Love You Like That: Moonstone Falls Pride, #1

By Liberty Parker

Tenley White's life fell apart with one tragic accident. They say that every time a door closes, a window opens somewhere else. The door slamming mercilessly in her face was the loss of her parents, her window—well, that came in the form of a family—specifically, a certain boy who purrs. She may not have acute hearing, smelling, or the strength of her newfound friends. But even as a mere mortal, she knows when she's being watched, and hunted. She can feel the predator closing in on her. There's no distance far enough between her and the lurking danger. Then she gets a warning, one that sends her far away from the boy she's fallen in love with, as well as the security of those she's bonded to. There's no foreseeable safety net where she's going. She'll have to learn to listen to her instincts in order to survive.

 

Tripp Dagon had his life pre-planned for him upon conception. He would be the next generation of enforcers for the Moonstone Falls pride. With no interaction with humans before Tenley, he begins questioning what's so dangerous, so alarmingly wicked, about human beings that the clowder has banned relationships forming between the two factions. As he spends time with her, the harder he plunges into the depths of love. His tiger has claimed her—his family refers to her as kin. The only thing missing is the proclamation from his inner entity that Tenley is his mate. But before he comes of age, she runs off in the pitch darkness of the night, taking his heart and soul with her.

 

When they reconnect by happenstance, fears of abandonment and safety stay in the front of their minds. But as the past catches up with them, they have to decide if they're stronger together or if it's better for all involved that they go their separate ways?

 

Welcome to Moonstone Falls Pride.

 

Note to Readers: This story leaves off with a story ARC that sets up book 2 where this couple's story will pick up. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liberty Parker
• Release date: Feb 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201357733

Liberty Parker

I have been an avid reader for most of my life. When I was younger I use to sit and fill spiral notebooks full of stories for my grandmother. As I got older I took the jobs needed for raising my boys as a single mom until I met my now amazing husband. I have stopped working in the last three years and started promoting authors, then I blogged and reviewed for authors, which lead me down the path to writing and creating characters and stories. I love creating behind the scenes with my writing getting to use my imagination and write the story as it comes to me. My youngest is now a senior in High School leaving me with some spare time on my hands to be filled. I am loving the people I am meeting and the support system I have found. You can find me at my home Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/authorlibertypaker or you can like my Author page at: https://www.facebook.com/authorlibertyparker?ref=profile or join my Lady Outlaws at:https://www.facebook.com/groups/LibertysLadyOutlaws/

Book preview

TENLEY

Afew years ago, my life’s axis altered its pinnacle. Being sixteen, I could stay home unattended when school was out of session for holidays, teacher in-service days, etc. Dutifully, I helped my parents out by doing chores that consisted of keeping the house clean and doing all the running around for them. They both worked in the corporate world, and seeing as only two addresses separated their buildings, they carpooled. For twelve years, they’d done so without incident. Their offices were forty-five minutes from home, so at least they had companionship while sitting in deadlocked traffic during gridlock hours. Then, the worst news a police officer could deliver happened late one evening, my birthday eve. I could remember it like it happened yesterday.

I’m proudly sitting in the kitchen at the table, surrounded by food I cooked and plated. I wait patiently, excited for them to come home so that we could eat together. Already, it was two hours past when they normally strolled through the front door. So, when there was an incessant pounding on the front door, I jumped up from my chair and ran to answer. Looking through the peephole, I became concerned when I saw two police officers standing on the porch.

May I help you? I called out through the wooden plank, not wanting to open the door and face the men standing there. My intuition was pinging, goosebumps pebbled on my skin. I knew these men were fixing to rock my world, and not in a happily ever after way.

Ma’am. Are you related to, or know of, Michael and Janella White? My heart leaped, my trachea closed, and words wouldn’t escape. I was paralyzed, unsure of what my answer would mean for me.

Yeah, I hoarsely croaked. I’m their daughter.

Could you open the door? We need to speak with you. A deep sigh escaped me as my trembling fingers reached up and unlatched the deadbolt, then the knob. My entire being shook as I pulled the door ajar. The man with a handlebar mustache made me think of Wyatt Earp during his Tombstone days.

As soon as I had the door slightly open, the solemn looks on their faces had tears leaking down my cheeks in rivulets. How can I help you, officers? Somehow, I was able to hold back the sob that was trying to choke its way free.

Ma’am, do you have any family we can call to come and be with you while we speak? the older of the two asked. His look was melancholy, which had me trembling with anxiety.

