Crookshollow foxes box set: The complete fox shapeshifter romance series

by Steffanie Holmes

  Ryan dragged me to my feet, his other hand flying across the keyboard on his phone, texting the driver to come back. I began to walk with him toward the house, casting a last, lingering glace at the beautiful, fairy-lit grotto Clara had created for us.

  "Wait!" Clara bent down, and from the folds of her shawl she pulled a small velvet pouch. She pressed this into my hands. "For protection," she said. "Keep it with you at all times."

  I tucked the pouch into the pocket of my jacket, and embraced her. "Thank you," I whispered.

  The cab driver took us back to the building where my car was parked. Panic seized me as I stepped out of the car. I scanned the car park, hunting for animals hidden in the shadows. My hands shook uncontrollably as I pulled my keys out and went to climb into the driver's seat. Ryan slipped in between me and the door, his eyes ablaze. "I'll drive," he growled.

  I was barely holding it together as it was, without having to endure more of his driving. "No, you won't. Don't ruin this beautiful night by being an ass. This is my car, and you drive like a maniac, so it's either I drive us back to my place, or you take a long, pleasant walk through the mean Crookshollow streets. And you're meant to be protecting me, remember?"

  Ryan shot me a filthy look, but slid into the passenger seat beside me. I pulled out of the building and eased into the street. Traffic had eased off for the evening, and people gathered in the outdoor restaurant tables lining either side of the high street. I wound the window down, listening to the sounds of laughter and light conversation floating through the crisp air, straining my voice to hear the flutter of wings or bark of a fox behind me.

  As I drove back through the streets toward Holly Avenue, near the edge of the forest, I stole a glance at Ryan. He stared out at the window, his expression unreadable. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me – what did it feel like to find the girl who supposedly was meant to be your destiny? What was it like to discover she didn't feel the same connection?

  Or did she? I wasn't sure. I definitely felt something in his presence … a kind of magnetic pull I couldn't explain away. In the two days I'd known Ryan, I'd seen so many sides of him. The arrogant, rich artiste, the protective fox, the sensitive, lonely painter, and tonight ... he'd been so charming, so sweet, so honest. I wanted so badly to peel away all the layers of him, to see if anything else lay deeper.

  I glanced up at the mirror and noticed something odd. A car was following close behind me down a residential street. A bad feeling twisted in my gut. I turned down a side street. The black station wagon behind me turned, too.

  We exited the residential street along one of the main industrial roads. Warehouses lined both sides of the street – many abandoned now that Crookshollow was mainly a tourist village. I slammed my foot down on the accelerator, but the car behind matched my speed. I ran through a light just before it flipped to red. The black wagon careered through, narrowly avoiding sideswiping a white lorry.

  "Ryan," I said, clenching the wheel tightly. "Don't turn around, but that car behind us … I think it's following us. It's turned down the last two streets after us, and it even ran a red light back there in order to stay on our tail."

  Ryan pulled down his visor, using the mirror inside to see behind us. I turned into Peach Street, heading in the opposite direction to Raynard Hall. The car turned as well.

  "I'm afraid you may be right," he said. "I can sense Marcus nearby, and there's someone else … someone he greatly fears, who he believes to be dangerous."

  "What are we going to do?" I felt panic rise in my throat.

  "Turn right up ahead," he said.

  I did, trying to force down the lump in my throat, trying to stay calm so I could focus on the road. The street Ryan turned me down was devoid of houses. Tall oaks lined each side of the road. After a mile or so, the road became dirt, and my car bounced over the holes. Branches bent low over the road, scraping the roof as we lurched by.

  Something pushed our car from behind, jerking us forward. I screamed as my hands flew off the wheel. Ryan reached over and grabbed it, keeping the car from spinning off the road.

  "Alex, you've got to calm down!"

  Fuck that. I whirled around, just in time to see the black wagon slam into us again, nudging us off the edge of the road, just inches from a tree trunk. I grabbed the wheel from Ryan and yanked it back, putting my foot down as hard as I dared to try and gain some distance from our pursuers. We bounced through the trees, branches scraping along the doors.

