by June Gray
Untamed is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by June Gray. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from either the author or the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote a brief passage in a review.
First Edition. Cover design by June Gray.
Good Foot font by Jakob Fisher.
CHAPTER ONE
The Smoky Mountain is home to many ghost stories and legends…
I picked up the brochure, amused by the cover photograph of a man in a cape holding a lantern, trying—but mostly failing—to look spooky.
“Here we are.”
I jumped, the brochure dropping back to the counter, as Tim Wells, the owner of Bryson City Cabins, emerged from a room in the back.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, spinning a set of keys on his finger.
I gave him a tight smile. “I guess the long drive from Atlanta to Bryson City has worn me out, made me a little jumpy.”
“Well, Miss…” He looked down at the rental paperwork I’d filled out in his absence. “Chloe Randall. Here are the keys to the cabin and information on the cabin and the area.” He folded a piece of paper and handed it over along with the keys.
I studied the piece of paper—directions to the rental cabin, what to expect inside, even a list of things to do around this area of North Carolina. “Thank you,” I said to Tim. “This is very helpful.”
He motioned with his head to the brochure on the counter. “And if you’re interested in the ghost walk, tonight is the perfect night for it. Halloween is usually our busiest night.”
“This is your business as well?” I asked, only now realizing that the man with the lantern is Tim himself, only a lot less gray and jowly.
He leaned back and grinned. “Yes. I’ve run the Smoky Mountain Ghost Walk for ten years now.”
“And do you see actual ghosts during this walk?”
He chuckled. “No, but I have had a few people capture orbs in their photographs.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
He adjusted his glasses. “I’ve lived here, at the edge of the Appalachians, all my life, so I’ve grown up with all the myths and legends. While I don’t believe in ghosts per se, I do believe mysterious things happen in the forest that are hard to explain.”
Goosebumps prickled down the back of my spine. “Like what?”
He hitched up his sleeves and leaned his elbows on the counter, eyes alight with excitement. “For years now people who own cabins have reported that things go missing in their homes. Batteries, gas cans, books, blankets, a mattress.”
“Sounds to me like just a run-of-the-mill thief.”
“But there’s never any damage or sign of forced entry,” he said. “This has been going on for almost a decade now and nobody has been able to catch him.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Yes, plenty, and always the same one. But the police have run the prints through national records and it doesn’t match anyone.”
“That just means this thief hasn’t been booked before.”
“ Or,” he said, clearly enjoying this conversation, “it could mean he doesn’t exist, at least not the way we think. Every one of us here in Bryson City have felt his presence, one way or another. Even if it’s intangible, like the strange feeling of being watched. Some people theorize he’s a shifter, part man, part wolf. But I like to think he’s a ghost. How else could he walk through walls and not ever be seen?”
“Maybe it’s just a vagabond who’s really, really sneaky,” I offered.
He straightened. “You big city folks are always so cynical. Come to the ghost walk tonight and I’ll make a believer out of you.”
I slipped the keys in my jacket pocket. “Thank you, really, but I think I’m just staying in tonight. I’m a little leery of Halloween, actually.”
“Any reason why?”
“Personal reasons.” I bid him farewell and all too soon I was back in my Lexus, heading back down the highway towards the little cabin in the woods.
Holy mother of…
I set my bags down on the floor of the cabin and gaped at my new lodgings. This was not the rustic-chic digs I’d envisioned. Instead it was a tiny one-bedroom structure with exposed log walls, pitted wood floors, and a general feeling of gloom.
An old leather couch sat in the corner facing a large stone fireplace; the only other pieces of furniture in the place were a small dining table and two chairs. The “kitchen” was a nothing but a six foot laminated counter that took up one wall with a stove and fridge at either end.
I walked over to the only interior door to find, with some relief, that the queen bed at least looked clean, the covers apparently freshly laundered. The headboard was made from old pallets and was stained a dark color, lending the room a small amount of style.
I sat on the bed, pulled out my cell phone, and called my best friend. “Anna,” I said as soon as she picked up. “What have I done?”
Anna’s tinkling laugh filtered through the line. “Told you to look at the pictures before renting it!” she said with too much glee. “How bad is it?”
“It’s pretty bad. There’s no TV, no radio. There are a few books on the side table of the bed, but that’s it for entertainment.”
“So why did you go again?”
I sighed. “You know why.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. She knew more than anyone how much I’d been hurting the past month.
“I just… I need this week to myself, to get away from Atlanta. I can’t be there while he has his stupid annual Halloween party with his new girlfriend.” I fell back onto the bed, staring up at the exposed beams criss-crossing over the ceiling, trying hard to push away the memories of my ex-boyfriend Ethan and not altogether succeeding. “We were together for almost three years, but he replaced me in less than a week.”
