Bite of the Moon: Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance Boxed Set (17 page)

A BBW Werewolf Ménage Paranormal Shifter Romance

Catherine Vale

Chapter One

Sweat dripped in my eyes, but I knew if I used the half-second that it would take to brush it away, Jack would be on my ass. So I kept up my rhythm, feet moving between punches, hips and legs limber, my fists slamming the big bag as hard as I possibly could. From behind the bag, I heard Jack grunt, but I didn't lose focus. He was almost as big as the bag, and I knew the grunt was one of disapproval, not from the force of my punch. I didn't think
anything
I threw could possibly rattle him, but I still tried. He'd been an amateur boxer since before I was born, a light heavyweight with a face that bore the scars of years in the ring.

And he was a total hard ass.

“Less power, Red. Breathe...and stop staring at the damn bag. You’re not focusing.”

I absolutely hated being called Red; only Jack could get away with calling me that. My name is Risha Reynolds. Being a redhead meant that for most of my life, people went for the easy jab of Risha Red. Yeah, I also got hit with the typical ginger you-don’t-have-a-soul comments, but that shit didn’t bother me. Being called Red however, made my fists clench, and my blood boil. I’m not sure why the knee-jerk reaction to hearing that, but it just bothers the hell out of me.

Like I said, Jack was the only one who could get away with calling me that.

I punched again, landing a hit that sent the bag quivering like it was having a seizure. It felt good.
Really good.
Some of the anxiety that had been swirling around in my chest faded, that itchy feeling at the base of my spine that had been plaguing me since... Since that fucker Harrison left me.

I stayed light on my feet, in an easy bounce, and then imagined it was Harrison, the asshole, in front of me, instead of the bag.
Harrison, the jerk that had left me for a college room mate.
Bounce again, hit again. Harrison was on his knees now. Left, right combination, and Harrison was begging for a second chance.

The bag was suddenly coming at me. I took a startled step backward, dropping my hands. Jack reached around the bag, slapping his hand against the side of my head. It stung, but I was more embarrassed than hurt. Jack scowled at me from behind the bag.

“Whatever you're thinking about, it isn’t this.”

I stared at Jack. “What did you do that for?”

“Because you're wasting my time, and yours. If you want to pay me while you daydream, find someone else. I want to train, not stand here watching you fuck around.”

“Okay. Okay.” I threw my hands up. “Sorry. It's just...”

“I don't care what it is. Here...” He reached for my hand, big fingers working quickly over the laces. “I'm paid to be your personal trainer, not your personal therapist.” The glove hit the floor. I held up my other hand, and he went to work on that one.

“I'm sorry. You're right. I'm a little out of it today.”
A little was an understatement
. “It won't happen again.”

“Damn straight.” He dropped the second glove, reached out and tapped a stubby forefinger against my forehead. “Whatever is up here, Red, leave it out there. You got about a quarter of an hour. Use it if you want, or hit the locker room. But I'm still charging you for it.”

I watched him walk away. He was right; he was
always
right. I'd known Jack for a little over six months, and even though he was a hard-ass, and more often than not treated me like one of the guys, he'd given me the best advice about Harrison, by not saying a damn thing. And usually, like today, that advice had been a slap alongside the head, and a refusal to let me wallow in self-pity. Or at least not wallow on
his
time, even if it was my dime.

The day was a wash, as far as training went. I scooped up the gloves, and my water bottle, and headed to the locker room. From across the ring that dominated the center of the room, I caught Jack's eye, and the slow shake of his head. I could read him from here:
wasting time again.

So I detoured, dropped the gloves and bottle, and climbed onto the treadmill. I'd walk out the last of my session here, maybe redeem myself a little. I punched in a short program, and started walking.

But this was worse than the bag. There was nothing to distract me from myself. I tried watching the guys in the ring, and focusing on their motions. The cute guy with the black hair was sparring with someone new, and for a minute I watched them circle and dance, jab and weave. But even that wasn't enough to hold my attention. It drifted again. Back to Harrison.

You need to get your head on straight, Risha.

Jack was right. To let what happened with Harrison still bother me after all these months was crazy. But he'd been the guy I thought was the love of my life, my soul mate, the man I was going to marry. And I thought he felt the same way about me. That is until he told me he thought we should see other people. And then topped that off by casually mentioning he was dating my old college roommate. I called it quits.

The timer buzzed on the treadmill, and I stepped off. The cute guy was gone from the ring, and Jack had already started training with his next client. Everyone was busy, getting on with their lives. I gathered up my gear and headed to the locker room. Jack was right: I needed to move on already.

* * *

“I think getting away is a good idea, but why the middle of nowhere? Can't you get Harrison out of your system at a spa, or a resort? Some place with indoor plumbing?”

My best friend Maggie was curled on my couch, sipping a Cosmo. She'd just binge-watched an entire season of Sex and the City, and she was channeling her inner Carrie Bradshaw. But it suited her personality. She's a girly-girl through and through, and a complete opposite of me. Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends for so long.

“I like to hike and camp, you know that.” I plopped down in the chair opposite her. “It's only for a couple days. Nothing’s going to happen to me, other than bug bites and maybe a case of poison ivy. I took a sip of my beer.

“I'm just tired of everything that reminds me of Harrison. I’m tired of…” I waved my hand in the vague direction of pretty much everything in sight. We’d shared this apartment, and while I'd gotten rid of most of his personal belongings, the things we'd bought together, like the couch I no longer sat on, were silent reminders of him, of us. Of what was no more.

“I need a vacation. And it’s been ages since I’ve gone camping. I miss being out in the woods. And hey, it’s a two-person tent, if you want to come along.”

