by P. Jameson
As head chef for Lake Haven Lodge, Eagan Masters spends his days cooking warm and hearty meals for his clan and their guests. His nights however, are spent in his cabin, cold and lonely. There’s no mating for the big cats. He’s accepted it, but no amount of time in the kitchen can keep his heart from craving someone to call his own. When food and other supplies go missing from the lodge, he sets out to reveal the thief. But without a scent to track, he begins to wonder if Lake Haven has a ghost.
Clara Destacio is a ghost. Not literally, but if you count the way she can sneak into houses, get what she needs, and leave without a trace, she might as well be invisible. Years ago, a tragedy left her seeking solitude. Exchanging her friends, family, and cushy lifestyle for the quiet simplicity of a rough camp in the woods has helped her deal with what happened. But surviving sweltering summers and frigid winters in the Ouachitas means she has to take what she needs from those who have too much.
Clara finds Lake Haven’s lodge and the abundance it offers, and realizes she’s stumbled onto a gold mine. But when someone starts leaving her food so she won’t have to steal, the guilt she’s been running from catches up with her.
Deliciously Mated
By P. Jameson
Deliciously Mated
Copyright © 2015 by P. Jameson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database, without prior permission from the author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Other books by P. Jameson
Ouachita Mountain Shifters
A Mate’s Wish (Holiday Prequel)
Deliciously Mated (Book 1)
Ouachita Mated (Book 2 – coming soon)
Dirt Track Dogs
Racing the Alpha (Book 1)
Racing the Beast (Book 2)
Racing Home (Book 3)
Racing Hard (Book 4)
Racing Destiny (Book 5)
Ozark Mountain Shifters
A Mate’s Denial (Book 1)
A Mate’s Sacrifice (Book 2)
A Mate’s Revenge (Book 3)
A Mate’s Submission (Book 4)
Sci-fi Fantasy Romance
Starwalker (Amazon)
Chapter One
Eagan Masters crossed his arms, rolled his head back on his shoulders, and said a prayer for patience all while managing not to roll his eyes.
Gold star for Eagan! Why don’t we get gold stars around this joint anyway?
He stared at the high ceiling of the kitchen, tracing one of the fan ducts across the room with his eyes. It was dusty up there. He should have Renner get someone in to clean it. If there was one thing he didn’t tolerate, it was a dirty kitchen.
“Are you fucking listening to me or what? You need me to yell louder?”
Eagan’s head came up. “No. No, I definitely don’t need that.”
So Magic was mad. That was clear. The leader of the Ouachita clan of big cats, was no gentle creature. As a general rule, he remained pissed at all times, and over the past couple years, he’d actually become pissy-er. Eagan had a feeling it was due to losing two of their people to matings.
Well, losing wasn’t the right word for it. They’d technically only lost Tana to a different clan—or pack, since she’d mated a wolf. She was still alive and kicking though. That was more than they could say for most female cats that mated. They were either alive or kicking. Never both. And miserable to boot.
But Renner, he’d mated and he was still around. No loss there.
Still. Magic didn’t like it. He tolerated Renner and his human mate, Bethy, because… because…
Well, who the hell knew why.
But today, Magic wasn’t just pissy. He was angry.
“Tell me what’s gone,” he barked, hands gripping the edge of the prep counter as if he was depending on the stainless steel to keep him from murdering Eagan.
“I already told you—”
“Tell me again.”
Eagan ground his jaws together. His jaguar didn’t like this. He wasn’t a beta. Or a submissive of any kind, but sometimes his clan seemed to mistake his kitchen duties as a symbol of weakness.
Fuck that.
Hadn’t they ever heard of Gordon Fucking Ramsay?
Eagan liked to cook and he was good at it. Sometimes they needed their little sexist asses whooped, that’s all. Designing meals for his clan took a lot of hard work, and he wouldn’t let any of them get away with talking him down.
Not even Magic.
“A sack of potatoes, damn it,” he snapped. “There were five. Now four. Add it to your fucking list and quit bitching at me.”
Magic’s nostrils flared as he pursed his lips.
Eagan gauged him. Maybe they were going to throw down. A regular ‘ol cat fight in the kitchen? Hell, he hadn’t been in a physical fight in months. No, make that years. And yeah, he needed to blow off steam in a major way.
He sure wasn’t blowing it off in the bedroom.
Other cats in their clan satisfied their physical needs by finding temporary lovers in the guests that frequented the lodge. One night stands only. No mating. It was clan law.
Unless you were Renner.
But Eagan had had enough one night stands to last him a lifetime. He wanted more. If he couldn’t have it, then yeah, bring on a fight.
“A sack of potatoes. That’s all you’re missing?” Magic growled.
“For fuck’s sake, yes.”
Magic blew out a furious breath, dragging a hand through his longish dark locks.
“And this is the first time you’ve noticed something missing?”
