THE KEEPING

The Keeping Nicky Charles Published: 2010 Categorie(s): Fiction, Erotica, Romance, Adult, Suspense Tag(s): romance werewolf suspense paranormal sequel Canada 1 THE KEEPING By Nicky Charles FEEDBOOKS EDITION * * * * * PUBLISHED BY: Nicky Charles on Feedbooks The Keeping Copyright © 2010 by Nicky Charles Other works by this author: Forever In Time The Mating Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The charac- ters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. 2 Adult Reading Material ***** Many thanks to Jan Gordon who acted as my editor and tirelessly read, reread, advised, poked, and prodded until this project was com- plete. Also, thank you to Ermintrude for her invaluable advice on loca- tions and journalism. Finally, thanks to all of the ‘Gutter Girls' and my readers at FictionPress who have offered their feedback, encouragement and allowed me to practise my writing skills on them. This book is a sequel to The Mating, my first werewolf story. Many people became enamoured with the characters in that book and kept ask- ing what happened to them. Ryne especially seemed to capture readers’ imaginations and so, in response to those many requests, this tale was written. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. ***** 3 Prologue Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A. The room was silent, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock that stood majestically near the doorway and the faint sounds of the old man’s breathing. To look at him, one might wonder if he was alive or only a wax figure; his eyes were unblinking and the rise and fall of his chest were barely perceptible. His gnarled hands rested lightly on the arms of the chair in which he sat, their occasional tightening the only real sign of the emotion he was feeling. Pale winter sunlight, so typical of early January, was valiantly trying to brighten the large, cluttered room. Its weak rays crept past the heavy velvet curtains and cast a beam across the floor, creating a bright swatch in the otherwise gloomy interior. Small specks of dust drifted lazily on the faint air currents before settling on the laden surfaces of the tables and shelves. Sculptures, figurines, and books, covered every flat inch of the room. Similarly, artwork filled the dark panelled walls, yet the gentleman in the chair still deemed his collection to be paltry and inadequate. Or, at least he’d felt that way until now. Years of searching and gathering everything related to his favourite theme had finally paid off. The faintest movement near the corners of his mouth would let an as- tute observer know he was pleased. Over the fireplace mantel hung his latest acquisition. Studying it with care, his gaze traced over the subject matter, analyzing and assessing. A quiet grunt and a slight movement of his head was the only acknowledgement he gave that here was what he had spent his whole life looking for. “That will be all, Franklin.” His voice was deep and strong despite his years, instantly commanding respect and obedience. A man, dressed in the formal garb of a butler, stepped out of the shad- ows that clung to the edges of the room and bowed at the waist. “Yes, Mr. Greyson. If you need anything else, just ring.” Silently, the servant picked up the step ladder he had used to hang the picture and left the room, quietly shutting the heavy mahogany door behind him. As Franklin’s footsteps faded into the distance, the older man stood and advanced towards the fireplace. His steps were sure, his stride long—no decrepit shuffling for him, despite his years and the aching of 4 his joints. Clasping his hands behind his ramrod straight back, he stood in front of the framed photo. Excitement was bubbling inside him, though his calm countenance gave no sign. This was what he’d been searching for. Everything else in the room was now worthless; his priceless statues, the expensive glossy books, paintings by renowned artists; they all paled in comparison to this one piece. “Proof.” He whispered to himself, his eyes alight with a fire that had been missing for years. “After all this time, I finally have proof.” Reach- ing out his hand, he traced the name scrawled in the corner of the picture matte. “Whoever you are, Ryne Taylor, you’ve made me a very happy man.” After those few words, he fell silent again, contemplating the subject matter of the picture. He’d acquired it two months ago and had spent the intervening time examining it, studying angles, looking for shadows, measuring length and distance, pouring over minute details with a mag- nifying glass. There was no refuting what he’d found. Now the amber eyes in the photo glared at him, challenging and arrogant, almost as if they knew his plan and were daring him to try and execute it. Eventually the man looked away, staring at the thick carpeting be- neath his feet. A dry chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I can’t hold your gaze. You’re not even here, and still you manage to be dominant.” Shaking his head, he made his way back to his chair and sat down heav- ily. Picking up the phone, he dialled a familiar number, and then waited impatiently for someone to answer, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. When the call was finally answered, he wasted no time on pleasantries. “Greyson here. I need to talk to you, Aldrich … What about?” He gave a short bark of laughter while looking up at the picture again. “A wolf, of course.” ***** Stump River, Ontario, Canada — 700 miles Northeast of Chicago Ryne wiped his hands on a greasy rag and pulled down on the hood of the aging pick-up truck. He sauntered to the far side of the garage and pitched the filthy rag in the garbage. “Filter’s changed, Ben. Anything else?” 5 Ben Miller looked up from the service desk, where he was totalling the work orders. “Nope. That’s it for the day. Thanks for coming in to help.” “No problem. I can use the extra cash. That money pit I bought wants new plumbing.