Sheer Bliss
Leigh Ellwood
Sheer Bliss copyright 2011 by Leigh Ellwood
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Virginia Beach, VA
Cover titling © 2011 Kathryn Lively
Photos courtesy of Dreamstime
First Edition – July, 2011
Printed in the United States of America
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Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Chapter One
“Alright, bitch, time for you to get your bony bow-wow ass out of that chair. Right now!”
Calla Savitch bowed her head and sighed. She had just poked into the back storage closet to search for a fresh set of tease combs when that familiar, livid voice rattled the very foundation of her salon. Sheila Houlihan could have startled the most horrifying banshee back to the old country with that heavily accented demand—or anybody else, it appeared, save for the one person Sheila wanted to intimidate.
“Oh, go wait in the litter box!” snapped Lorraine Winston, the bony bow-wow in question, ostensibly still seated in Calla’s styling chair. “While you’re there you can give yourself a bath, you filthy mongrel.”
“How’d you like to be bathed in your own blood, you mangy c—?”
Calla blocked out the profanity and stared into the dim, cramped space before her. She braced herself for the next inevitable counterattack, all the while cursing herself for unconsciously arranging this minor battle in the never-ending war. She should have known better to schedule appointments for two women from the rivaling Houlihan and Winston families on the same day, but with the economy in recession Shear Bliss, Calla’s beauty salon, had taken a hit over the summer. To say she needed the income was an understatement—she was apparently willing to risk a violent, superhuman catfight destroying her place of business in order to keep the bills paid.
Scratch that, she thought to herself as she hurried to the front of the salon, a dog and cat fight. Just her luck that the two feuding families were comprised of were-beings.
“Ladies,” Calla warned as she approached, praying to all things divine that neither of them had yet bared fangs or claws to strike. “At the risk of losing more regular customers, I am using that term loosely. I won’t have any of this crap going on in my salon. Take it outside if you must fight.”
Lorraine, however, remained in Calla’s chair, even though the position clearly gave her little advantage in a tussle. Calla figured the she-wolf stayed there to spite her werecat opponent. In a defiant move, Lorraine crossed her legs and folded her arms over the long green bib used to keep hair clipping off clothing.
“Calla can confirm that I reserved her services for precisely ten o’clock today,” she said, her voice stiff and cool. “As you can see, we are not finished.”
“Well, my appointment is at eleven,” Sheila huffed, “and I’ve yet to wait to get my hair done. I won’t start now.”
“Sheila, it’s only twenty after, you’re quite early.” Calla guided the raven-haired were-panther to a chair in the waiting area. She no longer felt the need to placate the woman. The way these two and others in their family carried on their conflicts in public, Calla had to wonder if their legendary squabbles had a hand in the sharp decline of her customer base…to say nothing of surrounding businesses. Across the street, Calla could count more “Space For Rent” notices than “Open” signs. Times were tough, yes, but Calla also noticed the wide berth given by townspeople whenever they spotted a Houlihan and a Winston walking up the same street.
Calla then shook her head. No. It’s not fair to blame them, she scolded herself. People are truly broke these days. No sense in blaming a shifter unless he raised the interest rates.
“I don’t have much more to do with Lorraine, and once we’re done I’ll get you in the chair, since my appointments are pretty much open today,” she added.
Sheila grudgingly took the nearest padded seat and snatched at an entertainment magazine. “Make sure you spray it first,” she growled.
Relieved Lorraine didn’t hear the remark, or pretended not to, Calla settled Sheila and resumed fixing Lorraine’s hair. The lady wolf palmed her smart phone while the stylist worked, swiping at the screen with her thumbs and changing websites with practiced ease.
“Forgive the smell,” Lorraine muttered, her voice low. “I heard what she said and cut one.”
Calla sighed again. Grown women, alleged pillars of the small community of Bliss Township, acting like spoiled kids! “I don’t know what is wrong with you people when you get together. Beasts,” she corrected when Lorraine eyed her with a frown. “Why can’t you all get along?”
“You’re a human, you wouldn’t understand. Werewolves and were-panthers simply don’t mix. It’s the natural order of things.”
“I see.” Actually, she didn’t. “It’s just that I have a dog and a cat at home, and they are very civil to each other. Sometimes it seems Duke would rather play with Daisy instead of other dogs at the park.”
Lorraine scoffed. “Apples and oranges. You can’t compare domesticated animals to a noble breed like the werewolf—”
“Or the panther shifter?” One of these days, Calla would hit that special archive at the library and research exactly how and when her adopted Jersey Shore hometown became a haven to such an eclectic bunch. Perhaps the fourth ship following the Santa Maria took a wrong turn, stranding Noah’s dysfunctional ark.
Lorraine sank in the chair. “I said noble.”
“I can hear every word you’re saying,” called Sheila from across the room.
