Forced

by Daniella Wright

  Meanwhile, Jennifer meets Damien, a swoon-worthy travel blogger staying in the nearby town. Damien seems ready to begin a whirl-wind romance with Jennifer. However, Damien and Michael share a secret—they are both werewolves; dangerous, wild creatures that come out after dark. As Jennifer is plunged into their world, she finds herself caught in the balance—both men claim the other is dangerous. Which one can she trust? Which one has her heart?

  * * *

  Chapter One

  I don’t know why I was out in the woods that night. I was holding a party at my brand new mansion out in the country. I had been a city slicker all of my life—I had been drawn to the peace and the quiet of the woods. Earlier, I had put up with all of my city friends, their false admiration for my wealth, my new-found prosperity. During the previous year, my tech startup had blown up, making me a newly minted billionaire. They all milled about my new country estate in their sleek, money-scented designer clothes, sipping expensive rosé and eating elaborate hors d’oeuvres. I found myself standing silently to the side, watching the parade of people that I had only met because I suddenly had money. It made me feel hollow inside. So I fled my own party, heading out into the woods in the pitch darkness.

  I loved the smell of the woods—a fresh pine scent. Twigs snapped beneath my feet and pebbles dislodged from the loamy earth. I could hear the sounds of cicadas and the calls of a few night birds; the sounds of heavy footsteps and the rustling of something large in the bushes. It must be a deer, I thought to myself, standing still. The rustling continued as the animal neared, the bushes parting to reveal a large, snarling beast. It was half man and half wolf, standing erect on two legs. Its body was covered in shaggy, matted fur that stank. Its eyes glowed yellow, and it approached me. I held up my hands as though to ward it off and backed up slowly. As I backed up, I tripped over a root, falling on my back. The wolf-man pounced, attacking me at the throat. I found myself thrown through the air, falling on my face in the clearing. It attacked me again, biting at my arm as though trying to dismember me.

  Suddenly, there were the clear calls of voices—people coming in search of me. The wolf-man paused, listening, and then ran off, disappearing back into the woods. I lay still, too injured to move. I could feel myself bleeding freely from the neck and the arm, and I was injured across my torso when I had been thrown across the clearing. A flashlight cut through the clearing; a sign of a civilization that I was suddenly no longer a part of. I began to sink into unconsciousness as the familiar voices drew near.

  Chapter One

  The driver was silent in the front seat of the sleek black town car that had picked me up from the bed and breakfast that I had spent the previous night in the town of Ashford in order to be taken for my job interview with the .com billionaire, Michael Thompson. I was interviewing for the nanny position for his niece, Mary Sullivan, whose parents had been killed in a widely reported and devastating car crash approximately six months before. She had been sent to live with her uncle, who reportedly, had become a reclusive and eccentric figure after a violent animal attack in the woods several years before. The whole situation was full of intrigue—and yet, I felt hesitant when Thompson’s lawyer had shown up at my door with a suitcase full of non-disclosure agreements for me to sign before I arrived at Thompson’s elegant and picturesque mansion located several miles outside of Ashford.

  I was twenty-six, and the oldest of four children. My mother had been a party-girl and an alcoholic, so I had raised my siblings myself, beginning when I was still a child, and then legally when my mother lost custody when I was eighteen. I got a job teaching preschool, and then helped my brother and two sisters through high school. We were all working hard to get the three of them through college; Julie had started her freshman year at SUNY a few weeks earlier. I had heard about the job with Thompson a few days before. Noting the ridiculously high salary for the job of caring for and homeschooling his niece, I applied immediately.

