Round of Applause

By Marilyn Barr

Aurora Turner embarks on a post-graduate adventure to find her forever family only to be captured by the Sluagh, soul-sucking Fae exiles. While she is grateful to be rescued by the Strawberry shifters, her Prince Not-So-Charming is a little hasty when he starts picking out their wedding china.
Destiny gives James Martin a second chance at love. Aurora may prove to be more of a hazard to herself than the Sluagh ever were. He has the daunting task of keeping her away from sharp objects, and from ogling his best friend, Nate.
Nate Wagner is shocked when Aurora passes the prophesized shifter smell test identifying her as his mate. The beta male competes against the mature courtship skills of James with his own modern twist.
However, will his devotion to James keep her out of his arms or will they create their perfect family—one they never dreamed of?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509234387

Marilyn Barr

Biography Marilyn Barr currently resides in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband, son, and rescue cats. When engaging with the real world, she is collecting characters, empty coffee cups, and witchy things. She would love to hear from readers via her website https://www.marilynbarr.com/ where you can get a free book from her! http://www.marilynbarr.com

Book preview

applause.

Chapter 1—Aurora the Drifter

The twenty-two pebbles lined up at my feet represent the twenty-two days I’ve lost since setting off on my big post-graduate adventure. My optimistic attitude vanished after pebble five was placed in the queue, as the reality set in: I’m going to die in a supernatural prison. Fear of my two kidnappers vanished after pebble fifteen was placed in the queue, as I wished they would end it all. Then after I placed pebble number twenty-two, the soul-sucking phantoms brought two more people into their house of horrors.

A tiny red-haired woman and a young teen boy are dropped into the adjoining cell. A waist-high stone wall serves as the anchor for the bars reaching for the ceiling between us. I watched their drama unfold through my long blonde hair because I was pretending to be passed out. Sometimes the demons, who call themselves Sluagh, forget I am in the room if I hang still on my chains. If I make a noise, they flutter through the bars to taunt me.

I’ll come back for you, says the red-headed visitor. I’m still in shock. Of all the poisons to use, she chose to carry one on her skin to kill the villain. He fell for her ruse, but I would have lost it if he licked me. The demon with the butterfly wings who kidnapped and tormented me for weeks was defeated by this delicate woman in a matter of minutes. My heart jumps. I may live through this nightmare. This tiny warrior may have what it takes to get us out. Do I dare hope for a future outside of these dungeon walls?

Who are you? I croak. I strain my parched throat muscles to get the sound out. There is still a second massive phantom outside her window. If she can get me out of these chains, I can help her escape. We can flee this room to the many others on the second floor without glass panels in their windows. If we can find one facing the back or even the side of the building, we have a chance of being free.

Me? I’m Alison, she replies, absently pushing a loop of red hair out of her face. She is focused on the young teen boy the phantom took with him out her window. My plan to engage with her to get myself free is failing miserably. She starts to walk toward the opening but stumbles a little, holding her stomach for a few steps. She gets halfway there before collapsing.

ALISON! ALISON, I scream in terror. She can’t falter now. My hero is not finished rescuing us. I buck and pull at the chains imprisoning me. They look flimsy but are deceptively strong as I have found over the past few weeks. My instincts overrule the logic of futile tugging on them. My brain spins in panic. I need Alison to remove my chains as she removed hers. I need her to defeat the giant monster outside that they call the General. I need her to just get up. I gulp for air as my panic accelerates my heart and raises my blood pressure. The room begins to spin as fast as my thoughts.

"Grrrr." I hear a growl coming from her window and the hairs on my arms stand on end. Oh please, let the noise be someone other than the General. I scrunch against the stones to make myself as small as possible. The Sluagh have told me repeatedly since they kidnapped me how worthless my soul is to them. The smaller Sluagh has been talking about a red-haired witch for days, who I’m guessing is Alison. Maybe the General will focus on her and not even notice me. If she still has the poison on her, then maybe the same trick will work twice. Except now where Alison was lying is a snarling polar bear, the size of a sedan.

I manage to squeak, Alison. The prospect of my hero being eaten by a bear freezes me on the spot. My mind is starting to become unhinged. My emotions can’t handle the roller coaster going from almost rescued to bear food. Strangely, the bear nods to me before turning to roar at the window. As the bear leaps out the opening, I sigh in relief. I need to breathe. Having a heart attack so close to rescue would be a tragedy.