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck as he contemplated the man before him. Not for the first time, did he wonder why a young fellow like Ryne Taylor would choose to live in a god-forsaken place like Stump River. Not that Ben didn’t like his hometown, but he was aware of its limita- tions. No night life except for the local bar and Wednesday night bingo at the church. A two-hour drive to the next largest community. Young people left Stump River, they didn’t move here. Mind you, George and Mary Nelson were mighty happy that Taylor was bucking the trend. He had bought their crumbling house and the large parcel of land it sat on. There hadn’t even been any quibbling over the cost; he’d paid the asking price without batting an eye. The sale had provided the town with nice bit of gossip to help pass the winter, as well as allowing the elderly Nelsons to retire to Timmins, a larger urban centre, in relative luxury. Ben looked around his small business and smirked. Maybe Taylor would buy his place, too, should he ever decide to retire. Watching Ryne get cleaned up at the nearby sink, Ben couldn’t help but feel a touch of envy. All the local ladies positively drooled when Ryne was in town. Even his own wife wasn’t immune. Ben had unwill- ingly eavesdropped on her conversation with a friend just last night and had almost felt a tad inadequate after listening to them go on about his black hair, blue eyes and ‘devilishly sexy smile’—their words, not his, of course. When they’d started to enumerate his physical attributes—broad shoulders, long legs, lean hips, and a muscular body—he’d turned the TV on real loud to drown them out. Ben shook his head. All he saw, when he looked at Ryne, was a hard- working, confident man who knew his way around an engine. That was enough in his books. Ryne helped him out at the garage a few days each week and Ben was grateful for the assistance. “Got any plans for the weekend?” Ryne had dried off and walked over to where Ben was working. He leaned against the counter and chugged down a bottle of water. “The wife and daughter want me to take them into Timmins shop- ping. We might go to a show while we’re there, too.” 6 “Sounds like fun.” Ryne wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and threw the bottle into the recycling bin. “I’m going to be working on the house as usual.” “It was a big project you undertook, when you bought the place.” “I know, but I like the area, and it came with a lot of land. My friends and I like our privacy.” “To each their own.” Ben shrugged and handed Ryne a check. “Here’s your pay. Don’t spend it all in one place.” Ryne laughed while stuffing the cheque in his pocket. “Nah. I’ll spread it around. Some at the hardware store and some at the bar.” “Lucy will be happy to see you, I’m sure.” Ben mocked him good- naturedly as he walked out the door. Ryne merely waved and continued on his way. Lucy worked at the local bar and had been real friendly with Ryne ever since he and his friends had moved to the area a few months back. Watching Ryne cross the street, Ben wondered about the man and the two other fellows, Bryan and Daniel, who lived with him. They weren’t related, looking nothing alike, but something bound them together. At first, there’d been rumours that they were gay, but their behaviour at the bar on Friday nights soon dispelled that rumour. The local lovelies swarmed around them and they did little to discourage the attention, es- pecially the younger two. Ryne was a bit more discriminating. Oh, he’d been involved with a few of the local girls, before settling on just Lucy, but for the most part, he held his liquor and was usually the one dragging the other two home at closing time, provided they hadn’t hooked up with some female be- forehand. Ben chuckled. Business at the bar was a lot brisker since the three had moved into the community. A few residents thought the newcomers were a bit strange, but except for the fact that they all lived together in the middle of nowhere, no one had any real complaints against them. The men were polite and didn’t bother anyone. Most likely, it was as Ryne said; they’d moved here for privacy and because they liked the area. Nothing strange or mysterious about that. 7 Chapter 1 Oregon, U.S.A. Damn! There was a certain sick feeling in Mel’s stomach as she lost control of the vehicle and it began to slide across the snow-slicked roads into the oncoming lane. A horn blared as she narrowly missed a pick-up truck but that relief was short lived as a telephone post loomed ahead. She clenched the steering wheel tighter, trying to steer into the skid; muscles tensed as she braced herself against the impact that was sure to come. When it didn’t, she sent up a brief prayer of thanks. “Stupid, snow covered roads.” Muttering to herself, she felt the car straighten out of the skid, wincing as the vehicle narrowly missed a farmer’s mailbox. Moving back into her own lane, she blew a puff of air up over her face causing her bangs to float up and then settle on her fore- head again. Annoyingly, her long lashes