The wolfs new year bride, p.1
The Wolf's New Year Bride, page 1
The Wolf’s New Year Bride
A Witch Island Brides Short Story
Deanna Chase
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
Copyright © 2017 by Deanna Chase
Editing: Angie Ramey
Cover image: © Janet Holmes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
www.deannachase.com
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Deanna’s Book List
About the Author
About This Book
Previously published in Home for the Howlidays Anthology.
* * *
It’s been one year since the shifter Aron D’Angelo walked out of Frankie Franklyn’s life. But now he’s back on her island, ready to marry another. She knows, she’s seen the vision. Only not everything is as it seems, and by the end of the night, if everything goes as planned, it just might be Frankie at the altar.
Chapter One
Frankie placed the final layer on top of the elaborate wedding cake, took a step back, and let out a sigh of relief. She’d spent the last four hours painstakingly adding chocolate flowers that were both beautiful and delicious all over the danged thing. Zinnia, her sister, still had to add a few final touches, but Frankie’s part was done. Thank the goddess for small favors, she thought, rubbing one aching shoulder.
The vision Frankie’d had the night before had woken her just before dawn, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She could still see herself covered in red velvet cake and cream cheese filling as her sister stared at her in horror. As a seer, visions were just part of her normal routine. But lately they’d taken on a life of their own, and she often felt like she was battling a cosmic force, trying her best to keep the worst from coming true.
“Not this time,” she said to no one as she stared at the cake in defiance. Well, not quite not this time, she had to admit. First thing this morning, Frankie had slipped while carrying the base layer to the pedestal and landed on her back side with red velvet cake in her hair. But those things happened, and they’d had plenty of time to rectify the situation. Her sister hadn’t been there to witness the event, but Frankie was still hoping she’d just gotten her vision wrong and that the cake was safe.
She turned to clean up her work station, contemplating what she’d get for lunch on her way back to her used bookstore. Mystic Mushroom or the Pagan Pancake? Sweet potato pancakes, definitely. She could really stand to consume some sort of vegetable after spending so much time at the bakery. If one could consider the sweet potato portion of the pancake a vegetable, that is. It was good enough for her. So what if she smothered it in real maple syrup. A girl had to enjoy herself once in a while, didn’t she?
A distinctly feline howl came from the other room, followed by a woof and something crashing to the tile floors. Frankie moved to see what was causing all the commotion, but then a bright orange cat streaked past her and leaped, aiming for the counter. The beast missed, landed on all fours and darted forward, straight toward the wedding cake waiting on the pedestal.
“No!” Frankie cried and ran after the cat. But a small, fluffy, gray and white dog that resembled a Lhasa apso shot between her feet, tripping her, and she went down. Her decent felt as if she were moving in slow motion, trying and failing to fling herself away from of the cake.
Her body bumped the pedestal, and the cake started to slide. By some miracle, both of her hands landed on the cake tray, and she grabbed with everything she had, keeping the cake from crashing to the floor. But then Frankie’s left foot slipped, and she went down, the cake coming with her and landing on her chest. Thankfully, it was still on the tray and upright. But she was gripping it at an odd angle, and the cake tilted dangerously to the left. One wrong move and the red velvet cake was a goner.
“Zinnia! Get in here, now! The cake is slipping.” Frankie Franklyn tightened her grip on the heavy platter and silently prayed to the Greek Goddess Cassandra, Don’t let my vision come true. Don’t let me drop this cake… again.
“Hold on!” Zinnia called back, her voice strained.
Good goddess above, what was she doing out there? Zinnia was the owner of Every Witch Way You Frost It—Witch Island’s premier bakery. Well, the only bakery, but it was fabulous all the same. Her sister had a half dozen people working for her. Surely someone could take over whatever was monopolizing her time.
The dog growled, and in the next moment the cat let out a loud hiss, followed by a pathetic yelp.
Just freakin’ great. Not only was the cake going to crush her, but there was an actual cat and dog fight in the back room of the bakery, and no one was helping her. She wasn’t even getting paid for this crap.
