The next Monday, back at school, Owen stopped by my locker, like usual. “D’you have a good break?” he asked, like we were friends. Like he hadn’t spent his break with his girlfriend.
“Sure,” I said, refusing to give him my attention. He liked to stand right by my locker, so I had to look at the bulge in his jeans when I closed the door. But I wouldn’t look today.
“See you Sunday?” he asked.
I stood up and closed my locker door. “I can’t make it this week.”
He reached out to take my hand. “What? But you have to come,” he said, almost pleading.
“I didn’t realize that concerned you,” I said with a little smile. “You’ve never mentioned it before.” I’d almost said something about his girlfriend. At the last minute, I chose coy instead of bitchy. Owen never bothered with the bitchy girls. I knew, because I’d been watching him for years.
I could tell he was surprised by my answer. He studied me for a minute, eyes narrowed, like he wasn’t sure I meant it the way he’d taken it. Then he laughed. “We’ll have to get that on the agenda,” he said. “So what do you say? Wanna come on Sunday?”
I wanted to say yes. My heart was fluttering in my throat like wingbeats. But I dropped my gaze from his, before he could hypnotize me into doing his bidding by his very presence, the assuredness that radiated from him like the rays of the sun. He was all golden and light and smiling where I was dark and cold. We’d make a good match, balance each other out. Willa was too much like him, too light. He needed someone to curb his unrealistic expectations, to tame him a little.
I shook my head. “I have something to do that night.”
“What are you doing?” he asked. “I’ll help you with it. The apples are done. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
This was new.
And it was how Owen ended up at my house the next weekend, helping me find a Christmas tree in the woods and haul it back to the house and put it up. My mother could hardly hide her giddy grin at the sight of the shifter king’s son in her living room, putting the star on top of the tree and handing her ornaments out of the box.
It was so easy after that, I kept waiting for the catch. It was like all I had to do was invite him over, and he was suddenly part of my life. Not just mine, but my mother’s, too. He was quick to offer to help with anything around the house that needed doing when my father was gone, quick with a joke or to help my mother with anything she couldn’t reach from her chair. And she loved him, like everyone did. She allowed us freedom to be together in whatever ways we wanted.
A few months later, he broke up with Willa. And then it was real, me and Owen, the Shifter Prince. How had this happened? I kept waiting to wake up from the dream.
And then, just a month before graduation, my father came home. I didn’t know then that it would be the last time I’d see him or my mother.
Spring-Summer, 1991
1
The day my father came home, as we always did, we had dinner together as a family. My mother and I had cleaned the trailer, as we always did, and made cornbread and chili. But things were different now. My mother had hopes for me, dreams that I’d become the shifter queen. Inside me, things had changed, too. Owen had changed me, saved me. Some part of me knew, even as I sat there eating dinner and politely answering my father’s questions about school, that it wouldn’t be the same anymore. I just didn’t know how different things would be.
My father had come home a few times since Christmas, but this was the first time I was officially Owen’s girlfriend. Belonging to him gave me a reason to live. I wasn’t going to let my father ruin that. Someone wanted me now, valued me. Someone wanted to make my life better, thought I was worthy of that.
When dinner ended, my father went into the living room to start drinking while my mother washed up. I went to my room and changed, then came back to the kitchen.
“I’m going to stay at Owen’s tonight,” I said.
I saw her narrow back still for just a second, and then she continued scrubbing the pot. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I went to the sink that my father had lowered to her level sometime after the accident. Mom was resilient and capable. I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said. She slid an arm around me, keeping her soapy hand off, and gave me a quick squeeze. If I’d known we wouldn’t do that again, I’d have wrapped her up in both arms and held on for five minutes straight, not caring about her wet hands dripping dish soap down my clean shirt.
But I didn’t know, so I let go and tried to slip out. I didn’t make it out the door before my father bellowed, “Doralice! Where you think you’re going this time of night?”
“I’m spending the night with a friend tonight.”
“The hell you are,” he said. “You can do that when I’m gone. I’m home a couple nights a month, if that. We spend that time as a family.”
“No, you spend that time getting drunk,” I said. I could have said worse, a lot worse.
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” he said, jumping up from the couch. “I am not your mother. I will put you in your place. Now go to your room, and don’t come out until you’re ready to obey the rules of this house.”
“I’m almost eighteen,” I said. “I think I can choose to go see a friend.”
Before Owen, I never would have stood up to him like that. He noticed it, too.
“You ain’t eighteen yet,” he said, grabbing my arm. “You’re still under my roof, and I’m still your father. When I say get your ass in your room, you say ‘yes, sir.’ Now get in there.” While he spoke, he’d dragged me down the hall. He shoved me, hard, and I went careening into the room and crashed face first onto the bed. Blind terror shot through me like a spear in the gut. I scrambled onto my knees and huddled in the corner, my knee sinking between the mattress and the wall.
He stepped into my room and shut the door. My heart clawed inside my chest, a trapped raven fighting to breathe, to fly away.
