Tales from Tarker's Hollow Read online

  His long limbs and lean muscles tantalized her, reminding her that shifting wasn’t the only craving she hadn’t indulged in a long time.

  And his eyes, oh, his eyes. They were as dark as the moonlit creek that rippled before them both. They sparkled with something - was it humor or desire?

  He gestured to her with a blink, indicating without a word that he wanted her to come to him.

  She was compelled to come, there was no denying him.

  She bounded over, leaping effortlessly onto the rock where he stood.

  “Tokala,” he whispered, smoothly this time.

  Bonnie smashed her big furry head into his hip in utter adoration.

  She heard his deep laugh. Then she felt his fingers in her fur, tickling, scratching, tugging at her ruff, just as she liked.

  He made a clicking sound with his tongue. When she looked up, he gestured again, this time with his hand, urging her upward.

  He wanted her to shift.

  The wolf was reluctant to give up her form. And for a moment, the woman was reluctant to take hers.

  How could she show herself to this perfect man?

  He raised an eyebrow and her body obeyed instantly, without her mind’s consent.

  The smells and sounds of the woods narrowed, and her vision became crisper as she transformed. He was still taller than Bonnie, but they were closer now.

  Close enough to lose herself in his eyes, which now brimmed with sorrow.

  Close enough for him to bend down, and brush her lips with his.

  His mouth was warm, and he smelled like the forest.

  Bonnie found herself melting into him, her body molding perfectly to his, soft curves yielding to hard muscle.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. This was different from any other kiss Bonnie had experienced. He was focused on her, like she was the only thing in the universe.

  And then the kiss deepened.

  He tasted… pure and clean. Like water from the stream, like fresh mint plucked from the bunch at her own back door in Copper Creek.

  Bonnie’s heart raced. Her hands found his arms, his chest, his strong jaw.

  The slow drumming of his heart sped up. He grasped her tightly to himself, so that his hot length pressed against her belly.

  Her nipples tightened. Her skin was so sensitive, the tips of his fingers seemed to bring it to a boil.

  He tilted her head back and thumbed her jaw open farther still.

  He drew her out of herself, pushing memories to the front of her mind. The Copper Creek library at dawn when she’d left it for the last time, Erik Jensen with a fire behind him, a party in college where she kissed a boy she liked, the smell of her father’s wood shop, the wonder of the first time she’d shifted, the pain of another child calling her a name, a comfortable shelf of well-worn books with familiar titles, a beloved doll, the all-encompassing sound of her mother’s laugh, bent over her crib.

  He was learning her, knowing her, showing her parts of herself that made her who she was.

  Then she saw herself laid out on the very rock where they stood, the mysterious stranger making love to her, her body racked with pleasure beneath him.

  The vision froze, suspended in her mind.

  So it was a question, then.

  He was her mate, she knew it to her bones. There was only one answer.

  She wrapped a leg around his waist, drawing him closer still.

  He laughed with his victory, and swept her up completely in his arms.

  Bonnie dizzied at the sound of his deep laughter rumbling inside her body.

  She barely noticed when he laid her down on the cold rock. He filled her senses. Hot skin, laughing brown eyes, sad smile, the scent of the forest forming a haze around him. The very sound of his harsh breath abraded her nerves, made her frantic.

  Her body craved his touch, every cell begging to be sated.

  Her heart was in despair that he might not claim her. Though that possibility was growing slimmer with every touch.

  He lay on his side, stroking her skin, kissing her mouth. He pulled away to look into her eyes.

  She saw longing in his and wondered if hers looked the same.

  Suddenly he fell on her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples until she cried out and let her nails dig into his arms.

  He trailed wet kisses down her belly and then further still.

  Bonnie froze in anticipation. She had never liked this. It always seemed too intimate and oddly embarrassing.

  Her mate had no such compunctions. He thrust his head between her legs, inhaling deeply, and moaning with appreciation.

  He lapped at her, licking and sucking until her hips lifted up to him unconsciously.

  The sensations were so intensely pleasurable, Bonnie almost couldn’t bear them. Her whole body was a tidal wave, building, building.

  He held her there, just like that, for what felt like an eternity, giving her enough to make her wild, but not enough to solace her.

  At last he pulled away.

  Bonnie opened her eyes. She was pounding with need, ready to beg him to continue.

  His eyes sparkled with joy and desire and he slowly crawled on top of her, his mouth wet with her own juices.

  She reached for him and he kissed her hard, his own clean taste blending with the musk of her desire.

  At last he pulled back.

  He looked into her eyes, and she felt him, rigid against her swollen opening.

  Bonnie gasped in anticipation.

  He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers, his hair falling around them like a dark curtain.

  Bonnie saw stars as he pressed himself slowly inside her.

  He nuzzled her cheek with his, giving her a moment to adjust to him.

  A moment later, Bonnie nudged her hips up to him, ready.

  He began to move slowly.

  “My beloved one, so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. His deep voice carried the notes of an unfamiliar accent, but she understood him perfectly.

  Her heart threatened to burst. Instead, she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.

