Crookshollow foxes box set: The complete fox shapeshifter romance series

by Steffanie Holmes

  “I know.” I liked this game, enjoyed watching his face contort as he came at me again. “But I was either too busy, or too distracted, or so angry at you I didn’t want to look at them, so I got those ditzy assistants to hang it. But I want to look at them now.”

  “I don’t know if I like you looking at them while I’m here,” he said, his tone light. I caught his eye across the room. He looked worried. “It seems weird somehow.”

  “You have one of my journals in the pocket of your jacket. I think you win the weirdness stakes.”

  “Touché,” he tried to reach around me, to clasp my breast again, but I shrugged him away and stepped up to the first canvas, standing just far enough away so I could take it all in at once. It was the same unmistakable Ryan Raynard style that marked all his work, but different – his colours more vibrant, the brushstrokes more free-flowing, less laboured. In this drawing he had depicted a woman in shadow, sitting on a wooden box in the middle of a cobbled square. Men circled her, each one carrying a torch, their faces long and gaunt, as though their skin was melting away from their bodies. At the edges of the painting, tree branches extended, long tendrils creeping over the cobbles, reaching out toward the woman, their bold green leaves a flash of luscious colour in the otherwise dark and gloomy scene. The light from their lanterns cast long, eerie shadows over the grey street.

  Ryan stood beside me, breathing hard. His hand searched for mine, and he grasped it, knitting his fingers in mine. A great electric charge surged between us, an energy flowing from my body to his and back again. Staring at that painting, even with its somewhat dreary subject matter, and feeling the touch of the artist as he moved behind me, his stiff cock rubbing against my ass crack, made my body flush with heat. This must be what it feels like when groupies meet their favourite rock star backstage, I realised. In your head you know this is just a guy, he lives and breathes and farts and has arguments with parking meters just like other guys. But to you, he is something other. He is magical.

  And when that guy is breathing in your ear and his hands are pulling up your shirt ...

  I darted away from Ryan again, and moved on to the next painting. Ryan clomped after me, moaning with frustration. He reached me and pulled me against him once more, his fingers digging under my shirt, nails scraping over my skin. But I was already mesmerised by the next painting. In this one, Ryan was back in familiar territory – the forest. But this forest was dark and sinister – towering trees with curled, blackened branches against a blood-red sky. Hunched, shadowy figures walked across a ridgeline, their shapes outlined by the glowing orb of the moon. They were part human, part deer. Horns grew from their foreheads and hooves jutted out from beneath their trouser legs.

  Ryan’s hands moved along my stomach, the tips of his fingers dancing over the edge of my bra. He pinched my nipple through the fabric, the sharp pain bringing me back to reality. He rolled my nipples under his fingers through the fabric of my bra. Soon, they stood erect – hard little balls that rubbed against the fabric of my shirt. He continued to lightly stroke each nipple, sending shivers of delight through my chest. I almost gave in, my body yearning to sink back against him and succumb to his desires, but I wanted to keep going. I wanted to see his work. So with a great effort I pulled myself away and moved across the hall.

  In the next painting, there was a row of houses – little cottages on one end, tall brick terraced flats at the other. The forest rose up behind them, those twisted black branches stretching toward the windows, wrapping around the bright-colours doors. Glowing yellow eyes peered from the shadows in the trees, glaring down upon the houses with malicious intent. The houses buckled under the pressure of the forest – they sagged at the edges, as if the buildings themselves were frowning. Streaks of blue dribbled down the bricks, pooling in great puddles on the road, where a row of skulking cats danced between them. Looking at the scene gave me a strange, twisting feeling in my gut – an unsettled sense that something I dearly loved was going to be taken away. In front of this painting, Ryan didn’t try to arouse me. He just stood behind me, his cheek pressed against mine, the warmth of his skin like a fire on a cold winter’s night.

  “It is the village,” he said. “It is crying for help.”

