Timber Hollow, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by M Pettengill
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author by
authormpettengill@gmail.com
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by M Pettengill
Art by M Pettengill
First edition 2024
Dedication
This one is for all the black cat,
secretly a big softie
individuals out there.
Never change.
Content Warnings
This is an adult paranormal romance, and may not be suitable for all readers. While it is packaged in a pretty cozy wrapping, this is, as they say, very spicy. Please read with caution.
If you happen to be a member of my family, and ever want to look me in the eye again, skip Chapter 19.
ye be warned.
Graphic violence, language & sex. Graphic descriptions of hunting & consuming prey animals. Domestic abuse and non-explicit mentions of sexual assault. Loneliness, depression & self-destructive tendencies.
Contents
1. Street Meat
2. Charger
3. Stingray
4. I'm Coming home
5. Bloody Paws
6. Fries with Gravy on the Side
7. Welcome Home, Artemis
Jay
8. Fire Night
9. A bar, Jay
10. No take backs
11. Lone Wolf Girl
12. Hunters Moon
13. Goodnight, Artemis
14. Rattlesnakes
15. Body Bag
16. Cookies
17. It's all fake
18. Pumpkins
19. Shut up, Jay
20. The Forge
21. Heartstrings
22. I adore you
23. My Pack
24. Coffee
25. Bitch Boy Ethan
26. No take backs
27. Perfect
Artemis
28. Open at the Close
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also By
1
Street Meat
ten days to full moon
You do not want this . My wolf whispers. Her claws are at my fingertips, fur rippling under my skin. She’s too riled up, too close to the surface.
All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach twisted into knots. The off-white dress I stand in underneath the fluorescent lighting fits well enough, considering it is a sample size. It clings to all my curves just like I hoped. Silky cream fabric shines in the light when I twist my hips and shimmy my shoulders. The dress also has a long-ish train, pooling around the small podium I stand on.
It is a beautiful wedding dress.
But…
You do not want this. My wolf says again, golden eyes peering out at me from the dark corners of my soul. I ignore her, wincing at the clamminess of my hands as I brush them down the skirts of the dress. "I don't think this is the one," I say, catching Cassandra's eye in the mirror, and avoiding Cordelia's.
Cassandra rolls her baby blue eyes, her impeccably manicured hand that had been under her chin flopping down to her side. "We've been here for hours, Artemis. Can't you just pick one?"
"I'll know when I know! This one isn't it." I reply, trying not to snap at her.
Why did you ask her of all people to come? My wolf whispers, even closer to the surface of my soul with her long, fluffy, inky black tail coiled tight around her body.
Because I'm an idiot. I bite back.
You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, she chides. Not all shifters can converse with their beast, and it is times like this that I find myself annoyed that I can. Perks of being a Direwolf, I guess.
Whatever. I grouse back, returning my attention to the reflection in the mirror. My stomach rumbles loudly in the small wedding boutique. It’s a combination of anxiety and hunger. I haven’t eaten yet.
"Really? We just had breakfast." Cassandra says under her breath, rolling her eyes. "It's a wonder she even fit in these off the rack." She adds, turning in her seat to face Ethan's mother, Cordelia, like I can't hear them.
The entire White family had been surprised at how easily I overheard delicate conversations they'd believed I was too far to overhear in the beginning. Thankfully, they'd believed my lie about good genetics and pointedly began to make sure I was leaving the room entirely when they conducted business. The White family is seen as one of the most charitable families on the West Coast, along with the Carter family–Cassandra’s. I happen to know better. The conversations I've overheard paint a different, darker picture.
And not in the delusional I want to be a mob wife because they're actually the good guys kind of way, either.
"You had breakfast. You know I don't usually eat that early in the morning, Cassandra." I reply, not even bothering to pretend like I hadn't heard her snide comment. I've told Ethan, his mother, the entire staff, and Cassandra at least a thousand times by now that I don't eat breakfast. I'm never hungry first thing in the morning. I'd determined in my teens that it's because when I shift, I hunt. Waking up to eat a baked sugary thing after wolfing out and wolfing down a rabbit never settles well.
Of course, it is a bit more difficult to do that these days. I'd grown up deep in the forests, like most shifter packs where hunting is easy. While some species preferred other areas like the ocean or deserts, wolves like the mountains, and the trees.
Here in the city, shifters aren't common unless they have an avian form or smaller animals like a housecat. Anything else is too risky for most, particularly for a full Moon run. Some species of wolves are small enough to pass for a stray dog within city limits, but even so not many choose to dwell here. There are no open areas to run across. No trees to sprint wildly through. No Moon to howl at. I've managed to be lucky, my fiancé lives on a ten-acre plot just outside the city. No one questions my enjoyment of late-night strolls much, there. I've had to work hard though, to keep my wolfy presence hidden. She doesn’t get to hunt nearly as much anymore.
"Will you pick one then?" Cassandra hisses, rolling her eyes again, waving her finger at the dresses.
