by Sylvia Frost
Cinder’s Wolf
A BBW Shifter Shifter Fairy Tale
Sylvia Frost
Contents
Copyright
Also by Sylvia Frost
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Afterword
35. The BBW and the Beast
Copyright © 2015 by Sylvia Frost
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Sylvia Frost of Sfrostcovers.com
Edited by Cynthia Shepp & Mary Novak
Acknowledgments:
Thank go to my patient readers and supportive author friends. I can only hope that I’ve written a book worth reading.
Also by Sylvia Frost
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The Camp Kikanoo Shifter Fairy Tales:
The BBW and the Beast
Cinder’s Wolf
Sleeping Beauty and the Lion
The Bad Wolf (Coming Soon)
The Moonfate Serial:
Moonbound
Huntbound
Bloodbound
Heartbound
The Moonfate Serial Box-set
Prologue
Prologue
Crystal Creek, Michigan
Twelve Years Ago
My Talents
1)Fitting seventeen plus-sized, color-coordinated outfits into one very small suitcase.
2)Matching said outfits to tacky “Camp Kikanoo Counselor” T-Shirt.
3)Making tween campers actually feel good about their bodies.
4)Doing the above with only a kind word and a dash of lip-gloss.
5)List making (obviously).
6)Tidying.
7)Sweeping.
8)Organizing.
9)Washing clothes (by machine or hand).
10)Mopping.
11)Dusting.
12)Any other cleaning-related verb.
13)Tolerating Dad’s workaholic-ness.
14)Being the one teen girl in New York to actually like her trophy-wife stepmother from Jersey.
My Not-So-Talents
1)Hiking.
Cynthia Cinders was lost.
Being lost in the woods was very different from being lost in say a department store. Here there were no exit signs or tables filled with neatly folded cashmere sweaters. Just trees. On her right. On her left. Everywhere. They grew thick as skyscrapers, mist curling between their trunks, rainwater pooling in their tangled roots, and sun edging their leaves with glimmers of twilight gold.
At least, that was how Bel had described the forest when she had convinced Cynthia to leave her blanket by the beach and go on a surprise “short hike.” Unfortunately, Bel wasn’t here anymore. Cynthia had lost sight of her best friend and fellow counselor a half a mile back. As for the hike, well, that had turned out to be anything but short.
“Bel!” Gingerly, Cynthia stepped over one of the many puddles dotting the trail, but it was a lost cause. Her rhinestone-encrusted flip-flops were already covered in mud, and that was the smallest of her concerns. A fallen trunk blocked the way ahead.
“Stop screaming, idiot. The trail’s a circle. You’ll catch up with her if you just keep going.”
That was not Bel.
Cynthia whirled. A girl in a red hoodie and black cargo pants was barreling down the path on a collision course right toward her. Thankfully, while Cynthia’s plus-sized figure didn’t look like a ballerina’s, she still had her reflexes from years of dance. She dodged just in time. “Red! I thought you were going to scout ahead.”
Red ran past her as if she hadn’t almost shoved Cynthia into a jungle of poison ivy. The compound bow and quiver she had stolen from the archery range bounced on her back in time with her strides. “Couldn’t leave the dynamic duo behind.”
“That’s actually kind of nice.”
“It was either that or shoot you with an arrow to get you to shut up.” Red vaulted over the log in a maneuver fit for an action movie, and then disappeared around yet another darn turn.
“Looks like we’re done with nice,” Cynthia muttered, wiping her sweaty hands on the corner of her Camp Kikanoo counselor T-shirt.
Cynthia couldn’t believe Bel had invited Red on this hike. While technically Red had been a part of their trio of camp friends turned counselors for just as long as Cynthia, Red had drifted further and further away the past three summers, preferring pot smoke and a pissy attitude to late-night campfires and s’mores.
Then again, Cynthia had been surprised when Bel stopped by her beach towel and asked her to come. Nature wasn’t her thing. Too messy. But Cynthia couldn’t say no. Not after that disastrous party. Not to mention this was their last chance to hang out. Come next week, Bel would be flying out to Kenyon to major in creative writing, Cynthia to Pratt for fashion design, and Red…
Well, let’s hope not to prison.
Huffing, Cynthia managed to roll over the log without getting too much dirt on her jean shorts or thick, tanned thighs. Then she followed the muddy tracks left by Red’s combat boots until the trees thinned, revealing a wide field created a few years ago from a storm only slightly stronger than last night’s.
Bel stood on the edge of the woods, one foot propped up on a boulder like an explorer. With her messy brown hair, sweatpants, and thick glasses, she looked even less prepared for the outdoors than Cynthia did. Her head bobbed along to music only she could hear. Cynthia marched up to her and tapped her gently on the shoulder.
Bel jumped, turned, and plucked out her two white earbuds. Her apple-cheeked face broke into a grin. “Cin! Excellent! You’re here!”