  He lifted his face to study hers.

  “Don’t cry, love,” he told her, though his own eyes were also wet with tears.

  He leaned forward to taste one of her tears with his tongue.

  Then he brushed her lips with his once, twice.

  By the third kiss, Bonnie was on fire.

  She sank her nails into his back, urging him on.

  He laughed again, but he thrust harder, faster, giving her what she wanted.

  When the pleasure threatened to drive her to madness, he slid one large hand between them to massage her clitoris.

  She could feel the exact moment when her body shattered.

  And then she saw it.

  He gave her a vision of herself, beautiful in her abandon as she succumbed to the most intense orgasm of her life.

  As soon as she came down, he was crying out, his huge body feverish over hers, muscles straining.

  “Love,” she whispered.

  His head fell backward as he exploded inside her, throbbing and pulsing, filling her with himself.

  Behind her eyes, she saw his mother’s smile, held a husk of corn fashioned into a toy, wondered at a star filled sky, saw the forest floor from fox height, felt the pounding of his pulse as a dark haired girl eagerly bared her breasts for his touch, cringed before a black cloud circling threateningly overhead.

  Finally, she saw a beautiful vision in the woods, of a woman with long hair the color of his fox’s coat, lying on a rock cliff, crying out her pleasure, her eyes soft with love.

  5

  Bonnie woke up crying.

  It was real, it had to be. It had felt so right.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed her eyes shut. But no matter what she did, there was no bringing him back.

  He was a dream and nothing more.

  Outside the window, the sun was turning the sky pink ov
er Tarker’s Hollow. She could see it at 7:00 AM, because there was no mountain to provide shelter from the insistent light.

  The snow glittered coldly on the branches of the big tree, but it wasn’t snowing anymore.

  She dragged herself out of bed, showered and dressed. It was early, but she was awake now, she might as well get busy and try to shake the sadness that hung around her like a cloud.

  She wondered when the dream would fade, as dreams always did in the waking world.

  Instinctively, she pulled it back to the front of her mind, where no detail was in no danger of being forgotten.

  My mate.

  Oh, Bonnie.

  But when she tried to make light of her own silliness, she couldn’t do it.

  It had been real. Somehow.

  A half-formed thought came to the surface.

  What had she been chasing through the woods yesterday? Could it have something to do with this?

  She had nothing to lose by finding out.

  Bonnie pulled on her coat and boots and headed out.

  The walk to the amphitheater lifted her spirits in spite of herself. Yesterday’s snow was tamped down and slippery in front of the few homes that had not been shoveled, making a perfect excuse to crunch her boots through the snow drifts next to the sidewalk.

  Christmas lights, half-covered in snow, created a soft pink and green glow that mimicked the early morning sky over the snowy trees.

  Somewhere, a dog barked, a car engine started, and a mail truck idled. The air already swirled with the scents of coffee and freshly baked doughnuts from the shop next to the train station.

  But across the overpass, the woods would be serene. Bonnie was sure of it.

  She passed the construction site on campus where Erik worked.

  Her heart began to beat faster as she walked the wooded path to the amphitheater. She could see her own tracks from last night, the snow hadn’t filled them.

  Which meant that if anything in the shadows last night had been real, those tracks should still be there too.

  Her heart sang as she followed her trail, but she didn’t even allow herself to think the words of what else might be there.

  She reached the stone monuments that marked the entrance to the amphitheater.

  Bonnie studied the scene below. The granite benches wore snow blankets.

  There were tracks.

  But they were all hers.

  Her heart sunk, but she started down the steps for a closer look. No reason not to.

  As she climbed down toward the stage, her wolf pressed against her consciousness again.

  Bonnie disregarded it. The poor thing just wanted to get out. Lord knew, Bonnie wanted that too. But this wasn’t the time.

  She reached the stage and looked around. It was darker down here with the trees behind her and the hillside in front.

  Again, she studied the snow. Her own tracks stood out, clear as day. But there was nothing more.

  The wolf nudged her again, this time more insistently.

  Bonnie inhaled deeply, surveying the trees beyond. There was nothing she could sense that would cause the wolf to behave this way. She could scent a few squirrels, some birds. No rabbits. No wolves.

  No fox.

  No shadow.

  Disappointed, though she’d had no reason to be hopeful in the first place, Bonnie brushed the snow off the bottom bench.

  She figured she would sit for a few minutes, take in the fresh air, and try to regain her footing in the real world.

  But as she brushed the snow away, she noticed something. A notch in the stone.

  It wasn’t a simple chink, it was a notch, hand hewn most likely. Who would do such a thing?

  Fascinated, she threw her bag down and dug the snow off the whole bench with her gloved hands.

  She uncovered no other notches.

  Which was odd, because normally those notches were found near symbols. They were a sign, a clue.

  Cursing herself for a fool, she lay on top of the bench and hung her head down to look underneath.

  It was dark, so she grabbed her phone and used it as a flashlight.

  She nearly rolled off the bench in shock when she found an actual symbol. It was a long line with two shorter lines coming down from it, and another curving up at one end.

