Finding Wisp Read online

  That’s what he had claimed, anyway.

  Whether it was true or not, he’d given me away – given me away to a father who seemed more interested in his political standing than his daughter’s well-being, to a dead mother, to a fiancé whom I’d never even met, and worst of all, to Felix. The man from my nightmares.

  It was all such… bullshit!

  Tears sprang into my eyes as the unfairness of it all settled over me, and with no one around to see, I found I could no longer hold them back. Burying my face into one of the stupidly fluffy pillows that covered the ridiculously ostentatious bed, for the first time since Derek had announced his intent to be rid of me, I allowed myself to cry.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You already hate yourself enough for the both of us.”

  For all the perks that came along with being a shifter – enhanced senses, superhuman strength – there were a lot of shitty aspects to the gig as well.

  When I was younger and more naïve, I’d thought that the worst part had been the loneliness. It was hard on me, especially as a teenager, to keep such a big part of myself a secret, never allowing anyone who wasn’t also a shifter – and there weren’t many of us – to get close.

  It wasn’t until after Alice and Jackson and the fucking fire that I realized I was wrong.

  The worst part about being a shifter was the inability to get drunk – to forget. After my parents had died (because of me), it was all I had wanted to do.

  And it was all I wanted now.

  I wanted to forget all about Wisp – about the way she had so unexpectedly crashed into my life (like an angel who’d fucking fallen from heaven), and against all odds, had burrowed a little spot for herself in it.

  About the way she’d left just as abruptly.

  She didn’t leave, you forced her out, a vindictive voice pointed out, and my fist tightened involuntarily around the nearly empty glass of whiskey in front of me.

  When I had finally managed to peel myself off the couch after Sheriff Nunez had come to collect Wisp, I had wandered to the Tavern in pretense of picking up the truck I’d abandoned there the night before.

  It had only been late morning when I’d arrived, but Gemma had been around, taking inventory, and she’d begrudgingly let me in. I’d been knocking back drinks ever since, going straight for the hard liquor, not even bothering with beer.

  It was mid-afternoon now, and I’d long ago lost count of how many I’d had.

  After all, the real reason I’d come to the Tavern had nothing at all to do with my piece of shit truck and everything to do with attempting to banish Wisp’s soft, pink lips, her ridiculously contagious laugh, and her wide (accusing) eyes from my mind.

  “You already hate yourself enough for the both of us.”

  Unfortunately, the bitter alcohol had made absolutely no leeway in washing away my memory of her. (Or of the last words she’d spoken to me.)

  I tensed when a hand, small and female, suddenly curled itself around my bicep.

  I had been so caught up in thoughts of dark hair, freckled noses, and tear-filled brown eyes – thoughts of Wisp – that I hadn’t even noticed Blair approach.

  She’d waltzed into The Tavern a few hours ago to start her shift, but the “fuck off” vibe I’d been projecting, combined with the less-than-friendly ending of our last meeting, had stopped her from getting too close.

  At least, it had until now.

  “You know,” she said, voice thick with mock compassion, “when I walked in here and saw you sitting all alone at the bar, I’d intended to ignore you. I mean, you were hardly a gentleman the last time we saw each other. But I just can’t seem to stay mad at you.” A pause. “Not when you’re looking so pitiful, anyway.”

  To most people, it would have sounded like an insult – and it was. But I knew Blair well enough by then, to recognize that it was also a twisted sort of come-on.

  “What do you want, Blair?” I muttered, not even bothering to look up from my drink.

  She huffed a little at my dismissive tone, but her hand tightened around my arm. “Just wondering what has you so mopey is all.”

  It was none of her goddamn business as far as I was concerned, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Not that Blair could take a hint to save her life.

  “Is it that girl you came in here with last week?” she pressed despite my lack of response.

  My shoulders stiffened reflexively at the question, the muscles in my arms growing taut.