  I watched outside of the window as the woods encroached upon the road. They seemed like something out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, as though they were trying to snap up the town car in their claw-like branches. The woods cut away to reveal the well-manicured lawns, and long, winding cypress-lined drive of Chatsworth House. The house itself was huge, with sand-colored bricks and a plethora of large windows. The town car pulled up in front of the huge, mahogany wood door. Getting out, the driver walked around to open my door for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, and he nodded silently in reply. I smoothed the skirt of my plain black sheath dress. I was dressed formally, yet simply in the dress and a matching cardigan with sensible shoes for touring the premises. I had a stocky build, so the sheath dress was really the only thing to hug my curves in an alluring way. I was pretty enough, I supposed, and wore a light amount of mascara with a touch of blush and a coral colored lip stain. My hair was a chestnut brown color, and I kept it cropped at my shoulders. My heart hammered in my chest, and my hands were sweating lightly. I was so far from home; I was so far from any type of civilization, really. The last sign of humanity had been five miles away from Thompson’s estate, and I was suddenly apprehensive. What if Thompson’s strange, elusiveness was to hide the fact that he was, in private, some type of psychopath? What if I was walking willingly right into his trap? I thought of the picture of him that I had seen in Forbes; he had been a slender man, with slightly hunched, forward leaning posture and rectangular, thick black glasses. He looked sophisticated; like a smart serial killer. I shook my head, realizing that I was letting my imagination get away with me. I blocked thoughts of a dark basement playroom filled with torture implements from my mind as I walked up to the door of Chatsworth House.

  As I reached for the bell, the door opened, and I felt my mouth drop in shock. Before me, a very different Michael Thompson was revealed. He had lost the slender, slightly weak edge to him; he was muscular, and there was a beauty to his face that is only found in predatory animals. He seemed to tower over me, his posture straight and confident. He had dark, smooth skin and heart-stoppingly blue eyes. He looked surprised to see me. He held out a large, dry hand, which I shook.

  “Michael Thompson,” he said. “I heard the car pull up.”

  “Jennifer Hart,” I replied. “Pleased to meet you.” He nodded, and gestured with a hand for me to enter. The front hallway was several stories high, with an enormous, sweeping staircase that went up to the second floor landing. It was light, airy, with dark crimson oriental carpeting. Rich oil paintings hung on the walls. I got the feeling that the decorator who Thompson had hired had wanted to make the self-made man’s living accommodations look like old money instead of new money; it was almost gothic.

  “Welcome to Chatsworth House,” he said evenly. I looked at him, and felt something inside of me set on fire. What had he done in between the picture in Forbes and today? Because he had gone from shrimp to hunk in the interim.

  “Thank you,” I replied, unsure of what to say to him.

  “Would you…would you like a tour?” he seemed highly hesitant.

  “Yes please,” I replied. He nodded, and began to follow a hallway to our mutual left. In term, I followed him. We passed several rooms: a formal parlor, a ballroom, the dining room, and the kitchen. A few doors down from the kitchen were the servants’ quarters.

  “Since it’s so far away from Ashford, I had the servants’ quarters fitted up so that anyone can stay the night instead of driving home. That was when I first moved in and expected…” he trailed off for a moment without finishing the thought. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out to have anyone here. It’s too remote. A cleaning service comes once a week and any necessities are delivered. You can email my assistant, Soraya, a list of any items that you may need and she will make sure that they are provided for you. There is no cook. So, you will have to do the cooking for Mary and yourself. I can shift for myself, and Soraya takes care of her own meals. You would be provided with a room on the second floor, nearer to where Ma
ry’s room is in case she needs you.” I nodded.

  “Will I meet Mary today?”

  “Certainly. The most important thing is that she feels comfortable with you.” He was walking on. “She has been through a lot in the past year, with losing her parents and then moving out here to live with me. I need for her to have a certain level of stability and continuity, so if you don’t think that you can make at least a several year commitment to this job, then I suggest you not go any further.” He had stopped speaking, and was studying me, waiting for my answer. I thought of the empty house where I had raised my younger siblings, now on the market since I had intended on taking any job that got me out of Ashford.

  “Absolutely,” I replied solemnly. “I raised my siblings after my mother lost custody of them. Since I was eighteen, I took them in. I can make a commitment and keep it.”