“You’ve gotten too used to being here with your mother,” he said, stepping closer to the bed, stalking slowly, ready to pounce if I tried to run. I wrapped my shaking arms around myself and pressed my back into the corner. “I’m sick of you taking advantage of her disability, doing whatever the hell you please. I’ll tell you what, Doralice. That’s about to change. Because I’m home for a full three months this time.”
I tried not to let the shock and horror register on my face. But he must have seen it, because he let out a soft, menacing laugh as he loomed over my huddled, trembling form.
“That’s right,” he said. “You ought to be afraid. It’s about time we had some discipline in this house. You’ve been running wild for years.” His eyes narrowed and he reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head back until my eyes stung with tears. “Haven’t you, you little slut?”
A mewling sob escaped me, and he yanked my head back further, his other hand closing around my throat.
“Answer me when I ask you a question.”
“Y-yes, sir,” I rasped, his fingers digging into my throat when I spoke.
He let out another soft laugh, his whiskey breath hot against my face. “That’s right,” he said. “You’ll show me the respect I deserve. Yes, sir. I like that. Now I’m going to go in the other room and have a drink and relax, because a man deserves that after working as hard as I do.” He released my hair, but kept his iron fingers wrapped around my throat, just tight enough that I could feel the blood pounding in my head. He stroked my cheek with the back of his free hand. “And you’re going to stay right here and wait until I’m good and ready for you,” he said. “Because a man deserves that, too.”
He pulsed his fingers around my neck once, and I gasped in pain. He laughed again, and then abruptly released me, turned, and strode from the room. Gasping for breath, I collapsed onto the bed. I curled into the fetal position and sobbed, holding my pillow and pressing my face into
it so my mother wouldn’t hear me crying. When I was empty, I stood and undressed. I stared at myself in the mirror, my snowy white skin as pale as moonlight, my face splotchy, an angry red handprint marking my throat like a brand.
I turned away and stared at the bed, the scene of so many crimes. Cheating on Owen was not going to be one of them.
Before I could talk myself out of it or think too long about the consequences, I hurried to the window and threw it open. I balanced on the windowsill, shifted into an owl, and disappeared silently into the night.
2
I didn’t like Owen’s father. He was a greedy, unsympathetic man who had caused a lot of division in the shifter community. A few families had left the valley because of offenses he’d caused, and a lot more would have left if they had the money to move away.
So I didn’t want to walk up onto the doorstep of their little house that night, naked after shifting. Instead, I crept up to Owen’s bedroom window, thankful their little old house was only one story. Although their family had gotten plenty of money from letting loggers cut down almost every tree in our valley, they’d squandered it all. They lived in a plain house with faded white siding and two bedrooms inside. I’d been to Owen’s enough to know which room was his. I could hear music playing inside, Lynyrd Skynyrd I thought, as I approached the side of the house.
My heart hammered as I stood outside. The window inside was open behind the screen, letting in the cool late-spring breeze. Owen’s large form was hunched over his desk inside. Feeling suddenly guilty, as if I were spying, I tapped on the frame around the screen. Owen jumped up and came to the window, popped out the screen, and reached down to hook his big hands under my arms. He hauled me up through the window as if I weighed nothing.
“I was just thinking about you,” he said, his hands moving down my back to my hips. His mouth found mine, and though I was still shaken by the fight with my father, I found my body relaxing into the safety of Owen’s arms. With him, everything else melted away, and I knew I’d be okay. He lifted me off my feet and lay me on the bed, then climbed on top of me, kicking off his jeans as he went. Owen never wasted any time getting what he wanted.
Afterwards, he rolled over and pulled me into his arms. “You should surprise me like this every night,” he said, squeezing my body to his.
“Can I… Stay here tonight?” I’d never asked before, though I’d stayed over lots of times. He always asked me to stay if he wanted me to. Suddenly, a bundle of nerves knotted inside me. What if he hadn’t asked tonight because he hadn’t wanted me there?
“Of course, silly,” he said, kissing my nose. “You can always stay. You should just stay here forever. Quit leaving me, woman.”
I smiled and rested my hand on his broad, warm chest. His heart beat strong under my palm. “Thanks.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling back a little. I opened my mouth to tell him nothing, that everything was perfect now, but before I could, his eyes traveled from my face to my neck. “What the hell,” he yelled, rolling away from me and jumping to his feet. “Who the fuck did that to you?”
“No one,” I said, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up to my chin. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t hurt.”
His eyes had gone hard with fury. “Who put their hands on you?”
“It’s… It’s not like that,” I said, knotting my hands into the sheet. “It’s just… That’s why I wanted to stay. Please don’t be mad.”
“Your father did that?” he asked, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “I’m going to kill him, Doralice. No one lays a finger on my girlfriend. I mean it. I’ll fucking kill him.”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t do this. Just… Leave it. It’s not that bad.”
He threw my hand off and buttoned his jeans. “Why are you defending him?”
“Listen to me,” I said, sitting up on the bed. “You can’t kill him, Owen. You’ll go to jail. He’s only home every few months. I’ll just stay here when he’s home. Please?”
