Night Creatures: Book 1

by Ebony Brightman

  She flopped back the covers, and kicked free of tangled sheets.

  “You look like shit.”

  Her eyes opened to narrow slits. Shane was in the bathroom doorway, aggressively flossing his teeth.

  “One of the waiters had to bring you up last night.”

  Nisa looked down, taking further stock. She’d slept in her dress, the top of which was hanging in limp shreds around her waist. She swept hair away from her face and found twigs there.

  “You’re a fucking m . . .”

  “Shane,” she’d apparently swallowed a frog too, “shut the fuck up.” She wiggled out of her dress and kicked it to the floor. “One more word from you and I’ll tell Willa and Callum, and everyone else at this ridiculous soiree, who really writes your screenplays.”

  And with that, Nisa rolled over and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  By the time Nisa opened her eyes again it was one in the afternoon. She would have slept more, but her phone was buzzing with Shane’s unanswered texts. She continued to ignore them as she sat up and looked around the room. Gauzy curtains had been drawn over the door to the balcony. They were sheer enough that she could see people lounging in the backyard and the redwoods towering beyond. A heavier set of blackout drapes framed the door as well, but Shane had so graciously left those open.

  Water ran down her neck as she guzzled from a bottle she’d left on the nightstand and then reached for a second one. When that one was gone she dropped against the pillow, her head reeling with grogginess and emotions from the previous night’s events. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten to bed. Or even how she’d made it back to the house. But what happened in the woods—that she’d never forget.

  Shane, of course, had been a total bastard. Nisa knew he had difficulty being faithful. But running off to bang someone at a work function was reckless, even for him. She wasn’t naïve. The movie industry was built by questionable dealings with questionable people. While Shane had a relentless need to succeed, it was hard to believe he’d compromise that for Shelby. Especially since Benny was the reason they’d been invited in the first place. And yet he had. Quite enthusiastically. His wife, his vows, and his work had been steamrolled by an easy piece of ass. She’d almost been eaten in the woods last night (and then she’d been eaten in the woods last night). But Shane knew nothing about it because for him she was an afterthought. He didn’t care what happened to her last night or any night, so long as she was around to keep writing.

  Then there was the Beast. She had no idea what he was, but she did know that he’d wanted her, and that in the end she’d wanted him too. She’d been terrified but she’d seen the intelligence in his eyes. He’d pursued her with more than just instinct, and it felt sexy to be in his arms. He’d made her feel desirable again. That was the hardest part to admit. The Missing Link had stuck his tongue in her pussy and she’d loved every second of it. She didn’t want to trade that feeling for anything. Not even a faithful Shane.

  Nisa swung her legs out of the bed, testing sore muscles as she walked to the bathroom and stepped in front of the mirror. Shane had been right. With her makeup smudged and hair full of nature she did look like a fucking mess. Her fragile gold earrings were bent at odd angles. There were scratches on her feet and knees, and a graze above her breast. She turned around to confirm the bruise on her left buttock but found shallow claw marks instead.

  Injuries aside, she looked the same. It was how she felt that was different. She had the same boobs, same thick thighs, same belly . . . But she felt like a warrior. She’d run and kicked and fought, and for her efforts he’d made her come. Multiple times. All she needed was a spear and a tunic that only covered one breast.

  She turned the shower on full blast, and when the mirror began to steam up she stepped in. She shampooed her hair first. Before the party she’d put it up in a bun, but it hadn’t survived her nighttime adventures. If she didn’t show her curls some love they would tangle and mat. Next she reached for the soap. Its citrusy fresh lather tingled as she ran it over her skin. She soaped up her hand and slid it between her legs. A growl echoed in her ears. She wanted to slide to the floor and fuck herself silly.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Shane looked like he’d been playing tennis, but you never knew. His eye flicked down to Nisa’s hand. Nisa continued rubbing herself, putting her foot on the ledge to afford a better view.

  “What does it look like?”

