Autumn Thorns Read online

  “Was she a shapeshifter, too?” All of a sudden I was hungry to know about her. I wanted to know what she had been like, what she had looked like. Why she had died.

  He hesitated, then—“Yes, she was. She was a good woman, Kerris. I made a mistake marrying her. But I did right by her, as much as I could. She wanted children. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t geared toward having them, and the medical technology wasn’t as advanced as it is now. She died in childbirth.”

  Childbirth? Then . . . “You have a child?”

  He ducked his head. “Yes. I have a daughter. She’s older than you. Kerris, I don’t know if you realize it, but shapeshifters live a long time. I told you that I saw my father murdered—that was in 1878. I was born in 1872. I’ve lived a number of lives—moving around, taking a new name so that people never find out what I am. I’ve never felt truly safe and keep to myself a lot so that nobody finds out my secret. The other day you asked me why I moved to Whisper Hollow. Now you know. I was drawn here, and now I realize it was because of you. But it’s also a place where those who are odd and unusual fit in. I have the feeling there are others here who . . . are not exactly human, so to speak.”

  I blinked. This was a lot to take in, and I wasn’t sure what to think. If I’d been anybody but me, I might have run like hell. But I was a spirit shaman, and the world was filled with strange and mysterious creatures. And I was supposed to be paired with a guardian who had, apparently, dropped right in my lap. Or in front of my car, to be more accurate. I had the sudden urge to know everything I could about him.

  “What were you chasing the night we met?”

  He glanced at the floor and didn’t answer for a moment. “There are creatures in the woods here. You know that. This . . . this is a danger to the town. A d’yavol-volkov. A devil-wolf. It’s a form of demon. I’ve dealt with them before, but very few people know how to handle them.”

  A distant chill echoed through my body. “Devil wolf? What are they?”

  “A demon who can shapeshift into a wolf, but they don’t really have any connection to wolves. They aren’t really shapeshifters, either. They’re . . . dangerous and they feed off the living. Leave it at that, love. I don’t even like talking about them.”

  The thought that one lived in the woods near here was far from comforting, but I changed the subject as he asked. “Where were you born? Are you originally from Ireland, then?”

  “My parents were. They left there in 1860, during the height of the potato famine, and immigrated to Boston. I was born in a small house on the outskirts—well, what the outskirts were then—of the city. A small group of the Tierney shapeshifter clan came over together. We kept to ourselves, were polite but reclusive. Nobody knew what we were, at least not till a rival clan sniffed us out and murdered my father.” He spat out a curse. “I told you that my clan took care of them. My uncle took a handful of our warriors. They tracked them down and . . . well . . . the rest is history.”

  I forced myself to ask the next question. “What about your wife and daughter?” I leaned back in my chair, then let out a slow, soft sigh. I wanted to hear it all.

  He gave me a defeated look. “Katrina and I were promised to each other by our parents. In my clan, there are traditions we don’t question. We just obey. Even though I didn’t love her, I finally capitulated and married her in 1950. She was pretty, with a beautiful voice and long blond hair, but the spark just wasn’t there. We did the best we could, though, trying to make it work. It was expected we would have children, and so she got pregnant a few years after we married. As I said, she wasn’t physically suited to having children—I’m not sure what the doctors would call it, but during childbirth she died.”

  The reality of all he had been through in his life—and I had a feeling we’d just touched the tip of the iceberg—hit me. “I’m sorry that she never got to see her child grow up.” Then another thought hit me. “The baby . . . Did . . .”

  A smile spread across Bryan’s face. “Yes, as I said, I have a daughter. Juliana survived, and today, she’s still living in Boston. She’s a lovely woman—looks around twenty if she looks a day, though she’ll be sixty-three this year. I occasionally go back to visit her. I’ve never let her come here because people would assume I was dating her. Shapeshifters age at a different rate than humans, as I said, although we do have an illusion that can age us up, but it’s tiring to constantly use. I suppose I could get away with telling people she was my daughter from a liaison I had when I was too young, but we haven’t worked out any cover story.”

