Curse of the Alpha: Episodes 1 & 2: A Tarker’s Hollow Serial (5 page)

P
eeling off her robe
, Ainsley contemplated her body in the mirror. She thought idly to herself that she’d been a senior in college herself just a few years ago, but somehow those few years in the adult world had changed her point of view.

She gazed at her own naked reflection, trying to see what they saw instead of the million flaws and imperfections she always inventoried.

Deep down, Ainsley loved her body and all its soft, sensual curves. She just wasn’t sure why anyone else would like it. She certainly didn’t look like the women on the magazines and TV – all hard lines and cheekbones.

She turned and surveyed the closet. She’d brought so little with her. It would have to be the linen shift again. At least it fit well. Finding nice things that didn’t overly accentuate her voluptuous body was annoying, but Ainsley refused to hide in over-sized clothing.

She slid back into the dress and sandals and applied a little powder and lip-gloss. It took restraint not to make up fully, but she wasn’t going to work, and she wasn’t going to look like she was trying too hard.

Satisfied, she grabbed her clutch. Impulsively, she stuffed a mini-bag of toiletries in it, just in case.

“Don’t over think this, Ainsley,” she said to her reflection as she wondered what was happening to her sense of propriety.

Although she had her parents’ old Volvo station wagon, she decided to walk to the college. The temperature had dropped to a few degrees below sweltering, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air. Ainsley was normally a very fast walker, but, not wanting to sweat in her dress, she walked slowly and took it all in.

The lights were all on at Sadie Epstein-Walker’s house. Ainsley wondered whether she was having a garden party or if she was just lonesome and wanted the house lit up warmly. The new people down the block were having a deck put on; the men had just added the copper post tops today. It looked nice even though it was a change.

She crossed Yale and passed the construction site where she’d seen Erik earlier. Her heart lurched and she forced herself to keep up her pace.

Soon, she found herself at the edge of the college woods and the path to Scott Hall. She stopped under a streetlight to powder her nose and smooth on a little more lip-gloss. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. The gloss made her lips look almost swollen. She angled her compact to see her breasts straining against the creamy linen of her dress. She hoped Julian wouldn’t guess how wanton she felt tonight.

All her life she had gotten what she wanted by playing it cool. If she could own the Manhattan luxury real estate market without a famous last name, she could certainly hold the interest of one handsome academic.

Without further ado, she smoothed down her skirt, tucked her hair behind her ears, and marched down the path and up a set of wide stone steps.

The cool air enveloped her as she entered Scott Hall. Her heels clacked on the marble floor. It was amazing how quickly she could come out of the hot, humid woods and back into crisp civilization.

The foyer was mostly empty. A few elderly townies stood by the refreshment table. It was stocked with what she knew to be stale crackers and sparkling apple cider in plastic cups.

There was a sign-in sheet on the lectern by the door, so she stopped and printed
Ainsley Connor
neatly. She had a sudden stab of panic about writing her real name, then laughed at herself a little. Erik’s earlier warning was pretty silly. Besides, everyone in town pretty much knew who she was anyway.

A
s if on cue
, a great big blonde guy strolled up to her with a big smile on his face. He looked like every popular kid from an 80s movie – but twice the size.

“Hey Ainsley,” he boomed.

“Clive?”

“You remembered me.” He looked triumphant, though Ainsley wondered how even a nerd like herself could be expected to forget the star of the football team.

“How could I forget? What are you doing here?” She wouldn’t have pegged Clive for the type to read much Russian Lit.

Clive’s smile turned sheepish.

“I was sorta’ hoping to find you. I heard you were in town. When I saw a flyer for this talk I remembered you always liked this stuff, and thought I might bump into you here.”

Ainsley knew she should be annoyed, but she couldn’t help smiling back at him. His honesty was disarming. She surveyed his enormous body – he was even bigger than in high school, but somehow he’d found a polo shirt wide enough to encompass his shoulders. She refrained from brushing a cracker crumb off his chest.

“Why did you want to see me, Clive?”

His face grew serious and he took her by the elbow and led her behind a column.

“Ainsley, we need you,” he said simply.

“This isn’t my world, Clive.”

“They’re building an Inn. They’re bringing in the highway. There are going to be more and more people here.”

“This town might change, Clive, but it will be okay. Change isn’t always a bad thing.”

“We need real leadership if we want it to be safe. MacGregor is a good guy, but he’s not an alpha. Things are going to get really bad, Ainsley.”

“What do you suggest?”

Clive looked nervous. He wiped his big hands on his khakis and took a deep breath.

“Ainsley, you know I have an easy way with people. If I led the pack I could make everything right again. I’m not as smart as you are. Maybe I’m not the one you would want to choose as a mate. But I would protect this town. You wouldn’t have to get involved at all. And I’d do anything to try and make you happy.”