Maggie was already shaking her head. “Oh, hell no. Not me. I’m a city girl, and you know it. I’m lost if there’s anything other than concrete beneath my feet. If I go longer than a few days without retail therapy, I go into shock. You know this.”

“And that’s exactly why you need a two bedroom apartment. Just so you have enough room for your shoes.”

“And that’s why I’m a very happy girl.” She laughed. “Retail therapy. Works every time.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your bliss. Mine is outside. Alone with nothing but nature, and myself.”

Maggie’s laugh faded. “Yeah. About that.” Her expression suddenly changed, and I knew where this conversation was headed.

“So, why can’t you think here? Why not just hole up with a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s, and a bunch of movies?”

“Because there’s email and phones, and clients with deadlines…and interruptions.”
And reminders around every corner, and in every drawer, and in every closet.
Basically I lived in a haunted apartment with my ex as the resident ghost.

“But why the need to live amongst the wild? Can’t you just unplug everything, and disconnect from the world for a bit? Even I can do that.”

“Not the same, Maggie. Do you want another Cosmo?” It’s hard to derail Maggie when she gets like this. But she wasn’t taking the bait. I went and got another beer, bracing myself for what was coming next. She waited until I was back in my chair before she started up again.

“Rish, I’ve said this before. You spend too much time alone. You work from home, you order groceries online, have take-out delivered. Who do you actually see, besides me?”

“Jack, at the gym…” I wanted to say the other guys at the gym, but I had to admit, even to myself, I really didn’t even know their names. “Clients.” It sounded lame, even to my ears.

“Clients. Rish, you’ve never even met most of your clients. For all you know, Hannah in Canada might be a middle-aged man in Florida. You don’t know these people, other than as an email address or Skype name.”

“That’s unfair. It’s not like that, and you know it. This isn’t online dating, this is my business. I’m a ghostwriter. It’s not like I have to know my clients personally. They send me an outline, I complete the work, and they pay me. I don’t exactly have to be their friend.” But I did have to admit; I had doubts sometimes about who really was on the other end of the email address. As a ghostwriter, all of my business took place via the Internet, so I would never really know. But quite honestly, I didn’t care. I kept my head down, and did the work.

“My point, Rish, is you’re alone. A lot. And I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you go off and be even more alone than you already are.”

“This is different.”

“How so? Alone is alone, either here or in the middle of nowhere. You’re still alone.”

“I asked if you wanted to come with me, remember?”
I figured that would shut her up.
“Besides, I’m my own best company. I have an active imagination. And hey, there are a whole lot of people living in my head. They’ll keep me company.” I gave her my best smile, but she wasn’t buying it.

“That’s another thing; you write strange stories, about werewolves, vampires, things that go bump in the night. You asked if you could duct tape me to a chair just last week to see if I could escape!” She shook her head, and I laughed. I’d asked her to do that as research, and she’d flat out refused to be my guinea pig. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

“It’s just that I worry about you.”

“Yeah, I know. I worry about me too, sometimes. But this really is different. There’s something special that happens in the deep woods…something, elemental. I always feel as though I belong out there somehow. Like I’m going home.” I shrugged. “Sounds weird to you, but it’s my bliss, being out there. I miss it.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but I could tell that I was getting through to her.  “Well, you were always the hippie chick.” She grinned at me over the edge of her glass. “I suppose running naked through the woods would do you some good. At least you'll get rid of that indoor pallor, get some sun. You never do see the sun, do you? With the vampire hours you keep...”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I'm not a vampire; I work from home. And I don't tan, you know that. Red hair...” I ran my hand through my hair, fanning the strands over my shoulders. “Freckles, all of it...I'm doomed to be pale, regardless of my work schedule.”

All this flaming red hair—which only flamed brighter as I got older, not dimming as my mother had said it would as she tried in vain to console me, while I'd cried over its brash color—red hair is really difficult to manage, which meant that I wasn’t exactly a popular kid. It had taken
years
to finally come to terms that I would always stand out in the crowd, and through it all, somehow I learned to love the hair and freckles that made me different.

Maggie sighed, a sound of resignation. I hoped we’d come to the point, just like we did every time we had a variation, of this conversation, where she just gave up. I didn’t like the confrontation, and this was as confrontational as we ever got.

“So when are you going off to play forest fairy?”

“This weekend, I think. If I can get caught up on work, I can take off Thursday and Friday, and be back Sunday night. I'm only going up to the hot springs at Big River.”

“Oh, see? You'll be skinny dipping, too! I’ve heard all about the sort of things that go on up at those secluded hot springs.” Maggie giggled, finishing her Cosmo. “Too bad you don't have someone to take along...” She winced. “I'm sorry. I mean, some random guy you just met, you know, for a wild weekend fling in your two-person tent. Maybe you'll meet your hippie soul mate up there. Heaven knows you'd have more in common with the guys who hang out up there, than the juice pigs at the gym.”

“No wild weekend flings. I want to meditate, do some yoga, sit in the springs, and just think.”

Maggie leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table, her smile fading. “You just can’t do things like everyone else, can you?” Apparently, she hadn’t quite given up yet. “It's the same thing with the boxing. Why not a membership at a regular gym? Instead you go to the extreme, hanging out with a bunch of guys who like to beat the shit out of one another. And still, no dates.”

I rolled my eyes, probably for the tenth time in the last hour. We'd had this conversation before, too. “I didn't join the club looking for a date, Maggie. I wanted to get in shape...”

“You can get in shape at a better place than a fight club, Risha.”

“It's not a fight club...”

Maggie was already holding up her hands in mock protest, but she was smiling. “I know, I know. Boxing is a great work out, great for cardio, gets you strong...I've heard the sales pitch before.” She laughed as she stood up and grabbed her purse, then leaned over and kissed my cheek.