“And I can smell every—”
Calla cut off Lorraine’s murmur. “Aaaand, it looks like we’re done.” Calla undid Lorraine’s bib and depressed the pedal on the barber chair that lowered the seat with a gushing hiss. She hastily swept away any shards of cut hair clinging to Lorraine’s suit jacket, eager to settle her bill and get her out before the two weres resumed their bickering.
To her relief, Sheila kept her gaze focused on some Hollywood premiere pictorial while Lorraine handed over a twenty and a five. “No change, hon. Great job as usual.” The she-wolf cupped the underside of her newly bobbed style. “Just think about what I asked you earlier, okay?”
“My answer isn’t going to change, Lorraine.”
Lorraine cast a sly grin. “We’ll see. You just need a little, ah, convincing.” Tucking her clutch purse under her arm, she spun on her designer heel and sashayed out the door without so much a parting snarl at her adversary.
Calla let out a quiet, relieved huff and prayed the next six hours of work passed with less frustration. No such luck, for the present moment.
Sheila set down the magazine but didn’t budge. She crossed her legs tight and delivered an arched glare that could cut through steel.
“Fine.” Whatever paid the bills. Calla took the spray bottle of lukewarm water and a dry cloth from her station and cleaned where Lorraine had sat.
Sheila smiled, pacified and eager to gossip. “What did Lorraine say to you earlier to wh
ich the answer remains no?” she asked sweetly.
“Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you or any other Houlihans. It’s no big deal.” Yet, for all of Calla’s attempts to slag off the subject, she realized the cat wouldn’t let up until Calla volunteered some information.
No, Calla decided. She wouldn’t indirectly contribute more fuel to this ongoing feud. If it meant losing a faithful head of hair, fur…so be it.
Sheila set her purse in the chair and started toward the sinks. “I could use a wash first, with the pomegranate shampoo, if you have it,” she said.
“I can do that.” Finally, normalcy. Calla grabbed a towel and lined the lip of a sink with it as Sheila settled back in the low chair.
“And remind me to set up an appointment for Trisha,” Sheila added, referring to her eldest daughter. “She wants a nice updo for the Indian Summer Ball.”
The promise of future business, too. The day improved. “Certainly.” Calla gathered her customer’s thick dark hair, smoothing shampoo into it under a rush of warm water. “Does she have her dress picked out yet?”
“It’s gorgeous. We splurged a bit and went into the city for something unique. Might as well—a cat’s only a debutante once in her life.”
“I’m sure Trisha will look great in it.” Calla imagined a packed ballroom for the event. The Indian Summer Ball, which heralded the end of the season, normally served to pair off eligible weres with their mates. Non-shifter patrons looked forward to the evening as one of the few when the Houlihans and Winstons agreed to set aside their differences and act civil toward one another.
The open bar proved a nice draw as well. Thinking back to the earlier commotion, a drink didn’t sound half bad right now.
Calla shrugged away the temptation as she massaged the fragrant shampoo into Sheila’s scalp and listened to the she-cat prattle. Whatever worked for those....people, she decided, though she wondered why the Houlihan pride would so eagerly betroth young Trisha. At eighteen, the girl should be more concerned with college and having fun.
“He’s starting his final year at Rutgers, and interviewing with a few law schools this winter,” Sheila was saying about her destined panther-in-law. “Thing is, he’s leaning toward entertainment law—contracts and repping reality show divas.” Sheila made a face. “Unless he finds work in New York we may just lose our baby to the West Coast.”
“That a bad place for shifters?” Calla cared less about geography, but preferred to keep the topic of her stagnant love life, which Sheila always managed to broach during her appointments, off the table. She didn’t want to get into another argument like the one she had earlier with Lorraine.
“Not really. I just hate flying, and traveling by night in panther form brings on too many risks.” Sheila blinked in the wake of spatter as Calla rinsed her hair. “You’re coming, of course?”
“To California?”
“The ball, you dingbat.”
Calla laughed. “Nah. Thought I’d stay home with a bucket of chicken and season one of True Blood on DVD.”
“Vampires, please.” Sheila sniffed, then leered up at her. “No date?”
Calla said nothing.
“That’s what Lorraine proposed to you this morning, isn’t it?” Sheila then cackled. “She wants to hook you up with a real dog.”
Leave it to a cat to sniff out a true gem. Calla shook her head. “And I told her no,” she said, “just like I’m telling you right now. I’m not interested in a blind date with any man, regardless of whether or not he can turn into a dragon or a tree or whatever.”
“But what if I just—”
“Sheila,” Calla warned, “one more word and I’m rinsing with Nair.”
The she-cat wisely quieted, but didn’t lose her smirking expression. The remainder of the hair appointment passed without further argument or discussion of Calla’s personal life.
Yet, as Calla watched her client’s jaw twitch and her eyes dart from side to side—implying the cogs in the she-panther’s brain were working overtime—she bit her lip and said a silent prayer to whatever deity these shifters worshipped that Sheila and Lorraine would honor her request to recognize her private life as simply that.
Right.
Chapter Two
Leave it ‘til tomorrow to unpack my case...