Maybe this is why I asked Cassandra to come. Because she is the only one who isn't going to be overjoyed at picking out wedding dresses, she is the only one who won't be screaming and crying the whole time because I am getting married. Or, rather, because their baby boy is finally getting married. Like I'd expected Cordelia to… But it seems I was mistaken. Neither of the women have seemed particularly enthused to be here with me. Which is…. fine I guess.
Sam, the only friend I have here that I made myself, wouldn't have even bothered trying to hide her disdain at the two snobby women occupying the bridal boutique with me. For that matter, she doesn't in particular care for Ethan as a person. Unfortunately, the Whites don't particularly care for her, either. Of course, to her face, they act kind enough, but behind closed doors, I overheard them once ripping her apart for her lower status.
Really makes a girl wonder what they say behind my back.
Cassandra's family, the Carters on the other hand, has been friends with the Whites for years. They are both old money, Ethan and Cassandra had attended the same prestigious universities as their parents. Six-figure jobs were lined up before they even stepped foot on campus. All thanks to mummy and daddy.
Ethan and I had only been dating for about seven months when he popped the question. In the middle of an upscale restaurant, with all his very wealthy, powerful, and extended family sitting at the banquet table with us. I'd never been to the restaurant, and haven't since that night. I couldn't even remember what the food had tasted like. Just that I had been so very very bored before Ethan pulled the antique jewelry box out of the inner pocket of his suit, all the women at the table cooing at the romanticism.
Obviously, because I am a dumbass, I said yes.
That had been five months ago. Five months of planning for a wedding rapidly approaching and no one— not even I— had thought to themselves 'Hey, I think the bride is going to need a dress' until now. The wedding is in four and a half months, the noose is slowly tightening around my neck. This is how I ended up in this bridal boutique with a pair of women who seemed like they would rather be anywhere else.
Three months ago, my mother left me a voicemail saying that she saw the announcement in the tabloids and hoped I would invite the family and wished she was a better mom and asked when are you coming home, it's been years.
I haven't returned her call. I just don't have the energy to talk to her about Ethan. It's not like she is a particularly bad mom… She just…. Isn't a very good one either. My mom always dealt out more guilt trips than she did affection. There are times when I can remember her cuddling with all of us on the couch, watching shows. Making soup when one of my siblings was sick. But more than that I remember how often I was overlooked, how often I felt like I was invisible to her in comparison to Athena or Apollo.
My mother has a fucking lady boner for naming her children after the Olympians. Sometimes I feel like an idiot, named Artemis with a sister called Athena and a brother named Apollo. Am I a twin? No. Are we Greek? Also no.
I haven’t liked the way my name sounds in a very long time. Particularly when these people say it.
Unfortunately for me, I am the child that takes after Dad. Darker hair. Darker eyes. I am a constant reminder of the man she never got over. I'm pretty sure that my mother started hating him, more than she missed him somewhere around my eighth birthday. Hated him for dying, and leaving her alone. Shifters rarely marry, and for that matter are rarely strictly monogamous, but that doesn't mean the love isn't deep and true between them.
And for my parents, it had been as close as you could get to having a star-fated mate, outside of the novels I pour myself into. Even as a kid, I'd found solace between the pages of a book, just like I'd find it between the trees.
Tucking a strand behind my ear, I take in my reflection once again. My hair is lighter than I like it… If I didn't know any better, my tanned skin and cool blonde hair would paint me as the typical Californian girl. The very expensive stylist Ethan's mother hired to get me ready for the wedding has done a phenomenal job, I'll give him that. The ends of my hair would be fried to a crisp if he were any less talented. Of course, Cordelia had also taken the liberty of scheduling laser hair removal and the weekly mani and pedi combo. One morning when Cordelia was unexpectedly in Ethan's house, she had been particularly offended at the state of my nails post-shift. She goes weekly as well, though that is just because she is a spoiled bitch. Cordelia had been born with the silver spoon in her mouth, just like Ethan. I have another hair appointment lined up later next week to retouch my roots, which are a much dirtier, darker shade of blonde, edging on brown.
You do not want this.
Please, be quiet. I beg my wolf. She huffs, tucking her face under her tail deep within the confines of my mind.
"I guess it'll be the second one then." I finally say, dropping my hands to my thighs. The second dress is the one that Ethan's mom had selected while booking the appointment. It is grand, and positively screams old money with the lacework sleeves and beading. The owner of the shop had informed us the style was influenced by the gown one of the English Queens wore at their coronation. I don't care to remember or ask which one.
"Oh, marvelous dear. That one looked better than the others anyway. Classy." Cordelia doesn't need to say anything else, the implication that the one that had been my favorite wasn't classy is clear. I don't know how women like her do it— make you feel about three centimeters tall with barely a handful of words.
"Finally, you're making sense," Cassandra says, raising herself off the velvet settee the boutique had sitting before the large mirrors. She calls the boutique owner over, taking care of the arrangements while she waves me off the podium like I am a dog. Cordelia pulls lipstick out of her Chanel bag, and a small compact mirror.