  I nodded, understanding. That uneasy feeling swirling through me, and I realised that for Ryan, the fact that Crookshollow was in danger weighed heavily on his mind. He might act tough, hiding away in his mansion like he didn’t care about anyone or anything, but he did care. A lot. He loved Crookshollow just as much as I did, and seeing his town in danger made him sad. Those weeping houses were a rare glimpse into his mind, a window into his deepest, most vulnerable thoughts. With these paintings, he was letting me in. He was letting everybody in. No wonder he didn’t want to attend the opening. It was like having your diary posted on the internet. Soon, the whole world was going to know that he was actually a nice guy.

  As I walked from painting to painting, I saw my favourite artist as I never had before. It was the finest work Ryan had ever done. Here he had laid his soul utterly bare, pouring into each painting his love of the forest and of the town, his pain and his anger and his loneliness. Here he cried out for all the things he’d been deprived of in his life. All the things that his touch sought when he reached for me in the night.

  More than anything in the world, more than I wanted to see Isengrim dead or feel Ryan’s hand on my body again, I wanted to save the exhibition. I wanted the world to see the Ryan I knew, the Ryan I … I loved.

  As we passed the final two pieces of the exhibition, he turned to me, his eyes dancing. “Tomorrow, I want you to move these pieces,” he said. “I want them positioned closer together. We need to make room here for another canvas.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going to add an eleventh piece to the exhibition. I want you to move this painting over here.” Ryan stepped next to the wall and held his arms up to demonstrate. “We’ll hang the new piece right in the centre. It will be the focal point of this wall.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to add a new piece to the exhibit so close to the opening?” Panic was starting to creep into my gut. We’d made the website. We’d printed the programs and the poster collections for the gift shop. I’d slaved over every detail of this exhibition for weeks. I couldn’t just add another painting, could I?

  “I’m sure.” Ryan said, his eyes burning into mine. “After that dressing down you gave Matthew today, you have total control. You can do whatever you want. And besides, if the temperamental artiste wants to add another painting, then you should oblige him.”

  “But why, Ryan? The exhibition is complete. The paintings work in perfect synchronicity. Adding another piece will upset the balance. Besides, what else do you have to say here? What other message do you want to send to the shifters of the world? With Isengrim’s army gone, you don’t really need their help anymore.”

  “It’s not about that.” he whispered, his hands tracing the line of my chin, fingers swirling around my ears. The hairs on my skin stood on end wherever his fingers tailed, leaving lines of fire crisscrossing my face and shoulders. My whole body tingled with desire again. ”I was a different person when I painted these. I was alone, and angry at the world, and Isengrim was here and I felt this tremendous sense of powerlessness. It was me against all those renegade shifters. I didn’t know what to do or how to proceed. And then you, beautiful you, walked into my mansion and nothing was ever the same. With you by my side, Alex, I have the strength of twenty vulpines. I feel invincible. And, strangest of all to me, I feel safe. I’ve never felt safe before in my life. And I’m working on a piece that explores the theme of safety, of being stronger together than I am on my own. And I want it to go here.” He tapped the wall.

  “Ryan, I–” my voice cracked. I couldn’t believe he felt this way. My legs shook, my whole body felt heavy, swayed off balance by the strength of his feelings.

  “You know what I’m about to say, don’t you?” His
words came out in a growl. As I gazed into his deep brown eyes, his face shimmered, the fox and the man meshed together. I reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against his chin, and a moment later, the soft pelt of his fox fur.

  “Ryan …”

  “I love you, Alex.” He whispered, his face transforming back into human male form once more. The words thundered inside my head. I love you. Other boyfriends had said it to me before, and I’d said it back plenty of times, and meant it, too. But never before had the words carried such weight, felt so vast, so layered with texture and nuance and meaning. Those three words painted a picture inside my mind more vivid even than the artwork on the walls.

  "I love you, too."

