Coveted

by Shawntelle Madison

  Coveted is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Ballantine eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Shawntelle Madison Coker

  Excerpt from Kept copyright © 2012 by Shawtelle Madison Coker

  All rights reserved.

  BALLANTINE is a registered trademark and the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Kept by Shawntelle Madison. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53229-9

  www.delreybooks.com

  Cover illustration: © Gene Mollica

  Cover design by Dreu Pennington-McNeil

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Kept

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  Lying naked, with his hands intertwined in mine, Thorn Grantham made me promises. A promise for us to try to make our long-distance relationship work. A promise for him to move closer to New York City to be with me. And finally a promise to remove these handcuffs once he’s had his way with me.

  With mischievous hazel eyes, Thorn pulled a bottle of chocolate syrup out of his suitcase.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered. My gaze darted from my perfectly pressed sheets to my pristine bedroom. It would take hours to clean up the evidence of our love-making.

  His eyes darkened. “You gonna stop me?”

  In a flash, he popped off the top and jumped on my bed. I jerked against the cuffs holding me hostage, but it didn’t do any good. Thorn knew all too well that I wouldn’t so much as scratch let alone break my antique Victorian headboard to escape. Especially after he squeezed a line of warm chocolate from my neck down to my inner thighs. My heart skittered from the heat in Thorn’s eyes. From the sweet scent of the chocolate in the air.

  Thorn’s gaze never left mine as the tip of his tongue traced a path along the chocolate. Swirl after swirl of his tongue heated my flesh.

  Shouldn’t I be worried about the mess? What mess? The mess of having my toes curl in waves of ecstasy?

  Thorn’s head descended, proving to me again and again how he could unravel me like a tightly bound corset.

  Making love to Thorn wasn’t a casual affair—it was an Olympic event that taxed both the mind and body. When we’d decided to hook up at my place a few days ago, I hadn’t expected him to use such things in my bedroom. Nor did I expect that in a million years I’d allow food in my bedroom. And have it smeared on my bed …

  After he’d indulged in every inch of my body until we were both satisfied, I wanted to sleep. But that sure as hell wouldn’t stop me from keeping my room clean. With a chuckle, Thorn obediently helped me wash the bedding. When we’d wrapped up cleaning and had a bite to eat, he bid me farewell.

  Kissing the top of my head, he whispered, “See you in a few weeks.”

  “You promise?”

  “Of course. It’ll take the apocalypse to keep me from you.”

  “A zombie one or the Mayan kind?”

  He thought for a moment with that smile of his. “Both.”

  With me assured, he left the bedroom. As I sat alone in my apartment, I had no idea that this would be the last time I’d make love with Thorn. And that there were some promises that couldn’t be kept.

  Chapter 1

  Werewolves in no shape or form should own a fast food restaurant. No pancakes, no frozen custard, and for goodness sake, my people needed to stop peddling pizza. In my opinion, any establishment where my food could potentially grow microscopic wildlife wasn’t my kind of place to eat. That pretty much left fire-grilled food on the menu, and the only good thing any werewolf grilled well these days was a well-done burger. And Archie’s sold the best double-stacked burger on this side of the Toms River. If the animal walked and men speared it, then Archie burned it the best.

  “Hey, Natalya, you’re here early,” said Jake, the cashier.

  I averted my eyes after I placed my order. As usual, I was the lowest-ranking werewolf in the whole joint. “We’re really busy now that the weather’s cooling off.”

  Jake offered a friendly smile. “How’s Bill?”

  “He’s fine. Still the grumpiest boss ever.”

  I ended the conversation and hid out in my usual booth while my food cooked. As much as I loved Archie’s burgers, I preferred to keep to myself while I ate.

  As I waited, travelers coming off the Garden State Parkway came by for chow. They weren’t like those tourists who walk around with fanny packs and cameras. Instead, they smelled of money—the cash they were about to spend on other people’s old junk at one of the many flea markets that lined the Parkway.

  Ten minutes later, Jake’s younger sister, Misty, brought out my food on a tray. My mouth watered at the sight of the double cheeseburger and fries. But that snotty werewolf didn’t even bother to acknowledge my presence. She simply dumped the food in front of me and strolled off. A single bright-red gob of burger sauce landed on my pristine blouse.

  My eyes wide, I gaped at the stain as my chest tightened with alarm. And I thought I was crazy. The way she flung food on my table each week, it was clear that she had no idea how every spill, glob, and splatter drastically increased my stress level. With a shaking hand, I frantically wiped the spot with a stain pen.

  And all this after I’d spent a half hour this morning meticulously pressing my clothes. With my light chestnut-colored hair brushed to perfection and my low-heeled shoes shined, I’d felt like I could survive the day in relative peace.

