Once Upon a Shifter (90 page)

Chapter 4

Keyla

Keyla nervously tapped her foot as she waited for the gas pump to fill up the tank of her small, battered Toyota. The smell of gasoline was strangely pleasant mixed in with the tangy scent of freshly mowed grass. She looked through the window at the big, pink box resting on the passenger seat. The cake had turned out absolutely delightful. Aunt Cynthia had outdone herself with the three-tier masterpiece all covered in scalloped white buttercream with handmade blush fondant roses with sugar petals cascading down the front along with ivy and wild berries. She had layered chocolate, raspberry and vanilla mousses on the inside in perfect proportion. It was a cake Keyla would have loved to see on her own wedding day, if she ever had one.

And to think that she wouldn’t even know about the damned wedding if her aunt didn’t own the only bakery in town! Very few of the Snow Crest people came to the bakery or to any of the other businesses in town besides the furniture and grocery shops, but Aunt Cynthia had a way of making people feel welcome. She was warm and discreet and never nosy, and it seemed like the carpenters valued that about her as they sometimes ventured into her parlor to try her latest sweet inventions. When the order for the wedding cake had been placed, Cynthia had already agreed to do it before she realized whose wedding it was. The news had come as a dagger to Keyla’s heart.

Now, the future looked particularly bleak to Keyla. With a population of no more than five thousand people, Bear Cove wasn’t exactly bustling with eligible bachelors and she felt like she already knew all of them. It had been so refreshing when the carpenter families had moved in the Snow Crescent campsite two years ago. All the new faces suddenly flooding the hallways and classrooms of Bear Cove High had truly revived the sleepy daily routines of the students who had all grown up together.

She had never been up to the camp, though the hills were only a few miles up the main road that passed through Bear Cove, but she had heard stories. The carpenters were a very close-knit group of families who lived as a secluded community, away from the noise and petty intrigues of the small town, always keeping to themselves even on the rare occasions when they visited the local stores and pubs, always in small groups.

The carpenter children behaved similarly in school, sticking together and never participating when it came to school functions, sports or even parties. Keyla had been fascinated by the mystery that surrounded these tall, athletic, beautiful newcomers and longed to be a part of their exclusive company. She herself had few friends and none of the late night secret talks under the blankets or the uncontrollable giggling at something particularly riveting that the other girls shared. She was a loner. And so was Troy.

Keyla noticed her hand was shaking on the pump nozzle’s handle and was glad to hear the click that indicated the tank was full. Getting gas was the last bit of procrastination she could come up with before she headed straight for the hills to complete her mission. Aunt Cynthia had been right as always. This was nowhere near easy. It had seemed all very reasonable when she had played it out in her head this morning. She would go there, looking her best, deliver the cake, steal a quick glance at Corin in her wedding dress, maybe get a chance to say a few quick words to Troy, ask him a few questions.

What
? All this had sounded
reasonable
? She must have been insane. Standing there in her best spring dress in coral tulle, she looked like a psychotic bridesmaid no one had invited, the cake-bearing intruder that would stand out in her ridiculous outfit, more garish than the buttery pink cake itself. She would step into these people’s reclusive home and possibly feel even stupider than walking in the Bear Cove High girls’ bathroom to find a bunch of girls huddled together, sharing a cigarette and whispering, laughter erupting every few moments. And the stares. They were bound to stare, just like the high-school girls, measuring, evaluating, piercing eyes travelling down her body and making her want to shrink into herself and disappear.

What am I doing, she thought, and why didn’t I put on the loose black T-shirt and jeans that would make me blend in? Instead, she had chosen to look like she was actually
attending
the wedding, like she was intentionally pushing her presence at these quiet and reserved people that had never indicated they wanted anything to do with the townsfolk. Except for Troy who had been the first to speak to her in the library, the first to lend her one of his favorite novels, the first to invite her to discuss it over a coffee once she was done (which she didn’t want to admit was only a few hours after she had received it).

Keyla glanced at her watch. It was too late. She didn’t have time to go back and change. The only thing left to do was deliver the cake as quickly as she could, stay out of the way and jump back into her car to drive back to the safety of her own room. And forget about talking to Troy and demand explanations on his
wedding day
. Now she couldn’t think of anything more pathetic.