  A smirk pulled at Blair’s mouth and satisfaction gleamed in her eyes – she obviously knew she’d struck a nerve. “What?” she asked, the sharp edges of her nails digging into my skin even through the flannel of my shirt. “She not put out or something?”

  Red bled into my vision as a fury that was as intense as it was sudden caused my blood to boil. I squeezed my drink tighter in an effort to hold the animalistic rage at bay, and tiny fissures crept up the glass.

  Blair didn’t notice.

  She just rolled her eyes at my stony silence, completely oblivious to the danger she was in. “Whatever, don’t tell me then,” she pouted. “It’s not like I actually care.” She finally released my bicep, but it was only to trail her fingers down the back of my arm and across my jean-clad thigh, until she was practically palming me through my pants. “All I’m really interested in is making you feel better.”

  The sick part was that the man I had been before Wisp had stumbled into my life would have been tempted to take Blair up on her offer. After all, if nothing else, sex was an opportunity to forget – at least for a while.

  But Wisp had come into my life. And I knew, despite my half-assed attempt to drown myself in whiskey, that I could never forget her. (I didn’t want to forget her – not really, not when the past three weeks had been some of the best in my entire pathetic existence.)

  Not to mention that the thought of anyone but Wisp touching me made him come to life, rippling angrily beneath my skin.

  Regardless, it was me in control when I grabbed Blair’s wrist and shoved her hand away from my thoroughly disinterested dick. “Get lost, Blair.”

  Blair seemed shocked by the rejection, but once she’d recovered, she crossed her arms under her chest until her tits were threatening to pop out of her shirt. (An undoubtedly strategic, last ditch effort at seduction.) “I was just trying to help.”

  “Then maybe you should offer your ‘help’ to someone who’s actually interested,” I snapped, running out of patience with her bullshit. “Hell, go ask Mr. Stenson if he’s in need of your special brand of ‘assistance’.” Besides a few teenagers playing pool, he was the only other customer in the bar. A widower and an alcoholic, he preferred to drown his sorrows in vodka and call girls. “He would probably even shell out a fifty for your company. It’s about all an hour with you is worth.”

  Crack!

  In retrospect, I should have seen the slap coming, but I hadn’t, and my cheek stung where Blair had viciously dug in her nails. “How dare you?” she seethed.

  “Blair!” A sharp voice called from across the bar. Gemma, who’d been in the back doing only God knows what, approached us with harried steps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “This asshole called me a-”

  “I don’t give a crap what Derek called you. You don’t assault our customers.”

  “But-!”

  “I said,” Gemma snapped, “you don’t assault our customers. Now get out of my sight before I call Liam and tell him that you attacked one of our most loyal patrons.”

  Blair’s face colored bright red, and she obviously wanted to protest, but after a tense moment, she merely offered Gemma a short nod before shooting me a glare and stomping off to – ironically enough – offer Mr. Stenson a refill.

  “Thanks,” I muttered to Gemma once the bitch was out of earshot.

  Gemma raised her eyebrows, not acknowledging my pitiful “thanks”. “That was harsh, Derek,” she scolded instead, “even for you.”
r />   She’d called me Derek. Not sugar, sweetie, or babe.

  Obviously, Blair wasn’t the only one Gemma was pissed at.

  Too bad I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit.

  I downed the rest of my whiskey before pushing the empty glass towards her. “Get me another.”

  Gemma brought her hands to her hips, her eyebrows rising impossibly higher.

  “Please,” I added begrudgingly.

  I could tell by how she pursed her lips that she didn’t want to – the way I’d stoically thrown back drink after drink the night before still undoubtedly at the forefront of her mind – but ultimately, Gemma only sighed before picking up my mug, refilling it with dark liquor, and setting it back down in front of me.

  Instead of going back to whatever it was she’d been doing before my confrontation with Blair, however, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the bar top, her eyes drilling into me.

  “So. Is there a reason for your delightful mood today?”