  As I digested the information, not knowing what to say next, Bryan tapped me on the arm. He stayed well clear of my injuries. “Now, I need to know something. I know why you came back to Whisper Hollow, but are you sure you’re willing to dive into the darkness that surrounds this town? Are you here for good? Because if you take up your grandmother’s post as spirit shaman, this town will never let you go.”

  Shaking my thoughts away from his story, I considered his question. He was right—I could already feel the town’s spell weaving itself around me. Whisper Hollow was more than just a town on the peninsula in need of protection from the spirits that walked the streets. Whisper Hollow had an energy, a deep and vibrant consciousness, whose heart beat just below the surface of the town and its inhabitants. And once Whisper Hollow got its hooks into you, it wouldn’t let go. Some people it spat out like a bad-tasting food . . . but others, it took in and swaddled them with its energy, like bees preserved in amber. Whisper Hollow wanted me . . . No, more than that. The town needed me. And for some reason, I had the feeling it needed me more than it had needed my grandmother and that was why she was dead.

  “Whisper Hollow has a will and rule of its own, Bryan. I had to come back. There was no choice. There is no choice. Not for me.” I held his gaze.

  He let out a low breath. “Then it seems we are both here for good.”

  I nodded. He was leaning closer to me and all I could think about was his lips on mine. And then he was out of his chair and he pulled me out of mine, into his arms, as he drew me in for a kiss. His lips were warm and once again, the hunger to have him—all of him—flared. I wanted his skin against mine, his chest pressed against my breasts, I wanted to feel him moving inside me. He sensed my need, because he slipped his fingers beneath the folds of my robe, stroking along the curve of my waist, running his fingers lightly over my ass. I caught my breath, my nipples hardening at his touch.

  “I want you . . .” I whispered.

  “Later, my love. It will have to be later.” He groaned softly, his lips by my ear, and then they were on my neck, licking and sucking the skin. The next moment, he let go—though I could feel his reluctance—and backed away with a rueful smile. “Damn it. Work calls. But will you be all right today? I’ll come over tonight.”

  Flushed, I held up my cell phone and stammered, “I’m going to call Ivy in a little while, to ask her if she has any ideas about the Shadow Man. I also plan on tracking down a few people today, letting them know I’m back in town—if they don’t already know. Word travels fast in small towns, and Whisper Hollow’s grapevine is a lot more active than most.” I grinned then. “The crows have ears, and they also tell secrets.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “So I gathered. I took the liberty of entering my name and number into your contacts on your phone while you were asleep. If you need me, call, though I’m starting to doubt we’re going to be needing a phone at all.” And then, he reached out and took my hands. “Kerris, do you know how beautiful you are?”

  I held his gaze and—for once—felt truly radiant. I mostly got catcalls from men because of my boobs, but here was a man talking to me, not to my chest.

  “I really, really don’t want to leave, but I have a call coming that I can’t miss. I’ll check in on you in a while, to make certain everything is all right.” And with that, he turned and vanished ou
t the back door.

  I stared at the remains of the omelet, so pent up that I could barely stand it. There was only one cure. I marched into the shower and lathered up with my Bath & Body Works Sensual Amber shower gel. Sliding my hands over my body, I began to breathe hard as I slowly reached between my legs, caressing myself with hard, insistent strokes. As the ache in my stomach began to build, I used my other hand to cup my breast, squeezing hard, rubbing, imagining Bryan’s hands in place of my own. The image of his face loomed in my mind, and I could hear the soft panting of his breath—as if he were beside me. A moment later and I could see him, in a gray tiled bathroom, leaning against the sink. His jeans were pushed down, and he gripped his erection with one hand, as he used the other to brace himself on the vanity. His fingers slid over his penis, long firm strokes driving him on. I massaged myself harder, my finger swirling around the nub of my sex, as he polished himself. I could feel his passion build, and then—he looked straight at me and I realized he was seeing me just as I was seeing him.

