Den and Breakfast: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (Honeycomb Falls Book 1) (3 page)

Welp. What can I say. I do enjoy a challenge.

Before I can think any more on the matter, a genial older man opens the front door and steps out into the afternoon sunshine. His hair is silver, and he's wearing an old-fashioned suit with a bow tie. He waves cheerfully, and I immediately feel a little more grounded.

"Ms. Wilder! Welcome to Honeycomb Hall."

He walks down the steps to greet me and shakes my hand with both of his. He has clear blue eyes, and though his hair is thinning and his cheeks are sunken with age, I can tell he must have been a very handsome man in his youth.

"Thank you. Mr. Hanscomb?"

"At your service. Please accept my condolences for your loss."

For a crazy moment I think he's talking about Paul, but then I realize that of course he means Mama B. "Thank you, Mr. Hanscomb. Though we weren't really in touch, you know? Her letter came as a surprise."

He turns and leads me up the steps. "I can only imagine, Ms. Wilder. Still, I know she cared deeply for you, and it was very important to her that you inherit her home and possessions. I'm so glad you've managed to come visit."

We step through the large front door into the cavernous entry hall. It's much as I remembered it, but dark now, almost dusty from neglect. There aren't actual spiderwebs in the chandelier that hangs from the high ceiling, but something about the melancholy shadows and the stillness almost makes me expect them. The grand staircase sweeps up to the second floor, and tall doors lead to the library on the right and the parlor on the left. I feel another pang of sorrow. If I listen just right, I can almost hear my shrieks of laughter as I ran through the house as a child, can recall the games of hide-and-seek, the long hours spent reading in Mama B's favorite chair by the fireplace, and the feasts that we ate at the big dining table further inside the home. Now all that remains are dim and distant memories.

"Would you like a moment, Ms. Wilder? I could wait for you in the study."

"No, that's all right." I'll save the exploring for later, when I'm alone. Mr. Hanscomb smiles and leads me into the study, where a leather folder awaits us on a small desk, along with a tea set. Once the tea is served, Mr. Hanscomb launches into the details, speaking slowly and constantly checking to see if I'm following. I smile and keep nodding, but the truth is that my mind keeps drifting back to Blake. To his broad shoulders, his strong, callused hands.

Mr. Hanscomb then explains the details of my inheritance, producing papers for me to sign, granting me ownership of the house, Mama B's old silver Rolls-Royce, her personal effects, and so forth. I just sign wherever I'm told. Finally Mr. Hanscomb hands me a familiar looking cream envelope with my name written in black ink across the front.

"Mrs. Wilder asked that this be given to you after you had signed and accepted your heritage. It contains, I believe, instructions." He stands. "I live in town, my dear. If you have any need of me, any at all, please don't hesitate to call."

I stand, envelope in hand, and force myself to smile. "Thank you, Mr. Hanscomb. You've been most kind."

He smiles in a self-deprecating sort of way. "Think nothing of it."

I walk him to the front door. Apparently he walked here from town, which, given the short distance, isn't saying much. He turns at the iron gate to wave, then walks down the street and is gone.

I stand there for a moment, gazing out at the wilderness that is the garden, feeling lost and alone and cut off from everything I know. I've returned home, but it isn't the home I remember. There are secrets hidden here, hints of a heritage I have yet to grasp. The cheerful town of Honeycomb Falls is only a quarter mile away, but standing here in the gloomy entrance to Honeycomb Hall, alone with the shadows of memories and loss, I feel completely and utterly cut off from the world.

Turning, I decide to call Maria as soon as I get a glass of water. I walk back past the grand staircase into the hall that leads past the dining room, the large living room, and the ballroom, and into the kitchen in the very back with its breakfast table nook. This is where I spent most of my mornings, listening to Mama B's music on the radio, reading a book, and feeling snug and warm.

It's cold and still now. The circular breakfast table is bare. I look out the window, and my breath catches. Blake is standing near the old gardener's shed. His back is toward me, and he stands, fists clenched, as if he's about to throw himself into a fight. I step up to the window. What's he doing? He's all alone. As I watch, he begins to walk forward, heading into the woods that surround Mama B's home.

Then, just when he's about to step off the property and into the undergrowth, he shifts into a wolf.