Wow. Nothing like the direct approach.

Ainsley could see how Clive would be a good leader. Although he had been a bit of a bully in elementary school, he was certainly brave and usually honest. And he had obviously grown up to be a more thoughtful person.

She knew that she was not the mate he would choose either. Though the way he was staring at her breasts made her think it wouldn’t be such a sacrifice for him.

“I don’t know what to say, Clive, that’s so kind of you. But I’m not cut out for this life. Why don’t you just ask the pack to vote you in as the alpha?”

Clive sighed, and smiled grimly.

“It doesn’t work that way, Ainsley.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Well, it is nice to see you again. What are you doing with yourself these days?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation in a more friendly direction.

“I’m the sheriff.”

“Following in your dad’s footsteps. That’s really nice. How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Clive said abruptly, obviously not in the mood for small talk. “Ainsley, if you change your mind. Or if you ever just want to talk about it, call me.”

He pulled a card out of his pocket and thrust it into her hand.

“I know you don’t think of this town as home, but we’re your family. There’s good people here. We deserve to hold our traditions. Please promise me that you’ll at least think about my offer.”

Ainsley nodded. When he put it that way, she couldn’t help feeling kind of selfish.

Clive reached out and touched her shoulder. His massive hand made her feel small. It made her wonder about the size of his other parts. She looked away, terrified that she might draw his alpha without meaning to. He pulled back and she looked up at him carefully.

“Maybe I’ll see you in town.”

“How long are you here?”

“Just long enough to get my parents’ house on the market.”

“I’ll be sure to patrol, make sure you’re okay.”

Why did everyone seem to think she needed protecting?

“I’ll be fine, Clive. But thank you.”

The lights blinked, signifying that it was time to go in for the lecture. Clive took a deep breath. Ainsley smiled.

“You don’t have to attend the talk, Clive. I’ll see you later.” She reached up and pecked his ruddy cheek.

“Okay, Ainsley. Talk to you soon”

He smiled a relieved smile, winked at her, and strode away.

She sighed, smoothed her dress over her hips and tucked her hair behind her ears. She knew her dress wasn’t wrinkled, and that her hair looked better when she let it hang loose, but the old, nervous habits were just one more thing Tarker’s Hollow seemed to bring out in her.

Ainsley joined the other attendees as they shuffled toward the door, their orthopedics scraping, zombie-like on the polished floor.

A
insley stepped
through into the great hall, and grabbed a seat in the front row. It was habit – she’d always seated herself at the front of the class – it helped her avoid distractions and it was easier to get called on.

She realized once she was seated that maybe sitting in the back would have been a smoother move. But changing seats at this point was probably even less cool than sitting up front in the first place.

Julian stood at the front of the room, leaning back on the podium and gazing at her impassively.

The rest of the attendees shuffled in and eased their way into the seats.

Ainsley had fond memories of Scott Hall. Her dad had held his classes here. She remembered curling up under the over-sized podium with a book on sick days when her mom had to man the store. Dad would set her up under there with a big pillow, even a sleeping bag if it was winter – Scott Hall was drafty. She would curl up in the shadows and rest or read a book with a flashlight and listen to her dad talk.

Michael Connor was a great talker when it came to literature. He was a showman, really. Sometimes Ainsley thought he saved all his talking for Tolstoy and Dostoevsky – leaving him with no more words when he got home.

He would begin the semester with
The Brothers Karamazov
. It had funny parts that drew the students in. He liked to read passages aloud and he did all the voices too. When he read Fyodor Pavlovitch’s speeches he would simper in a sly drunken voice, nothing like his usual boom.

Ainsley usually tried to stay hidden but sometimes she had to peek out and see her father reading sweet Alyosha or over-bearing Madame Hohlakov.

Ainsley had been proud of her father. She knew that he was very good at making the scruffy college kids pay attention and read their books. And he made them laugh too. Some of the girls laughed a little too hard and clutched their books against their boobs in a way that made little Ainsley inexplicably angry, but her father just smiled kindly at them and treated all of them the same.

It wasn’t until she was older that she realized he was one of the most distinguished Russian Lit professors in the country. Important contemporary Russian novelists would visit the school, hoping to gain his favor. Her father’s opinion of them, whether he chose to publish about them, or even just add them to the syllabus, meant something.

A brief squeal of feedback from the mic jolted Ainsley back to the present as Carol Lotus from the Russian Lit department stepped forward.

“Welcome to our talk on
War and Peace
with visiting professor Julian Magie,” Carol said in her quavery voice. “Dr. Magie has just published a new look at this classic, entitled
A Sleight of Hand: The Magic of Tolstoy
. He is here today to share his thoughts on an old favorite.”

Julian stepped forward with a half smile.

“Who here has read the book?” he asked sternly.

There was a pause and a rustling as most of them raised their hands.

