A Girl and Her Wolf: A Curse of Blood Serial (Hartford Cove Book 1) Read online

  A GIRL AND HER WOLF

  Copyright © 2021 by L.L. Frost

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by L.L. Frost

  Book design by L.L. Frost

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, 2021

  Contents

  No Place Like Home

  The Fuzz Arrives

  Kind of Hot, But Mean

  Staturely Challenged

  Nowhere Left to Run

  Big, Bad Wolf

  The Great Escape

  Cabinet, Desk, and Chair

  From the Author

  Also by L.L. Frost

  About the Author

  No Place Like Home

  Hands clenched on the steering wheel, I keep one eye on the gas gauge as I count the mile markers, searching for the turnoff from the two-lane highway.

  Ahead of me, the sun shines through my windshield, trying to blind me despite my best effort with the visor. The damn thing just can’t extend far enough to be of any real use.

  I spy a turn ahead and slow, thankful there are no other cars on the road. It’s shockingly desolate for two o’clock in the afternoon. But, from what I remember of my childhood summers up here, there’s not much in the way of tourist attractions in Hartford Cove, and there’s not much farther down the highway to attract visitors.

  Slowing even more, I flip my blinker and turn right onto the gravel road. There’s no welcome sign for the city, and the thick trees that creep up to the edge of the road on both sides block out the sun.

  A quiet whine comes from the passenger seat, and I risk taking my eyes off the road long enough to offer Tris, my wolfdog mutt, a tense smile. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll be at grandma’s house soon. You’re going to love her yard. So much space for you to run in.”

  In answer, he leans over and butts his head against my shoulder before whining again and pawing at his window.

  “Okay, but only a crack,” I warn as I lean past him to roll the passenger side window down just far enough for him to stick his snout out but not his whole head.

  Tris is usually good about restraining his hunter instincts, but with the luck I’ve been having, this will be the moment Tris discovers the call of the wild and leap out of my slow-moving car. After everything else I’ve lost, I don’t have the emotional fortitude left to lose my only friend in the world right now.

  God, I’m pathetic, that Tris is my only friend.

  “But you’re the bestest friend, aren’t you, buddy?” I coo as I reach out and blindly rub his back. “I don’t need anyone else if I have you.”

  In answer, Tris throws back his head and lets out a long howl that rattles the windows.

  I laugh. “Aroo to you, too.”

  He turns to me, mouth open as he pants happily, while off in the distance, other howls take up the call.

  The sound sends a shiver down my spine, and I roll Tris’s window back up as I scan the woods around us. Hartford Cove is a town that embraces the conservation of its wildlife, and a place where it’s not safe to wander out alone in the woods. I don’t know why my grandma chose to live way out here. My parents had raised me in the city, surrounded by anything I could ever want within walking distance of our apartment. My grandma and dad hadn’t gotten along at all, though, so my mom only brought me out to visit during the spring and summer breaks.

  After Mom died, those visits stopped, and I haven’t been out here in almost fifteen years.

  My front tire catches in a pothole, bouncing my car hard, and I return both hands to the steering wheel.

  “You’d think they’d take better care of the only road into town,” I grumble.

  Tris snorts and puts his two front paws on the dashboard to press his face against the windshield.

  “Stop that.” I tug on his collar. “You’re going to get snot all over the glass.”

  His head turns, and he gives me a look I can only take as disgust.

  “Come on, sit properly.” I tug on his collar until he takes his paws off the dashboard and plants them back on the cracked, vinyl seat.

  The gravel road continues to stretch on, and anxiety makes my hands sweaty on the steering wheel.

  I peer out the windshield. “I hope I didn’t take the wrong turn.”

  Tris, sensing my stress, whines once more and presses his shoulder against mine.

  Instantly, I feel better, and I rub his head again. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

  Finally, the trees thin, and a sign announces Welcome to Hartford Cove as the gravel turns to smooth pavement under my tires.

  More of my tension melts away. I seriously fucked things up in my life over the last few years, but this is me taking my life back.

  By running home to my grandma.

  I feel so adult right now.

  I release a heartfelt sigh. I just need a week or so away from the outside world to figure out my next step. The life I just left behind sucked, in no small part because I wasn’t paying attention and let someone I trusted steal everything from me. My home, my bank account, and he tried to take my freedom.

  So, I ran back to the only place I ever felt completely welcome. I just hope my grandma recognizes me after fifteen years away.

  I drive through the middle of downtown Hartford Cove, if it can even be considered a downtown. It’s not like they have shops anywhere else in town. At least, they didn’t the last time I was here. A lot could have changed since then, but it doesn’t look like it. The same mom-and-pop shops line the main street, with the same ice cream parlor and pizza place grandma used to treat me to on the first day I arrived in town each visit.

  My chest tightens. Maybe we can do that today, too, after she gets over her shock at me turning up on her door.

