Coveted (2 page)

He was a goblin, entrenched in a glamour—an invisibility spell that hid his true appearance.

“Flaws? You’re kidding, right?”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “She said something about scratches on the bottom.” He tilted his head to glance at the customer. “She’s upsetting the other patrons.”

Normally, I would have taken over for the other cashier so she could have lunch, but now that would have to wait. “I’ll handle it.”
Like I always do
.

As I walked over to the harpy, I first noticed another scent overpowering the haze of magic. The woman had doused herself in cheap vanilla perfume. Her flashy ensemble matched garish bright pink sandals with a beaded denim shirt and capri pants. Her platinum-blonde hair was stark against her penciled eyebrows. I stifled a laugh
as I wondered what wildlife dwelled within her teased mane.

My irate customer wasn’t an ordinary woman. Under the guise of a heavily makeup-covered dame she lived day to day as a ghastly birdlike creature with sharp claws. She hid from human eyes using her magic. This whole encounter didn’t surprise me, though. Along with the unfortunate circumstance of having a human head on a bird’s body, the poor thing’s name derived from the Greek word for “snatching stuff.”

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“I bought this original 1889 Moser glass vase on Thursday.” She pushed the fragile vase into my hands. “I unwrapped it this morning to find my purchase scratched on the bottom. I paid a lot of money for that damn thing.”

“Scratched? That’s impossible. I wrapped this particular package before you picked it up.”

“Well, you don’t know how to handle expensive antiques, then.” She shifted and put her hands on her hips. I could almost imagine black feathers rustling.

With a huff, she searched for Bill. “I asked to talk to the manager.”

I leaned forward. “I’m more than qualified. First of all, you bought an 1885 vase. I had our specialist catalogue it. And second, I don’t mishandle the merchandise.” I checked, and sure enough the bottom was marred with scratches.

“Well, your staff is incompetent.”

“Incompetent? I handled and prepared your purchase—” I was just about to really begin my rant when the door swung open and Thorn Grantham entered the store. For half a second, I paused. The mere thought of him being in the store knocked me off-kilter.

At over six feet tall, he towered over the rest of our customers. His messy wheat-colored hair appeared windblown.
The man was as attractive as I remembered him. He didn’t look in my direction, but before he turned his back to me, I caught the glint of his amber-colored irises. How many times had those eyes hypnotized me? My belly quivered slightly. From the back of the room at one of the computers, I continued to explain to the harpy how the staff, or should I say, how
I
meticulously catalogued everything on the computer.

“As you can see by these photographs and the time stamps on the front, your merchandise didn’t have scratches on it. Matter of fact,” I glanced briefly at Thorn’s back, “these scratch marks are rather tiny and resemble claw marks.”

Thorn finally turned in my direction—and winked at me. Damn, he’d seen me. Pleasure poured down my back, but still I continued my tirade against the cheapskate harpy who hoped to con my boss out of two hundred dollars.

The harpy hissed, “Are you trying to imply that I made those marks?” A swirl of dark magic floated around her and tickled my nose like black pepper.

I stifled a laugh. From across the room, I heard Thorn talking to Bill.

“I never thought I’d be taking over as alpha of the pack so soon,” Thorn said. “And I’d almost made a
life
for myself in San Diego. But with the Long Island pack closing in to take over the township and the forest, I’m afraid this whole area is in danger.”

The news was quite unexpected. I clamped down on my emotions, hiding them from both Thorn and the harpy. I couldn’t allow this crazy lady to rile up the wolf straining under my skin. “Would you like to look at the video cameras that record the packaging room? Perhaps we could show you the video of the packaging process?”

If the harpy were a teapot, steam would’ve shot out of
her spout. She ignored the computer and continued to stare me down.

I hadn’t hunted in a long, long time. My skin burned at the possibility of a full-out fight. But my control was solid, unmoving. Like a caged animal, the hungry wolf inside whined as I whispered, “Either way, Mrs. Kite, there’s no evidence for a claim that The Bends is at fault. If you’d like to take this problem up with my manager, I’d be more than happy to call Bill over.”