“I see,” he nodded. “And who has read it in the last twenty years.”

Ainsley glanced around. All the hands went down except hers and Carol’s.

Julian smiled. “Then let’s begin by remembering the story. And
all those names
.”

Everyone laughed. Julian began slowly re-telling the familiar story. Counts and Princesses, Rostovs and Bezuhovs and Bolskonskys wooed and wed and fought and schemed. They made assumptions and learned better, saw opportunities arise and failed to seize the day, and finally things came together for the worthy. Mostly.

Ainsley enjoyed his interpretation. It was meant as a summary, but in what he shared and what he left out, she felt that she learned a lot about Julian. And she liked what she learned. He had a dark way about him, with his half smile. But Julian focused on the battle of Good and Evil, the effect every day people have on history, and the importance of family in his run-through.

Ainsley began to daydream, just a little. Her eyes went to his thin lips and the smooth line of his jaw. He looked like a prince himself. His clear blue eyes caught hers.

Busted.

“Miss Connor.” His smile was disarming.

“Um, yes?”

“You looked like you wanted to make a point about Count Bezuhov and the peasants?”

Oh dear. She wasn’t going to let him embarrass her. But she was damned if she could think of anything quickly with him leaning back against the podium in that sexy way.

“You know, Dr. Magie,” she said, “I was just thinking maybe Count Bezuhov and the peasants are similar to the problem of modern gender equality and family dynamics.”

She pulled that out of nowhere. Hopefully, there were no follow up questions.

He raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”

Shit.

“Well, Pierre built schools for the peasant children and they learned to read and write. Then they had to go back and work on the farms. Pierre expected them to be grateful for the beautiful schools, but they were angry with him instead. This was because knowing how to read and write was of no use to them on the farms and simply made them dissatisfied with their lives.”

Ainsley paused. She had forgotten how much she loved a good book debate. Julian nodded.

“Two hundred years later, women go to school. They spend years studying and pursuing careers And then most women go on to get married. Women from families who can afford to do so, often stay home for a few years with small children. When they are ready to return to the workplace, there aren’t opportunities commensurate with their level of education – those opportunities go to younger workers. They are then faced with being under employed or continuing on in the role their great-grandmothers had - homemakers. Which begs the question – why all that education?”

You could hear a pin drop. Ainsley knew her theory had about a thousand holes in it. Plus she was pretty sure it was offensive – though she couldn’t decide if it was the women or the peasants who should have been most offended.

“So you’re asking what’s the point in having an ability if you don’t use it?” Julian asked.

“I guess I am.”

Although when he put it that way, it hit a little too close to home.

Just as she was about to turn purple and scurry away, Julian began to laugh softly.

“You’re quite the rabble-rouser, Miss Connor,” he said.

“Thank you.” She managed to meet his eye. He was smirking again.

“At least we can conclude that you
did
read the book.”

Now everyone laughed. Ainsley smiled down at her lap and smoothed her dress over her thighs. He might have won this round, but only because she hadn’t been paying attention.

The talk went on for another hour. Julian had a great perspective on the novel. Ainsley found herself hearing new notes in
War and Peace
that she had never heard before. Many of the attendees asked a question here or there, but more and more Ainsley saw that Julian was focusing his thoughts on her, looking to her as he made each point, waiting for her to ask a question or add a thought.

It was electrifying to share a room with a man who was smart, cultured, creative and passionate – and one who knew how to get a shirt to the drycleaner’s. Ainsley was overwhelmed at the possibilities.

And the way he looked at her was almost unbearable. Her inner wolf stopped pacing behind its bars, and lifted its nose to scent the pure excitement wafting off him.

They sparred a few times, and he argued eloquently, though once or twice he lost his patience and ran his fingers through his golden hair as she quoted passages to shoot him down. Ainsley knew her stuff and she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t. If he couldn’t handle it, she’d rather know now.

Oh, but he could handle it. Sometimes he would come back at her with a brilliant point, leaving her with nothing to do but nod. Others he would shake his head and smile admiringly at her, in what she could swear was a pleased way, then raise his hands in concession.

At one point in the evening she heard Carol cough a tiny cough. They stopped their latest argument just as Carol rose and spoke.

“This was a real treat for all of us tonight. For anyone here who didn’t know it already, I’d like to explain that Miss Connor in the front row is the daughter of the late Professor Michael Connor.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “I think you’ll all agree she is cut from his cloth. I don’t know when we’ve had a more spirited discussion at one of our campus talks!”

She stopped to smile at Ainsley and then at Julian, who bowed his head in acknowledgment and began to clap his hands. The rest of the crowd joined in. Ainsley blushed and shot him a look that said she would get even with him.

“At any rate, I know it’s getting late,” Carol said. “Thanks again to Dr. Magie, and please don’t forget to grab a flyer in the lobby about our upcoming series of campus talks.”