Finding Wisp

  finding WISP

  BY NOELLE MARIE

  Copyright © 2017 by Noelle Marie

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and intended for mature audiences only.

  To receive exclusive offers and be the first to learn about upcoming releases by Noelle Marie, please sign up for her mailing list here.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BONUS CHAPTER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  The man standing on the other side of the room was tall. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and dark blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Under regal eyebrows, he stared at me with sharp, gray eyes.

  Familiar eyes.

  “Sloane,” my father said, using the grip he still had on my shoulders to steer me in the man’s direction. He forced me to take one jerky step towards him and then another. “This is Felix Rutherford, your… handler, I suppose, is the proper term for him.”

  Handler? What did that mean?

  A smirk played at Felix’s lips as he took a measured step forward. Making sure to keep his eyes locked with mine, he reached for my hand and bestowed upon the inside of my wrist a kiss. “Sloane, sweetheart, it’s wonderful to see you looking so… well.”

  If there was even a hint of doubt left over who this person was, it vanished the instant his voice once again reached my ears.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  It was the man from my nightmares.

  * * *

  I had never been so conscious that I was sharing space with a predator.

  Sure, even before I’d found out that Derek was a shifter, I’d been almost painfully aware of how big and strong (absolutely ripped with lithe muscle) the man was. As perfectly cognizant of how easily he could snap me in two I had been, however, something in me had known that he would never use his size or strength against me.

  But this man – this Felix – was different. While not quite as physically intimidating as Derek – he wasn’t as tall, and his shoulders weren’t quite as wide – he was still menacing in his own right. There was something animal in the way he moved, the way his gray eyes gleamed.

  Eyes that were still staring into mine. His fingers remained curled loosely around my wrist as he waited for a response to his greeting.

  Knowing intrinsically that there was only one way I could play this, I forced a smile. “Thank you. You’re looking fit as well… uh, Mr. Rutherford, was it?”

  I had to pretend to be the dumb, unwitting amnesiac that I was supposed to be – that I still mostly was.

  The man’s gray eyes assessed mine carefully, a tiny (almost nonexistent) wrinkle forming on his brow as he slowly released my wrist. “Please, call me Felix. After all, we were quite close before… well, before.”

  “Right.” I fought the urge to rub away his touch from my wrist and crossed my arms over my chest instead as I attempted to stay straight-faced. “Felix, then.”

  Almost like she could sense my discomfort, the Hispanic woman still standing rigidly off to my right – the maid, Marianne – took a step forward. “Is what your father says true, Sloane?” she asked. “You really have no memory of… well, anything?”

  Just that I’d been so scared of the man standing in front of me that I had chosen to jump off a cliff rather than go to him.

  But I couldn’t say that, of course, so I carefully shook my head back and forth. “Nothing beyond the past three weeks,” I confirmed.

  “Fascinating.”

  I tensed at Felix’s interjection, doing my best to ignore his gaze, but it was hard when I could feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of my head.

  “Tragic, I think, is a better term for it,” Marianne cut in tersely. It was obvious enough that she didn’t like Felix. I had no idea why, but whatever her reasons, her coldness towards him had me warming towards her.

  Felix raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”

  As conscious of the tension seeping into the shiny entryway as the rest of us, my father cleared his throat. “Yes, well, regardless, we’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time, Sloane.” He squeezed my shoulder one last time before finally releasing me. “Between Felix, Marianne, and myself, why, I can practically guarantee it.”

  I failed to see how he could possibly guarantee something like that. Instead of calling him out on it, though, I gave voice to a question that’d been buzzing in the back of my mind since my father had introduced us.

  I briefly met Felix’s gaze, which was still intent on me, before jerking my eyes away. I looked to my father. “What, exactly, is a handler?”

  Cornelius blinked. “Oh. Uh, well…” he floundered.

  “Think of it as a dual bodyguard and… caregiver, of sorts,” Felix interjected smoothly.

  I stiffened, my gaze unwillingly drawn back to his. “So, what? Like… a babysitter then?” I asked. The idea of this man following me around, watching my every move with his unnaturally sharp gaze… it made my belly swirl with anxiety-induced sickness.

  Almost like he could sense my discomfort, Felix smirked. “I prefer the term confidante. Friend, even.”

  Friend.

  I swallowed the hysteria-induced laughter that threatened to bubble up my throat. A sense of impending panic was causing my vision to blur at the edges, and I blinked hard, pressing my palms into my eye sockets in an effort to dispel it.

  “Are you alright, dear?” I heard my father ask through the terror threatening to suffocate me, and it was enough to remind me just where I was and just who was watching me.

  Get ahold of yourself, I scolded myself internally, before you blow your cover completely.

  I lowered my hands and forced a brittle smile. “I… I’m just tired, I suppose. It’s been a long day.”

