Howl

By Mariposa Cruz

Evil often strikes in unlikely places, outside an office in broad daylight or at secluded cabin at dusk. This unflinching pair of shifter tales reveals the beasts in our midst. After surviving a brutal attack, a single mother's days become a battle to maintain control while her nights are a disturbing blur of dreams. A workaholic is plunged into turmoil when her weekend romantic rendezvous becomes a desperate struggle to survive. Will love save them or be their undoing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mariposa Cruz
• Release date: Jun 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393695066

Mariposa Cruz

Mariposa Cruz balances writing with working as a full-time corporate paralegal. She currently writes, works and dances Salsa in Reno, Nevada.

Book preview

Dedication

To Joann who taught me about goblins

Chapter 1

DURING THE USUAL MORNING rush to work, Kate hoped to avoid Mrs. Crawford on the way out. With a size medium shocking pink bathrobe stretched tight around her extra large figure, the old woman shuffled along as she peered among the bushes surrounding the condominiums. As Mrs. Crawford squinted at the neighboring shrubs, Kate hurried Molly out to the van, trying to escape unseen.

Too late. Molly cheerfully called out. Did you lose something? Mrs. Crawford straightened and moved slowly toward them her face fixed in a fretful expression.

Have you seen Garfield? He didn’t come home this morning, Mrs. Crawford said anxiously. Molly shook her dark curls.

I’m sure he will be home soon. Kate said with as much sincerity as she could muster at 6:30 in the morning. She despised the fat orange tom that left paw prints all over the hood of her van. Mrs. Crawford stared intently at Kate, as if her faded blue trifocaled eyes could see right through her.

He always comes home in the morning, Mrs. Crawford replied stubbornly.

Maybe he had a hot date, Kate muttered as she helped Molly into their van.

I wouldn’t know about that, Mrs. Crawford said thin mouth pinched even tighter.

Obviously Mrs. Crawford had her own suspicions about Kate’s life as a single mom. Kate refrained from telling her nosy neighbor she spent her Friday nights with Molly and the latest Disney movie. Instead she promised Mrs. Crawford that they would keep an eye out for Garfield. Kate sighed with relief as she drove out of their complex.

Poor Mrs. Crawford, I hope she finds Garfield soon, Molly said. Then she brightened.

I’ll draw a picture of Garfield for her at school.

I’m sure she’ll like that, Kate’s fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel. This was one of those times a lie was kinder than the truth. She doubted Mrs. Crawford wanted to know that the last Kate saw of Garfield was his severed head staring up at her from her kitchen floor.

THE CHEERFUL RED AND white exterior of Molly’s preschool reminded Kate of another problem. Tuition was due. She’d have to call Rick about his support check and endure his usual excuses. He constantly whined to Kate he did not have her luxury of a salaried position. As an electronics salesman, no, electronic specialist, he had to earn his commission. What if Rick didn’t make his numbers? Could they survive on boxed macaroni and cheese until her next paycheck?

One more kiss, Molly insisted.

Now, I’ll have a good day, Kate assured her. She blew another kiss to Molly who waved enthusiastically from the school window. Her little angel with the dark brown curls deserved better than a deadbeat father and a mother on the verge of losing her mind.

TRAFFIC BAD THIS MORNING? Linda asked casually as Kate hurried by her cubicle. Her co-worker’s head was bent in concentration, one thin arm circled protectively around the files spread out all over her desk, too involved in her latest critical project to glance at Kate.

Yeah it was. Kate replied. Actually the hunt for Molly’s favorite purple sweater slowed her down, but Kate didn’t expect empathy from Linda who wore black and thrived on menthol cigarettes and acid sarcasm. She kept her dark brown hair in a severe bob and maintained an even shorter fuse. Linda cancelled her weekend plans to accommodate last minute work projects then complained bitterly to Kate about not having a life. Linda implied that Kate used motherhood as an excuse to leave work at five o’clock.

Linda's latest crisis spared Kate from the usual Monday morning rant. Except for an occasional muttered curse and flurry of angry typing, her colleague remained quiet. Kate breathed a sigh of relief as she sorted through her own files. Maybe with a quiet morning she could get a handle on her own deadlines. That thought vanished when she saw Doreen Peters striding toward her.

These contracts are unacceptable, Doreen said. Her pert features fixed in a scowl as she thrust the documents at Kate. She glanced over at the contracts which contained the usual boilerplate language, nothing complicated. How did Doreen manage to land an artistic director position? Was strutting around in stiletto heels and snug sweaters was part of the job description?

What’s the problem?

They’re too long! The artists won’t read them, Doreen declared.

They’re simple agreements— Kate began, Doreen held up a slim manicured hand to stop her.