“Zinnia, I swear to everything you hold dear that if you don’t get your tiny ass in here and save me from death by chocolate, I’m going to come back from the grave and lick every single item you try to sell from today until eternity.”
“I’m coming. I just have to frost one more boob.”
“Boob? What in the fresh pastry is going on in there?” Frankie jerked her head. The tray wobbled and careened right. “Crap!” Frankie stilled, her thigh cramping from supporting the weight of the cake. If she were stronger and had better balance, she could just stand and place the tray on the counter. But the weight was too much for her. So instead she stayed in place, one leg bent beneath her and the other stretched out to the side, with her long skirt bunched up around her. There wasn’t even enough space on the floor for her to slide the cake to safety. If someone didn’t come soon, the cake would surely suffocate her.
“Need some help?” a deep, all too familiar voice said from behind her.
She was hearing things. The weight of the wedding cake had crushed something vital, and she wasn’t getting enough oxygen to the brain. There was no other explanation.
The man walked around the table and crouched in front of her. She scanned his startling blue eyes, gorgeous trim-but-muscular body, and amused smile. Even his masculine sandalwood scent was as alluring as she remembered. She blinked, certain she was having some sort of out-of-body experience or some new type of vision that came with smell-o-vision vision. Her heart raced. And if she hadn’t been holding onto the large cake for dear life, she would’ve reached out and touched him.
His lips curved, revealing one perfect dimple on his left cheek. Frankie closed her eyes, trying desperately to end the vision, to get Aron D’Angelo out of her head.
“Here,” he said. “Let me help you with that.”
She stared up at him, her mouth gaping as he grabbed the tray. His muscles bulged as he effortlessly lifted the cake, saving it from a tragic demise.
“Aron?” she finally gasped out when she was freed from the fifty-pound cake. “What are you doing here?”
He placed the cake onto the nearby work table and held out a hand to help her up off the floor.
She lifted one of her aching arms, and the moment their fingers touched, electricity shot through her body, confirming without a doubt that Aron was actually in the flesh and back on her island. This was no vision.
He pulled her to her feet, and when she wobbled, he grabbed her waist and steadied her. “Whoa there. Don’t want you to fall again.” His smile widened. “Impressive work saving the wedding cake.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the cat once again flew by her, yowling its head off en route. The fluffy gray and white dog scrambled after it, knocking over a metal chair and another wooden pedestal that splintered right in half.
“Gunner, sit!” Aron ordered.
The dog skidded to a stop, promptly dropped his rear to the floor, and sat there vibrating as his faint whine filled the room.
“That beast is yours?” Frankie asked in disbelief.
“It’s more like I belong to him, but yes. He’s with me.” Aron took two steps and scooped up the little monster. Staring him in the eye, Aron said, “Unacceptable, Gunner. You almost caused a catastrophe in here.”
The dog glanced away, a look of contrition on his adorable little face.
Frankie stared at the two of them, her brain misfiring. Aron was here on Witch Island. With a dog. Was he getting married, too? The thought was like a sucker punch to her gut, and she thought she might hurl right there on his expensive Italian leather shoes. The only reason anyone ever came to the small island was for a wedding. It was the town’s main source of income to cater to paranormal nuptials. Practically every business revolved around supporting the island’s wedding industry.
If he wasn’t there to get married, then he was certainly in town to attend someone else’s. There was no other explanation. Not unless he’d come for her. It had been twelve months since she’d last seen or heard from him. Tw
Gunner let out a menacing growl, and Aron laughed. “No. He belongs Velma. She decided it would be a nice touch to have him be part of the wedding ceremony.”
Velma. That was the bride. She couldn’t recall if Zinnia had ever mentioned the groom’s name. No. It just wasn’t possible. Frankie would’ve remembered if she had. Because as much as she’d wanted to forget Aron D’Angelo, she couldn’t recall a day going by in the past twelve months when she hadn’t thought of him.