Keyla made the last turn on the narrow dirt road, which was no more than a path through the woods now, and came out into a spacious clearing, neatly tucked among the mountain peaks and shrouded in pine forest all around. A large log gate at the end of the road announced that she was now entering Snow Crest Camp and her heart immediately started thumping in her chest, the blood pulsing against her temples. She had expected that the gate to the camp was at least attended, if not guarded, so she could simply drop off the box with the cake and be on her way, but the lonely gate only stood above the path to greet her and she crawled on slowly between the blackberry bushes.

She was already aware of some commotion ahead and soon the backs of a row of log cabins came into view. Through the gap between two of the cabins, she could already see people setting up for the wedding and some of the guests, all dressed in different hues of green, were already seated in the wooden benches lined up before the ceremonial arch. Great, now the chances of blending in amid the forest, the grass and this convenient group decision to wear green were approaching zero. She surveyed the backseat, but found nothing to cover up the ostensibly wrong coral ruffles and ribbons.

“Ok,” Keyla said aloud as if she was giving herself a private pep talk, “no one cares about the guests at a wedding, all eyes are on the groom and bride, sneak in, sneak out, fast as a lightening.” Then a scene flashed through her head. Herself, sweating and panting and red, crossing the finishing line of the town’s charity half marathon, completely out breath, her T-shirt soaked through… only fifteen minutes later than the last contestant in the group. What was worse was that the audience had actually politely waited for her to finish, all of them sharing the same encouraging look, full of pity for the chubby girl who almost collapsed in the town square, full of
understanding
and compassion, their applause and cheers for her just a bit overplayed to show their support. She wished she didn’t need support. Fast as a lightening alright.

Keyla stepped out of the car and wiped her sweaty palms on her dress before carefully lifting the box from the seat. She told herself it would all be over in a few minutes. She liked to remind herself this in a variety of situations almost daily, all of the situations involving interaction with other people. She walked over between the two cabins and hid behind a corner to sneak a peek at the situation. Her gaze fell on Corin, surrounded by other girls she recognized from the hallways of high-school, all dressed in green frocks. Corin looked impeccable, the way people shouldn’t actually look in real life. Here was proof that not all magazine models were extensively retouched as Keyla wanted to believe. Corin glowed, tall and slender, magnificent in the imperial waist wedding gown that was neither too plain, nor too ornate, and just the right amount of ethereal and tasteful. Of course she would be Troy’s match.

She cringed at the thought of them having sex (she always tried to picture couples, especially good-looking ones, having sex, because it seemed just so unnatural and disturbing and, at the same time, thrilling). In her imagination she didn’t bother with details, such as what the bits and pieces of their bodies looked like naked, but rather the succession of fluid motions, the twisting of their bodies in perfect harmony, like the entire process had been carefully choreographed and rehearsed millions of times beforehand.

When Keyla imagined herself having sex with Troy, she only saw bumping heads, arms and legs sticking out at peculiar angles, hands getting stuck, hair getting in the way, knees popping and a general awkwardness that would completely erase the sensuality and passion she craved.
Stop it!
She mentally slapped herself. Trying to make things worse on purpose was not a habit she should be cultivating. Things were already bad enough on their own.

Keyla decided that it would be best to wait for the ceremony to begin and slip the cake in at the reception long table while all guests were facing forward and engrossed in the romance of it all. Balancing the box in her hands, she leaned against the rough wood of the cabin, immediately sensing strands of hair on the back of her head getting stuck to the uneven surface. Well, she guessed she would just have to rip herself apart from the wall, losing a few hairs, gaining a few more split ends, nothing that wouldn’t contribute to the already vast abyss between her and Corin. In a few minutes it wouldn’t matter anyway, as she prepared to watch the only man she had ever been truly attracted to and wanted to impress slip away from her forever.

