Collected (7 page)

“Don’t be like that. Look, it’s not my fault
you decided to hole yourself up in your house. It’s your choice to
change your life, Natalya. It’s also your choice to open up and
make things different.”

When I didn’t reply, he reached for me again,
but I flinched.

“Alex would kick my ass for saying this, but
you’ll look out for him, won’t you?” Miles asked.

“I’m his big sister. That’s my job.”

“Of course.”

“But I won’t be his wingman to get chicks. I
have to draw a line somewhere.”

Miles chortled. “I had a feeling you’d say
that.”

I scooted into my skirt as quickly as I
could. The parking lot was deserted, but flashing his neighbors
didn’t seem like the best idea. Miles looked away. He even moved to
block the immediate view from the apartments.

When I finished, I murmured, “You should go
inside and get some rest.”

“Take care of yourself, Natalya.”

Miles disappeared into the apartment. No
goodbyes. No see-you-laters. Even though Thorn had left me behind,
I’d gotten far better treatment from him. From the corner of my
eye, I spied Alex starting the truck to take us home.

He’d likely heard everything. The windows
were down, and the radio was only so loud.

The truth was out in the open now for
everyone to know.

* * *

The ride back to my house was a silent one.
The truck rocked me in the back, lulling me toward sleep. But I
just couldn’t do it. I had to get clean or I’d lose it.

I was itching to get inside, but Alex spoke
up. “He never told me he liked you like that.”

“I never knew either,” I blurted. “But it
doesn’t matter. I’m not good enough for anyone right now.”

“After everything you’ve been through, are
you sure about that?” Alex harrumphed. “For a second there, I saw
the sister who pushed me around a few years ago.”

I sighed. That girl faded away five years
ago. “Thanks. I think.”

I jumped out of the back of the truck. I
didn’t want to think about the past right now. The present was far
too stressful.

“Alex?”

He looked at me through his window.

“Thanks for taking one for the team. I
appreciate having you around.”

“I’m your little brother,” he said with a
grin. “That’s my job.”

The walk into my house was a blur. I didn’t
remember unlocking the front door. Or brushing past the walls
hidden behind rows of white boxes. The only thing I remembered was
how good the shower felt. How good it felt to be in clean clothes.
I might’ve lived as a dedicated collector of holiday trinkets, but
I refused to be a dirty one.

By the time I was done, it was practically
two in the morning. I walked down the narrow hall in my living room
toward my kitchen. I was slowly healing from my injuries, but I
still planned to march my way back to the
zmee’s
house with
the decoy film. Burned side be damned, all of this madness with the
vodyanoy
wouldn’t be for nothing.

I headed for the door to the garage, but I
heard something strange toward the front of my house, a whisper of
movement on my porch. But when I rushed to open the front door, I
didn’t see anyone. Just my prize on the floor: the Millstadt
figurine. Right next to it was two boxes. One was open and had an
empty camera case inside.

The earthy scent of the nymph lingered around
my porch. I ventured out and looked around, but didn’t see her. She
probably hid in the shadows and waited for the camera.

With a happy skip in my stride, I retrieved
the camera, added the regular memory card, and put it into the
case. For a second, I felt bad about my deception, but what choice
did I have? I made a quick note for the dragon:
Talk to the
vodyanoy
about your camera
.

My fingers tingled at the thought of holding
my prize. I left the camera in the box but then stopped before
picking it up. The least I could do was be polite to the nymph. I
had threatened to burn the poor thing’s tree down. I grabbed some
pumpkin scones I had baked before my last work shift, put them on a
plate, and placed them next to the box.

And now, I could enjoy my victory! I plopped
down on my couch and opened the box. Inside laid the papier-mâché
doll and the nutcracker. They smelled like holiday spices. Both of
them were carefully wrapped in packing paper and looked just as
lovingly cared for.

I sighed and held the nutcracker close. I had
to believe he’d been worth it. His sweet scent of nutmeg and
cinnamon tugged at my senses. I’d take good care of him. He’d wait
here every day for me like all the other things I had collected in
these containers.

Even if Miles left, and with it, his
interest, I’d still have these boxes.

From the far wall in the living room, I
grabbed one of the lighter boxes. Delight stirred in my belly. A
new addition to the collection. How many did I have now? Over a few
hundred? Thinking about how much I hoarded things crushed my
thrill, so I pushed the errant thought aside.

I placed the nutcracker inside the box and
paused. I’d placed him right next to another papier-mâché boy. A
Russian one I’d received a few years ago at one of the most
difficult times in my life. I’d lost the pack a few days before I’d
received this gift from Grandma Lasovskaya.