  Well, as peacefully as a werewolf who obsessed over everything could. I didn’t advertise my condition, but if you saw a chick scrubbing her clothes with an industrial-strength stain pen, you might assume she’s a bit of a clean freak. With an obsessive-compulsive disorder, I took clean freak to the next level. But even with my condition, I lived what could be called a normal life.

  Archie’s had been my lunch spot for the past few years. And no matter how bad the service was, or the conditions, I refused to eat lunch anywhere else.

  My food was cold before I had a chance to take a bite. But it didn’t matter. I savored the burger anyway—that is, until two familiar faces entered the restaurant.

  Everyone in South Toms River knew Erica Holden and Becky Knoll. They didn’t work. Well, they worked at being rich, I guess. After college in New York, they came back into town to spend Erica’s rich daddy’s money.

  “Jake!” Erica gushed. “You have the order ready?”

  Jake’s hungry eyes took in Erica’s perfect blonde hair and cotton candy–pink sweater. The garment stretched across her boobs and hung on for dear life.

  “It’s coming up right now. Took
us awhile to grill that many deluxe burgers.” He leaned forward. “Are you having a few guests over?”

  Becky laughed and flipped her chocolate-brown curls behind her ear. “Erica’s picking up Thorn’s favorite burgers. She’s so sweet.”

  “Nice to hear the prodigal son’s returned home.”

  They were ten feet away, but even from that distance I could sense the excitement sliding down Erica’s back. The name gave me the same honeyed feeling.

  Thorn Grantham.

  My heartbeat quickened and the burger nearly caught in my throat. I flared my nostrils and focused on Erica. Through the scent of fancy perfume and chemical-strength deodorant, an underlying scent was there. Thorn was back. And Erica had likely tried to run her manicured fingernails all over him. Probably made a valiant attempt to rub herself against him too. Over the years, her stints at becoming Thorn’s groupie weren’t anything new to me.

  I averted my eyes and finished my food. I had just seven minutes left in my lunch hour—and no time to waste sitting there staring at Erica.

  By the time I left for work, she was long gone. As I stalked out of Archie’s, I caught the scent of Misty’s satisfaction as she cleared my table. Even though she always mistreated me and never cleaned up after her customers, I’d still left her a full tip.

  I worked at the Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals called it, which was three blocks away from Archie’s. I didn’t mind walking over every day. The fresh air was good for my soul.

  And maybe I would even see Thorn on the way to work. I had a feeling, though, that he would be back at the Granthams’ log cabin off in the woods—meeting with his father, the town’s abominable pack leader.

  On the way back, a local organic farmer in overalls waved at me. “Have a good afternoon, Nat.”

  “Same to you, Stanley.”

  Every day after lunch he waved at me, and then, after I passed by, stared at my legs. I didn’t have any interest in sixty-year-old men—especially ones with pencil-skirt fetishes. But like the majority of humans in the world, he didn’t know that he was ogling a werewolf every day.

  And perhaps he’d be even less inclined to act so friendly if he knew that werewolves weren’t the only strange thing lurking around here.

  Eventually, I reached The Bends, a large, old building nestled between a parking lot and another flea market. But The Bends wasn’t just another flea market.

  The Bends offered the best deals among the flea markets along the eastern seaboard. Bill was a great employer and all, but I was the brains of this operation. With a computerized inventory system and online store for our more expensive stock, we offered a level of service most flea markets—supernatural or otherwise—just couldn’t match.

  Growing up as a natural-born werewolf, I’d been exposed to the supernatural world from the crib onward. It ranged from witches visiting for grade school sleepovers to band practice with the fairy folk. After selling all the strange things we had in the store, I suspected that even stranger things than crooked witch wands and haunted capes lurked around New Jersey to buy. If you checked the right places and had the enchanted eyesight to find them you had a chance. Of course, that left humans out of the mix.

  I entered through the back, an outdoor area covered with a long, steel awning. During warmer weather, we sold more of our wares on the rows of tables out here. I headed inside the shop and dropped off my purse in the business office. The office was closed off from the shopping floor by a large set of wooden doors. Two minutes later, I was back in the mix—in the crowded main room, with a roomful of Saturday shoppers browsing the long aisles.

  My boss approached me from the loading dock. “Hey, Nat, about time you got back. The harpy who bought that Victorian vase on Thursday is back. She said the merchandise had flaws.”

  To regular folks, Bill looked like a tall, thin man with wire-framed glasses. To my eyes he resembled the cartoon character Dilbert—but to my nose he reeked of magic with a bitter tang of iron.

  He was a goblin, entrenched in a glamour—an invisibility spell that hid his true appearance.

  “Flaws? You’re kidding, right?”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose. “She said something about scratches on the bottom.” He tilted his head to glance at the customer. “She’s upsetting the other patrons.”

  Normally, I would have taken over for the other cashier so she could have lunch, but now that would have to wait. “I’ll handle it.” Like I always do.