  He kissed me, and the strength of his emotions surged through my body. It was as if he was pushing his own feelings into me and pulling mine into himself, the deepest desires of our hearts entwining together. A strange kind of energy swirled around us, like a coil of rope pushing out of my chest and unravelling around me, the warm strands tickling my skin. Ryan’s fingers tangled in my hair, pressing my face against his, seeking to pull me closer, to fall into me completely. His other hand pressed into the small of my back, grinding his pelvis against mine. The rope of energy coiled and swirled across our skin.

  Ryan strode forward, walking me backward, pushing me toward the square leather seats. The invisible rope wound around my wrists, circling my ankles and clamping my body to his. He could lead me anywhere and I would follow him. Our eyes were locked together, and his brown irises danced with flecks of white light, like fireflies swirling around a fire.

  It was then I realised that the lights weren’t just inside his eyes. They were all around us. They appeared from nowhere, flickering to life and dancing in circles around our heads. At first there were just a dozen or so, but more and more appeared from the darkness, joining in the ethereal dance. They flew around our locked bodies, darting between us and flitting around Ryan’s ears like mischievous sprites.

  I drew away from Ryan’s kiss, reaching up to touch one of the lights. It sizzled against my finger, giving me a jolt of electric energy, before darting away. “What are they?” I breathed.

  “Do you remember in the cemetery, when Isengrim raised the great plume, and it had all those faces made of light?”

  “I could never forget.”

  “Those were the spirits of the witches resting there – the spirits he was raising to turn into the barghests. And these,” Ryan pointed to one of the lights darting around his heads. “They are remnants of our ancestors’ spirits.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Every time we make love, our connection grows deeper. It’s the way it works with mates. Clara told me that because vulpines are such an ancient species, revered for many years as magical beings, they retain much of the original earth magic that used to abound in the wilderness. For two fated mates to join together, there is a huge melding of magical beings. If we’re not careful, all that magic clashes together at once and it’s intense. It could kill both of us, and cause a huge chain reaction that can set off all kinds of catastrophic events. So it happens in stages. First, the male has to get the female to submit to him, which is what we did in my bedroom …” His eyes danced mischievously.

  “I was there. I remember.”

  “Then, their essence must join together, melding the two as one – that’s what happened in your bed. And finally, the ancestors have to bless the union, and hand over the stewardship of their pack to the new generation. That’s what is happening here.” He held up his hand, making the palm flat. Two of the tiny lights landed on his skin, spinning in slow circles as they drew invisible paths across his flesh.

  “So your ancestors have shown up to watch us make love?”

  He snorted, but gripped me tighter. “Not just my ancestors. The Fauntelroys are here too. Can’t you feel them?”

  I realised my body did feel strange, like every part of me was experiencing déjà vu – a nagging sense that there was something familiar here, something that reminded me of my parents. I looked down at Ryan’s hand again. The two dancing lights became still, and they swirled around each other, growing together into one larger shimmering orb. I sniffed the air, noticing a faint scent of gardenias and woodchips. My mother’s perfume. My father’s workshop.

  My parents. They’d been dead now for five years. But now they were here, their spirits resting together on the palm of my lover's hand, giving me their blessing to continue in the path of my ancestors, to take up my legacy as a Fauntelroy vixen.

  I looked up at the other lights swirling around us, and noticed a thin silver thread in the air, shimmering with the faint, flickering light of our single candle. Another thread snaked up between us. I glanced down. A whole forest of threads pierced through my chest, right above my heart, and curled and twisted through the air, like vines creeping through an overgrown forest. The lights circled tighter around us, buzzing across my skin as they floated toward the ends of the strings.

  My parents’ light floated above Ryan’s hand, and attached itself to one of my strings. Pulling the string forward, the light found the end of one of Ryan’s strings, and settled on that as well, binding us together with their beautiful light.

  “It looks like they approve,” Ryan said, taking my hands in his.

  More of the lights sought out the ends of the threads, each one connecting Ryan to me, knitting together all the threads to make us whole. My whole body shimmered with the energy of my ancestors and his, every atom in magnificent glow. I knitted my fingers into Ryan‘s, feeling his energy melding with mine, our families and bloodlines becoming one.