  The hour hand of the clock in the entryway claimed that it was barely past three in the afternoon, but no one questioned the lame excuse. After all, I didn’t think anyone could argue that a lot had happened in only half a day.

  “Of course,” Cornelius agreed despite the small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Whether it was born of concern or something else, it was hard to say. “I’ll show you to your room so you can rest.”

  “Allow me, Cornelius.”

  Fear grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed. “No!”

  All three of them – my father, Marianne, and Felix, the one who had spoken – stared.

  My face burned. What’s wrong with you? I berated myself, but I couldn’t help it. The outburst had been completely involuntary. Every instinct I had, had come alive at the man’s offer, demanding that I do everything in my power to avoid being alone with him.

  “I… i-it’s just…” I stuttered, desperately trying to explain myself.

  Salvation came in the form of the woman to my right. Marianne took two harried steps towards me and wrapped a commi
serating arm around my shoulders. “The poor girl is clearly overwhelmed. I’m sure she would feel more comfortable with another female showing her around versus a man she hardly knows.” A pause. “Isn’t that right, Sloane?” she urged when I still couldn’t bring myself to speak around my clumsy tongue.

  “Right,” I managed to rasp after a moment, offering a jerky nod to go along with my verbal consent.

  “Of course,” my father agreed despite Felix’s obvious displeasure. “That makes perfect sense.” (Not really.) He dismissed us with a wave of his hand. “Do try and get some rest, dear.”

  “Yes,” Felix added, slinking impossibly closer. I stayed perfectly still as he fingered a bit of hair hanging loosely around my face in a seemingly tender gesture. “I wish you nothing but the sweetest of dreams.”

  My heart stuttered in my chest, but I forced myself to clamp down on the alarm threatening to rise up my throat in the form of vomit.

  Because there was no way he could know about the dreams he had starred in nearly every night since Derek had found me three weeks ago. (Memories, you mean, a snide voice whispered.)

  It was impossible.

  And yet, looking into Felix’s metallic-colored eyes, I could almost believe… well I could almost believe that-

  “Come on, Sloane,” Marianne said, unwittingly rescuing me for a second time when she tightened her grip around my shoulders before using her hold on me to lead me towards the stairs. “Your bedroom is on the second floor.”

  Shaking off the remnants of panicfeardread Felix’s knowing gaze had instilled in me, I forced myself to take in my surroundings as I followed Marianne up the arching staircase.

  I didn’t know if I was fiercely hoping that something I saw would trigger a memory or feverishly praying that nothing I saw would. Regardless, I dutifully took note of the cream-colored carpet that covered the steps and the dark mahogany of the banister, and upon reaching the top of the stairs, I carefully glanced over the sitting room that overlooked the entryway.

  It was sparsely but tastefully decorated with a large couch – it was white leather, and I would probably never sit on it for fear of sullying the color – serving as its center piece. The room branched off into two hallways, and Marianne led me down the right one.

  Excepting a decorative end table with an overflowing vase of flowers and a series of framed pictures on the wall – they all featured the same dark-haired woman as the portrait downstairs, and in two of the four pictures she was posing with Cornelius – the hallway was bare.

  Marianne led me to the second – the last – door on the left.

  “Here we are.” She offered me a tight smile before turning the knob and opening the door. “I hope everything is to your liking,” she added.

  It was an odd thing to say. After all, I assumed I had liked it before, and I was the same person I’d been three weeks ago. (Except not. Not even close.)

  But when I stepped into the room, I understood. The walls of the bedroom – my bedroom – were covered in the same fancy, gold-tinted damask wallpaper as the rest of the second floor. The room was huge – at least twice the size of Derek’s bedroom at his cabin – with billowing white drapes hanging down from two windows that were at least as tall as me. There was also a white dresser, matching sprawling vanity, and a queen-sized canopy bed pressed up against the back wall. It was covered in light pink sheets.

  The room was grand. Lustrous. Fit for a princess, even. (Though I supposed the daughter of a senator was close enough.)

  It was also grievously, horrendously wrong.

  I could feel Marianne’s gaze on me and wondered vaguely if she was mistaking the wideness of my eyes as awe. I went to the bed and carefully sat. Spotting a small, framed photo sitting on the nightstand, I picked it up.

  The picture featured the same woman that every other photo in the house seemed to showcase. I took in her elegantly chopped hair and the smile lines at the corners of her hazel eyes before allowing myself to examine the other person in the picture: me.

  It was a younger version of me – I was thirteen or fourteen when the picture was taken if I were to hazard a guess – and my arm was wrapped around the woman’s waist, her own arm slung around my shoulders. We were on a beach with sunglasses perched atop our heads, and both of us were beaming at the camera.

  A foreign emotion swelled in my chest at the sight of our matching smiles.

  “I’ll let you rest,” Marianne said from where she’d remained by the door, startling me out of the stupor I’d fallen into. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything,” she added before turning to leave.