  “Where are they now?” he asked. “Your siblings.”

  “My youngest sister began college a few weeks ago.”

  “Are you paying tuition?”

  “As best as I can.” He nodded. Seemingly satisfied, he began to walk on. We returned to the front entrance, and he led me up the grand staircase.

  “These rooms up here are mainly bedrooms. One is Mary’s room, and another is her school room.” He opened the door to a large, yellow-painted room. It was strewn with playthings. All of the educational materials were tucked neatly on to shelves. “As you can see, she’s been allowed to run a little wild in the absence of someone to educate her. You said that you taught at Ashford’s preschool?”

  “Yes. But I am fully qualified to home school a child Mary’s age.”

  “Good. You are the most qualified person for this job…actually the only person that I am interviewing at the current time. I must say, I was highly desperate. Most of the applicants were hesitant to move here permanently. We are in such an isolated place.”

  “It’s not so bad. I bet the quiet is lovely.” He looked at me, his head cocked to the side in a manner that reminded me of a dog that we had had when we were children.

  “It is very quiet here,” he said nebulously. “There are…certain rules that I like to have in place here.”

  “Understandably,” I replied.

  “You and Mary can go anywhere in the house. Most of the time, it will just be the two of you and Soraya, although Soraya lives in the carriage house out back. I spend most of my time in either my office or my suite, which is on the other side of the house on the second floor. You are never to enter.” My mind immediately returned to my thoughts of secret torture chambers. I kept my face neutral as I nodded my assent. I needed this job—desperately. Paying tuition for my three siblings was going to drain me quickly. The pay for this job and the fact that my own room and board was included would keep the Hart family afloat.

  “I can agree to those terms,” I said.

  “Also, you are to be here every night in case Mary needs you. There are not many places to go, but I don’t want her to be left alone. Your bedroom will be right across the hall from hers.” I nodded my assent. “You are not to invite people over without my consent. I do not want anyone here.” This was strange, but also understandable. The man didn’t want people in his house. It was a nice house.

  “Very well, Mr. Thompson.”

  “I will take you to meet Mary now.”

  “Okay,” I replied, following him down the hallway. He knocked on a door toward the end. A woman’s voice, high and harried, rang out from behind the door, throwing me off. I’d thought that Mary was five…

  Chapter Two

  “Soraya has been taking care of Mary,” I explained to Ms. Hart. Her face instantly switched over from confusion to calm. Lightly and tastefully made up, she was under dressed for an interview with a billionaire. I liked the casualness to her manner and the unconventional edge to her beauty. It disarmed me—from the moment that I answered the front door, I felt off-balance. After the attack in the woods three years before, I was unused to people treating me with anything less than kid gloves.

  “Mary, Soraya,” I said. “I would like for you both to meet Jennifer Hart.” Inside of Mary’s pink-painted bedroom, she sat on the bed, her hair a mess of bed-head curls and tangles on one side, while the other was nicely brushed. Soraya sat by the bed, looking flustered in a cream-colored pantsuit that had what appeared to be jelly stains. Soraya stood up, putting the comb that she held in her hand.

  “Hello, Ms. Hart,” she said, holding her hand out in a crisp, professional manner. Soraya was a native New Yorker. She had the level of coolness and professionality that I prized, and she never asked questions. She had been with my company since before the attack that left me unable to reside in more populated locations. She had been divorced, and needed to leave the city behind her, so I had hired her immediately. Unfortunately, she had no experience with children, so when Mary came to live at Chatsworth, Soraya had been forced to take care of her. It had taken five months for me to find someone suitable to even interview for an au pair position.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jennifer said. They shook hands, and Jennifer shifted her attention to my niece, who sat on the edge of her bed, almost in tears. I wished that I could care for her myself, ached to do so, but to be honest, I was a monster. Everything that I touched was destroyed and I refused to destroy the last surviving member of my entire family.