Cynthia wasn’t grinning, but faced with Bel’s earnestness, she couldn’t keep up a frown either. “What happened? We lost track of each other.”
Bel looked down, her thick glasses almost sliding off her nose. “I thought it was probably better to just wait for you to catch up than double-back and risk missing you.”
Cynthia sighed. It was true. Bel was legally blind, which meant that while she could see, of the two of them, she was more at risk for getting seriously lost. Staying put had been the right decision.
“Didn’t you hear me screaming?” Cynthia asked.
“Sorry. I got bored and put on some music.”
“What kind?”
“Here.” Bel shoved the earbuds into Cynthia�
�s hands, brown eyes twinkling with excitement, and then pointed at the field. “Take a listen.”
Cynthia untangled the earbuds’ cord before putting them on. The strains of a peppy Irish flute rose over a lush orchestra. The melody was haunting, if familiar. Movie music. Of course. If Bel wasn’t writing a story, she had to feel like she was in one. As Cynthia followed the line of Bel’s pointed finger, her heart pounded in synch with the tempo. There it was, just across the field. The reason for Bel’s excitement and the whole purpose of this stupid hike.
The farmhouse.
Nestled between a field and the woods, Cynthia had to admit the mansion had its own kind of spooky grandeur. Its quaint Victorian façade was enhanced by an iron fence, a dirt road, and a greenhouse peeking out from the backyard. Fog blurred its crumbling shingles and peeling paint, and the music made the rest of its imperfections seem magical. Or maybe that was just Bel. Her bookworm of a best friend always had the ability to make the ordinary supernatural.
Delicately, Cynthia removed the earphones, making sure the cord stayed straight before handing them back to Bel. “I like the song. Where’s it from?”
“It’s from The Last Werebeast.”
“The what?”
“The Last Werebeast. 1937. Nominated for an Oscar? You have to have heard of it!” Bel pushed off the rock and landed in a pile of wet leaves with a splootch. Only a few seconds after she took back the headphones, their cords managed get tangled again because of the way her hands flapped to emphasize her points. “It’s only the most classic portrayal of the possibly true story of the last documented shifter.”
Cynthia tried to raise an eyebrow, but she knew her interest was probably obvious by the way she leaned forward.
Bel lowered her voice, taking on a movie announcer’s tone. “The setting, a war-torn Europe still recovering from the aftermath of the werebeast and human conflict known as the Territory Wars. Officially, all werebeasts are dead… except John North, Damien South, Henry West and Marcus East. They devise a crazy scheme, each fleeing to different parts of the United States. Until—”
“Spoilers,” Cynthia interrupted gently. “But, yes that sounds fun. You’ve got next pick on movie night.” Cynthia winced, realizing after she spoke that they wouldn’t have another movie night. Not for a while.
Bel must’ve had the same thought because she smiled sheepishly. “Well, what about trying to check out the house? I’m thinking we start with the conservatory. I swear it looks like it’s got a secret door to a hidden world in there. Or at least some cool plants.”
“A secret world. Really? That’s surprising,” Red drawled, leaning against a tree that had been split clean in half from the lightning, looking as smug as if she had destroyed it herself. Guess Red wasn’t going off to smoke today.
“What do you mean?” Bel pushed her glasses up her nose, oblivious to the cruelty Cynthia knew was coming.
She would’ve said something, but Cynthia had learned over the years that the only way Bel could recognize Red’s true, messed-up colors was seeing them for herself.
“I’m just surprised you’re telling this to her.” Red jerked a thumb in Cynthia’s direction. “Fuck, just a week ago, her boyfriend stole your journal and read all your werebeast fanfiction out loud. At a party. People were laughing? Am I the only one here who remembers this?”
Ugh. Cynthia exhaled, air whooshing out of her like she had been punched in the chest. Shame and anger prickled on the back of her neck, and Bel’s grimace of embarrassment only made her feel worse.
Bel recoiled, sending her glasses sliding back down her nose again. This time, she didn’t bother pushing them back up. “Right, yes. Well, that was her asshole of an ex. Cynthia did sort of slap him, and the stories were you know, a little ridiculous. It was just a—”
“It’s not just a joke.” Red’s kohl drenched eyes narrowed. “You’re not a—”
“It’s okay,” Bel mumbled. “Really. You know what? I’m just going to head back to camp. This was a stupid idea. I’ll see you guys around.” Bel didn’t wait for Red or Cynthia to reply, but popped back in her earbuds and trudged out onto the trail heading toward camp, leaving the mysterious house behind.
Cynthia almost started to follow her, but she was too pissed to move. She shook her head, glaring at Red. “What’s your damage?”
Red refused to make eye contact, slouching down further against the tree. “You’re one to talk.”