Mrs. Kite smoothed her shirt and then gripped the denim with her claws. Claws that nearly ripped the thick material. “Like I said before,
Wolf
, I want to see the goblin. My problem is with him.”

The word “wolf” slithered off her tongue like a black warning. Still, I figured I was safe for now, even though I’d never tangled with a harpy before. In the middle of a store, with all these humans around, there’s no way she’d go all out—and risk ruining her bedazzled outfit.

“I’ll go fetch Bill. Just a moment, Mrs. Kite.”

I walked over to Bill, who was still chatting with Thorn. As I approached, my heels clicked on the linoleum floor. At first they kept pace with the rhythm of my heartbeat. But as I closed in on the two men, I could smell Thorn—he smelled of a warm summer breeze—and my heart sped up and my palms grew damp.

He said to Bill, “The Long Island pack’s getting squeezed for space by the Brooklyn pack, so you need to watch out.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you would’ve heard about the threat of an attack sooner or later. But you’re a friend of my family, so I thought I’d bring the information to you directly.”

Bill glanced at me briefly. “Yeah. Just another reason for me to pack up and leave this place. You werewolves always need to piss in someone else’s backyard.” Bill noticed the harpy in the back with her hands on her hips.

“I see our customer wasn’t satisfied with the anal filing
system you developed.” He cursed under his breath. “I’ll catch you later, Thorn. I have to go stuff crazy into a can.”

Bill stalked away, leaving Thorn and me to stare at each other.

My breath caught in my throat when he said, “Hey, you.”

“Hey, you.” We used to greet each other that way five years ago. I thought I’d know what to say to him, but my brain locked up. All of a sudden everything in the room that needed my attention called out to me. The furniture against the west wall wasn’t lined up correctly. The vases on the fourth table were in a precarious position. Three kids with their preoccupied mother ran around a table full of lamps. I tried to ignore the loud thumps of my heart.

He took a step toward me. “You look good.”

Welcome back to Earth, Natalya.

“Nothing much has changed.”

“Oh, I can see it has. When I left, you were on your way to becoming a hotshot New York content editor if I remember right?”

“That kind of fell apart.”

The job was perfect for someone like me. Content editors were the thorough souls who read over books and check to make sure everything was true. With my keen eye, and my neurotic tendency to remember everything, I ascended quickly up the business ladder. But after Thorn left, I just couldn’t cope with anything anymore, and receded into my own little world. And that was the end of my dream job.

His eyes bore into mine. “I’m sorry about that.”

I wanted to glance away in submission, but he held on to my gaze steadily, as he always did. Not in a battle for dominance, but in a dance of sorts, where he read my
mind and caressed my soul. If I were a cat, I would’ve rolled on to my back and purred.

But then the door opened, and in came three werewolves to shit on my parade. Rex, accompanied by his two younger brothers, strolled over to Thorn and me.

“We got the supplies. You ready to head out?” he asked. As the eldest, Rex spoke for the other two as if they were mutes. I thought of it as a sign of their lack of intelligence. One of his brothers fingered the antiques while the other one stood with his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, just a moment. Go wait for me.”

With his dark eyes and attractive coal-black hair, Rex was Thorn’s dark mirror image in every way. Except for the need to dominate. For Thorn authority came naturally. Rex just tried it on like an oversized coat.

Rex turned to leave, but his eyes flitted in my direction. I averted mine immediately, but not in time. “You got a problem?” he asked.

“No,” I mumbled.

“Rex, go wait in the car.” Thorn’s growl rumbled in his chest as a warning.

When a wave of anger floated off Thorn, Rex backed away. My feet locked into place as my heart skipped a beat. Longtime rivals, the two men had always vied for dominance when we were growing up, but Thorn always emerged as the stronger one.

“It’s good to see you, Nat.” He touched my hand briefly and headed for the door.

As the men left, Rex barked, “We got fifteen minutes to get to the mill. What are you doing talking to her anyway? She’s not pack anymore.”

His words bit into my neck and slumped my shoulders. I’d heard them before, but it was worse knowing that Thorn had heard them. Now he knew I was living in South Toms River as a rogue werewolf.

