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Chapter One
Flicking up the collar of my leather jacket, I adjust my scarf to protect my neck from the bitter chill. The one downside of having a funky neon orange pixie cut during fall—a bare neck. Breathing into my gloved hands for extra warmth, I watch as my escaping breath mists in the air before whorling away on the breeze.
The blood moon of All Hallows’ Eve hangs high overhead, its lurid radiance obscured by the twisting and gnarled branches of the woods. A piercing screech in the night disturbs a colony of bats and they take to the sky, their small silhouettes dancing chaotically past the moon.
I could kick myself for my current predicament; not that I mind the dark or solitude. But what kind of idiot gives her ex a second chance? Tonight, we were meant to just hang out, drive around town trick-or-treating like old times, and then we were going to take our ill-gotten gains to The Lookout and enjoy sexy Halloween fun in the backseat…
I should have known it was a trick. Jerks don’t change their colors.So instead of rekindling our college romance, he thought humiliating me in front of all the other couples at The Lookout would be a spectacularly funny way to wrap up our sham of a date. The fucker took my candy, then kicked me out of the car, leaving me alone and with no way of getting home.
I could fucking scream. The next time I see Cooper, it’s going to be the last time he has functional balls—and I’m not talking about the ones he plays gridiron with!Ugh.So, now, here I am, walking for miles through the woods that back onto all the old farms in the region. Some still have elderly caretakers, but most are derelict and abandoned—left to rot and ruin after the last generation of farmers passed on.
Farrowville doesn’t have space in its heart for people like me. Like most of Iowa, it’s a town full of Midwestern born and bred families. They go to church, follow sports, and give casseroles to new neighbors. Nothing ever changes here, and everyone knows everyone else. There’s no place for a bold, gothic artist with dreams of making a difference in the world. I got out of this hole as soon as I could, my salvation coming in the form of an acceptance to an esteemed arts college just out of state.
But, like so many others, I don’t have the heart to entirely divorce myself of my family. We might not gel on all things, but my folks have supported my dreams, as unconventional as they have always been. And I don’t hate seeing my siblings. Yes. Plural. All five of them. Out of the lot, I’m the ugly duckling, the fish out of water—the one that has just never fit in. Despite that, we get along in our own strange way.
So that’s why I’m back here on familiar turf again to begin with. I’m home for the holidays, paying my expected familial dues. Playing nice with my brothers and sisters, sharing stories over piss-flavored cider, and gathering around our old twelve-seater table for Mom’s famous spiced pumpkin pie. Mom’ll be upset that I didn’t call them for a lift, but I’m not a little girl anymore, and I think sometimes she forgets that. At twenty-three I may be the youngest of the Llewellyns, but I pride myself on my independence.
I purse my lips as the temperature seems to drop the deeper into the woods I go. It makes sense. The microclimate of the dell and the trees would hold the moisture and cool in, trapping the rising damp of the earth. All the same, it sets my nerves on edge, and my heart races. I love superstition, and I love nothing more than the thrill of being afraid. It’s why I gravitated toward the goth lifestyle and why I enjoy risk-taking.
Life is meant to be lived, and if the world’s going to be a bitch and scare the crap out of you from time to time, you might as well learn to revel in it! I grin despite myself and allow my imagination to run wild, viewing the woods through new eyes. Shadows loom, stretching their long, crooked fingers across the dark, leaf-littered ground, and I wonder—what if the trees were sentient beings? What if on Halloween their spirits break free of their bark-covered shells to roam free?
I snicker, my black boots squelching through the seasonal puddles underfoot. A long, mournful howl breaks the night’s intrepid silence, and my voice catches in my throat as I come to a stand-still. Eyes wide, I hug myself, alertness thrumming through every fiber of my body like fire.I didn’t think of the wolves…I realize.And I’m completely unarmed. I don’t even have keys on me, just my phone.
A second howl joins the first, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Licking my chapped lips, I swallow the sour bile that threatens to rise up my throat. Dancing with danger is one thing, but being torn apart—alive—by hungry wolves?Not my idea of fun.Picking up my pace, I set off into the darkness, following the worn trail through the trees toward home.
There’re still a few miles between me and the family farm, and I know I can’t outrun wolves; nor can I run with them, though all those feminist quotes would have you believe otherwise. My only hope is that they decide I’m not worth the effort.Goddammit.With my generous curves, maybe there’s no hope at all? Truth is, I’d probably make a great meal for half a dozen ravenous wolves. Mom always says fat equals flavor! Ugh. The irony.
Mist rolls in, filling the dell and obscuring everything below my knees. “Shit,” I breathe. There are bound to be obstacles on the old path, and now I’m not going to be able to see them until it’s too late. Howls fill the woods, one, two, three … maybe six or seven? I’m not sure. And then I hear the sound of padded footfalls in the darkness.They’re flanking me, getting ready for the take-down.Heart thundering in my chest, I’m all out of options.