Anna sighed. “But going up to North Carolina to a tiny town we’ve never heard of, roughing it in some cabin… isn’t that a little like cutting off your nose to spite your face?” she asked. “Because let’s face it, the Ritz-Carlton is more your speed.”
I glanced again at the log walls and the thick lines of concrete holding them together, trying to convince myself that I could last seven days in this place. “I want to prove to Ethan that I’m not as high-maintenance as he claims,” I said. It was only one of the three reasons why he’d said he couldn’t be with me anymore.
Anna tsked. “I still can’t believe Mr. Metrosexual himself said that. Remember that time it took him two hours to get ready for that fundraising gala you organized?”
A rueful smile pulled at my lips, but any joy in that memory was now tainted by what he’d told me the night we broke up.
“You’re a lot of work, Chloe. It’s so exhausting being around you. You’re too much of a perfectionist.”
“I’m not—”
I’d started to say I wasn’t like that, but we both knew I was persnickety about some things. Okay, maybe a lot of things. And maybe I was a bit spoiled, having grown up in a wealthy family, but that wasn’t really my fault. But I wasn’t beyond help, and the purpose of this week was to prove I could be spontaneous and carefree.
Now all I had to do was survive the next seven days in this almost-empty cabin and try not to lose my mind.
“Hey, you still there?” Anna asked.
I blinked, clearing my thoughts. �
��Yeah, sorry.”
“You’re not thinking about trying to get Ethan back, are you?”
I bit my lower lip. Did I want him back? “Maybe,” I said on a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Chloe…” The disappointment in Anna’s voice was so pronounced I found myself cringing.
As a twenty-seven year old woman, I knew I shouldn’t want him back. I should just say “good riddance” and move on to someone who would appreciate everything about me. But Ethan and I had been together for almost three years, and I’d loved him longer than that—letting go was not going to happen overnight.
“Hey Anna, I’d better go,” I said in place of a real answer. The woman had known me nearly my entire life. She really didn’t need to hear the words to know the answer anyway.
“Me too. I need to do my rounds,” she said. “Be careful out there, okay? Lock the doors and windows, all that stuff.”
“Yes, Mom,” I teased. “I’ll see you Monday.”
~
A trip back into town and a few hours later, I stood in the middle of the cabin feeling a little more comfortable with the place. It had taken until well after sundown and a visit to nearly every open store in town, but I’d managed to find a few things that would make the cabin a little more livable.
I’d purchased a rug and placed it in front of the couch, a chenille throw to cover the faded flowery print of the couch, and some candlesticks and place settings for the dining table. For the bedroom I’d bought new sheets for the bed and new cream curtains to replace the original nearly-transparent green panels.
I walked over to the glass vase on the new coffee table—it was particle board but the best I could do under such circumstances—and rearranged the daisies and chrysanthemums so that the flowers were evenly distributed.
I stepped back and admired my handiwork, literally dusting my hands together in satisfaction. “There, that’s a little more cozy,” I said out loud, then headed to the en-suite bathroom, where my new towels and bath mats were waiting.
The water pressure in the shower was surprisingly good, the hot water holding out for at least the twenty minutes it took me to feel clean. I dried off and changed into a pair of panties and white shirt and slid under the covers with my iPad.
But I couldn’t concentrate. I started and abandoned three new books, unable to focus on anything. My head was buzzing with white noise and my body felt as if I’d downed three espressos. I didn’t know what it was but there was a strange feeling in the air, as if the mountains were vibrating with some odd form of energy.
I got up, pulled on my silk robe, and headed over to the sliding glass doors, thinking that maybe some fresh air would clear my head. The moment I stepped outside, the cool night air instantly assaulted me. I wrapped my robe tighter around me, ineffective though it was, and stared into the pitch-dark wall of trees several yards from the house, Tim’s words echoing in my head.
Mysterious things happen in the forest that are hard to explain.
Could there be a wild man out there, living in the woods undetected? It was certainly possible, but to live out here for decades would have surely driven anyone insane. I’d been in this cabin by myself for less than seven hours and already I was feeling a little out of sorts.
Somewhere far away, a wolf’s howl echoed through the mountains.
Goosebumps prickled my skin as awareness came over me, that peculiar feeling of being watched. I wrapped my arms around myself and scanned the area, my heart rate speeding up inexplicably. Was he out there right now, this crazy old hermit who broke into people’s homes, watching me from the shadows?
Or was he, as Tim thought, a ghost with kleptomaniac tendencies?
Then it occurred to me that I was a woman alone in the middle of nowhere and I was standing out here in nothing but my drawers. Might as well hang a sign around my neck with the letters TSTL—the internationally recognized acronym for Too Stupid to Live—in neon paint, as smart as I was acting.
I hurried back inside, making sure to lock the doors, then pulled the curtains closed. I went out to the main living area and double-checked the doors and the windows, then grabbed the largest knife from the kitchen drawers, turned off the lights, and returned to the bedroom.