  "He's trying to run us off the road!" Panic surged in my chest. I didn't want to die in a horrible car fire, my body all mangled and bashed up.

  "I told you to let me drive. Now hold on!" Ryan leaned over and yanked the wheel hard to the left. I screamed as my car spun off the road and hurtled down into a ditch.

  We bounced along at an angle, before two of the wheels came off the ground and Ryan lost control of the steering. The car rolled off the bank and hurtled down a steep slope. Trees zoomed past us. Branches flew at the windshield. My stomach flew into my ears.

  My body jerked forward, my face slamming into the airbag. We'd hit something. The force echoed through my bones, so that everything felt disjointed and rattled about. My ears rung, my head felt as though it had been rattled into a pulp. Spiderwebs crackled across the windshield. Someone was screaming. It took me a few moments to realise it was me.

  Ryan flung his door open and pulled himself out. I grabbed the handle and tried to push mine open. It wouldn't budge. In the dim light of the moon, I could just make out the tree against the bonnet. It had collapsed into the driver's side of the car, the mangled frame locking my door shut. What would I do now? I wondered dimly, my mind still far away, still fuzzy from the shock of the crash.

  Suddenly, my door was torn free. Ryan grabbed me and pulled me onto the damp earth. "C'mon!" he cried, dragging me further down the bank, into the forest. I passed the door in a crumpled heap, one side jagged where it had been torn from the body of the car.

  I didn't stop to wonder how Ryan could possibly have the strength to tear a car door from its hinges. Behind us, I heard wheels spinning, people shouting. Whoever had been following us was coming for us again.

  Ryan held tight to my hand as he pulled me through the trees. I ran blindly, branches scraping my face and arms as I crashed through behind him. My shoes slipped off my heels, struggling for traction on the steep ground.

  "They're not giving up!" I cried, as I head branches breaking behind us.

  "No, they're not!" Ryan pulled me down on the ground behind a tree. He tugged something from his pocket and pressed it into my hands. His phone. "There's a flashlight app on the dashboard," he said. "You need to run to the house, as fast as you can. We're not far now. Just down the bottom of this hill, you'll see a stream. Follow it and it will lead you to the edge of the back gardens. When you reach the back door, ring the bell three times. Simon will let you in. Do you still have the protection spell Clara gave you?"

  I nodded, fingering the pouch in my pocket. "What are you going to do?"

  "Something I've done horribly badly up until now," he growled. "I'm going to protect you."

  He stepped away from me, and, with deft fingers, unbuttoned his shirt. He pushed it into my hands, then slipped off his boots and started to tug off his jeans. He tied the laces of his boots together, and threw them over a tree branch, then folded the jeans and pressed them into my hands as well.

  "Stop trying to watch me undress," he growled, moving behind a tree. "Take those clothes back to the house with you. That's a nice jacket. I don't want it ruined out here."

  "What about your boots?"

  "I have clothes stashed all over this wood, in case I need them. These boots will come in handy one day. Now, run!"

  I turned on my heel and ran, my hand holding the cellphone out in front of me, the dim light illuminating tree trunks as they streamed past my face. My heels kept slipping from my shoes, slapping against the insoles like wet flip-flops. I half-ran, half tum
bled down the rest of the bank, landing in a prickly bush at the bottom. I pulled my shaking body upright, and half ran, half stumbled onward into the gloom. I heard water rushing to my left. The stream! I ran alongside, just able to make out the thin stream of water from its glow. From back up on the bank, someone howled in pain. Ryan? Was that him? Was he OK?

  Even holding the cellphone out in front of me, the tiny circle of light only gave me a few feet of visibility. Stones rolled under my feet as I scrambled along the bank, gasping for air. As quickly and silently as I could, I followed the trickle of water as it meandered toward Raynard Hall, and safety.

  I felt a presence beside me, on my right. I turned my head, and saw a flash of red in the bushes. Ryan. He was circling me, protecting me as I ran. But from what? Was it Marcus, or was it one of these other shifters – the ones who wanted to use me against him?