  As I walked over to the harpy, I first noticed another scent overpowering the haze of magic. The woman had doused herself in cheap vanilla perfume. Her flashy ensemble matched garish bright pink sandals with a beaded denim shirt and capri pants. Her platinum-blonde hair was stark against her penciled eyebrows. I stifled a laugh as I wondered what wildlife dwelled within her teased mane.

  My irate customer wasn’t an ordinary woman. Under the guise of a heavily makeup-covered dame she lived day to day as a ghastly birdlike creature with sharp claws. She hid from human eyes using her magic. This whole encounter didn’t surprise me, though. Along with the unfortunate circumstance of having a human head on a bird’s body, the poor thing’s name derived from the Greek word for “snatching stuff.”

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “I bought this original 1889 Moser glass vase on Thursday.” She pushed the fragile vase into my hands. “I unwrapped it this morning to find my purchase scratched on the bottom. I paid a lot of money for that damn thing.”

  “Scratched? That’s impossible. I wrapped this particular package before you picked it up.”

  “Well, you don’t know how to handle expensive antiques, then.” She shifted and put her hands on her hips. I could almost imagine black feathers rustling.

  With a huff, she searched for Bill. “I asked to talk to the manager.”

  I leaned forward. “I’m more than qualified. First of all, you bought an 1885 vase. I had our specialist catalogue it. And second, I don’t mishandle the merchandise.” I checked, and sure enough the bottom was marred with scratches.

  “Well, your staff is incompetent.”

  “Incompetent? I handled and prepared your purchase—” I was just about to really begin my rant when the door swung open and Thorn Grantham entered the store. For half a second, I paused. The mere thought of him being in the store knocked me off-kilter.

  At over six feet tall, he towered over the rest of our customers. His messy wheat-colored hair appeared windblown. The man was as attractive as I remembered him. He didn’t look in my direction, but before he turned his back to me, I caught the glint of his amber-colored irises. How many times had those eyes hypnotized me? My belly quivered slightly. From the back of the room at one of the computers, I continued to explain to the harpy how the staff, or should I say, how I meticulously catalogued everything on the computer.

  “As you can see by these photographs and the time stamps on the front, your merchandise didn’t have scratches on it. Matter of fact,” I glanced briefly at Thorn’s back, “these scratch marks are rather tiny and resemble claw marks.”

  Thorn finally turned in my direction—and winked at me. Damn, he’d seen me. Pleasure poured down my back, but still I continued my tirade against the cheapskate harpy who hoped to con my boss out of two hundred dollars.

  The harpy hissed, “Are you trying to imply that I made those marks?” A swirl of dark magic floated around her and tickled my nose like black pepper.

  I stifled a laugh. From across the room, I heard Thorn talking to Bill.

  “I never thought I’d be taking over as alpha of the pack so soon,” Thorn said. “And I’d almost made a life for myself in San Diego. But with the Long Island pack closing in to take over the township and the forest, I’m afraid this whole area is in danger.”

  The news was quite unexpected. I clamped down on my emotions, hiding them from both Thorn and the harpy. I couldn’t allow this crazy lady to rile up the wolf straining under my skin. “Would you l
ike to look at the video cameras that record the packaging room? Perhaps we could show you the video of the packaging process?”

  If the harpy were a teapot, steam would’ve shot out of her spout. She ignored the computer and continued to stare me down.

  I hadn’t hunted in a long, long time. My skin burned at the possibility of a full-out fight. But my control was solid, unmoving. Like a caged animal, the hungry wolf inside whined as I whispered, “Either way, Mrs. Kite, there’s no evidence for a claim that The Bends is at fault. If you’d like to take this problem up with my manager, I’d be more than happy to call Bill over.”

  Mrs. Kite smoothed her shirt and then gripped the denim with her claws. Claws that nearly ripped the thick material. “Like I said before, Wolf, I want to see the goblin. My problem is with him.”

  The word “wolf” slithered off her tongue like a black warning. Still, I figured I was safe for now, even though I’d never tangled with a harpy before. In the middle of a store, with all these humans around, there’s no way she’d go all out—and risk ruining her bedazzled outfit.

  “I’ll go fetch Bill. Just a moment, Mrs. Kite.”

  I walked over to Bill, who was still chatting with Thorn. As I approached, my heels clicked on the linoleum floor. At first they kept pace with the rhythm of my heartbeat. But as I closed in on the two men, I could smell Thorn—he smelled of a warm summer breeze—and my heart sped up and my palms grew damp.

  He said to Bill, “The Long Island pack’s getting squeezed for space by the Brooklyn pack, so you need to watch out.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you would’ve heard about the threat of an attack sooner or later. But you’re a friend of my family, so I thought I’d bring the information to you directly.”

  Bill glanced at me briefly. “Yeah. Just another reason for me to pack up and leave this place. You werewolves always need to piss in someone else’s backyard.” Bill noticed the harpy in the back with her hands on her hips.