There he was, tall and handsome as ever, his athletic arms filling out the sleeves of his dress shirt seductively, his ass tight and compact in the elegant suit pants, flexing as he walked towards his fairy tale bride, his hair playfully ruffled by the breeze. Only, his dimples were missing. There were no sensuous lips stretched into the smile that made her weak with longing, no white teeth flashing, no sunny lines around his eyes. He was serious and even…
reluctant
? As he stood by Corin, their hands not touching, their eyes not turning to absorb the other’s beauty, Keyla held her breath. Was it possible?

“Who are you?” an unexpected growl startled her and she almost dropped the cake, as she turned swiftly to face an enormous man looming over her. His light blue, almost glass eyes tore right through her and she realized she had opened her mouth but not a sound was coming out.

“I asked,” the man wasn’t in the least bit friendly, impatience written all over his lowered eyebrows and the scowl he gave her, “what are you doing here? Who sent you?”

“I-I… The cake,” Keyla managed to mumble, beads of sweat dotting her hairline, “I’m delivering the wedding cake.” She had never seen this man before. He was slightly older than her and surely she hadn’t crossed paths with him at school. He kept looking at her incredulously as if she was some sort of a freak, some lesser form of a human being with no right to trespass. “I’m Keyla, from the bakery,” she made a last attempt to clarify her presence beside the cabin’s wall, her voice trembling with insecurity.

Suddenly, as soon as he heard her name, his entire face changed, and she could have sworn she saw something of a shadow, a strange, contorted mask passing over his features, or was she simply terrified?

“Well, isn’t that exactly what I needed,” he said, apparently talking to himself, and without a warning, he snatched her arm above the elbow, his fingers digging into her soft flesh like metal claws, and dragged her forcefully towards the back of the house. She barely managed to keep the cake from smashing on the ground and right when she opened her mouth to scream, a huge, hairy hand clasped over her parted lips, almost suffocating her. Strangely enough, as the man quickly picked her up off the ground with one hand, while holding the other over her mouth, the first thought that passed through her mind wasn’t about her safety, but that that he had had no difficulty at all lifting her up, as if she was small, as if she was delicate, light as a feather. Then the fear flooded her and she clutched the box even more tightly, feeling the sugar petals of the cake inside crumple and break under her fingers.

Chapter 5

Troy

Elaine, Troy’s mother, handed him the bear skin, her eyes glistening with something between pride and deep sorrow at the moment when Aria was draping another bear skin, smaller and lighter brown, over her daughter’s shoulders. Troy placed the bear’s head over his own and wrapped the thick, furry hide around himself. Then they both kneeled in the feet of their mothers, who stood under the lavishly decorated pine branch wedding arch. Troy finally gathered the strength to look sideways at his bride. Half hidden under the bear skin, she looked as innocent and graceful as a fairy princess, her cheeks smooth and blushing in the crisp morning air, her long eyelashes fluttering, and her large, deep brown eyes demurely lowered to the mossy ground in front of her. If he didn’t know her, if he didn’t sense the blood under her fingernails and the pieces of ripped skin at the tips of her sharp teeth, the darkness that enveloped her heart and the insatiable hunger that emanated from her like perfume, he could have fallen for her. He could have let himself be enchanted by her beauty and her sensuality. Her powerful ferocity and greed, however, did nothing but repulse him.

As the last of the guests were taking their seats and pulling their own bear skins over their heads, Troy’s mind wandered off into the past to the moment when he first laid his eyes on Keyla. Or rather
felt
her presence. One evening, a few weeks before graduation, he had sneaked into the library late enough to avoid the rush (not that reading was among Bear Cove’s residents’ favorite pastimes). He was on his way to the local history section, which was of particular interest to him, with the intention to peruse some old maps, hoping to find some bits of the long forgotten history of his clan, when the scent first struck him. It wasn’t the artificial chemical smell of most girls he encountered in town, waves upon waves of synthetic aromas plastered in layers over their skins in the forms of lotions and bath products and body sprays. No. This was a singular scent that was at the same time dewy and fresh like the morning mists in the mountain and spicy like vanilla, cinnamon and thyme, natural and crisp, tender to his sensitive nostrils, delicately veiled over the clean, musky undertones of a woman’s skin.