It is eerily silent in the fortress again. The sounds outside are muffled by some sort of magic over the holes where windows used to be. Could I be alone or is Alison still passed out on the floor? Did she magic the polar bear from somewhere? I slink along the floor as far as the chains allow me, breathing in the stench that coats the floor. I peer through the bars dividing our rooms. On the floor is a pile of ash next to a heap of mutilated clothing. The polar bear must be Alison, my badass heroine. I smile for the first time since my abduction. I’m about to be rescued by a polar bear in Kentucky.

Hours pass as I sit on the cold stone floor waiting for her return. If only I could reach the lubricating herbs in her apron pocket, I could attempt her ninja moves to squirm out of my chains. I try folding my fingers into different shapes to fit through the cuffs. I switch my focus to my feet when my fingers become red and swollen. I curse my body for swelling when I obviously need it to be smaller.

My feet yield much better results. I imagine sliding each one into the cutest stiletto, pink glitter of course, and my foot magically contorts to the correct shape. Each day of my imprisonment, I have tried to free myself from these chains and only managed to achieve exhaustion. However, a little herbal lubricant from Alison’s apron of witchy tricks and they will be free. If only I could reach her pile of clothes on the other side of the cell.

I can hear a crescendo of the voices outside, but I can’t discern what they are saying. Periodically, I see strange men wearing tuxedos with bat wings fly past my window. As each bat impersonator passes, I scream for his attention. At the first one, I wave and call out to him in a sweet voice. At the second one, I flap my arms in a crazy gesture but keep a steady voice as I call for rescue. By the third, my panic has reduced my composure to dancing around like a kernel in a popcorn popper while screeching like a banshee. I would be embarrassed by my behavior if I wasn’t frustrated at being ignored. Why should I be surprised? Being ignored by humanity is my normal setting.

My parents called me their miracle baby and growing up as a miracle was pretty lonely. They had me with fertility treatments after being declared too old to birth children. They loved me with all their hearts, but Dad died of heart disease when I was a teen. Mom passed while I was in undergrad. At least I had been living at home to spend as much time with her possible. I have no siblings or close cousins, so the neighborhood kids were a blessing in disguise.

I vowed to find my own family, starting with a husband as soon as I started college. After nearly a decade of studying literature and searching the campus social circuit, I changed my plan of attack. I want the lively family featured on 1990s sitcoms with a Mom, Dad, and lots of kids hanging out together.

Step one was finding the guy to be Dad so I could play Mom. I had hoped to find my perfect mix of intellectual and jokester on my travels to Europe and Asia, but I found the Sluagh instead when my car broke down in rural Kentucky.

I hear a rhythmic scratching at Alison’s window. Great. My thoughts include the Sluagh so now one is climbing up to join me. Or could it be Alison? Somehow, I doubt her claws could hold her polar bear weight while scaling the wall. Could she turn into other animal forms or magically walk up walls? She seems to be able to do everything else. At least I have wonderful taste in heroes.

My fangirl crush bursts like an over-inflated balloon as a large man flips himself over the windowsill and onto the ground below. He grunts loudly on impact with the stone floor. My panic returns as I note how different this visitor is from Alison. Behind him, a fluffy gray cat stands on the ledge with a smug look on its face. The cat belongs in a zoo, but it is not nearly as feral looking as the man.

He locks his sapphire eyes on mine before reaching his hands to his boots. Two blades retract into their toes at his touch. He kicks his formidable legs into the air before scissoring his body at the waist. The backbend sends a ripple up his muscular body until he is standing before me. His giant frame blocks the emerging sunrise from my view, and I become entranced.

He looks dangerous from his boots to his curly black hair. I take in his leather outfit straight from a biker gang, deciding he is bad news—sent by Alison or not. His facial features are severe except for those hauntingly sad eyes.

He seems to cast a spell over me just by standing there. I don’t dare to breathe as he looks around the room, cataloging every detail. Confident we are alone, he takes a predatory step toward me with a smile curling at his upper lip. The floor begins to quake, and I feel like a swooning Victorian lady. Wait, since when do I swoon?

Chapter 2—James the Hero

I only offered to scale the building because I was fortunate enough to ride my motorcycle over here from Bergan. Like the other members of the Strawberry shifter’s pack, I blindly followed who we thought was our destined leader, Grant. Only he was as effective as a balloon in a dogfight—no gunners and full of hot air. Thanks to his shit show, most of the pack ran or flew across town at his command. We arrived in time to see Grant’s wife, Alison, save herself and become our pack leader. I must admit that part had been worth the trip. Seeing the pompous ass bow down to his wife and hand over the pack to her was a fulfilling experience, to say the least.