Eagan thought about it. It wasn’t exactly the first time. It was just the first time such a large item was taken. Little things went missing all the time. A block of cheese. Some caramels from the pantry. Cans of Pringles he hid on a shelf in the back. But he’d always assumed it was his clanmates.
Until today, when Magic went on his inventory rampage.
“Yes,” Eagan lied. “This is the first time.”
Magic narrowed his eyes. “You’re a horrible fucking liar.”
Eagan laughed, like he always did when he was caught. “And you’re a horrible fucking interrogator. What’s your problem anyway?”
Magic let out a heavy sigh, tipping his head back. “My problem…” he muttered.
His problem was he needed to get laid. But at least he’d stopped yelling.
“My problem is we have a thief.”
Eagan frowned. “What are you talking about? It’s just some food. Everyone here works hard—”
“I’m not talking about our cats. It’s something else. Someone else. If it was a cat, we’d have had a problem years ago.”
Eagan shook his head, not following. “You’re shit’s all messed up over some missing food?”
“No. It isn’t just food. It’s batteries, flashlights, firewood, rope. Even guests are reporting an alarming amount of missing clothing and toiletries. Mrs. Clemweather’s goddamn house slippers went missing from her room last night. And let me tell you, she is pissed. Said they cost her ninety dollars at Nieman Marcus or some shit.”
“Who the hell buys ninety dollar slippers?”
“Hell if I know. You’d think she’d just grab those fuzzy fuckers from Target or something.”
“You’d think,” Eagan agreed.
“All I know is, if we don’t put a stop to this, it’ll ruin our reputation. If people can’t feel safe with us in the mountains, our business
is fucked. Our clan is fucked.”
Eagan nodded. Magic wasn’t wrong. Lake Haven had a reputation as a safe place to bring your family to relax and unwind. The last thing they needed was a thief to turn up just before the busy holiday season started.
“Have Gash beef up the security,” Eagan suggested.
“He’s already on it. He’s putting cameras in the guest halls, and turning on the ones outside. Adding one to the back trail too.”
“Yeah. Good. But…” Something just didn’t make sense. “If it isn’t a guest. And it isn’t one of us. Who the hell’s doing this?”
Magic’s jaw ticked. He leaned in, his voice quiet. “Ask yourself this: if they’re sly enough to get past us this long, with our ability to scent, and Layna’s strict guest records… is there any way in hell they don’t know what we are?”
Eagan’s mouth went dry. Nobody knew werecats ran the lodge. If they were ever discovered, life as they knew it would be over.
“We have to catch this thief,” he breathed.
“Yes,” Magic agreed. “And fast.”
Chapter Two
One by one, Clara removed the boulders from her loot spot, setting them carefully on the dirt beside her. It was good exercise for her arms. She needed to stay strong. Winter was coming soon and she’d have to prepare her body to survive it.
Preparation was key to hermit life.
Squirrels knew what was up. Packing away nuts and seeds for the long cold months. She’d learned so much from watching the animals. The bears had it best though, sleeping away the entire season.
If only she was a bear.
She’d been through five winters. This would be her sixth. Hard to believe she hadn’t slept in a real bed, in a home, under a solid roof, for six years.
She paused her digging, letting her reality sink in for a tiny moment. On her own, no family, no friends. No home.
No regrets.
Her lips curved into a smile, and she slowly reached into the crevice between two boulders.
“I see you,” she murmured. “One, two, three, four, five… yep, there you are.”
Her fingers lingered until the small black lizard with five yellow stripes on his back rested his front feet on her.
Clara clicked her tongue lightly, and the lizard slinked forward.
“I wondered where you’d gone, you flighty little reptile.”
There’d been a couple chilly nights already and she’d wondered if her skink had tucked away for the winter. October. She’d seen the calendar during her last loot run. The days were still warm, but the nights brought cool weather. Not cold, but still a stark difference from the hundred degree days she’d grown used to over the summer.
The skink quickly slithered up her bare arm and settled on her shoulder, clinging to her tank top strap while Clara went back to digging up the plastic crate she kept her stash in.
When all the rocks were removed, she unlatched the lid and took stock of her supplies. She needed to grab some more socks. And maybe a few more canned goods before it got too cold. But for now, she was going to eat like it was going out of style.
She pulled out five potatoes from the ten pound bag she’d taken from her new gold mine and secured the rest in the plastic bin. Then she collected the butter she’d snuck from the walk-in fridge, a bag of caramels, sour cream and onion Pringles—yum!—and the bars of chocolate. She left her new slippers in the bin. She’d need them soon, but for now they’d keep with her stash.
One more thing.
Digging to the very bottom of the bin, she found a new bar of soap. Clara held it in her palm, debating. This kind was her favorite. It smelled like lavender. And boy would that be helpful right about now. But… she had to think of the future.
If she planned to continue her raids on the lodge, she needed to be a ghost. She couldn’t leave any evidence. Including a scent trail. Because…
Well, she hadn’t decided whether or not she was crazy. Whether or not the man she’d seen in the woods had really turned into a cat before her eyes. It was more likely a hunger-induced vision. Or her imagination gone wild. Like a shirt-less girl on spring break. Maybe six years taking in the wonders of the woods had broken her mind.