Maybe to you they’re simple. You’re used to all this legalese, she retorted waving her hand as if to sweep away the unnecessary text. Kate tried to explain, but Doreen refused to stop her tirade.

You have to cut them down, reduce the font size-do something!

Won’t smaller print make them more suspicious? Kate asked.

I need solutions here, not more problems.

Kate stared down at the contracts as if one of the provisions could reveal how to silence Doreen. She struggled to remain calm. Her pulse roared in her ears while hot needles of pain coursed through her fingers. Kate rubbed her hands under her desk, desperate to stop the sensation from spreading up her arms and through the rest of her body.

If you’ll have the artists mark their revisions, one of the attorneys will review their changes, Kate said. She silently pleaded for Doreen to leave before something happened. She fought the temptation to tear at her blouse to release the heat radiating from her skin. Kate braced her elbows against the arms of her chair trying to stop the shaking. Doreen’s brown eyes narrowed to dark points. Moving closer with her hands on her slim hips she blocked Kate’s only path to escape.

You don’t understand... She spoke slowly as if talking to a child. "The artists will not read them."

I drafted these contracts. What’s your question? Jack Walker asked. Doreen’s ire melted away. She turned to face the attorney with an ingratiating smile fixed in place.

As I explained to Kate...She shot a pointed look in Kate’s direction. These contracts are too long, they must be pared down or the artists will not sign them. Doreen gazed beseechingly at Jack.

Intent on the contract, Jack missed the doe-eyes and the saucy pout. A deep sigh also failed to divert his attention.

Kate fiddled with a stray paperclip while she watched Doreen in action. Did Doreen use her wiles on all males or just the attractive single ones with high earning potential?

With his collar-length thick brown hair, broad shoulders and blunt hands, Jack didn’t fit Doreen’s urban style. Kate sensed something untamed about Jack that he attempted to keep buttoned down under white starched shirts. His hazel eyes gazed wistfully out the window at the trees, his long legs stretched across the cubicle with his hiking boots up on his desk while he studied contracts.

Everything that’s in there needs to be there. I’m sure once you explain to your artists that the contract is as much for their protection as ours, they’ll understand. Without breaking stride, Jack handed Doreen the contracts and walked her toward the door.

I’ll be happy to review any of their revisions. But remember, Accounting won’t pay a single invoice without an executed contract, he interjected before she could object. Having deftly maneuvered Doreen out of the way, Jack returned to Kate’s cubicle.

I told her the same thing, Kate said.

Jack grinned. Some people need to be told a second time in her case, maybe a third or fourth. I was on my way for coffee, he said.

I’ll join you. Kate reached for her mug ignoring the irritated sigh from Linda. Maybe after a cup of coffee, she could focus on her work and forget about her close call with Doreen.

How was dance class? Jack asked while he poured himself a cup of coffee.

It was great. Molly loves it. She gets so excited on Saturday mornings— Kate abruptly stopped as Jack gazed at her through the steam from his mug. She closed her eyes briefly to dispel the image as last night’s dream replayed with disturbing clarity. A brush of kisses along her thigh as a man went down on her. He lightly licked at the wetness of her cleft, slowly increasing the pressure; his strong hands opened her to him. As she shuddered with pleasure, Kate glanced down. Jack’s hazel eyes gazed hungrily back at her over her nest of blonde curls. He growled then plunged deeper into her.

The cream overflowing from her mug to the counter jolted Kate back to reality.

Did something happen this weekend? You seem on edge, Jack said. Kate wiped up the spill and tried to think of an explanation that did not involve erotic dreams or dead cats.

I haven’t slept well lately, Kate replied evenly, but her stomach clenched. How much longer before her nightly episodes affected her work? She must be slipping if people at the office noticed her exhaustion.

Take some time to take care of Kate, okay? Jack said and Kate nodded. His concern embarrassed her.

I’ll have the voice over agreements ready for you to look at later this morning Kate told him and turned to leave.

Back at her desk Kate pulled out the packaging proof for Sure Shot II, a computer hunting game with realistic shooting action. She tried to concentrate on the copyright language. The packaging was due to go to film that afternoon, another last minute review for Legal.

Why were casual conversations with Jack so unnerving? They worked together on the software company’s daily grind of talent agreements and licensing contracts without spilled coffee or awkward silences. Kate stared intently at the proof. The bewildered stag staring back through the crosshairs on the packaging had no answers for her.

Absently Kate’s fingers traced the jagged scar at her throat that ended between her breasts. Jack saved her life. If he hadn’t come along and scared off her attacker...Kate shook off the shiver creeping down her neck. After a month her memories of that afternoon remained a blur.

"I don’t know how you can stand to review that stuff. Those hunting