  I heard a growl on my left, on the other side of the stream. Not daring to look, I poured on speed. My heart pounded against my chest, and my breath came out in short, ragged gasps, but I pushed my body to keep on running. I could hear the creature moving through the trees, smell its fetid breath as it came closer, closer. Ryan, I'm dangerously close to panicking here, I screamed inside my head. Something is hunting me.

  Another growl, closer this time. It was coming up right behind me. Snarling, teeth gnashing, hot breath on the backs of my legs.

  I could see lights through the trees up ahead – square lights from the windows of the house. Nearly there. I poured on speed again. My lungs gasped for air. And then, just as the dark shapes of the garden beds came into view, my shoe caught on a tree root sticking out of the ground, and I fell.

  I skidded across the sharp stones, scraping the skin from my arms and knees. I landed half in the stream, the cold water stinging my skin. I dragged myself out of the water and tried to pull myself to my feet, but something heavy landed on my back, pinning me to the stony ground.

  Its breath was hot against my face as its snout nuzzled my ear. I could feel the bristly hair of its snout rubbing against my neck. A foul stench wafted across my nostrils – the smell of blood and rotting meat.

  My lungs screamed for air, and my heart thundered against my chest. I tried to wriggle away, but a sharp pain in my shoulder kept me pinned down.

  The claws dug deeper into my shoulder, and I cried out. I could feel its hair rubbing against my skin, as it pressed closer – close enough to tear my face off in one snap of its powerful jaws. It growled in my ear – a low, powerful growl – and I closed my eyes, praying that the bite would end my life quickly–

  I heard a squeal, and the creature was torn from my back. I screamed as its claws slashed my shoulder as it flew from my body and landed in a heap a few feet from where I lay. I opened my eyes and stared at it – it wasn't a fox, but a great wolf with glowing yellow eyes, its beautiful grey coat filthy with dirt and mud. It no longer snarled, but whimpered, licking at a wound on its leg.

  I whirled around, and saw Ryan standing behind me, his body rigid, his tail swishing with anger as he poised for another attack, his eyes narrowed, ready for the kill. He barked at me. Weirdly, the bark registered in my head as a word, as clear as if the fox had spoken in English. That word was run.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran toward the lights. Each step jostled my torn shoulder, and as I ran I sobbed with the pain of the gaping wound. I could feel my own warm blood flowing down my back. I fought through the pain, driving my legs forward, pushing myself to fight for safety.

  I cleared the forest, and my feet slapped against damp, dewy grass. I raced down a flagstone path, weaving between ornate statues and elaborate topiary beds. I cleared the steps three at a time, screaming as the pain tore at my shoulder. Behind me, I heard growls and snarls as more creatures emerged from the trees, each one desperate to bring me down.

  The door – I was nearly there! I fumbled for the bell, pushed it three times, collapsed against the ornate carved panels, banging my fists against it, knowing any moment that something was going to come up behind me and finish me off. Paws thudded across the cobbles, claws clinking against the concrete path. I couldn't hear anything inside the house. I pounded on the window. "Simon!" I cried. "Let me in! It's Ryan, he's in trouble!"

  The door flew open, and I toppled on to the marble floor. Simon stared at me, disbelief written across his face. He went to help me to my feet, but a flash of red flew between us. Ryan. His paws skidded on the marble, and he yelped as he hit the side of the staircase, and crumpled into a heap.

  Outside, I heard something snarling as it raced across the lawn towards us. A dark shape running straight for the door.

  "Close it! Close it!" I screamed. If that thing got in the house, we'd be doomed.

  Simon slammed the door shut, just as the beast slammed into it. I heard wood splintering. It howled as it clawed at the solid door, scratching at it with the same claws that had torn open my shoulder. Simon slid the old-fashioned bolts across, punched a combination into an alarm box, and scattered a handful of herbs from a nearby urn across the threshold.

  "This house is protected," he said to me, though it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. "They can't get in here without breaking some powerful magical protection. Nevertheless, we should move to a less exposed part of the house."

  I nodded, my head spinning as shock started to set in. My legs buckled beneath me, and I slumped against the door, sliding down until I sat on the cool marble tiles. I watched the fox as if in a trance, unable to quite connect my thoughts together in my fuzzy mind.