  But I couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Not when I had so many questions.

  “Wait!”

  Marianne started at the exclamation, and I winced at the obvious desperation in my voice.

  Regardless, she spun back around to face me. “Yes?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Was I…?” I trailed off. “That is, were you…?” I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together, attempting to gather my thoughts. “What I mean to say is,” I said, opening my eyes, “are we close, you and I?”

  Marianne smiled, but the expression looked inexplicitly… sad on her face. “You were as close to me as you were to anyone before you disappeared, I suppose. It’s just that… well, you were quite withdrawn after your mother’s death.”

  I’d known it, of course. That my mother was dead. Or I’d assumed, anyway. It hadn’t been expressly stated in the news article that Derek had given me – the one where my father pleaded with the public for their assistance in finding me. But if she were still around, surely, she would have given a statement of some sort as well. Not to mention the shrine of pictures displayed throughout the house.

  “Is this her?” I asked, just to be sure, holding up the photo in my hands.

  Marianne’s eyebrows rose in surprise, probably at the reminder of just how far my lack of memory went. “Yes, that’s her,” she confirmed after a moment. “Her name was Vanessa.”

  I nodded, allowing my eyes to drift back down to the picture, willing something – some sort of connection or a memory – to come to me as I stared at the woman. But it didn’t. All I felt was a muted sort of sadness not entirely my own. “How did she die?”

  Marianne winced. “Early onset dementia – terrible diagnosis. She was only fifty when she passed.”

  I traced the sharp slope of the woman’s – Vanessa’s – cheek with my finger. “And how old was I?”

  “Sixteen,” Marianne answered. “Her death was very hard on you and your father, but-” she paused, her face twisting into a grimace, like she’d said too much.

  I frowned. “But what?” I pressed.

  Marianne hesitated only a moment before releasing a troubled sigh. “But… well, it was a blessing in a way when she was finally gone. You see, she wasn’t exactly herself at the end.”

  I had so many questions about the woman in the photograph: Vanessa, my mother. But there was someone else I was immensely curious about as well, so I forced myself to nod at the lackluster explanation. Then I carefully replaced the picture frame on the night stand before returning my attention to Marianne.

  “And what about Graham?” I asked. “My… fiancé?” The word felt foreign on my tongue.

  A frown tugged on Marianne’s mouth. “What about him?”

  I bit my lip. “Well, where is he for starters? I thought that maybe he would be here since he didn’t come with my father to Pi-” I had meant to say Pine Ridge, but I choked on the town’s name, unable to bring myself to say it aloud. It was too painful. “-to the police station,” I finished lamely after an extended pause.

  Understanding dawned in Marianne’s eyes, and she shifted uneasily. “Oh. I suppose that’s a sensible assumption. It’s just that, well, your engagement to Mr. Vanderbilt… it’s a complicated business.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Marianne smoothed back her already perfectly gelled
hair, obviously uncomfortable at my line of questioning. I would have felt guilty for making her feel that way if I wasn’t so confused. “Well, you see,” she began carefully after a minute, “you and Mr. Vanderbilt… you’ve never actually met.”

  I blinked. “What… what do you mean we’ve never met?” I shot to my feet. “That… I mean, we’re engaged!”

  “Yes, but-”

  “But what?” I interrupted, unable to stop a tidal rush of emotion from rising within me. “This isn’t the 1800’s, for God’s sake. Did someone forget to tell my father that arranged marriages went out of style a century ago? And, anyway, I’m only eighteen!”

  I stood there, waiting for an explanation, but I had a feeling by the way Marianne’s lips had pursed at my outburst that I wouldn’t be getting one. “I’m sorry, Sloane, but it really isn’t my place to discuss this with you. Perhaps it’s best you speak to your father about it.”

  I desperately wanted to press her for more information, but I knew by the tense line of her shoulders that it would get me nowhere. Nor could I afford to scare her off. Not when I still had plenty of other questions I needed to ask. Not when she was my best chance at getting reliable answers.

  But I couldn’t ask them now, at any rate – not when I had already made her uncomfortable. I swallowed around the lump of disappointment I could feel forming in my throat. “You’re right,” I muttered, the words sounding dull to even my own ears. “Thank you, Marianne. You can go. I… I think I would like to be alone now.”

  The woman’s dark eyes softened, and I knew that by letting it go – letting her go – I’d made the right decision. “Of course. I’ll let you be.”

  Without further ado, she exited the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

  Once she was gone, I slowly lowered myself back down onto the bed, running my fingers over what had to be 1000-thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets. They were soft, but cold. So very different from Derek’s warm blankets, from his welcoming bed.

  I wished I was there. There was nothing else I wanted more. There was no one else I wanted more.

  But he doesn’t want you, a vicious voice reminded me.