I was ready to get back in bed when a noise out in the main living area froze the blood in my veins. I listened, hoping, wishing, praying that I hadn’t really heard anything. But there it was again, a creak on the floor. With the knife in my hand I stomped over to the door, hoping all the noise would scare the intruder away.
“Is anyone there?” I asked, my fingers trembling as I felt along the wall for the light switch. I blinked fast, trying to adjust to the darkness while I scanned the room. I had almost convinced myself that I was alone, that I was just being paranoid, when I caught some movement in the corner of the cabin.
There’s someone in here! Run! This is how people die in horror movies, dummy!
My heart seized in my chest. My brain shouted at me to run, but my limbs wouldn’t move. I could only stare at the dark shadow in the corner, my brain trying its best to make out a shape. Was it a coyote? A bear?
Then, finally, my fingers made contact with the light switch.
I blinked as the room filled with light and, as my eyes adjusted, I saw clearly the man hunched over in the corner of the cabin, naked but for a pair of dark pants. He didn’t move a muscle, only kept his head tucked by his knees, his face hidden by long, dark hair.
I considered screaming but quickly realized nobody would hear. Not out here. I held the butcher knife tighter in my grip. “Who…” I tried to say. I swallowed, but my mouth was dry. “What…”
Then slowly the man turned his head, peering at me through the mess of hair. With his dark eyes trained on me he slowly rose to his feet, straightening to his full height, and it quickly became clear that this was no old, grizzled hermit. This man looked no more than thirty. He was very tall and powerfully built, with deeply tanned skin. Hair covered his wide chest and ripped stomach, trailing down below his pants. His dark brown hair reached almost down to his shoulders in disheveled waves, matching the short beard on his face.
A soft breath rushed out between my lips. He was, in a word, magnificent.
He stood with his feet apart, hands relaxed at his sides, but he didn’t say anything, only stood stock still, measuring me with his gaze. He appeared calm as his eyes flicked down to my bare legs, but I could sense the coiled tension in his body, like a wolf ready to pounce on the unsuspecting rabbit.
A few long moments passed, then he dismissed me with a soft huff and turned towards the door.
CHAPTER TWO
“Stop or I’m calling the police!” I had no idea where the bravado in my voice came from, since I was about two seconds away from pissing myself. I didn’t even know why I’d stopped him. But I knew in my gut that if he walked out now, I’d never see him again. “What are you doing here?”
The intruder stopped mid-step and turned back to me, the waves of hair falling over his face failing to hide his dark expression.
My stomach trembled from fear, but also from something else, from an inexplicable reaction to his masculinity. God help me, but I wanted to tangle my fingers through the short, curly hair on his chest, run my hands down the chiseled planes of his stomach. It was ludicrous and so unlike me that a soft laugh escaped my lips.
One dark eyebrow rose in curiosity. He took a step towards me.
“Stay right there. I’m warning you,” I said, stumbling behind the couch and holding up the knife.
But either he didn’t understand or didn’t care. He prowled closer, his gait unhurried but deliberate, his eyes never leaving my face.
I stood my ground even though my knees were knocking together. “Don’t,” I said, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Don’t come any closer.”
He stopped an inch away from the point of the blade, his eyes fixed on mine. And holy hell was he stunning up close. He had nearly-translucent hazel eyes, a na
rrow ridge of a nose, and beautifully shaped lips framed by his dark beard. But it was the way he looked at me, with a heady mixture of disbelief and lust, that had me tingling all over.
Before I knew what was happening, he put a large hand on the blade of the knife and twisted it out of my death grip before tossing it onto the couch. I marveled at the easy way he had disarmed me —both physically and emotionally—before it finally occurred to me that he had taken away my only form of defense.
My instinct to not die finally kicked in and I spun away and ran, managing to jump over the curled edge of the rug in time. He took off after me, his footsteps nearly silent while mine thudded around the room as I dodged around furniture.
He caught me at the edge of the room and spun my back to the wall, fingers clasped around my arms. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly as he glowered down at me.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make my limbs move, not even when he took a step closer and pinned me against the wall with his warm body. Without warning, he lowered his head to my neck and took in a deep breath.
Holy shit, he’s scenting me.
I pressed myself into the wall to keep from dissolving at his feet.
He pulled away, his pupils large and dark as he lifted his hand to my hair and pulled away the clip, sending brown hair tumbling down around my shoulders. His touch was soft and exploratory as he studied the long strands between his fingers, lifting it up to his nose briefly before gently brushing it away from my face.
He let out a breath then cradled my face in his calloused hands, studying me, learning me, before his palms slid down the sides of my neck and over my shoulders.
I swallowed hard, barely breathing, as his fingers stole under the collar of my robe and slid the silk off my shoulders.
That was about the time I came to myself and realized I was heading to the point of no return. Was I really going to let this stranger—this criminal—touch me so intimately?