Slippery When Yeti

  MONSTERS BETWEEN THE SHEETS 2

  TANA STONE

  BROADMOOR BOOKS

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Monsters Between the Sheets books!

  Also by Tana Stone

  About the Author

  Chapter

  One

  Elena flicked a hand through her unruly, dark curls and shifted from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to tap the toe of her black pump on the plush, cream carpeting of the country club’s lobby. The mahogany furniture was polished to a high shine, and an enormous urn of colorful flowers sat on an entrance table, making the room smell distinctly of roses. As far as country clubs went, it was nice, and she considered herself a bit of an expert when it came to clubs and event venues.

  “Nicer than I would have expected,” she said to herself.

  Small towns weren’t usually a typical spot for an upscale club, and most country clubs didn’t require a dedicated wedding planner, but this one claimed to have enough weddings on the books to warrant hiring an experienced planner and paying her well. Thinking about the job posting she’d responded to made her stomach do a nervous flip.

  Chill out, chica. You’ve got this.

  For once, her cousin’s parting words made her feel better. She did have this. She rubbed her clammy palms down the front of her flower print dress and pulled her phone from her purse, stealing a quick glance at the time.

  She was early. Of course, she was early. She was always early, but that was because she was a wedding planner. Wedding planners couldn’t afford to run late. Not when their reputations depended on getting brides down the aisle precisely on time.

  Even though she knew she was early, Elena’s nerves jangled as she waited to meet her new boss. Maybe this had been a mistake. She’d never taken a job sight unseen before, but the position had offered the highest salary she’d seen for an in-house wedding planner, and it had requested experience with unique couples.

  Elena had been in the business long enough to know that unique was code for “high touch,” which was wedding planner lingo for high maintenance, which meant bridezillas. After being a planner for almost her entire twenties and working at a luxury resort in Miami for the past two years, coordinating everything from peacock ring bearers to ceremonies on plexiglass pool coverings, she was sure she could handle whatever this small town could dish out.

  “I guess bridezillas would fit a place called Screaming Woods,” she mumbled under her breath but not loud enough for the receptionist to hear her.

  Elena had been a bit surprised at the size of the town—and the peculiar name—but she assumed that it was a popular destination she just hadn’t heard of before. Maybe a hot spot for fans of charming hamlets with residents who liked to dress like it was always Halloween? She was sure she’d seen someone dressed like a gargoyle on her way to the club.

  “It has to be better than back home,” she told herself, then instantly felt guilty.

  Home wasn’t so bad, but it had strangely never felt like home to her. Elena had grown up in Miami and was part of a big Cuban family, but she’d never fit in. For one, she hated the heat, which was not a good thing for a Latina raised in Miami. Give her cold weather any day over the stifling heat and humidity of South Florida. She almost started sweating just thinking about it.

  Despite being part of a loud family that always ran late, she craved order and quiet. It was why she’d been drawn to event planning. Nothing made her happier than a detailed timeline and things that ran on time. Couple that with a climate that wasn’t a perpetual steam bath, and she remembered exactly why she’d accepted the job so quickly.

  When she’d walked into the lobby of the club, the receptionist had eyed her short-sleeved dress, but she hadn’t felt comfortable telling the woman that the crisp weather didn’t make her cold. But maybe it was the bright, hibiscus print of her dress that had made the blonde’s eyebrows lift.

  Note to self, Elena thought. What worked in Miami would not work here. She needed to invest in some darker colors and maybe something flannel. She almost giggled at the idea of her in flannel after a lifetime in tank tops and leg-baring skirts. Was there such a thing as lumberjack chic, and could she pull it off?

  “You’re from Florida?”

  Elena looked up, startled that the receptionist had asked her a question and surprised that the woman was noticeably popping gum as she sat behind the desk. “That’s right. Miami.”

  The gum chewing paused for a beat. “And you left that for here?”

  Elena forced herself to smile brightly. This was not helping the doubts that were creeping into her brain. “I needed a change, something different.”

  “Then Screaming Woods won’t disappoint.” The woman’s knowing smile was unsettling.

  “What I’ve seen of the town is charming, but I only arrived last night. I’m excited to see more.”

  The blonde opened her mouth, but her words were preempted.

  “Elena!”

  She jerked around quickly, straightening her shoulders as a slight man with a light brown combover strode toward her. He held a leather portfolio in one hand as he held out his other. “Reginald Dowers, director of sales.” He gave her a smile she was sure he meant to be charming. “Your new boss.”

  Elena took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dowers.” She glanced around the tastefully appointed lobby. “And it’s so nice to finally be here. The club is as beautiful as you said it was.”

  “Call me Reggie.” He released her hand, looking pleased by her compliment of the club before his gaze flitted to her dress. “We’re thrilled you took the job. Wedding planning isn’t for everyone, and neither is Screaming Woods.” He seemed to catch himself. “Not that it isn’t a great place to live now. It is.”

