by DD Prince
“I’m okay, Mom. I got bit by a rattlesnake and I’m recovering.”
“What hospital are you at? We called everywhere! Why haven’t you called me back sooner? It’s been 48 hours!”
“I told you not to worry.”
“Not to worry? Of course I’m worried. Have you met me? My daughter leaves me a message that she’s in the hospital and has been bit by a snake and then she doesn’t call me for two days. I thought you might be dead. Or worse.”
“Worse?”
What’s worse than dead?
“Kidnapped or something. Don’t give me attitude, young lady. I’ve been worried out of my mind.”
“She met some guy and she’s at his place.”
“Amelia!” I shout. Rat fink.
“Ivy!” Mom shouts.
Argh.
“What guy?” Mom asks when I don’t immediately respond.
“He met her in the woods when her car broke down,” Amelia says with a total tattletale tone.
“Where? Where are you?”
“Just outside Drowsy Hollow,” I say.
“What? What?”
“Drow–”
“I heard you.” My mother’s voice has taken on a funny tone.
“Why do you sound weird?” I ask.
There’s a beat of silence. A long one.
“Hello?” I check.
Did the call drop?
“Maybe I sound weird because my daughter has been missing. Maybe because she was bit by a venomous snake and didn’t call for two days leading me to search every hospital in a four-hour radius.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Things’ve been real weird,” I say.
“How weird?” Mom asks.
“Drowsy Hollow. That’s not far from our old house,” Amelia says.
“I know,” Mom says snarkily. “I lived there.”
“Why does your voice sound funny, Mom?” I ask.
“Yeah. You’re pale. She’s pale, Ivy,” Amelia says. “You’ve stressed her out like crazy. And me! I’ve got two stress zits and they better be gone by my bridal shower. We have a professional photographer coming.”
I roll my eyes. “Then the pro can Photoshop the zits out,” I say.
“But people will also see me, Ives…”
“So you’re fine?” Mom interrupts.
“I’m fine,” I confirm.
“When are you coming home? Do you need me to come get you?” Mom asks.
“I’m good. I’m just spending some time with Ty, the guy who… um… rescued me. Honest, I’m good.”
“He rescued you and then you legged it and got bit by a snake so that suggests something wasn’t good. Why were you legging it?” Amelia asks.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“I bet,” she retorts snarkily. “I need you here this weekend for your last fitting. You’ll be here Saturday, four o’clock, right?”
“Of course.”
“You coming back before that?” she asks. “Are you gonna have a scar? Where were you bit? Not on your face? Shit, not on your face, Ivy!”
“My ankle, Amelia, jeez. Worried I’ll muck up your wedding pictures?”
“No. I’m worried your face got all mucked up, bitch.”
“Girls,” Mom cuts in. “Enough.”
There’s silence.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” I say. “But I have my phone. It was lost but I got it back and if you guys need me, text or call. Don’t worry. I’m fine. Can you call Dad and Leo?”
“I’ll call our brother,” Amelia offers, “but if you wanna get a message to him, either Mom can do it, or you can call him yourself. Better yet, you do it, Ives. Mom doesn’t need his bullshit.”
“Who is this man you’re with, Ivy?” Mom asks.
“Tyson. Tyson Savage. He’s a nice guy. We’re having fun. We hit it off.” I shrug. I can feel a smile stretching my face.
I do like him. A lot.
“How nice?” Amelia asks.
“Very, very nice,” I reply cheekily.
She laughs. Well… that’s kind of a surprise. She’s been so high-strung lately.
“Who is he?” Mom huffs. “You’re with a strange man, Ivy, and your loved ones need to know where you are in case he’s…”
“A serial killer, Mom? He rescued me from what could’ve been a lethal snake bite. If he was set on offing me, that woulda made his life easy.”
“But, what if he doesn’t like it easy? What if he wants to be the one to do the killing?” That’s Amelia. And now she sounds venomous. Or scared. I don’t know.
“Oh God,” Mom whispers.
“Listen guys, I’m good. I’m great. I’m really enjoying myself and after bein’ bit by a snake and worrying for a minute there that I was gonna die after a sketchy trip to the country, I’m happy to be enjoying myself. And I’ve got a hot guy here who is determined to show me a really, really good time so I’m gonna go wake him up from his nap for some more naked time before we probably have a campfire and eat s’mores off each other’s naked bodies so…the biggest risk I’ve got is hot marshmallow burns on my skin.”
Amelia’s laughing.
Mom says nothing.
I finish up with, “Text me later. I’ll answer you after naked s’mores. Don’t stress.”
“I’m not amused. Check in tomorrow,” Mom finally says.
“I will, Mom. ” I smile. “Sorry I made you worry. It’s been a strange few days. More on that later. Too much to get into on the phone.”
I hear my mom’s breath hitch.
“I’m good, Mom. Can you text Dad and tell him I’m fine?”
“Yes. I can. But… you’re sure? Is everything okay there? I mean… really okay?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Just text Dad. You don’t need to talk to him all emotional. He might try to come over.”
“Yeah, he is not welcome here,” Amelia adds.
“I think I can decide who’s welcome in my house, girls.”