Alison wasted no time in ordering around the entire town, and anyone who still had the energy, to carry out her orders. The pack’s organization, what Grant couldn’t accomplish in two weeks, she got rolling in two minutes. She gave me the option of scaling the wall or sticking around for more orders from the pint-sized dictator, so up the wall I go! Looking back at the parade of cats following me, I wink to my best friend Nate, who is bringing up the rear before I flip over the window ledge.

Thud! I land much harder than anticipated. I must be getting old. Who am I kidding? Born in 1798, I am the definition of old. As I struggle to reclaim the breath from my lungs, I scan the top half of the room for Sluagh. Those soul-sucking overgrown insects will tear your heart out if given the chance to surprise you. As much as the Fae phantoms hate their technicolor wings, they never walk or even stand on the ground for long. Sighting no Sluagh, I lunge to my feet to come face to face with a set of floor-to-ceiling bars barely obscuring a damsel in distress.

Golden. Precious. Snarls of golden hair form a halo over the most angelic face I have ever seen. Deep brown eyes are round with shock and horror, a testament to the torture she must have endured at the hands of the Sluagh. Dirt smudges over her cheekbones, button nose, and her full lips create a patchwork pattern.

The perfect bow is stretched as round as her eyes. I follow the dirt smudges down her thin frame to her feet that are also caked in dirt. Is her skin the golden color I see peeking out from the dusty splotches?

Suddenly, the ground begins to quake. Really, Alison? You couldn’t wait until we were all outside before tearing the place down. I turn back to the window to yell at the cats on the wall to climb down. Gazing out, I see the large animal team being propelled from the front door by blue light. I remember that blue light from a disaster a long time ago with my old friend, Vinnie Paulino. I need to get the female to safety, but the cats have the best chance of getting out before the trap is fully sprung.

Please forgive me, Emily, but brace yourself, I say to the Human Resources manager of Bergan Pharma who is presently in her Pallas’ cat form. I grab her by the scruff of the neck and toss her out of the window toward Alison. Emily hisses and screeches the entire flight but lands on her feet. She stumbles a little and Alison picks her up before running for safety. They are followed by a creeping black fog I can only assume is black magic released by the clumsy ground floor team. Great job, team!

I turn back to saving Queen Midas to find her frowning at me. I contemplate tossing her out the window too, but she’s chained to the wall. I could probably break the chains if they aren’t enchanted. Enchantment wears off once the spellcaster is dead. Since Alison killed all the Sluagh in residence, it is logical they are ordinary flimsy chains.

The damsel must be as weak as she looks to keep those chains fastened or so mentally damaged she doesn’t realize she’s free. I take a step toward her to test the chains and her frown turns into a scowl.

Sorry to disappoint you, Darlin’, if you were expecting Prince Charmin’. I’m James, computer programmer, auto designer, granary foreman, farmer, soldier, and British shifter, I say in my adopted Kentucky drawl.

I was expecting Alison. Somehow, I would find even Prince Charmin’ disappointing compared to her, she replies.

We stand and frown at each other. The room stills and a blue light begins to glow beneath the floorboards. The time to get out before the trap is fully sprung has passed. We are captives here until I find a way out. I wave my hand at her. This is the introduction, you know, the part where you tell me your name and I fill you in on the plan to rescue you. Is English not your first language? I tap my boot and cross my arms over my chest.

Her mouth opens and shuts with a click as she decides what to say. My name is Aurora Turner. I’m a natural American citizen with a Ph.D. in English Literature. So yes, I can handle small talk. I am waiting for you to break the chains, morph into a bear, and carry me out of here. Isn’t that the plan or do you have a message from Alison, she hisses.

Alison didn’t send a message before she ran off to safety, I sneer back and instantly wish had I kept my mouth shut. Aurora’s eyes turn glassy and her shoulders droop. Oh no, Alison is probably the first being on her side she has seen in weeks, possibly months.

Look, Alison, every cat in the pack, and I are all here to rescue you. Unfortunately, the team on the ground floor triggered a Sluagh trap. We are stuck here until I can get us out. The good news is we have a few weeks of privacy before the next wave of Sluagh arrives.

You mean when the army arrives, she says. The Fae want to dismantle the low-security prison in their realm and expand the role this place plays. The General told me he is to be warden of the jail. He plans to use his power to align them in a war against you. Can you at least pass Alison’s apron over? I can’t reach it, but I saw her escape her chains using the weed in the pocket.