  With eyes filled with pain, Ryan pulled himself on all fours and moved deeper into the house, dragging his right hind leg behind him. I could see a trail of blood on the marble.

  I felt powerful hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet. "Quickly now," said Simon, supporting me with his own body as he shuffled down the hall after Ryan. "He's injured, and I need to tend to his wounds. In his fox form, he doesn't like humans to touch him. If he hides too deep in this house, I'll never find him."

  I let Simon lead me across the opulent entrance hall. We followed Ryan down a corridor, up a narrow flight of stairs, and down another wide corridor into a brightly painted drawing room – another room, like Ryan's light-soaked gallery, completely stripped of the stuffy, formal English furniture that adorned the rest of the manor. Simon laid me on a sofa, then closed and bolted the doors.

  "Please," he gestured to the pile of bright cushions beside me. "Make yourself comfortable. There are drinks in that cabinet if you need something to calm your nerves. I'll fetch you food in a moment. I need to attend to him." I heard Ryan's claws clacking against the waxed wooden floor, deeper in the room.

  "My shoulder–" I moaned. The pain was becoming unbearable.

  Sighing. Simon turned to me, pulling a first aid kit from a drawer beneath the liquor cabinet. He sat on the coffee table, facing me, and quickly cleaned my wound, peeled the backing off a dressing, and pressed it onto my shoulder. I tried to turn my head to look, but he pushed my chin gently away. "It's a nasty cut," he said kindly, "but you'll heal." When he had finished, he handed me two pills, and a glass of whisky. "For the pain," he said. "I know you shouldn't mix these with alcohol, but I think in this case we can make an exception."

  From somewhere behind me, Ryan whimpered. Simon whistled. Ryan gave a short yip in response. I watched, numb with shock and fear, as Simon reached inside a high cupboard and pulled out a towel. He bent down in front of Ryan, who had hidden behind an overstuffed chair on the far side of the room, and lovingly rubbed his fur dry. "Let's take a look at that leg," he said.

  Ryan whimpered again, the sound tearing at my insides. "Don't hurt him," I whispered.

  Simon shushed him. "You know it is much better to dress wounds while you're in fox form, Master Ryan." He pulled the first aid kit across the table and got to work cleaning, stitching, and wrapping Ryan's wound.

  "Excuse the master," he said kindly, as he dabbed at Ryan's matted fur, whi
le Ryan panted. "If he's exerted himself a great deal, it takes him a few minutes to gain the strength to shift back to human form, especially when he has been injured."

  "I understand," I breathed, gulping down the scotch, enjoying the warmth as it circled my throat. "I'm a little tapped of strength myself."

  Simon got up, took my empty glass, and poured me another drink. He handed that to me, and then filled another two glasses, raising one to his own lips. "I hope you don't mind scotch. Ryan has his particular tastes, of course, and we don't often have visitors, so I don't have much on hand."

  I only nodded; staring at the fox slumped beside the door, panting as he licked at his wound. My stomach clenched tight. Oh, Ryan, please be OK.

  The whisky was starting to take effect, warming me from the inside out. The sting in my shoulder subsided into a dull ache. Simon and I sat opposite each other, drinking in silence, watching the fox try to tug off the bandage, waiting for Ryan the human to materialise.

  "You can touch him," said Simon kindly.

  I set down my drink, and knelt beside Ryan. His breathing was laboured, and he stared at me with large brown eyes, filled with pain. I reached out a hand toward him, letting him sniff it, nudging it with his snout. He snorted, his warm breath tickling my hand, and I smiled, despite my fear. I leaned down, reached around his neck, and hugged him to me, running my hands through his thick, soft fur, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath. I buried my head in his fur, taking in the woody scent of him. "Please come back to us, Ryan," I said, feeling my tears fall against him. "I choose you."

  Slowly, in my arms, I felt the fox begin to change. Beneath his fur, Ryan's bones were reforming, elongating and twisting to become human limbs. His fur shrank away, revealing warm, clammy flesh. I held tight to him as his body twisted under my touch, and in a few moments, I was holding Ryan the human, my Ryan. He raised his arms and embraced me in return.