  “Hi Mary,” Jennifer said, walking over to her, she stood beside Mary, and squatted down so that they were face to face. Mary was small for her age, with curly brown hair and doe-like brown eyes. She was dressed in vibrant colors—the outfit du jour was an orange t-shirt, a bright pink and purple tulle skirt, and a pair of blue sparkly butterfly wings. She was perched on the edge of her bed that was piled high with pink blankets and purple pillows from her room at her home with my brother and his wife. She held a stuffed rabbit on her lap. It had been sewn by hand and made of different fabrics.

  “Hello,” she replied shyly, her tiny voice almost a whisper. It was obvious that she was still overwhelmed by her circumstances, but I hoped, desperately, that it was apparent that she was well-cared for, and even loved.

  “What’s your friend’s name?” Jennifer asked, motioning toward the bunny.

  “Monroe,” she responded, holding him up to her face.

  “Hello Monroe,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you both. Would you like some help with your hair?”

  “It hurts,” Mary said.

  “The tangles?” Jennifer asked, and Mary nodded.

  “I brushed my sisters’ hair every day,” Jennifer said. “The secret is to hold the hair and comb it against your hand. Can I show you?” Mary nodded, and Jennifer picked up the comb that Soraya had put down. She held a swath of Mary’s hair, brushing it below her hand and against her wrist so that it didn’t pull against Mary’s scalp.

  “Much better,” Mary whispered, the tiniest smile on her face. My heart broke a little. Soraya exhaled sharply, and Jennifer looked up.

  “Maybe we can have some detangler delivered?” she asked. “Suave makes an apple-scented one that kids really love.” I looked at Soraya and nodded, and she took out her iPhone. She looked exhausted.

  “We need to discuss the financial situation,” Soraya said.

  “Umhmm…” I said, watching Jennifer and Mary together.

  “The stocks are down this week. We may have to go into the city,” Soraya went on.

  “That’s out of the question,” I replied.

  “You may have to,” she replied.

  “It’s a full moon, Soraya,” I said.

  “What do you and Monroe like to do for fun?” Jennifer asked Mary.

  “We like coloring,” the girl whispered.

  “Well I’d love to see your drawings sometime,” Jennifer said. “Would you be willing to show them to me?” The girl nodded a smile on her face. Jennifer looked at me, catching the hint of a smile on my face. She grinned. I let my face fall, and watched hers sink. I couldn’t, under any circumstances, lead
her on. Jennifer turned back to Mary, who took her hand.

  “This way,” Mary said, leading Jennifer to her drawings, which she had taped to the far wall of her room. They stood with their backs to Soraya and me.

  “You need to take care of this,” Soraya whispered.

  “It will have to be next week,” I replied in an undertone. “I can’t trust myself if I’m in the city. There are too many people.” Soraya knew about my…tendencies. She could be trusted to keep my secret, but she was wired to keep productivity at a maximum.

  I watched Jennifer and Mary. They were sitting at the small table in the corner of the room, coloring.

  “I’m going to color my sky yellow,” Jennifer said. When my niece looked at her askance she replied, “It’s the most fun color.” Mary laughed shaking her head.

  “It’s not?” Jennifer asked in a shocked voice. “Then which color is the most fun?”

  “Pink,” Mary said, her voice tiny, but happy. My niece seemed to like Jennifer—and this was the first time in months that her hair had been done without ending in tears. It would be dangerous—I was finding myself attracted to Jennifer Hart’s dangerous curves, kind smile, and confident demeanor. I would have to protect her—from myself and the monster that I had become three years ago.

  “Very well, my sky will be pink,” Jennifer was saying, taking a pink crayon out of the box. It was a tiny stub, used frequently by my pink-obsessed niece. I cleared my throat, and Jennifer and Mary turned. I gave Mary a pointed look, questioning. She nodded eagerly—it was the first time since my brother and Lula had died that she had wanted anything.