For a brief second, for the first time in a long time, I had hope for something new and positive in my life.

But with the impeding attack from the Long Island werewolves, I knew things in South Toms River would go downhill—and I’d come tumbling after.

I
didn’t
bother turning on the radio for my drive home. Instead, I rolled down the window and listened to the sounds of the twilight. The forest’s symphony lulled me as I followed the twists and turns to my cottage on the southern edge of town.

The woods surrounded my home, offering a wall of protection from the outside world. As I drove down the long driveway, I spotted my serene two-story cottage. With its bright red shutters and whitewashed wood, the house stood out beautifully against the foliage surrounding it. It was an escape for me.

But isolation had its drawbacks too. It was only because I was so far away from the rows of homes in the subdivisions that I hadn’t won any awards for my curb appeal. I’d spent hours meticulously lining up golden sunflowers and fragrant chrysanthemums—and hardly anyone ever saw them.

Just another sad example of a life without friends and family hounding you for attention.

I parked my Nissan Altima in the garage and entered the unlit home. With my keen eyesight, I didn’t need the fading lights of the setting sun to see the shameful thing within my own home.

My hidden shame.

But I looked away from it and headed for the kitchen, then pulled a glass from the cupboard. The perfect rows of wine glasses gazed back at me, beckoning me to check their alignment. I resisted the urge and fetched some water from the fridge door’s dispenser instead.

Silence permeated the house as I entered the living room. To get in, I had to pick my way through a narrow path between the white boxes that crowded the room. But in just five minutes, I was perfectly cozy: I had a fire burning in my grand fireplace, and with my Costco-sized bags of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers, I made four generous s’mores.

As I did every Saturday night, I sat there alone. Instead of spending a night in the city with friends, I watched the light of the flames dance against the walls. The only sounds were the snap and crackle from the fire echoing along the stacks of boxes.

Nevertheless, the neat lines of boxes offered a strange sort of comfort. They didn’t make snippy comments about my behavior. The enticing scents of nutmeg and cinnamon floated over them. And inside every box were smaller boxes.

With a baby wipe I cleaned off my hands and picked out a large maroon-colored box from inside one of the white boxes. I felt a rush building inside my belly, and a sprinkle of goose bumps on my arms. From inside the maroon box I carefully pulled out a Christmas nutcracker.

The wooden figure gave me such joy. The jewels on his hat cast giant green and red lights into the corners of the room. To keep him safe, I used a plastic bag to protect his hand-sewn clothes. So he appeared pristine every time I took him out, even his tufts of white hair and black dots for eyes.

Everything about him promised a perfect holiday filled with a Christmas tree and family. Everything I
owned made me the same promises. All I had to do was buy it, stack it neatly in boxes, and then take it out to feel comfort.

How I longed for someone to comfort me.

“You look so handsome. I bet you’d take out a hazelnut without a second thought, buddy.”

When silence answered me, I peeked at my phone. Maybe my mother would call like she had last week. She’d joked that it was purely by accident—that she’d meant to call Pizza Hut or something. But I knew she worried about me once in a while.

And, well, my mother thought fast food like pizza violated the sanctity of her kitchen. So I knew she had to have been thinking of me.

Reluctantly, I wrapped up the nutcracker and put him back into his box. What would Thorn think if he ever saw me like this? Trapped in a house alone with hundreds—no, keep it straight—I was trapped here with exactly 423 Christmas, Hanukkah, and even Kwanzaa holiday decorations.

I even went out of town on special trips to buy them. I remembered the nice elderly black woman at the Africa Emporium in Middlesex staring at me as if thinking,
What’s this crazy lady doing stroking all the Kwanzaa candles?

I bit my lip and sucked in a deep breath. Seeing Thorn had released an ache in my soul. I wasn’t the same woman he knew when he left suddenly five years ago. I wasn’t like this back then. The ache spread deep into my stomach as a tear trailed down my cheek.

His scent lingered in my nostrils. I imagined his golden eyes. The memory of those eyes gazing at me from the middle of the forest filled me with a happiness I thought I’d forgotten. Those beautiful nights of running free without the chains of order and organization pulling me down—