No, sir. Both sets of my grandparents passed before I was born. They were only children. It’s just me, I admitted, attempting to smile at them.

Can we come in? the younger of the two asked, but for some reason, I didn’t think he wanted permission. This was more of a civilized command—a courtesy on his part to make me feel as if I was in control.

Please, do come in. I stepped back and widened the door to where they could enter. Would you like something to drink? I offered. My mother would be mortified if I didn’t use the manners she’d taught me.

No. Thank you, though. May we sit? the older gentleman inquired.

Yes, I answered, leading them over to the sofa. My legs fidgeted as my fingers played with the hem of my T-shirt. Hesitantly, I found the courage to raise my eyes to meet theirs. It’s bad, isn’t it?

I’m afraid so, young lady. Twenty minutes ago, we received an urgent call from a detective who investigates downtown Pointsville. We’re sorry to inform you that your parents were in an automotive mishap that was catastrophic. An eighteen-wheeler’s tire blew on the highway’s overpass, and he lost control. He hit your parents' car head-on. There was nothing to do in order to save them. They passed upon impact.

The word mishap kept playing on a loop in my mind. They’re dead? I knew he had just told me this, but it felt like I was caught in a nightmare. I needed him to reaffirm for me that they were gone.

Yes, Tenley, they are, he answered, his tone sympathetic.

TENLEY

After that, everything else happened in a flash of activity, a momentous blur of warped speed. My belongings were packed in three suitcases that I was allotted to bring, my parents' house was locked up, and a kind lady picked me up and took me to a foster home. Fortunately for me, there was a family who had room to place me. I won’t be spending the night in an intake facility or an orphanage.

Yay, lucky me.

There’s a crackle in the air when we pull up to the modest one-story home. My body wakes up as if I’d walked into a live wire. Sparks travel up and down my sternum, and my body hair stands up on end. The erratic way my breath hitches could mean that depression is setting in, but my mind doesn't have time to wrap around that as the red door opens wide.

First, a muscular man steps out onto the front porch. He reaches out and laces his fingers with a beautiful woman who could rival a runway model. This couple doesn't look old enough to be married, let alone take in orphaned strays. They glance at one another, then send me a look of pity—not an emotion I’m wanting to have sent toward me. I’m not ready.

Tenley, these are dear friends of mine. I promise they’re good people and will be good to you, Mrs. Loretta Shaffer, my appointed social worker, guarantees without any doubt seen or heard from her.

Thank you, Mrs. Shaffer. I manage to come across as sounding appreciative. None of this is her fault—she deserves respect from me for her cordial empathy.

Tenley, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Dagon. I’ve known Mrs. Dagon since we were toddlers. We grew up with one another. They are both genuinely magnificent people. Karma, Santana, I’d like for you to meet your recent addition, Tenley.

Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Sir. I greet them with a halfhearted wave.

Oh, Tenley, sweetheart, we are so terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dagon kindly professes, water pooling in the depth of her eyes. I wonder how many tears she’s shed for other children she’s welcomed into her home.

Thank you, Mrs. Dagon. I’ve been well-mannered in sharing my appreciation with everyone for their polite, sympathetic, and compassionate words.

Please, call me Karma and you can call Mr. Dagon, Santana. We aren’t formal here. Would you like to come in? Put your belongings in your room? My room. I left that behind. I wonder how temporary this placement is going to be. I’ve heard horror stories at school from kids who’ve been in foster care. Kids are exchangeable—one doesn’t meet your uppity standards—you send them away and bring in another. We’re replaceable. I’m now disposable.

I’d like to put my things away, I resign, knowing that I need to make the best of this circumstance. If that’s okay, that is.

Mr. and Mrs. Dagon give each other a perplexed glance, but then the shared look between them vanishes as quickly as it emerges. Have you eaten, Tenley? Santana questions me as we cross the entryway.

No, sir. I had just arranged dinner and was waiting for my parents to get home from work when the knock on the door happened. But if it’s okay, I don’t feel up to eating right now. Or ever, I think silently to myself. Thoughts I know I need to keep to myself unless I want to spend some time with a therapist. Not that I don’t believe I’ll be seeing a grief counselor soon, but the less I’m forced to talk and bare my soul, the better. I’ll be able to bury my grief deep inside and mourn on my own. On my timeline. I’ve never been much of a sharer. My mother was the only person in this world who could pry information out of me.