  Elena tried to return his smile, but her mind was whirring. Why was the town not for everyone? “Now?”

  Reggie’s cheeks flushed as he flapped a hand in the air. “The town has gone through a bit of a renaissance. You know how it is with small towns being revitalized.”

  Coming from a city, she didn’t, but she would take his word for it. “So that’s why you need a wedding planner?”

  He took her arm and propelled her from the lobby to the covered portico, where a black SUV stood waiting. “You wouldn’t believe all the weddings that have been popping up lately. It’s like an epidemic. Be careful or you might catch the wedding bug.” He laughed heartily at his own joke, and Elena smiled politely.

  “And the club has enough wedding business to keep me busy?”

  Reggie motioned for her to get in the passenger side of the SUV. “Definitely. Besides, I’m a big-picture guy. Numbers, sales goals, profit and loss. Flowers and cake flavors aren’t my thing, nor is dealing with brides and grooms with unusual requests.” He winked at her. “That’s why I hired you.”

  Elena fought the urge to tell him that being a great wedding planner took a lot more than just knowing about flowers and cake, but she bit her tongue. It was her first day, and she didn’t want to tick off her boss. The upside was that the guy would probably give her free rein with the weddings, which is what she wanted. There was nothing worse than a micromanager who only cared about numbers.

  Then her mind snagged on the unusual requests he’d mentioned. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her. Was Screaming Woods some kind of secret haven for swingers, or had she accidentally moved to a nudist colony tucked into the woods? Having to plan weddings where all the guests were naked would certainly make her scream.

  She got in the vehicle and Reggie hopped in the driver’s side. “Do you mind me asking where we’re going?”

  “I wanted to start by showing you our newest event space, and the one that most of our couples want for their weddings. It’s an outdoor pavilion on the side of a mountain, with a spectacular view of the town and a perfect sunset backdrop.”

  “Sounds amazing.” It wouldn’t be an oceanfront ballroom that her last venue had boasted, but it did sound lovely, and she was sure there would be fewer mosquitos.

  And you’re trying to get away from all the stress of a city, Elena reminded herself as her boss threw the car into gear and took off. She’d left everything she knew and moved to Screaming Woods because she wanted something different, and hoped to find a place where she would finally fit in. Despite what the receptionist and Reggie had said, she still believed that this would be it. It had to be.

  As they drove through the quaint town, she peered up at the snow-capped peaks in the distance and let out a long breath. It wasn’t exactly a mountain range, but the hills were pretty, and any elevation was welcome after the flatness of Florida. Her eyes caught on a woman walking down the sidewalk dressed in black and wearing a pointy hat, and she craned her neck. Had it been her imagination or did the woman have green skin? Maybe this was one of those towns that celebrated witch trials, although she’d never heard of it.

  Or maybe you’re letting your nerves and imagination get the better of you, Elena told herself as her new boss gunned it down the town’s main street and toward the dense forest that spread up the range of hills.

  One thing was for sure. She wasn’t in Miami anymore.

  Chapter

  Two

  Fynn brought the axe down on the wood, the satisfying crack reverberating around him as the log broke into two even parts. He kicked the wood to the side and propped up another log, lifting the axe over his head and swinging it down in a smooth, ferocious arc. His muscles rippled, but he didn’t break a sweat.

  “If a tree is felled in the woods and no one but a creature who isn’t supposed to exist hears it, it definitely makes a noise.”

  He lodged the blade of the axe into the flat tree stump he used for chopping and ran a hand through his long, platinum hair. He wiped his hands on the front of his dark pants since he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He almost never wore a shirt, although he did have some for the rare occasions he had to see people and wanted to look less monstrous.

  Fynn sucked in a deep lungful of forest-pine-scented air before huffing out a breath, even though the chopping didn’t tire him. He wasn’t cutting the wood for himself. He didn’t need it. Not when he was covered in a fine layer of downy-white hair and never got cold. Who’d ever heard of a yeti getting cold?

  Fynn grinned and shook his head at his own joke. It had taken a long time for him to be able to think about the incident that had turned him into a yeti—and many of the townspeople into monsters—two decades earlier without being angry. For years, he’d cursed the Halloween party he’d attended where he’d unwittingly drunk some of Doctor Karloff’s punch and morphed into a massive, white-furred yeti. But years had dampened his anger and turned it into acceptance. Besides, there were advantages to being huge and ripped, even if he was also furry, and the substantial collection of firewood he’d quickly chopped was testament to that.

  Fynn swiveled his head to take in his mountain home surrounded by towering pines that never lost their needles, even when snow covered the ground in drifts. From the outside, it looked like a rustic log cabin, but inside it had all the luxuries of a modern home. Just because he was a yeti who avoided contact with others didn’t mean he had to be a savage. Fynn might look like a monster, but he enjoyed the finer things in life, even if he did have to enjoy them alone.