  Together we rode the frenzy. I squeezed my breast hard, the pressure shoving me higher as I caressed myself to the edge of orgasm. He clenched his penis and with one final pull, he called out my name as he came, fountaining out into the sink. Seeing him come, I gave myself one last tweak and joined him, coming hard and fast and loud.

  As the waves of pleasure surged through me, rippling like breakers on the water, I let out another cry and then, slowly, slid back against the shower wall, the spray of water easing the spasms that ran through my body. I caught one last glimpse of Bryan—he was smiling and he whispered my name again, and then the image faded and I was alone in the shower, both relieved and yet hungrier for him than ever.

  * * *

  Feeling slightly embarrassed—because I was certain that Bryan had picked up on what I’d been doing—I finished my shower, dried my hair, and slipped into clean clothes, taking care to choose a V-neck tank top that wouldn’t aggravate the wounds on my arm. The bandages had gotten wet, so I did my best to change them with one hand. The wounds were still red, but they weren’t infected and they looked a lot better than they had a few hours ago.

  I cleared up the remnants of breakfast and then sat down at the table with my phone. Agent H decided that it was prime time to jump up and get a belly rub, and I absently stroked his fur as I put in a call to Ivy, hoping it wasn’t too early. But she answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Ivy . . .” I thought about calling her Grandma, but it seemed too weird for someone I had just met, especially someone who looked barely older than myself. “Kerris here. I have a problem.” I told her what had happened the night before. “I could really use some advice on warding, and Ellia said you’re good at it.”

  After a moment’s silence, she said, “Can you come over around two P.M. today?”

  “Yeah, that would be fine.”

  “Bring the bag of tools Lila left for you. I’ll see you then. I’ve got to go now—the bread’s about ready to come out of the oven and I don’t want it to burn.” She hung up.

  I couldn’t tell whether she was happy to hear from me, but she had volunteered to help and if I was going to become some sort of protector for the town, I knew I couldn’t do it alone. It was nearing quarter to ten, and I decided that I needed to swing through town for supplies, to drop off all the old clothes, and to pick up some new sheets and a comforter. It was time to put my credit card to good use. Making sure the doors and windows were shut and locked, I grabbed my purse and keys and headed out to reacquaint myself with Whisper Hollow.

  CHAPTER 10

  Whisper Hollow had evolved from a few rough-in-the-wild homesteads into a very pretty, semi-Victorian small town. Unlike Port Townsend and Port Angeles, however, Whisper Hollow seldom encouraged visitors and most of its money came from the locals. While the economy wasn’t exactly thriving, neither had it gone to rack and ruin. Mostly, people did their jobs, few ever moved away—at least not for good—and every now and then the town would lure in somebody new to stay.

  Usually, they would come in, needing to stop for gas or a quick bite, and something would take hold of them, and before they knew it, they had settled in. Bought a house. Become part of the background as if they had been born here. The town had built up around a vortex of energy, ley lines crossing every which way. The vortex both cloaked the town from much consideration by the rest of the world and yet drew to it the people who were called to move in and settle down.

  A number of the buildings were old brick and stone, with some Victoriana interspersed among the solemn gray and red. The central downtown area looked a lot like it had when I had left home, though the upkeep had been considerable. Nobody ever let their shops go dank, or get too weathered without slapping on a new coat of paint or fixing the broken boards. A few new shops had gone in since I’d left—the Broom & Thistle Coffee Shop, the Herb & Essence apothecary. Although the latter was kitty-corner from the hospital, it was in no way a modern pharmacy. As I drove past, it occurred to me I might end up frequenting the place depending on what Ivy and my grandmother’s journal had in store for me.

  Gritting my teeth, I parallel-parked in front of another shop I didn’t recognize. Vintage Books was on Cedar Street, one of the main drags downtown. I slipped out of the car and wandered over to check it out. I loved to read and spent a good share of my time with my nose in a book. The shop was open, so I decided to drop in and see what they specialized in.