Neither me nor Amelia reply. We’re both worried she’ll take him back. He’s been trying to sweet talk her.
“Call me tomorrow,” Mom demands. “Early.”
“Why?”
“I just need to hear your voice and talk to you so I can know you’re alive unlike the past forty-eight hours, that’s why!”
“Okay,” I say softly.
The line is quiet. “I’ll text early, guys. Love you, Mom. Love you too, Bridezilla.”
“Love you!” Amelia sings out. “No glove, no love, Ives!”
“Be careful. Love you,” Mom says. “And I’m still upset about 48 hours with no contact.”
“It’ll make more sense when I tell you the whole crazy story,” I say.
I have no idea how I’ll explain all this. Can I even explain it? Shit.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mom grumbles.
Huh?
“Bye,” I say and hang up before the conversation drags on further. I turn and there’s Ty. Directly behind me.
I startle with a little bit of a scream.
He hefts me over his shoulder.
“Whoa. Holy crap. What’re you doing?”
“Taking you back to bed. For some more naked or naked some mores.”
I giggle.
“What’s funny?”
“S’mores. Do you know what that is?”
“No, but it involves you naked, so it sounds good.”
“S’mores. It’s a treat. It’s marshmallow and graham cracker and chocolate and it’s all melted.”
“Sounds like a hot version of that ice cream. Make it for us later.”
“We’ll need a trip to town,” I say.
“Then tomorrow. Right now, I need inside you, Ivy.”
“Oh. It’s been a whole forty minutes since last time, so by all means.” I throw my arms up, though he can’t see me obviously, because I’m over his shoulder.
And a minute later, I’m on my back in his bed and he’s going down. He’s going down
real good.
34
Tyson
Ivy’s asleep and I’m in the garage. I’ve pulled all the paintings down from the rafters. There are a lot of them. Paintings of mine. Paintings of his. And the paintings of his have had me ready to return to his bones again and pound what’s left of them to dust.
Why?
Because there are paintings of her. The woman he ached for. My mother. There are paintings of her, looking beautiful, looking breathtaking at a very young age, barely a woman. And there’s a painting of her in sorrow, covered in blood. And it physically hurts to look at it. His paintings are almost like photographs, they’re done so vividly. Even her eyelashes look real in the pictures. My uncle was skilled with the paintbrush. Skilled with weaving lies through my brain my whole life, too.
She wouldn’t let him have her, so he took everything from her. Her husband. Her child. Her happiness.
I’m in awe of her after having met her. Of her resilience. You see the pain in the lines around her eyes, but she’s not bitter. She’s looking forward. She’s spent her life serving her pack. And she’s found happiness again.
Beyond all his paintings, some of which were landscapes and some of which were abstract and manic looking, are paintings I’ve done.
I’ve found the one of the sprite. She has yellow hair and she’s very small and as I painted it as a child there’s not enough detail for me to know if it’s a premonition of Ivy, but I think it is.
She’s smiling and happy and she’s floating over my pup wolf form beside a small blue butterfly that sits on my nose. I don’t know why I drew that butterfly like that.
After going through all the paintings, many of which include me playing with six other pups, I leave them against the walls, then walk out of there with my head down, feeling sick about Cornelius.
Those six shifters felt my absence and clearly I felt theirs, too, even if I didn’t know how to name it other than drawing about it.
I crawl back into bed with her and pull her warm and soft body close. Just the scent of her brings me comfort. This is calm and comfort I never thought I’d have. I didn’t know I was missing it. Now that I have it, I know I won’t ever give it up. Not for anything. And I won’t ever let her be taken from me the way my father was taken from my mother. No one can hurt Ivy the way Catrina Savage has been hurt. I won’t let it happen.
Despite feeling the comfort of my mate, I clench my teeth until I fall asleep.
35
Ivy
Three Days Later…
It’s Friday morning, and we’re driving to town. I have my arms crossed and I’m pouting. He’s acting like he’s ignoring it, like he seems to do when I don’t like something, but I know he knows I’m pouting.
What’s the problem? Well, for starters he wouldn’t let me go shopping by myself for a dress for the strawberry moon party.
Clearly, he thinks I’ll take off on him. He’s not saying that, but I know it’s what he thinks.
And second, he’s not giving me my car keys.
He also informed me this morning that after we’re done dress-shopping, we’re going to a furniture store and I should pick out a new bed and new furniture.
And then he wants me to tell him what else we need. He’s talking about painting the place, too. He’s trying to make it clear that I’m here to stay. He’s never asked me to stay, he’s only told me. And that’s annoying as heck.
“What about what Riley said? About the house you have in Arcana Falls?” I asked.
“We have,” he corrected.
I didn’t reply and he got fidgety. And then he lifted me up onto the kitchen counter and tried to have sex with me.
“We need to go out.” I tried to make him stop. His mouth was making its way down my throat into the opening of my shirt. “Tyson! Stop.”
“We can go soon,” he said against my skin and then he purred against that spot on my throat.