My wolf raises her hackles, from inside my mind where she lay dormant. But, I leave the showing area and dutifully change back into my t-shirt that is long enough to serve as a dress, tiny bike shorts, and sneakers. This is not usually what they like to see me in, but because I’m dressed on-trend no one has said anything. I’ll have to change, of course, for family dinner.
The bistro Cordelia takes us to for ladies' luncheon serves salads, green smoothies, and lettuce wraps. Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Nary a spec of carbohydrate or gluten to be seen on the thick cardstock paper that serves as the menu. My stomach rumbles painfully again as I peruse the offerings.
The two ladies at the table with me are rail thin, proudly informing me that this is their favorite restaurant as their eyes flick over the menu. It's times like these where it is hard to ignore just how opposite they are to me in every way. I have soft curves, hips, ass, and thighs. Muscles and strength where they do not. Not to mention the fact that one of my arms is covered in tattoos. I'd started getting them almost immediately after leaving home. Now my right arm is entirely covered in them. Some I did myself with a cheapo tattoo machine I'd ordered online, but most were done by professionals.
I quickly pulled my phone out while they were looking over the drinks, to shoot a message off to my hopeful savior.
That was a disaster.
Oh, like you didn't know that was going to be the case?
Shut up. They took me to a fucking bunny bar. Emergency. NOW. I need real food.
Code red coming right up.
I want a cheeseburger. Or a pizza. Oh, fuck. The taco truck just down the street smells divine.
My phone starts ringing seconds later. I answer it, doing my best to act normal. Sam's distraught voice comes through the phone speaker, much louder than I thought humanly possible.
"He broke up with me!" She wails into the phone before I've even muttered a hello. I give my future mother-in-law an apologetic look, excusing myself from the little wrought-iron table. Cassandra and Cordelia barely pause their conversation.
"Oh, honey," I croon into the phone, selling the concerned-friend-bit as I stride down the street under the guise of needing privacy. Sam continues blubbering about her imaginary lost love for another moment, her words barely coherent over the sniffling and sobbing. Once I am out of earshot— or at least human earshot— I say "clear," into the phone.
"Did they buy it?" Sam asks, voice entirely clear like she hadn't just been wailing into the phone about her pretend boyfriend dumping her.
"Yep. Like catching fish in a barrel," I say, still pacing around the end of the street like I am trying to calm her down. "You deserve an Oscar."
Sam cackles into the phone, then says "Perfect. You coming over?"
"Yeah, but I can't stay long. It’s family dinner night. I'm definitely stopping first at the taco truck though. It's calling my fucking name, you want?" I moan a little, a breeze wafting down the smell of roasting meats and salsa.
"Boo, you whore."
I snorted. "Shut up. You want some or not?"
"Yes. Hurry up, beeyotch."
"Patience, hoe!"
"Love you."
"Love you too."
Hurriedly, I walk back to the table where Cordelia and Cassandra are sitting, a waiter taking their overly complex salad orders. Seriously, why order something if you're going to completely alter it?
Interrupting Cassandra's edits to her chicken salad, I say "I'm so sorry. I have to go. My friend just got dumped, she shouldn't be alone."
"Aw, poor thing. Do you want to take her a salad?" Cordelia asks, raising an entitled finger to prevent the waiter from leaving. As if a fucking salad is appropriate breakup food?
"No, I don't want it to wilt by the time I walk over there." Sam's apartment is across town, and it would take me about an hour to walk. Calling a cab is out of the question.
The Whites do not call a cab. Ever. And, since I have the ugly ass piss dick heirloom diamond on my finger— that means I can't call one, either.
"Oh, take my car darling. I'll call Stephen and he'll come fetch us," Cordelia says, fishing her Mercedes keys out of her purse. Cordelia isn't entirely horrible, but she also isn't a very nice lady. She picks and chooses when to show her humanity. What little bit of it there is.
"You're a blessing, Cordelia. Thank you," I say, taking the keys from her manicured hand. Never a single platinum blonde hair out of place, Cordelia is the picture of old money. Perfectly styled hair, designer clothes, shoes, and bags that cost almost the same as a house. Not her house, of course. But a house.
"You'll be back for dinner, won't you?" She asks, raising her mimosa to her lipstick-stained mouth.
"Of course. Wouldn't miss it," I reply, rushing from the table and into the parking garage. The entire White family lives on the Estate. Each child has their own home, dotted around the grounds. Cordelia and Stephen live in the main house, naturally the largest and most grand on the property. The Whites have their fingers in almost everything. Stocks, an import business, some of them are lawyers, and there is even an accountant in the family.
The main house is also where I am to marry their son in a private ceremony, only the elite few in Cordelia's circle would be granted an invitation. It's only a handful of months away now. Every week, they host family dinners. Anyone they deem to be family at the moment is welcome. This meant of course that the entire thing is a facade to do business deals that are too…unsavory to complete at the office. If you are invited and you don't show? You'd become a veritable pariah until Cordelia and Stephen deem you to have suffered enough, and welcome you back into the fold.