“My ex made Bel feel bad. I didn’t.” Cynthia straightened her ponytail, pulling the rubber band back harder and tighter against her skull, like she always did before she cleaned up someone else’s mess. “You on the other hand.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”
“No, you just wanted to make my best friend hate me.”
Red shrugged the bow off her shoulder, plucked one of the arrows from her pocket, and notched it, aiming right at Cynthia. The whole thing was so quick Cynthia could only blink in shock. Her hand stalled over her ponytail holder. “W-what are you doing?”
“You’re not her best friend.”
Cynthia almost laughed. “Oh my God, you’re not actually going to shoot me with that, are you?”
“Wanna bet?
With the top of her hood hanging over her face, only the curve of Red’s young, round cheek was visible, entirely at odds with the muscled body lurking underneath her sweatshirt. Red didn’t even seem to be looking at Cynthia really, but at some point just beyond her, where the shadows were lengthening in the coming twilight. If not for her sure hands and flinty brown eyes, Cynthia would’ve sworn Red was afraid. The silence felt as taut as the pulled bowstring, and every second seemed to vibrate with the promise of Red letting the arrow fly. But to where?
Finally, Red lowered the bow, the plastic of the gears creaking as she eased off the string. The arrow fell into her hand. “You better get going, Cinders.”
“You…” Cynthia pointed at Red with a stiff, pink manicured fingernail, searching for words. “You need to get your life sorted out. If not for yourself, then Bel. She likes you. Okay?”
Red sniffed, shouldered the bow, and ignored her. “It’s not going to be light for much longer, and Bel’s probably a half mile ahead of you by this point.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Cynthia wanted to argue, but for all her insanity, Red knew the woods. The sun had fallen further, the mist thickening, turning every tree into a twisted silhouette. Only a half hour or two more and it would be hard to stay on the path for Cynthia. Let alone Bel. Cynthia would’ve brought flashlights, but Bel had insisted the whole “adventure” be a surprise, so she didn’t know they’d be out so long. Cursorily wiping down her shirt in search of stray mud splatters, Cynthia smoothed down her niggling anxieties. Then she started toward the trail, but only got a few steps before she paused. You really don’t need to invite her, she thought.
“Well,” she called to Red behind her, “aren’t you coming with me?”
Cynthia waited for a response for a second before turning around to ask Red face to face. But when she did, Red was gone.
* * *
Bel was lost.
Cynthia was no private detective, but as an aspiring fashion designer, she knew her shoes. A half mile down the trail back to camp, she spotted a pair of tracks that were definitely from Bel’s discount-store sneakers. Unfortunately, the footprints had wandered right off the path.
Following them instead of going to get help from a more experienced counselor had been stupid. Almost as stupid as expecting her father to remember her birthday. On the bright side, at least the sun hadn’t gone down completely. Although the light hadn’t stopped her from accidentally stepping in every puddle known to man.
Her flip-flops squelched as she landed in the latest one. A few rhinestones were left on the thongs of her shoes, but the rest sparkled behind her in a trail like the Upper East Side version of Hansel and Gretel.
“Ugh!” Cynthia kicked the air, trying to get the slime out from between
her toes, and sent her blue flip-flop flying through the forest end over end in the process.
It went almost fifteen yards. Impressive. Even more impressive, it didn’t snag on any of the low-hanging leafy branches. Most impressive of all was where it landed. In a man’s hand. He plucked it from midair as easily as if time had stopped before leaning back on a nearby oak.
“Nice kick,” he drawled in an accent that was all old-money prep school. He was so not from Michigan.
Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Nice catch.”
He gave her a too-charming grin. “Thank you.”
The first thing that struck her about him was his clothes.
Any self-respecting aspiring fashion designer would recognize the sharp silhouette of a deep blue Zachary Prell sports jacket or the gleam of bespoke cobbled oxfords. His silk navy tie had to have been custom made to match the coat. That alone was enough to grab her interest.
Then there was the matter of his face. While his clean-shaven jaw should’ve looked non-threatening, it was male-model square, and his cheekbones were high and sharp enough to cut glass. Only his hair was slightly messy. Its sandy locks rebelled against his attempt to slick it back. The hair was the thing that gave him away as just another grade-A douchebag.
But damn it if she didn’t want to run her fingers through it.
Cynthia frowned and crossed her arms.
The man pushed off the tree and began to stroll toward her, sizing up her as he went. “So what are you doing in the woods?”
Cynthia refrained from rolling her eyes at his obvious interest. She pointed at her T-shirt.
“Camp Kick-A-Canoe?” he read, staring openly at her chest while not going completely slack-jawed. It was a feat most guys rarely managed.
“Camp Ki-Ka-Noo.” Her hand traced over the each syllable like the bouncy ball on a musical sing-along. “I’m a counselor.”
“Lost your campers?” He stopped about a foot away from her. It was still too close.