  He’d taken refuge up the mountain because it was cooler, and he hated when people gawked at him. Sure, he was almost seven feet tall, but it was the fur that made it impossible for him to be inconspicuous. He hadn’t become a total hermit—he sold firewood and had occasional visits from his friend Gunner the orc blacksmith, but he preferred the solitude and the frequent snow of the higher altitude. That, and it made it easier for him to practice his love of ice carving in a place that actually got cold enough to produce ice.

  Fynn had barely been a teenager when he’d drunk the Frankenpunch, but even then, he’d been a budding artist. He’d dreamed of selling his paintings to a big city gallery and maybe ending up with a piece in a museum one day, but any dreams of having a life as a working artist had died when he’d become a yeti. Screaming Woods might be used to monsters, but the rest of the world wasn’t. That didn’t mean he’d stopped creating. It did mean his ambitions had changed.

  He eyed the cabin he’d built years earlier and thought of the paintings hanging on the wall. Sure, no one would ever see them—just like no one saw the ice carvings that melted with the thaw—but that didn’t mean it meant any less to him or he considered himself any less of an artist.

  It had taken Fynn a long time to come to terms with who he was and the fact that there was no cure, but one of the ways he had accepted his situation was through his art. He’d been able to channel his anger, frustration, and finally acceptance into his work. It had kept him sane when he thought the loneliness would drive him mad.

  The sound of a car engine made him spin around, but he relaxed when he recognized Gunner’s truck crunching over the rough, gravel road leading to his home.

  “You’re early,” he said, when the orc emerged shirtless in his customary black leather pants.

  His friend grinned and leaned a green arm on the open door of his vehicle. “Haven’t you heard? There’s supposed to be a storm coming through.” Then he shook his head. “Not that the snow will bother you.”

  Fynn smiled back. “A snowstorm is the perfect time to freak out all the new residents of Screaming Woods.”

  Gunner frowned at him. “Not all the new residents are hostile to monsters.”

  Fynn cocked his head. “I’ve heard you aren’t the only one who found his happily-ever-after.”

  He could have sworn that his friend’s green cheeks flushed pink. “There are so many engagements, the country club hired a wedding planner.”

  Fynn groaned. Just what he needed. More new faces to be shocked by his fur-covered one. “That won’t change my life.”

  He started to scoop up the wood and haul it into the flatbed of Gunner’s truck.

  “You know, you don’t have to hide up here. The secret of the Frankenpunch isn’t much of a secret anymore. Monsters walk freely around town and not just in the dark of night.”

  Fynn swallowed hard. He’d been alone for so long, it was hard to imagine being around people again, even if lots of them in Screaming Woods were actually creatures like him. “Don’t worry about me. I like living up here where the weather suits me.” He smiled broadly. “And I really like keeping all the yeti lore alive. Do you know how many YouTube videos I’ve been in by now?”

  Gunner shook his head as he accepted an armful of wood and dumped it into the back of his truck. Then he walked around the other side and grabbed a pair of paper grocery bags from the passenger’s seat. “The supplies from the gourmet store, just like you requested.” Then he rolled his eyes. “Plus a couple of new werewolf porn novels they got in at The Best Little Bookhouse.”

  “They aren’t werewolf porn.” Fynn scowled at him, although his friend knew very well that the books he read weren’t porn. Gunner just relished teasing him. “The genre is shifter romance.”

  “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

  Fynn ignored him as he took the bags and eyed the truffle salt on top next to the books. Just because he was covered in white fur didn’t mean he wasn’t civilized and didn’t like to eat well. The magical punch hadn’t altered his taste buds, for which he was grateful. If he’d acquired a taste for raw yak meat, he might have cried.

  His change also hadn’t made him love books any less than he had growing up, although his preference for paranormal romance probably had a lot to do with his current form. The books gave him hope, even if he wouldn’t admit that to Gunner.

  Even as they’d been talking, Fynn had detected a change in the air and a drop in temperature. He peered up at the slate-gray sky and inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of snow as much as he’d later savor the rich, earthy flavor of the truffle salt.

  “You’d better head out before the storm hits. I might be wandering outside later, but I don’t want to have to pull your truck out of a ditch.”

  His friend laughed and flexed an enormous, green bicep. “If I needed to, I could carry my truck down the mountain.”

  “Show off. Just because you’re a big brute doesn’t mean you’re good at driving in the snow.””

  The orc laughed deep and low. “You’re right. I don’t want to accidentally drive off the mountain. I’m also dropping some of this wood off at the country club before heading home.” He leveled a finger at Fynn. “I do not want to see anything on the news about yeti sightings.”

  Fynn headed up the stairs to his cabin, glancing over his shoulder. “Then I suggest you don’t watch the news.”

 

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