  He was out of his clothes and into the shower like a shot. Nisa’s tits flattened against cold stone as he pushed her against the wall and slid himself inside of her. There was that slapping sound again, only wet this time as she let Shane have a few uninterrupted thrusts. He was eager. He was enjoying this.

  She shoved away from the wall, and Shane slipped out of her as he stumbled back.

  “What the fuck, Nees?”

  “I’m gonna need you to finish by yourself.” Her body rubbed against him as she stepped out of the shower. “But watch your aim. Can’t have you ruining any more Louboutins.”

  Nisa walked out of the bathroom as Shane’s face went slack.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nisa bounced down the stairs. She’d wanted to be gone before Shane got out of the shower. So, she’d quickly put on a tank top and jeans and went on her merry way. She was still pulling her hair back as she walked down the hallway and past the kitchen toward the patio. Slipping her sunglasses on, she stepped outside. It was a temperate, breezy day. Not all of the party attendees were staying at the house, but those who were had scattered about the lawn taking full advantage of its amenities.

  The waiter she’d met the previous night was circling with a trayful of smoothies. Nisa was still a little queasy, but a smoothie would hit the spot. Toby. That was his name. He reddened as she caught his eye. The mystery of who’d carried her upstairs last night was solved. She wanted to thank him—but she’d been passed out and half-naked. If she spoke to him now she’d feel pressed to offer an explanation. She grabbed a banana from the patio buffet instead, and headed for the stables at the opposite end of the yard.

  The closer Nisa got the more she picked up scents of animal and hay, and the sound of restless horses. She rounded the corner and walked to the entrance. The stables were on the smaller side—just big enough to hold four or five mounts, tack, and feed. But it was well-appointed and the horses clearly cared for. The middle aisle was stamped concrete, while the pens were comprised of long cedar slats and metal, drop-down v-fronts. Two of the horses were hanging their heads out. They nickered and blew as she stepped from the brightness of the yard into the soft light flooding through high windows.

  She walked deeper inside. The first few stalls were empty, but when she got to the third stall a curious stallion stretched his neck to say, “hello.” Nisa pushed her sunglasses up into her hair as she approached. In turn the stallion flicked an ear in her direction. She reached her hands out to run them over his shoulder and then rubbed the soft hair between his eyes. The stallion shifted his weight as Nisa leaned in to kiss his muzzle and run her hands along his cheeks. He was a sorrel, pure red in body and mane, with soft hair that was sleek to the touch.

  “Hank never could resist the ladies.”

  Nisa turned to see the stable master coming her way. He looked to be about fifty—a slightly stocky but muscular man wearing worn Wranglers, work boots, and a crooked smile. His hair, moustache, and beard were thick and streaked with gray.

  “You know your way around a horse.”

  Nisa returned his smile. “A little bit. I used to ride some when I was a teenager. Think I could take Hank for a spin?”

  “What’s your boot size?”

  “Nine.”

  “Let’s see if we can find you some, and a helmet.”

  The stable master headed off toward the tack room and Nisa followed behind.

  “I’m Nisa, by the way.”

  He turned to face her then, a twinkle in his eye as he held out his hand to shak
e hers.

  “I’m John.”

  Ten minutes later Nisa was tightening the chinstrap on a borrowed helmet. As it turned out, the tack room was stocked with a variety of riding gear for guests to use. She wasn’t thrilled about wearing someone else’s boots. But this was her chance to get back into the woods during daylight. John checked the straps on the saddle, then held Hank’s reins as Nisa put her left foot in the stirrup, pushed up, and swung her right leg over the stallion’s back.

  “Huh. Suits you.” John handed Nisa the reins, then took Hank by the bridle and led them out of the stables. “Hank likes to eat around five, so if you could have him back by then I’d be much obliged.”

  “I won’t be out long. Just gonna look around a bit.”

  “Uh-huh.” John paused, staring into Nisa’s eyes before letting his gaze sweep over her body and then down to the ground. Hank flicked his tail, ready to go.

