One Insatiable

“What brings you to Woodland Creek?” He leans back in the chair, and I decide to be completely honest.

“I don’t know, exactly. I was passing through on my way to California, and something seemed to draw me here.”

He nods, rocking in his chair. “We get plenty of that. Mostly hippie nonsense, artists or whatever.”

This makes zero sense to me, but I let it pass. The less questions, the better as far as I’m concerned.

“I need a good trainer for the guys,” he continues. “So far it’s just been me, and well, this town ain’t big, but I can’t train everybody in it.”

“I take it Jim isn’t into the training side of things?”

Andy laughs, “Hell, no. He’s here to help out if anybody gets disorderly. He’s a good handyman, and he’s the punching bag in our self-defense demonstrations.”

“That’s a tough gig,” Jim agrees. “I’m the attacker.”

Andy stands, reaching across the desk. “Good to have you, Koa. Start in the morning.”

“You got it,” I say returning his shake.

Jim is behind me as I leave. I hang a right out of Andy’s office and walk down to the weight room. A two-sided boxing area sits in one corner, and I can’t resist going to it.

Reaching out, I slide my palm down the heavy bag. A speed bag is suspended from a round platform opposite it, and I lift my hands to do a quick circular motion, sending it moving in a continuous rhythm. Just like riding a bike.

“Dude, you know boxing?” My shadow is right at my side. “The gloves that came with this are behind the juice bar. Nobody’s used them yet.”

It’s not a path I want to revisit, but when something’s in your blood…

“Yeah, I know boxing.” My voice is quiet, reflective. “I can teach whoever wants to learn.”

Jim takes off for the front, and I give the small room a final survey before following him out. None of this makes sense to me.

Discovery

Mercy

Dylan didn’t come to the house at all yesterday. I’d wandered around waiting to talk to her, waiting to clear the air, but I learned from a nervous Penny she’d left for Chicago and wouldn’t be back until next week.

“Okay,” I say, turning on my heel and walking the long halls of our parents’ mansion.

When I was a little girl, I used to wish Dylan or Autumn would spend time with me, talk to me, make me feel like a part of this family. Instead, Dylan was too busy proving herself as the alpha of the Quinlan pack, establishing herself as a worthy part of Woodland Creek society.

Autumn was too busy doing everything in her power to get the hell out of here. A fashion designer, she landed a job in the DKNY house, and it was the last we heard of her. I had only Penny and the occasional visiting cousin to ease my loneliness. It was a pretty sucky childhood.

Once I finished high school and graduated from HAU, I decided I didn’t care anymore about the family name or our place in society. I had my own dreams and things I wanted to accomplish, and I intended to do them.

It was around the same time Hayden showed up, and Dylan instituted Thursday night dinners. Speaking of which, I hadn’t heard from Mr. Cross in almost twenty-four hours. It must be some kind of record, and I’m hopeful his little scheme has been derailed by Grant’s drunken slip.

As if I’m interested in getting married — and to Hayden of all people. I couldn’t be less attracted to anyone. The thought of attraction floods my mind with images of last night. Koa’s hands on my ass, his mouth on my clit… Whoa — getting hot in here.

I’m standing in front of a mirror when my eyes land on the faded pink bite mark on my shoulder. I should have bit him back, I think with a little grin. Jesus, Mercy. Shaking my head, I push my dark hair off my shoulders. It’s ridiculous to even think these things. I’ll never see him again.

Aunt Penny’s soft voice cuts through my reverie. “When your mother was alive, your great, great aunt Persephone lived with us.”

Smiling up at her, I shake my head in confusion. I know I had an aunt Persephone, but I don’t know why Penny’s mentioning her. “I never met her.”

“No, she was very old and very sad.” She walks over behind me and combs her fingers lightly through my dark hair. “She passed on before you were born.”

Studying her reflection, I meet her grey eyes in her pale face. Her hair is also grey, but I can see her lynx in her expression. I by contrast am darker brown and black, and while I share our family’s blue eyes, mine shimmer like water.