Caleb hummed the rest of the Beatles tune quietly, practicing as Paul McCartney preached by dropping his duffel bag at the foot of the stairs. Stretching, he paced the foyer slowly and inhaled, happy to be out of a car and away from pressing pride issues in the city, eager to free himself of all human accoutrements so he could enjoy a long night run on the beach in panther form.
He shed his jacket, hanging it on the antique coat rack by the door, then kicked off his shoes. So much better, he thought, wiggling his toes in his socks. Maybe if he could sneak out through the kitchen and take the back way to the beach, he’d be undressed and shifted before anybody at home realized his return.
No such luck, however. The Houlihan women possessed the keen hearing skills of their panther ancestors. The family no longer hunted, so now his aunt and younger cousins often used this gift to listen for his Porsche to come roaring up the street.
“Caleb?” Cousin Trisha raced down the stairs, pausing at the banister post. Caleb turned to regard the beautiful young woman, amazed by the changes he saw in her, though only a month had passed since he left Bliss. Wearing her hair long over a strapless club dress, Trisha approached gracefully on lethal red high heels to give him a hug.
“Did you just get back?” she asked. She smelled of her mother’s Chanel No. 5—hard to believe this same girl had worn dungarees and favored soda pop lip balm only a few years ago.
“Yes. Don’t tell me you’re heading out.” Especially in that. It surprised him that he hadn’t heard Aunt Sheila’s conniption fit from the turnpike.
Trisha smiled. “I’m meeting some friends at The Wall in a bit,” she said. “Come on, you’ve been in the city long enough to know things don’t heat up around here until late.”
“True, but Bliss is no New York City, and you make sure you don’t get too close to any flames.” He chuckled at Trisha’s heavy sigh, then clapped his hands. “Got you something.”
He bent toward his duffel and unzipped a side pocket from which he plucked a small red box dressed with a white ribbon. “I stopped in Times Square yesterday, went to that store you love,” he teased her.
Trisha folded her arms. “You promised you wouldn’t go there without me.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to risk this getting sold out from under me before then.” Caleb watched with warming pride as Trisha opened her early birthday gift, a diamond and ruby studded Hello Kitty pendant on a silver chain.
Trisha held it high, enamored by how it sparkled under the light of the foyer’s chandelier. “Caleb, it’s beautiful. And it matches my dress, too. Thank you.”
She turned her back and Caleb fastened the necklace for her. “I know you still have all that Hello Kitty stuff from when you were little. I figured if you will continue to collect it, you might as well upgrade.”
Trisha laughed, but as her fingers grazed the tiny gems that comprised the iconic cartoon face her smile fell. “These are real,” she said, almost in accusation. Then her gaze sharpened, her eyes glowing with mild panther rage. “Why would you spend so much on me?” she demanded. “There’s a string attached to this, isn’t there?”
Caleb sighed, and paced the foyer again. He should have known his honor graduate cousin could sniff out an appeasement so easily.
“Trisha,” he began.
“You met with the Weaver pride while you were in New York, didn’t you?”
“You know I did, sweetheart.” Since the death of Trisha’s father three years ago, Caleb assumed the role of head of the Houlihan pride as the next male in line. Ideally, Caleb would have been happy to let Aunt Sheila take the responsibility, but the old guard panthers and their chauvinistic values kept such progress at ba
y. He hated it as much as the Houlihan women—especially Trisha, who viewed herself as the Council’s latest sacrificial lamb.
“So, what news from Mordor, then?” she cracked. “I suppose you weren’t able to get me out of this draconian arranged marriage.”
Rather than reveal he hadn’t gone to New York for that purpose, Caleb instead hung his head and let his cousin gather that information for herself. Peering up through his lashes, he watched Trisha finger her new trinket as though she meant to yank it off her person and hurl it at the wall.
Instead she inhaled and let her fury spill rapidly in time to her clacking heels on the marble tile as she paced. “I never asked to be born a were-panther,” she said, fuming. “What I wouldn’t give to go a club and dance with a guy of my choice, and not have to worry about whether or not some animal is going to rip his dick off later. Now I have to marry somebody I don’t know, and move to fucking California because the Council won’t step into this century.”
“Trisha...”
Trisha snatched her purse from the coat rack and slung it around her waist. “Sorry, cuz, I’m wasting valuable freedom talking to you. Marcy’s waiting for me to pick her up.” Without saying goodbye, the eighteen-year-old slammed the front door with a force that rattled the frame.
“Be careful,” he finished to the empty room, then sighed.
“Caleb?” called his Aunt Sheila from upstairs. “That you?”
Shit. “I’m going for a run,” he shouted back, and quickly ripped open his shirt. He could dash through the kitchen in seconds, but his late uncle’s wife had descended the stairs with a stealth that kept him in thrall. Closing his shirt, he sighed again and turned to submit to her third degree.
Sheila looked like a near carbon copy of her eldest child, right down to her youthful smile and stylish outfit. “We got in from the movies a while ago,” she said, removing her earrings. “Did you see Trisha on the way out?”
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