  Dad hadn’t kept her phone number after Mom died, so I had no way to reach out before I got in my car in the wee hours of the morning and rolled it out of the driveway, taking only Tris and a backpack with me.

  I’m a freaking twenty-four-year-old runaway. But if I waited, there’s no way Bryant would have let me go.

  A shiver raises goose bumps on my arms, and I reach out to rub Tris’s head again, using his soft fur to remind me good things still exist in this world.

  At the end of Main Street, I turn right, driving up a hill that overlooks the cove. Water glistens in the afternoon sunlight, and I drink in the sight.

  It looks just as I remember. A crescent strip of pale sand surrounds the water, with pieces of driftwood that were dragged to shore and positioned to offer seats for visitors. Grassy dunes rise from the sand, leading to the large hill that holds my grandmother’s house.

  As a kid, I thought it was a palace. As an adult, it’s still enormous, with three stories in the main part of the building, a large, screened-in porch on one end of the house, and a wrap-around, covered deck that sweeps around the other side. Far too much house for one person.

  From stories my grandma told me, the house had been in her family for as long as the town has existed, and it’s housed all of the living members of her family, up until my mom fell in love with my dad and ran away with him.

  The irony of me now running back here isn’t lost on me as I pull into the large, curved driveway and park my car. I don’t see any other cars, but I remember there being a carriage house around back.

  Shutting off the engine, I turn to Tris. “Ready?”

  He stands, his head brushing the roof of the car, and prances in place.

  “Okay, let’s do this.” I lean over to roll down his window so the car doesn’t get too hot, then twist to grab my backpack from the back. I sling it over my shoulder before throwing the driver’s side door open.

  Tris, seeing freedom, lunges over my lap, his tail smacking me in the face on his way to escape.

  I spit fur from my mouth and bolt after him. “Tris, come back here!”

  Ignoring me, he runs straight to the bushes next to the stairs, lifts a leg, and pees.

  “Oh, my god, can you be any more embarrassing?” I groan as he runs to the other side of the stairs and repeats the process. “This isn’t your territory. Stop marking it!”

  Apparently satisfied with a job well done, he trots back to my side like the good service dog he’s supposed to be.

  I grab his collar in case he gets any more bright ideas and march up the stairs. “You need to go back to doggy training school. Don’t embarrass us in front of Grandma, okay? We need this to work, or we’re sleeping in the car for the foreseeable future.”

  Tris straightens, pointing his ears forward and holding his tail high.

  “Yes, you’re very handsome and not at all embarrassing.” I tweak one of his stiff ears for courage before I lift a hand and knock on the large door.

  The sound echoes inside the h
ouse, and I hold my breath as nervousness sets in. What if she doesn’t recognize me? What if she thinks I’m some con artist trying to steal her fortune? Or what if she’s still mad at my dad and refuses to take me in?

  After five minutes, when no one comes to the door, I knock again, then count the seconds.

  I reach two hundred without a sign that someone heard me.

  Frowning, I look down at Tris. “Do you think she’s out running errands? She has to be, what, eighty? Do eighty-year-olds pop out for errands?”

  His ears quiver as he turns and trots down the porch, then lifts onto his hind legs to peer inside the large, bay window that looks out over the front yard.

  “You’re going to give her a heart attack,” I hiss as I hurry after him. “Come on. Stop peep—”

  My voice cuts off as I stare into the front sitting room. I have so many memories of spending evenings there, listening to my grandma read me stories. I always wanted to light a fire, even though it was always too warm when I came to visit.

  Now, sheets drape the furniture inside and cover the grand mantle over the fireplace.

  Grandma’s not home. And by the looks of it, she hasn’t been for a long time.

  The Fuzz Arrives

  The crunch of tires on the driveway brings me around. I catch hold of Tris’s collar as the black SUV pulls up to the house and parks next to my car, revealing the white paneled door with the word Sheriff written in gold across the front.

  “Oh, no,” I whisper to Tris. “The fuzz has found us.”

  Tris lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, sharing in my admittedly bad attempt to downplay the situation. I haven’t done anything wrong, technically.

  At least, not in Hartford Cove.

  In the last fifteen years.

  That anyone can prove.

  Crap, maybe the fuzz really has found us. Is there a statute of limitations for defacing the town mascot?

  The vehicle’s driver’s side door pops open, and Tris shifts from happy to protective in the blink of an eye. A low rumble rises from Tris as he yanks out of my hold to dart in front of me, his legs stiff and fur bristling as he faces the perceived threat.

  And threat this man is. Every mamma in town must lock their daughters up as soon as they hit puberty, if this is the man guarding their precious flowers.

  Even from the porch, I can tell he’s tall, with that sexy mix of dark, rugged, and groomed that gets heads turning. Add to that skin-tight, dark-wash jeans and a button-up shirt that strains against his muscles, and I have to check for drool on my chin.

