Kept: A Coveted Novel

by Shawntelle Madison

  Uncle Boris immediately stepped toward her. “What’s the matter, Anna?”

  Mom shook her head as Dad led her out of the room. The urge to follow them was strong, but I knew it was best to let Dad take care of her.

  Everything settled down once my parents left. While Auntie Yelena continued to give me the evil eye, Alex sat down next to me.

  “You’ve been preparing for the trials, haven’t you?” he asked.

  The question was a simple one and unfortunately so was the answer. I hadn’t done a damn thing. A few months ago, I was completely focused on staying alive while the Long Island pack hunted me down. But even now that the invaders were long gone, I still had yet to find the time, or the energy, to do a push-up.

  “I’ve been planning a thing or two to get ready.” Or none.

  “Good. Then adding a workout routine with me to your schedule won’t be so hard.” He gave me a wink from his seemingly innocent blue eyes. But I knew they were about as innocent as a carton of milk left in the fridge for too long. You never know what you’re gonna get when you finally venture to take a sip.

  While Alex and I spoke, Aunt Vera had honed in on Aggie. Out of all my aunts, Aunt Vera’s matchmaking tendencies were the most relentless. If she wasn’t eating or trying to throw on a dress that was too tight for her pear-shaped body, she was arranging perfect pairings for her relatives’ all-important walk down the aisle—or trying to.

  “You’ve been here so long, Agatha. Haven’t you found a good man yet?”

  This was where I should’ve rescued my friend. But from the amused expression on Aggie’s face, I thought it seemed best to sit and observe.

  “Not yet.” She shrugged with a slight grin. “But who knows if Prince Charming isn’t waiting for me in a drunken stupor on some street corner?”

  My aunt harrumphed. “You don’t need just any man.” She had that mothers-know-best expression down pat. “You’re Scottish, right? Well, that means you need a good, strong man. A Russian man.”

  Here we go. For the next ten minutes—or should I say longer, since I got up to do something trivial in the kitchen, my aunt began her spiel. When I came back she was still going—giving Aggie every reason she could think of for marrying a Russian man. That she was willing to say all this while the men in my family were sitting at the table struck me as rather bold. Uncle Boris was an overpowering-cologne-ridden lady-killer, my brother used to be a man-whore, and … well, the best thing I could say of my three other uncles was at least they had jobs and would be loyal spouse material. That was it. Unfortunately.

  After picking up a few things here and there in the kitchen, I peered out the back window to see Mom and Dad sitting on the patio in the backyard. Dad’s thick arm was stretched across Mom’s shoulders, drawing her small frame close to his large one. Even with the contrast in their appearance, they looked like the perfect pair.

  Their words were ever-so-faint, but I heard them nonetheless. As a werewolf, my hearing is quite acute, as is that of my family members. To keep a conversation to themselves, my parents often went outside.

  “—but it has been too quiet in the house,” my dad said.

  “It has. I’ve missed my Natalya.”

  “I know you have. I never expected things to … turn out how they have lately. But you do believe me when I say that I don’t want you to worry,” Dad whispered.

  Worry about what? I leaned as close to the window as I dared.

  “I’ve waited so long for us to become grandparents,” Mom said. “I’ve looked forward to it.”

  “And soon you will be one,” he replied softly. “You’re a good jena. The best wife for a man like me. Sasha’s baby’ll come soon, and Natalya will marry a good man. We’re a family again, and there’s nothing but smooth sailing ahead of us.”

  Mom’s reply didn’t sound as confident. “I hope what you say is true, Fyodor. I really do.”

  I heard one of them shift to look around, and I immediately backed away from the window. The rest of their conversation belonged to them, but what I’d heard weighed heavily on my mind as I walked back to the dining room. After all the things I’d had to face, what could be coming now?

  Chapter 2

  I hadn’t expected a man—other than my brother—to call me the next day at five a.m. to wake me to begin my training. I recognized the number right away, and it wasn’t Alex’s. Caller ID really made it hard to be surprised these days.