kept catching in the too-long fringe of hair—she really needed to make time for a cut, she reminded herself—but she didn’t dare take her hands off the wheel to push her hair out of the way. Blinking rapidly, she managed to free her lashes and clear her vision. The forecast had called for light snow, but the weatherman was obvi- ously an idiot and didn’t know a high pressure zone from a low. Heavy white flakes were falling on her windshield and the wipers were having a hard time keeping up. Twice now, she’d stopped and wiped the accu- mulated white stuff from the blades. She shouldn’t have trusted the fel- low at the rental agency when he said the car was fine, but at ten o'clock at night, after a long flight squished between a large man and a frazzled mother with a crying baby, all she had wanted to do was get a car, es- cape the confines of the airport and find a room at the nearby motel. Now, she wished she’d been a bit more particular. A road sign proclaimed that her destination, Smythston, Oregon, was rapidly approaching and she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. She’d had a late start, being up half the night listening to planes land and 8 take off and now her two hour trip had turned into four hours of white knuckle driving. She couldn’t wait to get to the bed and breakfast where she’d booked a room. A hot shower and dinner, followed by a nap were going to be her reward for surviving this trip. In the brochure that lay on the seat beside her, The Grey Goose Tea Room sounded quaint and boasted luxury rooms with home cooked meals. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she knew that even if the place was no better than a mom and pop greasy spoon, she’d devour whatever they had to offer. Her stomach was telling her it was long past feeding time. She glared at the snow that was messing up her schedule, all the while hoping her room was still available once she fi- nally arrived at her destination. An oncoming transport trailer uncar- ingly doused her car in slush and Mel swore vigorously as her view of the road disappeared. Quickly flicking the wipers onto high, she peered out of the streaked windshield and wondered once again at the sanity of taking on this par- ticular job. It was a ridiculous assignment, but paid well, and since she was next thing to being broke, she couldn’t be too choosy. After years of working dead-end retail jobs, she’d finally gone back to school, earned her high school diploma, and then enrolled in the journal- ism program at Northwestern University. It wasn’t the most practical course, her guidance counsellors had pointed out. If she was looking for a secure career, computers were the way to go. She’d thanked them kindly for the advice, but knew she’d never be able to sit in an office all day, every day. Being in one place too long didn’t suit her—she had ‘itchy feet’ just like her mother, which was probably why she’d con- stantly drifted from one job to another. After the initial thrill of learning a new skill wore off, she soon lost interest and found herself searching the want ads for yet another new position. At least, once she was a journalist, an employer would pay for her to move around. It wasn’t a great wage, but it was something she enjoyed, and helped lessen the restlessness within her. Talking to people, visiting new locations, researching backgrounds; each day would be different or at least that’s what she hoped. Right now, she was taking a year off, be- ing half way through the four year program and completely out of funds. By juggling two waitressing jobs and writing a few freelance art- icles, she was hoping to make enough money to go back to school next year and finish the program. That was why this job was exactly what she needed. A lawyer, named Leon Aldrich, had contacted her on behalf of a client—a wealthy client, 9 no less—to do some work as an investigative journalist. Mel had been a bit surprised to be contacted by the man, wondering how he’d come by her name. Mr. Aldrich claimed one of her college instructors had passed her name along and Mel had hesitantly accepted the explanation. It was against college rules to show favouritism, and Mel was curious as to who had put in the good word for her. The lawyer had merely smirked at her, saying she had been chosen from a number of other candidates. He added it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not quite sure what to make of the man, Mel had shrugged and listened to his offer. She needed the money and couldn’t afford to be too choosy. The man had presented Mel with a lucrative job offer; in exchange for a ridiculously large sum of money, she was to research a photographer named Ryne Taylor and write a piece on his life. It had seemed a bit strange at the time. The photographer in question wasn’t famous or any- thing, but after thoroughly checking out the lawyer’s references and those of his client, Anthony Greyson, she’d decided the job was legitim- ate and had agreed to the man’s terms. It was pretty simple. Find the reclusive Mr. Taylor. Research his life, how he chose his subjects, where he took his pictures, and who had pur- chased them. She was to give updates on each new development to keep them aware of her progress, write a final article, and then submit it back to the lawyer. All expenses would be paid and there was a very loose deadline. The job seemed almost too good to be true, but if life was going hand her a golden egg on a silver platter, she wasn’t going to turn her nose up at it. She frowned