  He laid me down on the leather seat, one hand behind my back. He placed the other hand on my face, running his fingers down my cheek. Between us, the threads connecting our hearts tugged impatiently, pulling us closer. Obeying them, I arched my back up toward him, pressing our bodies together. My heart fluttered against my chest, filled with longing for his skin against mine.

  “There’s no hurry,” Ryan whispered. “We have all night long.”

  He leaned back, sitting up on his heels so that he stared down at my body. With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned and peeled away my shirt. He ran his hands over my torso, his fingers dancing across my skin, leaving trails of fire. He cupped my breasts through the fabric of my bra, his fingers just lightly touching my nipples, which still stood up through the fabric like lead balls.

  I arched my back as he reached around behind me and unhooked my bra, sliding the material up over my arms. He bent down and cupped my breast in his hand, his finger finding the hard nipple. He dragged his nail around the sensitive bud. I let out the breath I’d been holding, relaxing into his touch as his fingers traced fire across my chest.

  Now it was my turn to remove his shirt. I reached up and pulled at the buttons, then slid my fingers over his smooth, hard stomach, down over his thin waist, and pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders. My fingers traced the bruises and cuts across his back and chest, the marks of his fights with Isengrim – my fox-man, my protector, my hero.

  As I touched him, his skin shimmered, burning hot with the magical energy that surrounded it. Sometimes I felt the smooth pelt of his fox fur beneath my fingers, disappearing a moment later as it became fully human again. I breathed in the unmistakably scent of him, the woody, earthy scent of the forest, the scent of my home. As I traced my fingers over his hard muscles, he let out a strangled sigh.

  “I can’t take this,” he moaned. “I want you to be writhing beneath me, now.”

  With one swipe, he tore off my underwear, and bent over me, pushing my legs up and apart, forcing me wide open before him. He looked down on me, and gave me a hint of a smirk. My body surged with desire, and I pushed against his strong grip, trying to hurry things along. But Ryan would not hurry now that he had me where he wanted me.

  Ryan kissed my thighs, running his teeth along the sensitive skin. He grabbed my legs and forced them ou
tward, pinning me down under his grip. His lips laid a triangle of fire across my chest, down my thighs, everywhere except where I most desired him to go.

  Suddenly, Ryan planted a kiss right on my mound. The softness of his lips danced across my most private area, the magical charge leaping through his darting tongue, pulsing against my sensitive bud. My whole body shuddered as the magic coursed through me, an energy that set my every atom alight. Oh, how I danced under his tongue!

  Ryan licked, swirled, and even gnawed with his teeth, attacking that little spot with everything he had. He removed one hand from my thigh and thrust it inside of me, pressing his finger against my inner walls and teasing me open. I moaned as the pressure mounted within me, the magic massaging every inch of my body from the inside while he teased me to climax from the outside.

  Ryan’s tongue swirled faster, pounding against my clit as he built up the intensity, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. The tendrils of magic arced out from his body and fluttered over my skin, like a thousand darting tongues each caressing me. It was too much, too much.

  I arched my back and the orgasm thundered through my body. Ryan cupped his hand against my mouth, muffling my cries so the security guards couldn’t hear. He continued to rub my clit as my body shuddered through its final throes, until it stung with pressure, and my legs jerked of their own accord. I pulled his hand away, collapsing against the leather and letting the warmth of my climax roll across my body.

  Smiling with smug satisfaction, Ryan crawled back on top of me, smothering my lips with his. I could taste the sweetness of my own juices on his lips. His hands ran all over my naked flesh, my skin – flush with desire – responding to his every touch. I could feel his cock pressed against my thigh, and I opened my legs up to receive him. My whole body ached with anticipation, longing to be filled with him.

  But Ryan had other ideas. He placed one hand on my shoulder and, with a grip like a vice, flipped me over onto my back. I barely had time to catch my breath before he grabbed my thighs and pulled me up and back, plunging his full length into my waiting folds.