  She took a picture with her phone.

  She sat up and looked at the picture on the screen.

  It was a fox.

  A fox.

  She stared at it for a long time in abject wonder.

  Then she exploded off the seat and began checking the undersides of the whole bench. There were more symbols, more animals.

  She laughed out loud, and pushed her hair out of her face with snow-caked gloves. The sound of her laughter echoed off the stone benches.

  Bonnie knew a lot about Native American symbology from her research in Copper Creek. She recognized most of the animals. Maybe they had really called her here.

  Maybe the fox in her dream was real, or the memory of someone who had once been real.

  She looked down at the phone again in awe, scrolling back through the pictures to find that first one. She set it as her home screen.

  Noticing the time, she realized she needed to get to work.

  “I’ll be back,” she whispered to the amphitheater as she climbed to the top. “I don’t know what you need, but somehow I will help you.”

  6

  As soon as she was able, Bonnie took her lunch break. She walked out to the plaza to eat her granola bar in the cold bracing air, hoping to quell her excitement.

  No such luck. As soon as she choked the thing down, she was dashing back inside.

  The Tarker’s Hollow Historical Library was in its own wing on the first floor. Bonnie slipped in through the glass door, hoping that Edward Griffin wasn’t on duty.

  Edward was quiet and handsome and seemed to have taken a shine to Bonnie. But something about him just wasn’t her style. Bonnie wasn’t sure what it was, maybe he struck her as too serious.

  Just her luck, Edward stood at the counter in front of the bust of William Penn. He ran a hand through his dark hair, as his blue eyes drank her in.

  “Hi Bonnie,” he said, in his deep voice. “How are you?”

  She could hear the hope in his tone, which made her feel even worse about not returning his crush.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she replied. “I actually came in to get some historical information today.”

  “What can I help you with?” he asked politely.

  “I’m interested in the early history of Tarker’s Hollow,” she explained.

  “Well, the town was officially founded as part of Springton, in 1850, but it branched off into its own entity, Tarker’s Hollow, in 1893—” Edward began.

  “What about before that?” Bonnie asked.

  “Before 1850?” he asked.

  “Were there Native Americans in this area?”

  “Oh,” his eyes lit up. “Yes, the Lenni Lenape. You’ve heard of them?”

  “Weren’t they in New York?” she asked. She was thinking of Manhattan’s original name, and the European who had given the natives their first taste of rum in 1524, ultimately exchanging rum and trinkets for the land.

  But of course it hadn’t been just the land. In the end, it was everything.

  “Yes, there were Lenape tribes north as far as New York, and south as far as Delaware,” he explained. “They lived all throughout New Jersey and southeastern Pennsylvania.”

  “Were they specifically in Tarker’s Hollow?” Bonnie asked.

  Edward nodded sadly.

  “Can you tell me about them?” she asked, unable to understand the look on his face.

  “Maybe it’s better if you learn about them yourself. Here, I’ll show you where to begin.”

  He led her to a small table in the back and began bringing her texts and articles.

  “You could google it,” he told her softly. “But it seems… better this way.”

&
nbsp; “Thank you, Edward,” she told him sincerely.

  The next hour slipped by her.

  Bonnie read voraciously about the proud Lenni Lenape, a tribe so large they spanned the east coast from the Hudson to the Potomac.

  The stalwart Lenni Lenape, who spent three hundred years under siege from other tribes, and then the arrival of Europeans.

  The honorable Lenni Lenape, whose legions met with William Penn and his small contingent of Quakers at the Delaware River, where under an elm tree a treaty was made, that was never ratified, but never broken.

  The unfortunate Lenni Lenape, a generation later, hustled by Penn’s son into trading their land for a pittance, after which they were sent packing west, into Cherokee territory.

  The Cherokee Nation took the Lenni Lenape’s entire government trust fund in exchange for land and membership, then refused to honor the membership and protect the land the Lenape had just purchased, from the corporations who began to mine them for oil and minerals.

  And so the Lenape removed themselves once more, arriving penniless in Oklahoma, so far from their home.

  She finished by listening to a radio interview with a Lenni Lenape gentleman who had spent his life in Oklahoma, wishing he could return to Pennsylvania, the land of his people, a place he had never seen.

  His feeling of displacement hit home with her, and made her own troubles feel small.

  She was wiping tears on the cuff of her sweater when Edward reappeared.

  “Sorry, it’s almost one,” he said, nodding to the clock and handing her a box of tissues. “I know you need to get back to your section.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to hide her tears.

  “Bonnie, it would be strange if you didn’t feel that way after reading those texts and hearing the interviews,” he said, his eyes filled with interest and sympathy. “Did you read Adams’s pamphlet?”

  “I can’t believe he wrote it in 1909. It could have been written yesterday,” she nodded, biting her lower lip to stop herself from weeping again at the way the man had fought to retain the Lenape’s status.

  “So what got you interested in the Lenni Lenape?” he asked.

  Before she could open her mouth to tell him about the symbols on the granite, her wolf growled a warning in her chest.