The realization hits me like a blow - Blake is a shifter! Large and gray furred, he sprints into the undergrowth. There's a flash of silver light, and I see him knocked violently back as if he's been pummeled in the chest by a powerful force. He rolls across the grass, knocked back into his human form, and lies there for a moment, stunned, before slowly sitting up, hand to his head.

I can't believe it. My gardener is a wickedly hot shifter. A wickedly hot shifter who hates my guts and can't seem to leave my property.

Then the pit of my stomach drops out as he turns to stare right at me with his golden eyes. I freeze, transfixed by the intensity of his gaze. I squeak and dart away, feeling like prey, expecting him to come crashing through the window, howling for my blood. Heart pounding, I run down the hall, desperate for a place to hide.

Chapter Three

God
damn
. Getting knocked back by the hex ward, as always, makes my whole body feel like it's been hit on the funny bone. The wolf in me, the wild creature that will never, ever be tamed, wants to spring right back up and charge again. And again. And again. Until I'm reduced to a broken wreck, barely able to move. That's basically what my first few weeks of imprisonment here looked like. I'd beat myself bloody against Mama B's magic. Refuse to accept that I was trapped. I slowly learned restraint over the past two years, but now Mama B is dead. And here I am. Still trapped. My self-control is slipping.

My wolf senses something and I turn my head to see my new jailer standing in the breakfast nook window. That voluptuous, delicious new arrival. With her rich curls, her wide hips, narrow waist, and plunging cleavage. Desire flashes through me like a forest fire, mixed in with hatred and resentment, and I can't help but growl. Her eyes go comically wide, and then she vanishes into the heart of Honeycomb Hall.

Smooth
, I tell myself. Way to scare the living daylights out of your new boss.
Next time you want to show interest, why don't you just give one of those silly human waves?
I snort. That would look extra ridiculous in wolf form. A lazy wag of the paw.

With a sigh I shift back into my human form and climb to my feet. I grab my jeans and pull them on, then pick up my shirt. It's pretty filthy. Humans like everything super clean. Natural dirt, sweat, even the odors of the wild offend them. This new Wilder is likely to be the same. It's too late for first impressions, but there's no need to compound my mistake.

I yank open my shed door. It's my den, my castle, and the full extent of my privacy. A narrow army cot stands against one wall, across from three shelves of books I've borrowed over the last few years from Mama B's library. I'd say 'borrowed' in quotation marks, since I never asked permission, but who am I kidding? Nothing happened here without Mama B's knowledge.

I grab a relatively clean shirt out from under the bed and struggle into it. I don't have a mirror, so I just rake my hair back with my fingers. What am I doing? Grooming? I laugh at myself and sit on the cot. Trapped. Mama B is dead and gone, and here I am, forgotten and left behind. Does this mean I'm trapped here forever? Dark despair reaches up to squeeze at my heart, but I fight it off. I will
not
give in to despair. Never. I'm the former alpha of the Hidden Moon pack.
Think
.

This new Wilder. Rachel. She's Mama B's grandchild. An idea hits me with the same force as the hex ward. Maybe she can set me free. I mean, sure, she looks like she can't hex a red traffic light green, but what do I know? I think of the impression I've already made on her and groan. But it isn't too late to change things around. Convince her it's worth her while to let me go. Bring down the ward. Give me freedom.

No word has ever tasted sweeter.
Freedom
. I stand, suddenly energized. All right. I have to make a good impression. What do humans do when they want to impress each other? My instinct is to throw myself on my back and show her my tummy, maybe whine a little and expose my throat. Let her know I respect her ownership of the den, and that I'm not challenging her for primacy.

I make a face. That would probably confuse the hell out of her. A grown man wriggling like a puppy on the rug. Humans know nothing of dominance and hierarchy. No. I have to do this human-style. What would be... nice?

I step outside and look around. Flowers? Where did that idea come from? Ah, yes. That old man, Hanscomb. He brought flowers to Mama B numerous times. Flowers it is, then. I grab my shears and wade into the flower garden, swatting back brambles and snipping bright blooms left and right. Soon I have a massive pile on the ground. A good start. But I'd better add some roses. That's what Hanscomb always brought. I eye the rosebushes warily. They're evil, dangerous to tackle, but their flowers are as red as blood. I approach the bushes along the house wall, and sensing my intent the thorny stems begin to coil like snakes. Determined, I dart in and hack free about two dozen glorious flowers, though the end result is a number of cuts and gashes along my forearms and chest. Those damned rosebushes.