  I glowered at her under the fringe of my hair. “Like you don’t know,” I accused.

  Gemma frowned. “You showed Wisp the article then?” she asked.

  I grunted, code for: “What the hell do you think?”

  Gemma nodded, a wrinkle slowly forming on her brow. “She didn’t take it well then?” she pressed.

  Growing irritated by the woman’s uncharacteristic nosiness, I scowled. “She took it just fine.”

  Gemma huffed. “Well, what’s with the attitude then?” she demanded.

  I glared at her. “Wisp wasn’t the only one I told,” I admitted after a minute. “I… I called the Sheriff’s office.”

  Gemma’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

  I could feel my metaphorical hackles rising at her obvious surprise. “Oh?” I repeated defensively. “What the hell do you mean ‘oh’? You made it pretty clear last night that you thought it was the right thing to do.”

  Gemma shook her head. “Liam made it clear what he thought you should do,” she disagreed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know!” Gemma threw her hands in the air. “It’s just… that little girl brought out a side of you I’ve never seen before. When you were beating that asshole to a pulp last week-” Gemma rolled her eyes at the glare I shot her, “-yes, it was well deserved, but still, she was the only one who was able to pull you out of it. And the way you held her afterwards, like she was the most precious thing you’d ever had in your arms…” Gemma shook her head. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I guess I’ve just never seen you so… vulnerable with someone before.”

  Emotion I refused to identify welled in my chest. “Are you saying it was wrong to have called?” I demanded gruffly.

  Gemma sighed. “Who knows?” she said after a moment. “And what the hell quantifies something as right or wrong, anyway?” she added.

  It was a run-around if I had ever heard one, but I didn’t call Gemma out on it. After all, I already knew well enough what she thought.

  We both sat in silence as I slowly nursed my drink.

  “Wisp was upset when I told her I’d called the Sheriff,” I admitted lowly after a few minutes, like I was confessing to murder instead of restoring a lost girl to her family. I swallowed hard. “She wanted to stay with me.” The disbelief was heavy in my voice. “She’s the daughter of some rich ass senator, and engaged to the son of a fucking real estate tycoon, and she wanted me.” I shook my head. “I told her in no uncertain terms that the feeling wasn’t mutual.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Gemma said after a while, and I could tell by her flabbergasted expression that it was true.

  I shrugged, not sure what I was expecting from her, anyway. Did I want to be scolded for what I’d done, or reassured that it had been the best thing for Wisp? Even I didn’t know. “What is there to say?” I muttered. “She’s gone now, anyway.”

  I finished the rest of my drink in one long swig before pushing the empty glass across the bar top. “Another,” I demanded.

  Gemma plucked up the glass mug, but she made no move to refill it. “I think you’ve had enough, Derek,” she said instead.

  Irritation prickled at my spine, and misdirected anger had me nearly growling at the woman. “Who the hell are you to tell me I’ve had enough?” I snarled.

  Gemma bristled, her eyes flashing – not with fear, thank Christ, but with her own ire. “The owner of this bar, that’s who,” she snapped back. “Now, back off before I call the Sheriff.”

  I lurched backwards, the words akin to a punch in the gut. Gemma knew it, too, judging by the way her frown softened around the edges. She sighed. “Seriously, Derek. I’m worried about you. You don’t need any more whiskey, what you do need is to go home and rest.”

  Go home.

  To what?

  An empty house that positively reeked of sweetness and honey despite the fact that the girl who projected the mouth-watering scent was long gone? To Thane, who was probably still waiting anxiously near the door for his favorite person in the world to come waltzing back through it… even though she never would?

  Home.

  For the first time in years, the cabin in the woods didn’t feel like home at all. Not without Wisp.

  But she was gone, I’d made sure of it. And the only thing I had now were the memories. My chest tightened as her hollow-sounding words once again resounded in my head.

  “You already hate yourself enough for the both of us.”