  I let the phone ring three times before I picked it up, then blurted, “Thorn Grantham, unless you’re calling to give me a free pass to avoid the trials, there’s no reason for you to call me at this hour.”

  “Meet me at the high school track in thirty minutes.” There was a click and the phone line went dead.

  I hadn’t heard his voice in a while, so I wouldn’t have minded a “Hey, you” or perhaps a “Sorry to wake you at five in the morning.” But all I got was an order to meet him at the track, presumably to start my training.

  If my foggy memory served me correctly, wasn’t it Alex who was supposed to have called me for a training session? And if so, why had my sneaky brother asked this particular person to help me out—the one man I wanted to avoid at all costs? Alex knew my ex-boyfriend was engaged to another woman. His blatant attempt to hook us up was useless.

  I heard Aggie snoring in her room as I plodded into the bathroom to get ready. I was tempted to bang on her door and wake her up so she could offer moral support at the track.

  Ten minutes later, after a cold shower and half a pot of rich Columbian coffee, I hurried out of my house and drove to the track.

  While driving, I mentally went over the three individual elements of the trials. Werewolves, like humans, had special initiation ceremonies. In order to be accepted as a productive member of the pack, candidates had to prove they could defend themselves and protect their clan mates—in essence, show themselves to be of sound mind, body, and spirit.

  The first challenge I’d have to face was a ten-mile run. If I survived the second part, a grueling obstacle course, I’d then have to show I could dominate my enemies. The ten-mile run and the obstacle course were intended to wear me down before the final hardship—a fight with one of my fellow candidates. I saw this stage as a pissing match in which the combat-ready candidates could shine and achieve a higher rank within the pack. In terms of self-confidence, I didn’t have much. I wasn’t a fighter and I didn’t see myself becoming one. But what I did have was an undying drive to join the pack—no matter how insurmountable the odds.

  When I pulled into the lot, the track was empty; it was early morning after all. Just a few lights illuminated the stands, but with my keen night vision, I could see no one was there. It was not until I left my car and entered the stadium that I found a blond-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt waiting for me on the bleachers, gazing at the woods surrounding the high school grounds.

  Despite his brusque phone call to order me to come here, I knew that avoiding Thorn was my best course of action. For the sake of my heart anyway. Letting go of the past was a lot easier when it kept out of your way. Yet I’d still come here to meet him.

  Thorn was a few feet away when I caught his scent. A chilled breeze brought it to me: a mix of denim, leather, and mild soap. To my nose it was a perfect combination. “How did Alex convince you to do this?”

  He stared at me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Alex said something about you needing help and how he couldn’t do it since he’s busy preparing for the baby’s arrival. So he asked me to train you for the trials and I said yes.”

  I sighed. “He never planned to help me at all.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Thorn indicated I should follow him to the track.

  “You don’t see what he’s trying to do? Get us together here alone?”

  He shrugged. “We’re both adults. It’s not like we don’t know what we can and can’t do.”

  Then he glanced briefly at my shoes: a pair of running shoe
s that hadn’t left the shoe box until fifteen minutes ago. “Have you ever run in those things before?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “I have to dress up for work every day. That means heels, not sneakers.”

  “Do you do everything in heels? Never mind, don’t answer that. My mind went to the wrong place real fast.”

  I suppressed a smile and tried not to follow his mind into the gutter. It wasn’t easy though, with the way his T-shirt clung to his body. My fingers itched to trace a line along the rock-hard abs under his shirt.

  “Are you ready to face the trials?” He took in my appearance, and I wondered if he was thinking that the battle with the Long Island werewolves had damaged me permanently in some way. It had, but not in the way he probably thought. I mean, let’s keep it real here: Who could get through a fight to the death in which you watched the man you loved get stabbed in the heart and not walk away just a little bit frazzled? Especially someone in my fragile condition.

  “I’m hanging in there. I’ll do just fine.” I waved my hand as if I wouldn’t bat an eye at what he had in mind today.

  He studied me. Maybe he didn’t believe me. But instead of brushing me off, he began his spiel. “Let’s get you started with the endurance stage. You need to show you’re capable of a ten-mile run.”