  The shelves were jammed—both new and used books, though housed in two separate sections. The shop had the feel of an old-world library, with tall ceilings and shelves that stretched up higher than arm’s reach. Step stools were conveniently located around the shop, though, and as I navigated through the aisles, I began to notice that Vintage Books specialized in nothing, and carried just about everything. Romance, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, cookbooks, travel—they all seemed represented.

  The man behind the counter looked to be in his late twenties, and he was Native American. That much was obvious right off the bat. He had long brown hair, smooth and silky, that flowed past his shoulders, nearly to his waist. His eyes were a soft brown, and his smile, genuine and gentle. He was sorting through a pile of what looked like used books—dividing them into sections. As I approached the counter, he glanced up.

  “May I help you find something?”

  I glanced around, then shook my head. “To be honest, I’m just checking out the shop. I just moved back to town and this wasn’t here before. I’m Kerris Fellwater.” As I reached out to shake his hand, a flicker of recognition raced across his face.

  “Ah, you would be the granddaughter of Lila Fellwater, then? I’m so sorry about her passing.” He took my hand, his fingers firm and steady. “I’m Trevor Riverstone, the owner.”

  As I touched his fingers, a tingle told me he was a little more than he seemed. “What brought you to Whisper Hollow, Trevor?”

  He moved a pile of what looked like paranormal romances to one side and began sorting through another stack. “I don’t know, to be honest. About five years ago, I lost my father—my mother died when I was twelve. I lived in Aberdeen. So I took what inheritance my father left me and decided to open a bookstore—and the only place I could think of to do it was here.” With a shrug, he added, “The town has always intrigued me.”

  A book slid to the floor and he bent to retrieve it. As he pushed his hair to one side, out of the way, I noticed that on the back of his neck, he had a tattoo—a crescent moon with a raven on it.

  Just like my birthmark. Just like the symbol of the spirit shamans.

  Only, this one was in color, with the raven’s eyes brilliant red, and a bit of green foliage coming out from beneath its talons.

  “Your tattoo . . . when did you get it?”

  He quickly brushed his hair back to cover it, but then, catching my eye, he stopped. “About two years after I moved here. You would recogni
ze it, wouldn’t you? Being the new spirit shaman.”

  “Why did you get it?” I wanted to know why he was wearing a symbol I only associated with my grandmother. Was he a spirit shaman, too? The blood ran only in certain families, and usually through the women as I understood. We were few and far between. But that would explain him being drawn to Whisper Hollow.

  He glanced around the shop, making certain we were alone. “I belong to the Crescent Moon Society. We all wear the symbol. I shouldn’t tell you that I’m part of the group, but you’ll be joining us soon and I’d rather have you find out from me than go asking around town.”

  “Then you’re not a spirit shaman?” I really needed to read my grandmother’s Shadow Journal and decided that as soon as I finished up in town, I’d start.

  “No. Not in the least.” He pulled up the stool in back of the counter and hopped on it. “Listen, you’re going to find out all this sooner or later, and I think you should know now before you go asking too many questions and get us all in trouble. We’re your support system—the Society. We are . . . backup, in terms of policing, though our duties range a bit further abroad than yours. And we need to keep our secrets, so don’t go asking around. Ellia’s supposed to bring you to the next meeting. Together, we all make the town as safe as we can.”

  I liked his quiet, steady energy, even though I didn’t like being told what I should—or shouldn’t—do. It made sense that the spirit shaman would need more help than just the lament singer. There was so much that I didn’t know, and so much to learn. Damn it, why hadn’t I stuck it out . . . I could have found a job and gotten away from my grandfather that way. But something inside told me I’d made the right decision—that if I had stayed, I might have ended up just like my mother.

  I gave him a soft nod. “Yeah, I get that. Okay, then. I won’t ask you any more until the meeting. I don’t want to get you in trouble for spilling secrets, though I wish to hell I could just get on with it. I’m tired of being the last to know. Tell me, though, how did you join them if it’s a secret society and you were new in town?”