  The worst part was, it was true.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I was cocooned in a pair of warm arms, Derek’s manly musk and the familiar smell of evergreens drifting in my nose.

  I blinked open my eyes. “Derek?” I muttered.

  We were in bed – Derek’s bed – and the man’s mouth was attached to my neck, sucking greedily at my skin. Equal parts joy and disbelief filled me as I took in the sight before me – as I took in Derek – and realized that all of it – the article, Derek calling the sheriff, Cornelius and Felix – had just been some elaborate dream.

  “Derek,” I repeated, pulling at his hair, desperately needing to kiss him.

  He obeyed my silent command and allowed himself to be tugged upward, stopping only to nip playfully at my jaw before he was pressing his mouth to mine.

  The familiar sensation of his lips moving over mine, of his tongue plunging between them and lapping at the roof of my mouth like he was trying to devour me whole… it caused a rush of relief so intense to wash over me that it was dizzying. I felt light-headed as I urgently returned the kiss, somehow trying to impart upon him with my lips and tongue alone how much I needed him, how much I loved him.

  Perhaps the lightheadedness was why I also felt the need to say it aloud. “I love you,” I whispered against his lips.

  Derek stiffened above me.

  A sort of horror befell me when he began to pull away, and I clung desperately to his shoulders, but Derek merely took me by the wrists and removed my hands from his person as he stared me down. A befuddled frown pulled at his mouth. “I don’t love you.”

  The words were eerily familiar, but the pain in my chest was entirely fresh. I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because a moment later, Derek’s face… it was transforming before my eyes, morphing into another’s until his dark, wild hair was replaced with a yellow-blond mane, until his beautiful green eyes were steel-gray.

  Felix grinned. “Hello, Sloane.”

  I woke with a gasp, trying and failing to suck in air as my chest tightened with panic. I pushed myself into a sitting position, and after a long, scary minute, finally managed to get my lungs to cooperate.

  A few more minutes of taking slow, steady breaths later, I felt calm enough to open my eyes.

  My heart plummeted when I recognized the fancy, gold-tinted wallpaper and billowy drapes of my new bedroom.

  The news article, the mansion, Cornelius and Marianne and Felix… they hadn’t been part of some crazy dream, a
fter all. Derek had been the dream.

  Tears sprang into my eyes, and I firmly pressed my palms into the sockets in an effort to prevent them from falling. I’d cried enough last night.

  Only when I was confident that I had successfully held the tears at bay did I allow myself to slowly lower my hands back into my lap.

  It was so warm in the room.

  My forehead was slick with sweat, and I could feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck. It didn’t help that the lower half of my body was tangled in sheets – sheets that my demented mind had tricked me into believing were Derek’s arms.

  Feeling suddenly trapped (suffocated), I couldn’t get out of them fast enough. After a short struggle, I managed to kick them to the floor. I was breathing hard by the end of the ordeal and ran an agitated hand through my hair in an attempt to sooth myself. “Jesus, Wisp, get a grip,” I muttered.

  Only to stiffen a moment later when I realized what I’d called myself.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. “Not Wisp, Sloane. My name is Sloane.”

  My brain could accept it easily enough, but my heart… not so much.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do about that.

  I sighed, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed before making my way towards one of the windows. The latch was sticky, but I managed to crank it open a few inches – enough to let a breeze in, anyway. I couldn’t inhale the fresh air fast enough.

  The window also provided a breathtaking view of the east side of the yard, and I allowed myself a minute to take in the sprawling green grass that disappeared into the grove of trees a half of a mile away.

  The sun was just beginning to rise, faint hues of pink and orange peeking over the top of the trees. That meant it was morning, but only just. Either way, I knew I would never be able to go back to sleep. Not after that dream.

  Figuring I might as well take the opportunity to explore my new bedroom – I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to do it last night – I reluctantly backed away from the window and turned my attention to the rest of the room.