Bending, I grab the whole mass in both arms. A surge of hope fills me. Now all I have to do is find Rachel and dump these flowers on her.

I hesitate. This next exchange could determine my entire future. The rest of my life. I need to make sure this goes my way. If she were my mate - I feel a flush of hunger and desire run through me - I would bring her a fresh kill. A large doe, the meat still steaming. But humans don't eat raw meat. They like to cook it brown like leather. And anyways, where would I get a fresh deer? I could maybe rustle up a half dozen mice from the garden, but that wouldn't be very impressive. What kind of alpha offers vermin?

Still thinking, I let myself into the kitchen and drop the flowers onto the breakfast table. It's still weird being in Honeycomb Hall without feeling Mama B's dominating presence in the air. The house feels like a frail shell without her. Shaking off the gloomy feeling, trying to tell myself I don't miss the old witch on some level, I open the fridge. If I can't bring Rachel a deer, maybe I can make her some kind of human meal. Something simple. The fridge is almost empty, but I see some eggs, cold cuts, cheese, and sauces in different bottles on the shelves. A word comes to me:
sandwich
. Feeling proud of myself, I grab everything I can, and set about making a sandwich worthy of an alpha's mate.

I fry up three eggs, toast four slices of bread, and then carefully construct my tower of food. Roast beef, cheddar cheese, mustard, spinach, another piece of toast, plenty of ketchup and mustard, then ham, more cheese, some sliced pickles, another piece of bread, some white creamy stuff, some barbecue sauce (which smells pretty good), the rest of the roast beef, sliced tomatoes, the last egg, and... I scour the fridge and find a plastic box with the name 'Mac & Cheese' written on the label. I dump a good amount of that on top of the sandwich, top it with a final slice of bread, and admire my work.

It looks fucking great.

I scoop up the flowers under one arm, grab the plate with the second, and head cautiously into the silent Honeycomb Hall. "Ms. Wilder?" My voice echoes. "Ms. Wilder? Where are you?"

I poke my head in the study. Nothing. The living room. Empty. I don't find her anywhere. My heart begins to sink. Has she fled? Driven away in a panic? Losing hope, I open the library door and see her standing behind the huge armchair by the fireplace, pointing an antique gun at me.

"Don't come any closer." Her voice is shaking like an autumn leaf.

I pause. I don't know much about guns, but I know the one she's holding is a fake. A replica. Mama B made that clear when I eyed it for too long one day. "I brought you flowers?" I frown, hating the way I made it sound like a question. "And food."

Rachel's eyes go wide. She lowers the gun. "Flowers? I thought - I mean - you're not here to eat me?"

Not in the way you're afraid of
, my wolf immediately thinks, and I fight to keep my expression clean. "No, ma'am. Why would I eat you?"

"Because - well - you're a shifter. A werewolf. Isn't that - what... you do?" I can see her getting more and more embarrassed as she completes the sentence, the last few words barely a whisper.

"Well, no." I move forward slowly. "My kind eats fresh prey, true. But that's deer, rabbits, that kind of thing. Not people. Never people."

"Oh." Her face has gone bright red, making her look adorable. She quickly sets the gun down on a side table. "I'm sorry. I - uh - I've never actually met a shifter. I've just seen the movies."

"Ah." I know the movies she's talking about. What shifter doesn't?
Hunted by the Killer Wolf
, or
Ravished by the Deadly Weretiger
. "Those aren't exactly based on reality."

"No, I guess not."

We stand there, and she seems to feel as incredibly awkward as I do. Her gaze moves up and down my body. Then I smell it. Her arousal. A rich, intoxicating scent. I fight the rumble that wants to sound in my chest. Who would have guessed Mama B's granddaughter would be so insanely hot? I want to place my hands on her delectable, curvy body and bring it close to mine.

I force myself to focus. Time to press my advantage. "Here. I brought you some flowers."

Rachel stares at the large bunch under my arm. "Oh, thank you. That's... really sweet."