He looked at me a long moment. “You’re going to let him get away with this?”
“You’ll ruin your whole life if you go over there,” I said. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. And he has a gun. He might hurt you. I need you, Owen.”
At those words, his eyes softened, and he sank to the edge of the bed. “Damn it, Doralice,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” I sat up and rubbed his back. “I’m sorry.”
“What about your mom? Does he beat her, too?”
“No,” I said. “And he doesn’t beat me.”
“Yeah, well, where was she tonight when that happened?”
“It’s not her fault,” I said. “She doesn’t like it, either. But she can’t stop him. And… She needs the money. He comes home for a weekend every month or two, and the rest of the time, we’re fine. He sends home money, and she lives on that. We live on that.”
“So she stands by and does nothing? What else does she let him do to you?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, but I could feel my face getting hot even as I willed it not to.
Owen jumped to his feet and screamed a curse, kicking the side of his desk so hard it cracked. It toppled over, textbooks and notebooks from school cascading off, pens flying. He screamed again and punched the wall, then charged around the room like he was looking for something else to destroy.
“Owen, stop,” I pleaded, jumping up from the bed, the sheet still tangled around me. “I’m fine. See? I’m not hurt. There’s nothing wrong with me. Please sit down.”
He stopped pacing and turned to me, breathing hard. His hands were balled into fists at his side, his muscles twitching with pent-up energy. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you are. Tell me he’s never done anything perverted to you.”
I opened my mouth, but my eyes filled with tears before I could speak. I couldn’t lie to Owen. I bit down on my trembling lip.
“When was the last time? Was it when we were together?”
“No.”
“Fuck,” he said, coming back to the bed. He sat down and pulled me down beside him, sliding an arm around my back. “Is he… Is he your real dad?”
“What does that matter?” I asked. “And yes, he is.”
“I guess it doesn’t,” he said after a pause. “I don’t see how you can be okay, though. Why don’t you want to kill him?”
“I do,” I say. “I think about it. I hate him. But I don’t want to ruin my life for him. I wouldn’t get away with it. I’d go to jail. And how would my mom live without me or that money?”
“That’s a high price you’re paying for your mother’s happiness,” he says, his voice low and deadly. “And it’s time you cut her off.”
“It’s not her fault.”
“The fuck it’s not,” he burst out. “She’s your mother. She’s supposed to protect you with her life. If I ever laid a finger on our kids, you better be ready to fucking kill me, Doralice. I mean it.”
He turned to me, and I sat there, frozen by the weight of his words. What he’d just said. It was one thing to be dating Owen Stanfield, though he’d dated just about every girl in the valley and at school, shifters and regular people, too. Of course I’d dreamed about marrying him, but it was a dream. I didn’t let myself hope. It was too dangerous for a girl like me, a girl who couldn’t afford to hope for happily ever after.
“We—we’re going to have kids?” I whispered past the lump in my throat.
“At least a dozen,” he said, slipping his palm around the back of my head. He pulled me in and kissed me, softly this time. When he pulled away, he gave me a goofy grin. “I gotta carry on the family line. My children are the heirs to the shifter throne, remember?”
He looked embarrassed saying those words, as if still not entirely comfortable with the thought. It was a bit outdated, calling his father a king. In the old days, the shifter king had been a king. Now he was just someone with royal blood, not much better
off than anyone else in the valley except that he officially held the deeds to all the property in the valley. He didn’t hold much authority over the people, though they looked to him and consulted him in community decisions, on the rare occasion one was needed.
“Do you mean that?” I asked, still not able to believe it. “You don’t hate me, or think I’m disgusting? I mean, you still want me, even after I told you…”
“You are not what happened to you,” he said fiercely. “I love you, Doralice. You can stay here. You’re not going home. Ever again.”
“But—.”
“I don’t care what you say,” he said. “Your mother is just as bad as your father. If she couldn’t stop him, she should have found someone who could. I still have half a mind to go over there and rip him to shreds with my teeth.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
He hesitated and then nodded. “I won’t go over there if you don’t,” he said. “You’re never going to see them again. He’s lucky you’re the kind of person you are, or he’d be dead right now. He owes you his life, Doralice. You don’t owe him a damn thing.”
“Okay,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, that I was suddenly going to be living with Owen Stanfield, Shifter Prince. I kept waiting for him to say it was all an elaborate prank, or that he couldn’t look at me the same anymore, or that he’d gotten back together with Willa. I agreed to stay with him, knowing I had to make the most of it while it lasted. Good things never lasted, not for me. Sooner or later, he would realize I wasn’t worthy of him. As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.
3
It didn’t end. We graduated that summer, and though Owen told me I couldn’t invite my mother, I did call her and tell her what had happened, so she wouldn’t worry about me. The next month, we were married at the Baptist church in front of a justice of the peace and Owen’s parents. That night, we went back to the house that he shared with his parents. I was finally free—not of the valley, but of my father. I had everything I’d ever dreamed of and a thousand times more.
The Raven Queen: Fairy Tales of Horror (Villain Stories Book 1) Page 3