as she reflected on her phrasing for that last thought. For a journalist, she had certainly slaughtered the use of those clichés. She chuckled, glad her thoughts were her own and not subject to editori- al criticism. Taking note of her surroundings, she realized that she was now inside the town proper. Fumbling for the brochure at her side, she turned to the section that showed a map on how to find the Grey Goose. Placing it on the steering wheel, she glanced between it and the road while looking for street signs to help orient her. A mere fifteen minutes later, she stood in the entryway of the quaint bed and breakfast, talking to a distinguished looking gentleman who had introduced himself as Edward Mancini. “Yes, Ms. Greene, I took your reservation over the phone last night. I’m so glad the weather didn’t delay your travel plans.” 10 [...]... short drive from the man’s last known address, which was in Smythston, Oregon The previous week, she’d phoned the gallery, but the call had produced very little information Yes, they had sold a Ryne Taylor photograph to a Mr Greyson No, there was no information available to the public about the photographer himself The fact that the information wasn’t available to the public meant that there was information... “Even if the owner of the painting is suspicious, there’s no way they’ll ever discover where the picture was taken because the land is private You've never allowed outsiders into the territory unsupervised And we’ve covered Ryne’s tracks carefully After the debacle of the missing payments for Ryne’s other work, Bastian’s doesn’t want to be sued, so they’re bending over backwards to keep us happy They won’t... and weathered set of moose antlers that dangled precariously over the entrance on a rusty chain At one time, there’d been an actual moose head adorning the front of the building and the pub had naturally acquired the name 'The Moose Head.' But when decay finally set in, and the trophy tumbled to the ground during an exceptionally windy storm, only the antlers remained in one piece Armand St John, the. .. might both end up benefitting from their encounter in ways neither could even dream of at the moment Feeling the caffeine finally activating the synapses of her brain, Mel began to take a more active interest in the happenings outside her window The snowstorm had passed by overnight and the sun was causing the temperature to rise Icicles dripped from the eaves and the fluffy white snow of yesterday... and exiting the bar regularly, getting their fix and then coming back in while shouting questions about what had happened in the game during their absence The constant opening and shutting of the door meant that gusts of cold night air kept swirling inside, ensuring that the smell of sweat, beer and fried onions was thoroughly distributed around the large room The heat from dozens of bodies, the flickering... would stop by the art gallery and see if she could wheedle any information out of the sales associates Then, if that was a dead end, she’d search out Edward Mancini, and maybe even Elise There was always the possibility that the photographer had stopped by the tea room for lunch when he was at the gallery making arrangements for the sale of his photographs She wished she had a picture of the man, or... Eventually, Elise returned with the lasagna Mel had ordered She looked a bit leery, as if fearing further questions Trying to reassure her, Mel commented idly on the weather and Elise started to relax Through the course of the meal, Mel kept the conversation light whenever the waitress happened to stop by her table offering more water or breadsticks By the time she finished the meal, Elise was chatting... if there wasn’t a long line, Mel pretended to peruse the various posters while keeping an eye on the number of individuals awaiting service No one spared her a glance, everyone seeming to be busy with their own agendas The outer door opened, letting in a rush of cold air, causing the various papers and pamphlets to rustle in the breeze before settling down again Mel glanced towards the source of the. .. to the public Now the picture was out there somewhere, and everyone was just waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop He hadn’t told Bryan and Daniel yet, but if someone was inquiring after him, and mentioning the photo, it could only mean one thing The secret was out and now he had to prepare for the fallout 33 Chapter 4 It was the middle of March Spring was making its presence known and the. .. to melt in Northern Ontario Bits of green were poking out of the ground and buds were beginning to swell on tree branches The air contained that indescribable quality of warmth and promise that the last of the wintery weather was past and fairer days were ahead On the local radio station, the forecaster happily babbled away about seeing flocks of tundra swans overhead as the birds made their annual . The Keeping Nicky Charles Published: 2010 Categorie(s): Fiction, Erotica, Romance, Adult, Suspense Tag(s): romance werewolf suspense paranormal sequel Canada 1 THE KEEPING By Nicky Charles FEEDBOOKS. Charles FEEDBOOKS EDITION * * * * * PUBLISHED BY: Nicky Charles on Feedbooks The Keeping Copyright © 2010 by Nicky Charles Other works by this author: Forever In Time The Mating Thank you for downloading. windshield and the wipers were having a hard time keeping up. Twice now, she’d stopped and wiped the accu- mulated white stuff from the blades. She shouldn’t have trusted the fel- low at the rental