Page 5 of Bonds and Beasts

Easton shakes his head. "I didn't hear that, but did anyone smell roses or something?"

Roses. My dream comes flashing back. Half-dead rose vines climbing out of that red door. Cries in the night. Quite a coincidence. Maybe the house has a scent we're both picking up on in various ways. An omega on staff, perhaps?

"We need to get going," I say, eyeing Dean specifically, who's still in checkered pajama pants and a t-shirt, hair rumpled.

He lifts his head from absolutely inhaling his breakfast like an animal. "What? It's not like they're not going to do hair, makeup, and wardrobe as soon as we get there anyway."

"You could still look professional."

He smirks, white teeth gleaming in the light from the chandelier. "I could."

***

The crew is set up at the far end of town near the edge of the lake. Past the tents set up for makeup, hair, wardrobe, and snacks, we can hear the soft lapping of the waves and errant gulls overhead who haven't quite realized that summer is over. The production is well structured, but a lot of the extra busy work has been delegated to locals.

You can kind of tell when someone isn't used to seeing people from Hollywood. They tend to stare, walk slower when they spot us, or are completely unable to meet our eyes. Four hours of initial shoots and reshoots leave breakfast a distant memory. The director, a stout beta female in her sixties, calls for a break, and I follow Dean as he makes a beeline for the catered lunch tables. They're laden with pasta salads, biscuits, stuffed canapés and more—better than the usual quick sandwich fare.

"Damn, this looks fucking delicious," Dean announces.

"Eh-hem," a dainty voice chirps from the side of the tent. We all look over to find a plump omega woman with white, cotton-candy-textured hair and a kind smile.

"Oh, uh—" Dean struggles, pink rising to the tips of his ears.

"I apologize for my packmate's runaway mouth, madam..."

She smiles broadly, clearly delighted to introduce herself. "Mrs. Portidge, dear, and I, of course, know who you three are." She shuffles over, cheeks rosy, hands clasped in front of her. "I also saved some of these—" she pulls out some strawberries from a box "—since I know they're one of your favorites." She hands them to Easton who looks a little stunned. Dean and I freeze. Mrs. Portidge looks like a nice enough old lady, but I've seen crazier from more innocent-looking fans.

She must see the hesitation on our faces because her hand flies to her mouth and she chuckles. "Oh my, I see how that could sound to famous movie stars like yourselves. I'm so sorry. I'm the cook. Up at the manor house. I was given a list of your favorite foods."

My center unwinds. "The person who left our breakfasts in the fridge this morning?" I pick up some strawberries before Easton can pilfer them all.

She chuckles good-naturedly. "Yes, you were all fast asleep. I imagine it was a very exhausting day. We heard what happened with Randy at the hotel. So glad Mr. Clocks was able to work something out for you. I don't think anyone's stayed the night in Rosevale Manor in the last year."

That gives me pause.

"Really?" Dean scoops up a cookie and pops it into his mouth. "Why not?"

Mrs. Portidge looks uncomfortable now. She glances down and rearranges some of the sandwiches on the platter while she speaks. "Well, you know how it is in small towns. Just idle gossip."

"Haunted!" an abrupt voice loudly proclaims from the right side of the tent. We look over to find a plump alpha man with a thick gray mustache and an almost completely bald head. His eyes have a too-wide quality that causes me to shift, moving myself slightly in front of my pack. "The whole place. Been haunted for a whole year now."

Easton cocks one eyebrow. "A year is a pretty short amount of time for a place that old to be haunted."

"Maury, don't go spreading rumors," Mrs. Portidge groans, picking up a nearby glass and aggressively polishing it, a crease between her brows.

Maury ignores her, leaning against the tent pole as though settling in for a long story. "That's because before last year, tragedy hadn't struck. That manor was the most prized place in town. The Dubois family have lived in it for five generations. Sebastian Dubois married his high school sweetheart and town darling, Madeline. It was our own little town fairytale. Until it wasn't." He pauses for apparent dramatic effect.

"I'm sorry, which of us are supposed to be the dramatic actors here?" Easton murmurs.

"What happened?" Dean asks, looking enthralled.

"First, Sebastian and Madeline Dubois passed in a tragic car accident. The daughter, Alison or Adekine, something, was left with no one else. There were no other relatives. So the family friend and manager took over her care. The daughter's twentieth birthday came around. Special day. She designated that day." I suck in a breath. Designation day is a special day for everyone. "It was a big celebration. Music and food, drinking and dancing. The house was all lit up for a party. Back then there were lots of parties.

"But something happened. Something horrible." He stops as though unwilling to go on.

"What?" Dean asks.

Maury gestures to Mrs. Portidge. "She was there."