  “Thought I’d take a few pictures. For a screenplay my husband’s . . . working on.”

  John nodded to himself as if choosing to believe her lie. “Start at this trailhead here. The first two forks go left, on the third fork go right. Lots of things to take pictures of down that way. Hank knows these woods well. If you stick to the trails, he’ll definitely know how to get back home.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, John.”

  Nisa gave Hank a slight squeeze to get him going, then made a kissing sound to get him trotting toward the trees. It had been awhile since she’d ridden horseback but the rush of it was quickly returning. Connecting with something visceral and using her body to issue subtle commands made her feel powerful. She squeezed Hank into a steady lope, then once he was warmed up, leaned forward into a gallop. He surged down the trail.

  Nisa’s laughter rang through the woods as she and Hank raced through dappled sunlight and low lying ferns, then eased up as they approached the first fork. She guided Hank left and it was only a minute or two before they were coming up on the second fork, again moving at a steady lope. Even in the daylight the forest felt mysterious but it didn’t have that same sense of foreboding from the night before. It felt peaceful and beautiful. Nothing looked dark or dangerous like it had twelve hours ago, and nothing looked even remotely familiar.

  The third fork was a barely-there path winding off the main trail. Ground squirrels scampered through the brush as Nisa slowed Hank to a walk and eased him between the trees. She had no recollection of having come this way. But between the dark, the alcohol, and her blind panic, that didn’t mean a whole lot. Hank resisted when she steered him right. He whinnied and reared up a little, forcing Nisa to clutch at the reins to avoid falling off. She tried to pull him toward the right path again but Hank was not interested. So far he’d been pretty easy, but now he backed away with frustrated snorts.

  “He’s telling you he doesn’t want to go that way.”

  Nisa sucked in a startled breath then sharply turned her head. There was a man sitting on a horse in the middle of the main pathway. She hadn’t heard them approach. But now there he was, looking at her with dark, amused eyes. He was muscular and lean—well over six feet with black wavy hair falling just past his shoulders. Definitely Latino, maybe in his early thirties. His horse was as beautiful as he was; a blue roan with a long black mane, black tail, and thick black feathering around the legs. Nisa was stunned to think a horse that big could sneak up on her. Maybe she had been too focused on the path ahead.

  Nisa moved Hank away from the right fork and back onto the main trail. The stranger urged his roan forward, coming closer to Nisa and Hank until they were side by side, albeit facing opposite directions.

  “There’s a pack of mountain lions down that way.” The stranger reached out to rub Hank’s cheek then wrapped his hand possessively around the bridle. “That’s probably why Hank’s resisting.”

  “Mountain lions don’t travel in packs.”

  “Not usually, but when they get spooked or hungry, they tend to stick together. It helps them take on bigger prey.”

  “I see.” Nisa looked down the path and then back at the man’s hand. He’d called Hank by name so he was clearly no stranger to her horse. But he was a stranger to her. And mountain lions or no, he was thwarting her mission.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head to again catch her eye.

  Nisa stared for a moment. She was a sucker for dark eyes and this man’s were practically black. “It’s Nisa.”

  “That’s beautiful . . . What does it mean?”

  “‘Woman’ or ‘night.’ Depending on the language.” His eyes crinkled around the edges. He was smiling—but his gaze was intense, as if waiting for Nisa to reveal her secrets. Hank shifted his weight underneath her. “But my parents just liked the sound of it.”

  “Me too,” he said. “It fits.”

  Nisa nodded, not sure how to respond.

  The man leaned forward, adjusting himself on his mount. “If you really want to ride that trail, I can go with you. Whatever’s lurking in the woods might bother someone who’s alone, but I doubt it would take on the two of us.”

  Nisa considered it for a moment. It might be as simple as asking him if he knew where the clearing was and if he’d take her to it, but then he’d want to know how she’d discovered it in the first place. She also had to remember that he was in fact a stranger to her. Charming as he was, she didn’t want to be at his mercy. She knew all too well that moments in the woods could turn on a dime.