I touched his worn face, and a sliver of pain
touched my heart. He’d been a catalyst. The first piece in my
collection. I quickly closed the box and put it away.

But I could still hear my
babushka
.
Her soft voice was still crystal clear:
“My child,”
she’d
said,
“hold onto him. He represents love. My beloved Pyotr fixed
him for me after your Aunt Olga tried to break him in
half.”

I didn’t need two dolls. I could put my
newest trinket in a different box, and he’d be another notch in my
belt. Someone special had given me that first piece of my
collection. Why not give it back to her? After everything I’d been
through, I probably deserved this. For once, my compulsion to keep
it faltered. My new prize wouldn’t take away my shame. Miles and
Alex could have been killed. Giving something away—just this one
thing, mind you—felt good. Especially since I could give it to my
grandma, one of the few people who had never left me behind. I
could’ve gone to bed, but my decision had been made the moment I
picked up one of the dolls.

I’d never tell him to his face, but Miles did
have a valid point:
“It’s your choice to open up and make things
different.”

I had another mission to complete
tonight.

* * *

The doorstep to my parents’ house was like
any of the other Colonials on the quiet street. But somehow, in the
middle of the night, it appeared larger. More foreboding.

My hand rose to knock on the door, but I
didn’t do it. I wasn’t welcome here like I used to be. Maybe
tonight would be different? Maybe my flaws had been forgotten and
they’d talk to me like they used to. Grandma Lasovskaya and Alex
always had kind words for me, but my mom and dad didn’t feel the
same.

Everyone was most likely asleep. Except for
my father. He was more powerful than most werewolves. Any noise
outside of his house would stir him from sleep.

It was best to just leave my gift with a note
inside. I placed it on the doorstep and lightly knocked. Barely a
tap. Then I slowly walked down the sidewalk toward my car. I almost
missed the faint sound of the door opening and closing. But I
refused to turn around. The possibility that the box had been left
behind was too painful to think about.

I almost opened the door to my car, but my
curiosity was too strong. I glanced over my shoulder and took in
the house. The scene made me pause.

The box was gone, and the window on the
second floor was open. Through it, I saw my
babushka
in her
nightgown, holding the Russian papier-mâché boy. Her wrinkled face
appeared sad, but I noticed happiness in her light brown eyes. A
large hand rested on her shoulder. My father. He must’ve fetched it
for her.

She blew me a kiss, and I gave her a small
wave.

Not only had I gotten my prize, she’d gotten
hers back, too.

* * * * *

Did you enjoy
Collected?

Want to find out what happens next to Natalya
when Thorn returns? Take the next step and read
Coveted
.

Available now from Ballantine Books!

ISBN: 978-0345-52918-3

eBook ISBN: 978-0-345-53229-9

SOMETIMES WHAT YOU COVET IS IMPOSSIBLE TO
KEEP.

For werewolf Natalya Stravinsky, the
supernatural is nothing extraordinary. What
does
seem
strange is that she’s stuck in her hometown of South Toms River,
New Jersey, the outcast of her pack, selling antiques to finicky
magical creatures. Restless and recovering from her split with
gorgeous ex-boyfriend, Thorn, Nat finds comfort in an unusual
place: her obsessively collected stash of holiday trinkets. But
complications pile up faster than her ornaments when Thorn returns
home—and the two discover that the spark between them remains
intense.

Before Nat can sort out their relationship,
she must face a more immediate and dangerous problem. Her pack is
under attack from the savage Long Island werewolves—and Nat is
their first target in a turf war. Toss in a handsome wizard vying
for her affection, a therapy group for the anxious and enchanted,
and the South Toms River pack leader ready to throw her to the
wolves, and it’s enough to give anybody a panic attack. With the
stakes as high as the full moon, Nat must summon all of her
strength to save her pack and, ultimately, herself.

* * * * *

About the Author

Shawntelle Madison is a Web developer who
loves to weave words as well as code. She’d be reluctant to admit
it, but if pressed, she’d say that she covets and collects source
code. After losing her first summer job detassling corn, Madison
performed various jobs, from fast-food clerk to grunt programmer to
university webmaster. Writing eccentric characters is her favorite
job of all. On any given day when she’s not surgically attached to
her computer, she can be found watching cheesy horror movies or the
latest action-packed anime. Shawntelle Madison lives in Missouri
with her husband and children.

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Visit her website and click on contact in her menu:
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* * * * *

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