You don’t have to worry about the General anymore. Alison ate most of him, I say to shock her. Mission accomplished. I hand her the tattered remains of Alison’s clothes through the bars. The chains are long enough she can move in a ten-foot radius from the wall.

She pulls a leaf off the plant and rubs it onto her ankle. Twisting, bending, and pulling, she frees her foot. I can only stare in astonishment. Does she realize she’s going to break her fragile little bones when she could pull apart the chains? She repeats the motions on her left foot and beams at her wiggling toes.

It works! I’m going to be free, she exclaims. She applies leaves to her wrists and contorts her hands into odd angles. When her joints begin to crack and grind, I can’t watch anymore.

Instead, I take inventory of the room. There are stones, boards, and debris of various shapes and sizes. However, I am puzzled by the lack of glass. If all the windows were broken to make Sluagh entry points, why aren’t there glass shards everywhere?

I turn back to ask about the glass. Oh, for God’s sake. Grunting now, she’s still struggling to get her hands free of the cuffs. I walk over to where she’s sitting in a pile of dust and pull a portion of the chain through the bars. I wrap my fists around the thin links and pull with all my strength. Nothing. I wrap the links around my foot to use my weight to hold one end of it and pull the other end with both hands. Nothing. I inspect each of the links for loose seams. There are no seams at all. They must still be enchanted by someone other than the Sluagh who resided here.

Clang! Clang! Seeing me fail causes Aurora to fly into a panic. She’s flailing around now banging her hands on the bars, the walls, the floors. There is a wiggling bar. I twist it free and pull her through them. I fold her arms around her body and lock her in my embrace. Every ounce of strength I possess is needed to hold her still. Until her heart rate calms, I hold her close whispering nonsense into her hair. The room goes silent except for our labored breathing.

Chest billowing, she puffs at me, Why did you stop me?

You were panicking. You could have broken something, I whisper in her hair using my most soothing voice.

That was the point. I wasn’t panicked at all. I was struggling to break my own hands so they could slip out of the cuffs.

I’m not going to let that happen.

Why? They’re my hands.

You are crazed right now. I think you would regret that decision.

Why do you care? Once I’m out of this hellhole, I’m leaving the country. You wouldn’t have to hear me complain.

I couldn’t watch a woman harm herself. It’s who I am.

Well, cover your eyes so I can continue, Sir Galahad.

She may say she wants me to move, but she still hasn’t pushed out of my arms. Hidden beneath the stench of the Sluagh fortress, I smell her spicy scent of cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom. The scent reminds me of warm cookies. Baking in a kitchen. In a home.

I inhale again, unable to help myself. It has been such a long time since I thought of having a home. I feel a pang of guilt as I remember my deceased wife and the home we had together. My dearest Margaret died in childbirth in 1826. She would have wanted me to move on, but I haven’t had the urge to…until today.

I’m going to inspect the rings holding the chains to the wall. I have a friend who could help get the enchantment off the chains if we can get to her. We could leave this place with the chains as mementos. If I step away, will you stay calm? I ask quietly. She looks up to me with deep brown eyes. The look of hope in them renews my purpose. I step toward the walls, letting her go. Instantly, my body cools and a familiar emptiness returns.

Clang! Clang! Clang! She goes back to slamming her hands on the stone walls. I run my fingers through my hair at each nerve-wracking sound. She can’t possibly have the strength to continue the banging for long. I will let her tire herself out like a toddler in a tantrum.

On closer inspection, the chains disappear into the wall. I rattle them around to loosen the mortar holding them in place. I watch in horror as more mortar grows into its place leaving small rocks on the ground. I school my face into a blank stare before turning back to my manic co-captive.

She is lying in a pile slowly banging her hands on the ground. Tears slide down her nose and fall on her hair where it lies in heaps on the dirty floor. She looks like a broken doll. For the first time in my life, I wish I could trade places with Rafaella, or Gran as everyone calls her now.

I wish I had some of Rafaella’s magic to give to this shattered female to break the enchantment on her bonds. My thoughts are foggy because I’m worn out. From her body language, Aurora is spent too.

There’s not much we can do while exhausted. If you wish to sleep this afternoon, I’m here to watch over you. The Sluagh cannot portal here for another few weeks and any monsters hiding in the shadows would be dormant due to the midday sun. I’m going to be right next to you planning our escape. As I speak, I advance toward her and lower my body to her side. I remove my jacket and kick off my boots. Trying to win her over with manners, I fold my jacket over my arm for her to use as a pillow. She lays her head on it and I swear she is as light as a feather.