  “I’d better not,” she replied, intentionally looking back in the direction of the house. “My husband is probably wondering where I’ve gone.” It was more likely that Shane hadn’t thought about her at all. But despite his recent behavior—and hers—she was married, and she needed this man to know that.

  He nodded his head and looked down at her conspicuously bare ring finger. Both Hank and the man’s horse nickered, tiring of standing still.

  “I really am. Married I mean.”

  “I believe it,” he said. “Women like you always are.”

  “Women like me?”

  “Beautiful, fierce. Mischievous.”

  Nisa stifled a guffaw. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  Something fluttered in Nisa’s chest, the invisible band between them pulling tighter. “Laying it on kind of thick now aren’t you?”

  “I’ll lay it on as thick as you want.”

  Nisa blinked. Distant birds twittered, filling the silence. Then they both burst out laughing.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “that was terrible.”

  Nisa continued to chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

  “Definitely not one for the books.”

  “Probably not.”

  The horses nickered again.

  “Seriously, though,” the smile still in his eyes, “if you want to go down that path, I’ll take you.”

  Nisa opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer a voice bellowed down the trail.

  “Nisa! Well, hello!”

  Both Nisa and the man turned to look. There was Callum, riding up the trail on a golden palomino. Callum was heavy-set with pure white hair. Like Willa, he was quick to smile and loved a good party. But where Willa paid attention to social graces, Callum would easily trade decorum for a hardy laugh. He was out of breath, huffing and puffing as he rode up.

  “Thank goodness you’re out here, Nisa, or I wouldn’t have caught this whippersnapper.” The man gave Callum a knowing look. He’d seen this act before. “I see you two have met.”

  The man removed his hand from Hank’s bridle. “Not properly.”

  “Well, let me do the honors. Nisa, this is my nephew, Arlo. You can see from his good looks that he comes from Willa’s side of the family.”

  Arlo held out his hand and Nisa shook it. He looked nothing like Willa. Except for maybe the eyes.

  Callum continued, “Nisa is married to Shane, that screenwriter I was telling you about. We’re thinking about buying his new script.”


  “Good for him.” Arlo had not yet released her hand. “I was warning Nisa about the southern fork. I heard there’s a pack of mountain lions that way.”

  “Right, you are. Nisa, we were just riding back for some pre-dinner cocktails. Care to join us?”

  Nisa was stuck. Declining drinks with Callum would be rude. She hid her disappointment as she turned Hank around. “After you.”

  The three of them rode off toward the house, the horses all moving at a steady run. Callum was in the lead, his palomino setting the pace as Nisa followed. Arlo brought up the rear. She could feel Arlo’s eyes on the back of her neck, making her all the more self-aware. The sway of her ponytail. Her hips rocking in the saddle. Arlo rode up next to her and Nisa looked over to see him watching her intently. Her cheeks burned and he smiled as she pushed Hank to go a little faster. Their hooves crunched gravel as they burst through the trees and hurried back to the stables.

  John took the palomino’s reins as Callum dismounted.

  “How was your ride?”

  “Quite good, but it’s never easy keeping up with that one over there,” Callum retorted, jabbing a thumb in Arlo’s direction. Arlo’s blue roan had barely stopped before Arlo was sliding from his saddle and helping Nisa dismount. She was swinging her leg over when she felt his hands on her hips, easing her down to the ground.

  “No sir, I’m sure it’s not,” John gave a wry smile as he watched Nisa step away from Arlo’s unbidden assistance.

  “And Nisa, how did you and Hank get along?”

  “He was a complete gentleman.”

  “Good, good,” John threw Arlo a pointed look, “he usually is.”

  Nisa rubbed Hank a few times at the shoulder and kissed the horse on the cheek before handing his reins over to John. She gave John’s arm a thankful squeeze then headed toward the tack room, eager to unloose her feet. She unstrapped the helmet first, then plopped down on the bench next to her sandals, and began struggling with the first boot. She was still struggling when Arlo walked in.