  Then, his moss-green eyes lift to meet mine from under the shadowed brim of his hat, and every survival instinct inside me screams to run. A predator stares out of the Sheriff’s eyes, and not that sexy kind they talk about in romance novels. No, this look says I’m a little bunny rabbit, and he’s still deciding if he’s hungry enough to kill me or just play with me for a bit.

  Those eyes hold me in place, my heart pounding with painful fear, as he takes the first step up to the porch.

  Tris releases a sharp bark of warning and hops forward a step.

  The man’s gaze shifts, releasing me, and I stumble back a step, my legs shaking with the irresistible desire to run, to find a small, dark place to hide.

  “Easy there, friend,” the man rumbles, his deep voice filled with authority. “I hear your warning, but you’re trespassing here.”

  He addresses his words to Tris, who cuts off with a confused whine before he backsteps to press his butt against my shins. A fine tremor runs through him, but he holds his place as my guard, and his show of bravery pushes away my fear. This isn’t some dangerous predator we’re facing. This is the man who upholds the law around here and might even be able to tell me what happened to my grandma.

  Shoulders squared, I press my legs against Tris’s shaking body as I face the man in front of us. “Can you please stop freaking my dog out?”

  He lifts a hand to push back the brim of his hat far enough to reveal lifted brows. “Your dog?”

  It’s not the first time someone questioned Tris’s breed, and it usually comes with warnings about domesticating wild animals.

  “Yeah,” I say defensively and narrow my eyes on the man. “My dog. He’s a mix and completely legal.”

  “Is that so?” The sheriff takes another step up toward the porch, his wary gaze returning to Tris. “Either way, you’re both trespassing. This is private property. Some locals noticed you driving up this way. We don’t take kindly to looters around here.”

  My lips thin with annoyance. “Do I look like a thief?”

  His eyes sweep over me, raising goose bumps all over my body. “You look like trouble. We don’t take kindly to that, either.”

  I jerk a thumb toward the locked front door. “This is Mrs. Wendell’s house, right?”

  His eyes turn hard, and despite telling myself there’s nothing to fear, it takes everything in me not to run screaming for the safety of my car.

  His voice matches the chill in his eyes as he demands, “How do you know Mrs. Wendell?”

  All my bravery flees as fear locks my throat, and I don’t realize I’m backing away until my back hits the front door.

  Tris snarls and crouches, ready to spring.

  “Down,” the sheriff commands, and Tris whines before he drops to his belly.

  Shocked, I stare at my fierce protector as panic rushes through me. Tris is my security. He only obeys my commands, but this man didn’t even glance at him again as he brought my loyal wolfhound to heel.

  The thump of a boot striking the boards of the porch pulls my attention back to the very real danger in front of me as my mind whispers about how no one knows I’m here, and this man can make sure I disappear. My heart hammers and my breaths come out in desperate wheezes as the sheriff stalks across the porch, the stomp of his boots like gunshots.

  Then, the man himself stands in front of me, the heat of his body and the scent of fresh pines and musk flooding my senses.

  “Tri—” I gasp, the word clicking in my throat.

  “Your dog is fine,” the sheriff growls, not stopping his forward progress until only a hand’s breadth of space separates us. His arm lifts, and I flinch, turning my head away, but all he does is press his hand to the house as he leans down. “Look at me, girl.”

  The command shakes my limbs, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  But I can’t escape his scent, his heat, or the sound of his low growl filling my ears. “Look at me.”

  I whimper and gasp in a lungful of forest and moonlight. A force greater than me brings my head up, my eyes opening to meet his from only inches away.

  His eyes shimmer, the golden flecks in their depths seeming to glow. “How do you know Mrs. Wendell?”

  “She’s my grandma,” I squeak.

  Rough fingers grip my jaw, pushing my head to the side, and he leans down to press his mouth against my racing pulse. A shiver rolls through me, and I shove back against the door, trying to put distance between us that he refuses to allow as he leans forward, his hard body shoving against mine. The hard curve of his belt buckle digs into my stomach, his knee shoving between mine.

  His mouth opens over my throat, and my pulse jumps toward his lips even as I tense and wait for the pain of teeth. Instead, he breathes in deep, then moves higher up my throat until his hot breath fills my ear.

  When his lips brush the shell of my ear, I gasp again, eyes flying open in shock as warmth stirs in my stomach.

  Oh, God, what’s happening right now?

  I lift a trembling hand to press against his hard chest, but can’t find the will to push him away.

  He leans in closer, if that’s even possible, and drags in another breath before he releases it on a growl. “Bullshit. You’re not a Wendell, so how about you try that again, little trouble?”

  Kind of Hot, But Mean

  Shocked, I try to turn my head, but the sheriff’s hold on my jaw stays firm, his mouth at my ear both tantalizing and threatening.