  “Sounds easy enough. I’ve run that far many times during the full moon.”

  His hazel eyes went to slits. “In human form.”

  My mouth dropped open then snapped shut. Oh. I tried to remember the last time I’d run anywhere when not in wolf form. As a werewolf I had honed senses and a powerful physique, but I knew that in my human form I wasn’t in the best physical shape. I was a size six, but that was mostly due to my skinny Russian-girl genes. (Which my mother loved to remind me would disappear after I had kids.)

  “I’ll do fine.” I left him behind and jogged down the track. Would he follow me? I turned briefly to see him sitting down on the bleachers to watch my progress.

  “You’re not coming?” I asked.

  “You have the pace of a were-sloth participating in the Olympics. You’d slow me down to the point of aggravation.”

  After a few minutes, and a few laps (I wasn’t keeping count), I became winded. As I passed him I asked, “How am I doing?”

  “You need another lap to complete one mile. At the rate you’re running, I could go pick up a breakfast sandwich and still make it back before you’re done with your ten miles.”

  “A mile?” I glanced at my watch. It had taken me eight minutes to do less than a mile. I had to be in better shape than this if I was going to survive the trials. But my chest burned and my shins ached. As a werewolf, I sucked: Like all werewolves, I had natural agility and speed, but evidently endurance wasn’t an automatically included ability.

  By the time I completed three miles, I was reduced to walking. I avoided Thorn’s eyes each time I passed him. Why stir up his animosity?

  Thirty minutes later, I plopped down on the other side of the track and lay between the lanes. All this torture and I still had a long workday ahead of me.

  A shadow passed over my head. It was Thorn. “This’ll be a long week for you. Expect to be here at four a.m. tomorrow.”

  “Don’t athletes get a day of rest between events?”

  He snorted. “A day of rest is for people who exert themselves. See you bright and early tomorrow, Nat.” With that he walked off the track and disappeared into the woods.

  A part of me warned myself not to watch him walk away. But I couldn’t help it. Between training for the trials and wanting Thorn, the trials would be far easier for me to deal with.

  My group therapy day was usually Tuesday. A regular schedule made my life, or should I say my stress level, a lot easier to manage. But at this difficult time, with the trials coming, my therapist thought it’d be a great idea to shake things up and have us meet on a Friday. In his phone message last Friday, Dr. Frank explained that he wanted to put me in a new situation to help me learn to accept change. He had sounded cheerful, but his good cheer didn’t help me much while I scrambled to rearrange my work schedule.

  I told myself that now that I’d had my first “official” day of training, I should spend more time working to improve other aspects of my life. Even though I’d been thrown yet another curveball, with the added Friday session, at least I was on the path to normalcy.

  Since I wasn’t on the Long Island pack’s hit list anymore, it was safe for me to drive to New York City, a somewhat pleasant drive on an early winter day like today. Dr. Frank’s Manhattan office was located not far from Central Park. The building appeared to be no different from any other in Midtown. Matter of fact, the regular folks who walked by every day had no idea that inside the ordinary-looking building was a bunch of supernatural physicians and their practices.

  I’d been to this building many times before I’d officially restarted therapy with Dr. Frank a few months ago. I’d first come here with my parents back when I was a teen. Mom and Dad had settled into the flow of the city easily, and no wonder, they’d lived here many, many years ago. Perhaps through their eyes, the city hadn’t changed much at all from when there had been horse carriages and Model Ts in the streets. But for me, New York City had been a frightening place.

  After growing up in a small town like South Toms River, the city that never slept was too bustling and dirty for me. Even Dr. Frank and his office had been intimidating. The only thing I knew at the time was that I had a problem—and my parents felt it was bad enough for me to seek out magical help.

  As I drove past a street vendor selling Eastern European food, I couldn’t help but think about that first trip. How after I barely survived my session with my therapist, my father had stopped at a cart very similar to the one I now passed and bought me some piping hot piroshki. I remember how the outer breading melted in my mouth while the ground beef within had been spiced to perfection. The whole time, Mom had grumbled about me not needing therapy. But Dad simply bought me the food and told me not to worry about her. He promised me everything would work out. All I had to do was look forward to more piroshki when we came back for my next therapy session.