Pumping my arms for all I’m worth, I sprint headlong into the shadows. With my pulse thumping in my ears, all I can hear, now, is the sound of my own labored breathing and the occasional drawn-out howl as the wolves close in.
I’m not ready to die!I cry out in my mind—to God, the universe, my foremothers, or All Hallows’ spirits; I can’t be sure. Everything that has previously existed in my life has narrowed down to one imperative goal: survive. Heart set on home, I push myself until my lungs are burning and a pain flares in my side, stealing the breath from me. I gasp out in pain, my hand finding the confluence of my hip.A fucking stitch! You’ve got to be kidding me. Not. Now!
But in the next second, the stitch is the least of my problems. Something catches my boot, and suddenly I’m airborne. A scream rips from my throat as I fly for what seems like forever. I hit the sodden ground hard and shriek as pain radiates through me from my chest. My ankle feels like it’s at entirely the wrong angle.
“Fuck!” I sob, drawing myself up onto my knees. Reaching out for something, anything, with which to support myself, I find a large crooked stick. Gritting my teeth, I mutter a string of profanities under my breath as I clutch it with both hands, pulling myself up by sheer force of will. A low growl rumbles behind me, and I forget how to breathe.This is it. This is where I make my stand. This is where I die—in the woods on Halloween. Fucking perfect.A ridiculously nervous, bordering on maniacal laugh escapes me as I turn to face the wolf.
“All right, bitch,” I say, raising the stick like a baseball bat. “Let’s do this. If I’m going to die, you’re going to be chewing on my fat ass with one mother fucker of a headache!”
The wolf growls again, baring its fangs in a vicious snarl of warning.
“Come on!” I goad. “What are you waiting for?”
The wolf lowers its head, pawing at the earth as it gets ready to launch.
No. Fuck you!And then, committing my weight to the swing, I lash out first, bringing the stick around in a wide arc. I catch the side of the wolf’s face, and it seems as though the moment plays out in slow motion. I see the wolf’s flesh ripple with the impact of my blow, and its nose scrunch as the force knocks its head to the side—causing it to stumble and yelp.
“Come on! Is that all you’ve got? Where are your friends?” I shout, trying to ignore the searing pain in my ankle. I gingerly put weight on it, struggling to keep my balance. The wolf growls again, and its pack stalks from the darkness. “All right, now this is a party!” I scream at them, gripping the stick tight.If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging!
The wolves’ golden eyes glimmer in the moonlight like jewels.They’re such beautiful beasts. If only they weren’t trying to eat me…A brisk breeze ruffles my hair, and the air behind me chills so suddenly, and unexpectedly, that it feels like some cruel trickster has snuck up on me and tipped a bucket of ice-water down my spine. I freeze in place as the wolves whine. One after the other, they back-step, their glittering eyes focused somewhere behind me. Then the wolves flee as one, turning on their heels, deciding that I’m not worth standing up to whomever—or whatever—lurks at my back, bringing the chill of the grave with it.
Trembling, I will myself to turn and face my unexpected savior.Or is it damnation?Agonizingly slowly I find the courage to pivot around. Eyes on the ground, my gaze travels up a weathered black trench coat which whispers eerily in the mist as if it’s alive, like sentient, breathing shadows. I swallow the bile that creeps up my throat, daring to look higher still.
An imposing figure reveals broad shoulders, and upon those intimidating shoulders sits a pumpkin—a jack-O-lantern to be exact. With the most menacing, soul-sapping, sharp-toothed grin, and angled, hollowed-out eyes that burn not with the innocent flames of tea-light candles, but with the fucking fires of Hell. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound escapes. Not even a squeak. My lips move, but my lungs fail me.
The jack-O-lantern opens its coat with long, green, provocatively clawed fingers to reveal an equally moss-green body; the body of a man, but not. My unblinking gaze trails down solid pecs to find a ridiculously ripped set of abs … and then…Sweet mother of God!This abomination is packing the biggest, thickest cock I’ve ever seen.It must be twelve inches! And it’s green, too!
I can’t do anything but stare, immobile as the monster steps closer, its blazing eyes dancing with a terrifying intelligence. I gasp as a leafy vine creeps out from under his trench coat, trailing over the moist earth. Its delicate tendrils twist around my ankle, wrapping it up like a bandage of green gauze; then they tighten, and a cry bursts out of me at the sharp but fleeting pain that follows. I watch with rapt fascination as the vines uncoil, releasing my leg, only to disappear back beneath the jack-O-lantern’s coat of darkness.