She curls into a tiny ball. Her breathing becomes rhythmic and I wish I could drift to sleep too. For the first time in more than one hundred years, I’m too aroused to sleep. If only I had kept my jacket on as armor against her silken hair, caressing my arm with each exhale.

She’s going to drive me crazy—even when she’s sound asleep. I tentatively reach my hand toward her. I itch to run my fingers through her hair while she’s sleeping so soundly. I gently stick my fingers between the strands and a wave of ecstasy crashes over me.

Chapter 3—Nate the Life-Of-The-Party Guy

Man, do I miss James, I grouse to myself. We live, work, ride motorcycles, and wreak havoc together. We are seldom apart, and it’s been three days since I’ve seen him. I’m unsure I will survive this pack meeting without his banter. Grant offered to fill-in for my best friend, but tonight’s meeting will steal his attention at first sight.

If I had James as my wingman, then Grant’s new status as First Lady to Alison would be the perfect target for some fun. No one can wind up Grouchy Grant quite like James. It’s all in good fun. Keeping Grant focused on us, instead of who is flirting with his wife, is beneficial to the pack as well. Rumor has it the vampires are invited to this meeting and Grant has already come to blows with Ryan, the vampire king.

The first thing I notice as we walk the gauntlet of Paulino’s pizzeria is the smell of food. Frankie had family dinner after each pack meeting and it smells like Alison is bringing back a fan-favorite tradition. Smart move, your majesty. Despite ripping two Sluagh limb from limb with her teeth, this meeting will cement her place as pack leader for the old-fart members. She has Gran’s endorsement, the gold standard, as the only other witch in town. The older pack members worship Gran, especially since she was the mate to the first pack leader and was the mother of our second.

I have zero sway in pack dynamics, but I like Alison’s leadership style. She keeps the old, tries the new, listens to everyone, and keeps it short. Add the fact she likes to follow meetings with food, and I am on Team Alison. The older pack members, like Brad and his mate Molina, will be harder to please.

Alison is not their first choice since she’s a woman, a witch, a newly turned shifter, a new resident to Strawberry, and an outsider. Brad prides himself on controlling the pack by selecting who gets recruited by Bergan Pharma and who gets turned into a shifter. Brad picked Grant and then Grant accidentally turned Alison, altering the entire future of the pack.

Grant and I turn the corner directly into the path of the buffet table. I’m about to sneak a garlic roll into my pocket when Grant’s stomach grumbles. Really, dude? He has blown my cover as members in a ten-foot radius turn to stare at us. Watch out, Papa Bear spies food! I call out in revenge. The whole room laughs at his expense and while he takes a mock bow, I sneak the roll into my hoodie pocket.

Can we sit by the food or do you have to sit in the front? Grant? Grant? I call after him to no avail. It’s like he has been possessed by brain-draining aliens. He’s wandering toward the front of the room pulled by a personal gravitational field. I wish I could be macho and say I’m ashamed of his behavior. But honestly, I’m jealous of the guy.

I’m not in love with Alison, she’s a little too strange for me, but the fact they only have eyes for each other exemplifies the relationship I want. Grant says they are working out their problems but that hasn’t been my observation since I have known them. They have the kind of enduring love I have been looking for since moving to Strawberry.

We will go over our business first, followed by a family meal like Frankie’s meetings, Alison’s voice calls from the front of the room. She has a ring of chairs set up around her workspace facing outward to keep people from crowding too closely and making her sensory issues flare. Another example of how Alison seems to plan ahead to make everything go smoothly.

I’m about to grab a second roll for my mid-meeting snack when a growl resonates from Grant. How has he managed to blow my cover again and from across the room? The only saving grace is everyone is focused on Alison, even Rosie Paulino. Rosie would swat at me for commandeering a second roll and frisk me to reclaim the first one. Rosie has a powerful position as Gran’s daughter-in-law, Frankie’s widow, owner of Paulino’s pizzeria, and Alison’s best friend.

Alison flashes a loving smile Grant’s way to signal she’s holding it together. All the women in the room sigh and I’m slightly nauseated by all their sugary sweetness. Perhaps I should wait to have more rolls.

Hey, Alison, why do we have the mood lighting? I can turn on the overhead lights. I’m right by the switch, I say loudly in her direction. She blushes and seems tongue-tied for a moment. I may be a practical joker with a one-line quip for every occasion, but I’m being helpful.

Suddenly, I hear a chorus of growls behind me. It is my bad fortune to make this remark as the six