  As I walked up to the building now, I couldn’t help but think: If only such memories could make therapy any easier.

  The office, up on the fourteen floor, had the cleanliness of a hospital. It smelled germ-free and had a large waiting room with lots of seats. I went straight past the receptionist to the meeting room, and before I even walked in the door I smelled the welcome scent of coffee and fresh pastries. Dr. Frank liked to keep his patients as happy as he possibly could under the circumstances.

  The meeting room had been set up for us, with the chairs forming a circle. Off to the side was a small table with refreshments. For the sake of my sanity, I’d arrived comfortably early this time, and the first thing I did was search for my friends.

  I spotted two other members of my therapy group: Raj, the minor Indian deity, and Tyler, a dwarf. Raj nodded my way like he always did. Therapy session wouldn’t be the same without Raj clutching his antibacterial wipes. Like humans, I couldn’t see his multiple arms, but I bet his hands were covered with gloves to keep the germs away. With the way people kept coughing all over the place this winter, I might feel inclined to wear them, too.

  From his seat, Tyler offered a wave and then smiled. It was a rather attractive one; Tyler was a dwarf who could have worked as an underwear model. Although a dwarf, he was actually one of the tallest guys here, except when hunched over like he was right now. My poor friend tried his best to appear smaller, more dwarflike, but it was rather difficult, and I’m sure that gave him even more stress.

  Two other friends waved from their seats: Abby the Muse and Heidi the mermaid. Heidi’s wave was far more exuberant than Abby’s. The Muse always melted into the background and usually only spoke when spoken to. But when Abby had joined the others in the group to help me fight the Long Island werewolves, I’d seen a side to her that had b
een a lot more animated.

  A warm hand touched my shoulder. Only Thorn could sneak up on me like this without a scent or sound. Dressed in a black trench coat with a black fedora, the white wizard gave me a tantalizing grin. His hat was tilted forward, causing his black hair to cover one of his eyes. His other eye, dark and mysterious, danced with mischief. My heartbeat quickened. It felt good to know someone looked forward to seeing me.

  “You look wistful today.” Nick Fenton leaned in close enough for me to take in his handsome face, from his strong chin up to his midnight eyes. He was so close his casual greeting felt wonderfully intimate. But after seeing Thorn this morning, I felt awkward: The potential relationship I’d been building with Nick had been pushed a bit off-kilter.

  “I’m just a bit tired. With the trials coming and all.” I inhaled deeply and waited for the scents to tell me about the man in front of me. Maybe today was different. But, as usual, the only thing I caught was the smell of the others around me. Nick was a blank canvas.

  “Do you want to talk about it—”

  Our conversation was cut short as Dr. Frank came in and told us to sit down. The old wizard patted Nick on the back in greeting and directed him to a chair. By the time I’d grabbed a coffee and moved to sit, there was only one seat available, and it was right next to the newest member of the therapy group: the wood nymph named Starfire Whimsong. He was as laid-back as ever, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. On a wintery day. Even worse, his ethereal forest magic couldn’t cover up the obvious fact that he stank. It was pretty bad today.

  I sat and tried to think happy thoughts. Across the room, Nick glanced at me with concern. He mouthed, “You want to trade places?”

  As much as I did want that, I couldn’t do it. I was there for therapy. If Starfire brushed up against me, I wouldn’t fall over twitching. That was what my antibacterial wipes were for.

  On the other side of Starfire sat Lilith. A succubus who, unfortunately, still didn’t look as if she’d drained any souls lately. Lilith’s skin, which normally looked pearl-white, seemed a bit grayed and unhealthy. Even her eyes didn’t appear as bright. Her coat, which was too big, had some kind of furry dead animal wrapped around the collar, and the color of her orange fingernail polish didn’t seem like a wise choice with her lavender-and-gray-striped shoes. To each her own, I guess.