much deeper cut. I’d had little fear on that other night, but now, tonight, was a different story. Everywhere he’d cut me pulsed like a bitter bee sting, and I was afraid.

  Before the hand could jab at me again, a form rushed at us and slammed into where my attacker stood. Sounds—a grunt, a painful croak—filled the air. The knife clattered against the concrete several feet away.

  I turned to see Thorn in wolf form hovering over the moaning goblin. He snapped and growled at his prey.

  “Don’t kill Scabbard,” the goblin begged.

  Thorn continued to tower over him, his claws digging into the goblin’s shoulders. I gasped at the sight of the creature. I’d never seen a goblin up close before without its glamour. This close anyway. Bill had never revealed his true form to me. And now I knew why.

  Goblins were ugly as hell. Either Thorn had beaten the shit out of this one until his face resembled somebody’s wart-covered ass, or his face just looked like someone’s a
ss.

  I touched my neck and winced at the bleeding wound. He’d done far more damage with a few pricks than a regular silver blade could do. What the hell had he used on me?

  “Do you do this to all of your potential customers?” I grated.

  “No-no.” His voice quivered from under Thorn’s glare. “Scabbard was warned to look out for werewolves tonight.”

  I paused. “Did another werewolf come tonight before us? A larger man?”

  “You’re the first. That’s why Scabbard was prepared for you.”

  My fists clenched and unclenched. Damn it, Dad, where are you?

  Then another thought came to mind. “Who warned you?”

  “Who do you think?” the goblin sneered.

  Thorn growled and then snapped at Scabbard.

  The goblin cried out like a startled cat. “Scabbard was just stating the obvious—Roscoe told him.”

  “We’re not Roscoe’s hired thugs,” I said. “We’re looking for someone. Thorn, get off him.”

  Thorn didn’t move. Matter of fact, he tilted his head enough for me to see how much he disagreed with my idea.

  “He’ll play nice,” I said to Thorn. “Because if he doesn’t we might have to use his own knife on him.”

  I retrieved it. The knife had to be no bigger than an envelope opener. A simple butter knife. While I examined it, Thorn jumped off the goblin.

  “What the hell is this thing?” I asked.

  The goblin laughed in his hoarse voice. “You like it, Wolf? It’s one of Scabbard’s expensive toys he has for sale. Its magic’s built to alter its form to the prey. Rather useful, regardless of the enemy.”

  “It’s vile.” I turned to Thorn, who circled a few feet away. “Any sign of my father while you were out partying in the woods?”

  Thorn shook his large head and continued to pace.

  “We should go back to Roscoe to see if my father’s there.” My fingertips brushed against my neck again. Not only did it hurt, but it itched as well.

  “So you’re just gonna leave Scabbard here bleeding, without giving him anything for his pain and suffering?” the goblin asked.