But just in case, she couldn’t take the chance of them smelling her.
She shook her head, and dug deeper for the unscented bar she’d grabbed from the hunters last year, stuffing it into her ragged, threadbare backpack. Carefully, she replaced the rocks that concealed her supply crate and stood.
“You ready, skink?” she asked. “I need a bath like you need another tail.”
He’d lost his recently. Some danger had threatened, and being the amazing creature he was, he gave them the tail—the lizard version of the middle finger, except… he literally gave them the tail. But it’d grow back with time.
She stared at the lizard on her shoulder, but it didn’t talk back. This was a good sign. Perhaps she wasn’t losing her mind after all.
The ten minute trek to the small hot springs she used to bathe wasn’t too hard. She stayed away from the trails, moving through the trees instead, until she was deep into the woods. People ventured this way occasionally, but it was rare. And when they did, it was usually love-stricken couples looking for a remote romantic location. They ignored her and found somewhere else to makeout.
She’d chosen this land as hers because of the no hunting laws. She was aware it was private property, and that she was trespassing. But if they couldn’t find her, they couldn’t kick her out. And she was very, very good at hiding.
But it wasn’t until spring that she’d discovered the lodge tucked away in the mountains near the lake. The no hunting made sense now. With the business nearby, it would be dangerous for hunters to be roaming the woods.
Still. It didn’t keep the guns away entirely. There was the occasional poacher from time to time. That was how she’d come into possession of one of the most disgusting things she’d ever had to utilize in her years in the woods. And that was saying something, considering she’d run out of toilet paper several times.
Clara approached the steaming springs, scanning her surroundings to make sure there wasn’t anyone around. She closed her eyes and listened closely, tuning her ears to the sounds of the forest. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She breathed in the moist mountain air, holding it a few seconds before pushing it back out.
She was alone. Just as she wanted to be.
She opened her eyes, slipping the backpack from her shoulder, and her skink from the other one. She set them both on a nearby rock. Skink scurried into a golden sunray and his eyes closed.
Digging through her supplies, she found the soap and began stripping off her clothes. She’d wash the deer scent off her body first, then from her clothes. She brought the items to her nose, testing.
Her head jerked back and she coughed, gagging.
Or maybe she’d just throw them away.
But no, she needed the jeans. Pants that fit her short legs were hard to find, and she’d need them desperately come winter.
She took the clothes and soap with her to the water and slowly waded in. The heat felt good on her sore muscles. She needed more vitamin B. More greens. She ate the edible ones in the forest, but she’d look at the lodge next time. They probably had fresh spinach.
After setting the smelly clothes on the ground next to the springs, Clara dunked her head beneath the surface of the gurgling water, wetting her thick hair. The harsh, unscented soap was bad for her coarse latino strands, but she was desperate to get the deer attractant off of her. She smelled like hundred year old piss. She’d take the frizzy hair over that any day of the week.
She worked up a lather and spread it through her hair, massaging it all the way down to her scalp. Then she made sure to cover every inch of her body with it.
“Take that, one hundred year old piss,” she muttered, rinsing with the warm water.
She leaned back against the rock, lifting one leg in the air to examine it
. Damn. She’d forgotten to look for a razor at the lodge. Finding one that hadn’t been used already was going to be tricky, but her old one couldn’t cut a peach’s fuzz. And besides, she was up for the challenge. The hardest to find items gave her the most satisfaction.
She’d give it a few days though, because the thought of donning doe urine again so soon made her want to hurl.
Using the soap and a rock, she scrubbed her clothes clean, giving up on the tank top. Then she wrung them out and set them in the sun to dry. Resting on the rock next to her skink, she let the remaining rays of the sun lap up the water from her body.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her two ratted notebooks. They were identical on the outside, but inside, they contained very different writings. She opened the one that had a pen sticking out of the spiral, and flipped to a blank page.
Today was a good day. Cool nights have arrived, but I don’t dread the coming winter as much as I usually might. I’ll miss Skink and the animals of course, but still, after living in the woods for all this time, I’ve never been more sure that this is what my life should be. I have no desire to reinsert myself back into humanity. I’m a woman in love. With the solitude. With the loneliness. I’m as happy as I deserve to be. It was a good day.
Clara closed the notebook. Record keeping was also important for hermitting. With no one around to witness her life but herself, it was crucial to write everything down. Not because anyone would come along and read it, but for herself. Countless times, she’d read back through her journals and found memories she’d already forgotten. In some strange way, it kept her feeling… real. It reminded her she existed even though she’d done her best to appear like she didn’t.
Being a ghost was hard.
Clara laid back on the rock, sighing. She’d rest for just a while. Then she’d head back to her camp and cook up those potatoes. She needed to carb load. Feed that layer of fat that would keep her alive through the cold months. And with the discovery of the lodge, this was going to be her easiest winter yet.