We understand, Karma regrettably replies. We’ll get you settled and then I’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate. Cocoa always helps when you’re feeling out of sorts. At least it does for me.

Me too, I timidly confess. I’m not hungry, but I’ll never willingly turn down anything related to chocolate. Cocoa is my undoing, something I’ve never been strong-willed enough to say no to.

How about I make you ladies a cup and add a few marshmallows, Santana offers. I’m more of a hindrance to this one when it comes to unpacking, he enlightens, smacking Karma on the back end. A giggle escapes me when I see how high from the ground she jumps. Then, a feeling of shame washes over me, and I place my palm over my mouth to keep the sound inside. I have no right to laugh or be happy about anything on the day my parents lost their lives.

One day, Mrs. Shaffer pipes in, it won’t feel wrong or like a betrayal to laugh, to live. It most likely won’t happen tonight, tomorrow, or anytime in the near future. But one day, it’ll come, dear.

Maybe? I concede, shrugging my shoulders. But it feels wrong to do so tonight.

Let’s get you settled. Karma reaches over and lays her forearm across my shoulders. The contact is comforting and soothing instead of improper and disloyal as I’d expect it to be. And for that, I kick myself for allowing that affection to enter my soul.

The next morning comes all too soon. Last night, I fell asleep while weeping myself to fatigue. Voices coming from the other room have me burrowing further into the comforter. I pull it over my head and hide—an action I’ve done since I was little to console myself. When I’ve gotten in trouble or had a genuinely bad day, this is my go-to coping mechanism.

Happy birthday, Tenley, I whisper to myself as another teardrop falls, sliding down my cheek. You’d think by now I'd be all cried out, but the tears keep coming in masses. At the rate I’ve been sobbing, it’s a mystery how I can even breathe at this point. My ducts are puffy and tender. My lips are chapped and peeling. My nose is stuffy, and my face feels swollen and blotchy.

Today’s gonna suck, no more or less than yesterday or what tomorrow will bring. But today, Mom and I had plans. We had a spa day appointment booked, massages, facials, manicures, and pedicures—the full package offered. Then we were going to hit the mall and update our summer wardrobe. Texas summers are brutal—they start early and end late. From March until October, sometimes December, we’re still in shorts, tanks, and capris. I have a closet full of flip-flops—or I had a closet full. I only grabbed my favorite three pairs to bring with me. My entire wardrobe wouldn’t fit in three mid-sized suitcases.

As a blanket of depression coats me, something in the home's atmosphere changes. There’s a shift in the house's vibe, a spark fluttering through my essence that has me sitting up and tossing my cover to the foot of the bed.

What the hell was that? I’m mystified, never encountering this intense feeling of belonging before, even with my parents. I feel strange, I utter, blowing a stray strand of hair away from my face.

There’s a mysterious, alluring force that has me darting out of bed and dressing. My fingers and palms shake as I yank my top over my head. At the last second, remembering that some deodorant, brushing my teeth, and combing my hair are fundamental tasks, I turn and search for my products. Pulling a hair tie out of my bag, I pull my shoulder-length dark hair back in a coiffure ponytail, apply deodorant to my armpits, and dry brush my teeth. I didn’t think this through. Where am I supposed to spit the foam from my toothpaste out? Spying the window out of my peripheral, I lift the pane and discard the substance, then run my tongue over my teeth. Satisfied that I’m as put together as I’m gonna get, considering my skin is splotchy, I dash out of the bedroom, seeking the distinct attraction that’s calling out to me.

Stumped, I walk lightly on my tiptoes as I glide along the wall in the corridor's passage. Before I even make it to the hearth of the passageway opening into the key area of the home, all speaking ceases. There’s a male voice booming in my eardrums that wasn’t present yesterday when I arrived. This male’s timbre has my body behaving so strangely.

Tenley, sweetheart, come on in the kitchen and meet our son, Karma invites me. Chewing on my bottom lip, fearful of how meeting this boy face-to-face will change my universe, I breathe in a lungful of oxygen and force my feet to move ahead.

Morning. I tentatively wave at the couple before allowing my eyes to change their course. When I see the strawberry blond-headed boy leaning against the bar’s counter, a hitch catches in my throat. He’s not overly tall—his stature sits just below six-foot, but seeing as I’m five feet four inches tall, I can’t help but notice how I’d fit snuggly underneath the pit of his arm.

Good morning, Tenley, Santana greets me. "We have eggs, bacon, and biscuits keeping warm for you in the oven. We’re coffee drinkers here, but if you’re