My hands landed on his shoulders and instead of pushing him, like I planned to, I wound up with my head rolled back and my hands in his hair while he nibbled, licked, and scraped his delicious stubble along my skin, pulling me tight against his body so that my legs were around him. I was a bit too high to be pelvis to pelvis, so he carried me to the couch and kept me straddling him as his hand lowered, about to free himself from his jeans.
“Wait. Before you get carried away, there, I have to buy a dress and shoes and accessories and–”
“And we need time to go to the furniture store. I know. They’re close to each other. It’s fine.”
“I may need more than one store before I find a dress I like, so…”
He froze and stared at me.
I continued. “It may take five or ten stores and trying on half a dozen dresses in each of those places before I find something I like.”
He frowned at me and his mouth went tight.
“This is why we should’ve gone yesterday instead of spending the afternoon in bed.” I poked him in the chest.
He smiled. “It was a very nice afternoon in bed.”
It was.
It’s been a great couple days living in this little bubble…this little werewolf sex bubble. For real. I truly don’t know how my vagina hasn’t just fallen off. My inner thighs are a little sore, though, almost like I’ve been horseback riding. A girl could give up her gym membership with a guy like this who’d undoubtedly keep her physically fit, that was for damn sure.
Tyson liked the s’mores and we then spent that night cuddled up while he talked about books he liked.
He showed me all sorts of paintings in his garage painted by his uncle and that made me really sad for him. If the paintings were put on exhibit you could line them up, all thirty or forty of them and call them, “Bi-polar. Illustrations of the highs and the lows.”
I also saw a stack of other paintings, but Ty stopped me from looking at those. He said they were more graphic ones of his mother, that they were too upsetting to look at as well as some of the ones he’d painted when he was young, and that he didn’t want me to see them.
I didn’t push. Something in his eyes told me not to.
In the past few days, I’ve spent 24/7 with him and it’s been bliss. We spent time cleaning up together. I bought a mop when we got s’mores stuff and he acted like mopping was fun. It was adorable. We also cleaned up the other bedroom. Everything smelled like Pine-Sol when we were done, and he kept breathing it in as if it was the best smell ever.
Thursday, we did some more organizing and hung out outside weeding the garden beds and cutting the grass. He had one of those ancient manual push mowers and the place was already looking a lot better. It was also pretty warm that day and he cut the grass with no shirt on. That was fun to watch.
I showed him some nice pictures online of pretty landscaping ideas and suggested he get some flowers sometime, and then he immediately took me in his truck to the nearest garden center ten miles away and bought all sorts of flowers as well as some patio furniture for the porch. And a bunch of vegetable seeds.
He was trying to make this place a home for me. He was trying to encourage me to settle in here. Grow herbs. Vegetables.
Root me.
He started a compost pile back away from the house, too, and made a point of taking our organic waste from the kitchen scraps to it after each meal, like it was something important, because he was doing it for me.
God, he was sweet.
And affectionate. Normally, I got annoyed when a guy was too demonstrative with me, found it clingy and unattractive. But not so with Tyson. I couldn’t get enough of how cuddly he was. He was always touching me, making eye contact with me, looking at me like he found me fascinating.
But that he was talking about painting the house, going to the furniture store; it was freaking me out.
Because I could stay here with him.
I could.
It was tempting.
So very tempting.
Things were hot and heavy, but we both kn
ew I wasn’t ready to declare that I’d stay and it created tension at times that resulted in marathon sex sessions where it was like he was convinced I was just a few orgasms away from agreeing to spend my life with him. Though, like I said, he never asked. He told me I was staying with his actions, with his plans that included me picking the furnishings and tending a garden.
I sent twice daily check-in texts to Mom and Amelia to prove to them I was alive. I rejected phone calls and hadn’t listened to any more voicemails. All that and being vague in my texts despite Mom pushing to get more information about where I was and her digging for more information on Tyson.
She was being peculiar about it, really. Aunt Nelle always said mom was a little psychic, had great intuition. Did she sense something was off kilter here?
I got a text from Amelia an hour ago asking me whether I was meeting her at the dress shop or at her apartment.
I tucked my phone away before Ty saw the message. I still had to tell Tyson that tomorrow, I have to go home.
I need to go home, check on the apartment, which has been empty since my roommate Tamara is in Jamaica with her boyfriend, and I need to go for my final fitting for Amelia’s wedding. All the bridesmaids and both my mom and Rick’s mom are going for dinner afterwards.
I’ve got the feeling, after his behavior so far, that he’d take issue with this. Not only would he take issue with this, he’d try to stop me.
I was thinking I’d buy him a cell phone today. I’d do that while dress shopping and then sit him down very calmly after the party and tell him that I had to leave but that this didn’t mean it was the end for us.
I wasn’t saying goodbye, just going home and we could talk and make plans to get together again soon. I didn’t have to worry about work for a while, but I needed to go home for the fitting and to check on the apartment and get my flippin’ head together (not that I’d say that) and then I could come back again. For a visit. See where things went from there.
Maybe while I was gone, he’d do some more bonding with Cat and the others.
Maybe we’d just see what happened from there.
Or maybe I’d go home for a few days, get my head straight without all the sex and attention from him and decide to pack a bag and move here. Or not.