“I see. Does that mean Gunner here is the ring bearer?” she asked, praying to her deity he’d say no, hoping that she’d gotten it all wrong, and he wasn’t marrying a crazy cat lady who thought adding animals to the ceremony was a great idea.
“He was supposed to, but since Chadwick over there can’t stand the sight of him, Velma nixed the idea. Now he’s just an invited guest like everyone else.” Aron scratched the dog behind his ears, and the pup closed his eyes, leaning into his owner with pure bliss.
Frankie stifled a wistful sigh. What she wouldn’t do to change places with Gunner in that moment. Her eyes met Aron’s, and his smile faltered as they stared at each other. Something tugged at her belly, willing her to take a step closer, to stop resisting the pure electric magnetism that had been there right from the start the day they’d met two years ago.
But just when she started to move forward, a sweet-as-pie voice pulled her from her love-sick haze of lust. “Chadwick, you naughty boy. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?”
Frankie spun and her mouth fell open. Standing there in the open door was the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. She was tall, her honey blond hair was curled and piled elegantly on top of her head, and she had curves for days. Not just days, Frankie thought. Years. Good gracious, what she wouldn’t do for the woman’s Jessica Rabbit frame.
She was also wearing a long flowing skirt completely covered in silver roses, and she was naked from the waist up. Well, naked unless one counted the thick frosting covering her perfectly shaped boobs.
Chapter Two
“Velma, please,” Carrie Carmichael, the town wedding planner, pleaded from behind the woman. “We’re running out of time.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her lips pursed into a delicate pout. “Let me just collect Chadwick before he gets himself into any trouble.”
“Too late,” Frankie said before she could stop herself. “The animal almost took out your cake. I nearly broke a leg trying to keep it from crashing to the floor.”
Velma swept her gaze over Frankie, her expression turning from serene to confused, then shifting to something that vaguely resembled recognition. “You’re the cake decorator?”
“Yes,” Frankie said, unable to keep from feeling like a country bumpkin in the woman’s presence. She automatically ran her fingers through her hair. She knew it was out of control. That’s what happened when someone with naturally curly hair lived near the sea. No matter what spell she bought, there was no taming her locks. And sure, she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but that’s because she’d been at the bakery since before six am, helping her sister. She smoothed her long cotton skirt and prayed the hem wasn’t frayed. Though, it probably was. No one in their right mind would wear anything nice working there. It would be ruined within twenty minutes.
“Zinnia,” Velma called.
“Yes.” Frankie’s sister appeared instantly, one hand covered in frosting, the other holding a basket of silver rose blooms.
“The cake just looks divine. Perfect. I don’t know how you did it, but it’s exactly what I asked for.”
“I’m so glad. But Frankie’s the one who did all the work. She has a knack for molding flowers.” Zinnia gave her sister an appreciative smile that barely reached her eyes then quickly pressed her lips into a thin line.
Frankie knew what that meant. Velma was working her sister’s last nerve and if someone didn’t step in, she was going to spell Velma’s ass, literally. It had happened just last week. A witch had gone all bridezilla, and Zinnia had gotten so frustrated she’d accidentally hexed the other witch with ass pimples. They’d only found out because the maid of honor had let it slip.
Even though Frankie was sure Velma deserved an ass zit or two, Zinnia couldn’t afford a reputation for hexing brides. Neither could the island, for that matter. Word of something like that would travel fast. And considering Every Witch Way You Frost It was the only bakery in town, it had to keep its stellar reputation. Otherwise, it could spell trouble for the whole Witch Island wedding industry.
“Velma, tell me. Are you getting married in your frosting bikini top, or is this just a trial run for the wedding night?” Frankie asked, careful to keep her tone light and curious.
The bride raised a contoured brow. “I’m getting married in my custom made floral dress. The frosting is just the glue to keep my roses in place.”
“Well that’s certainly… original.” Frankie eyed the silver roses, then the deep violet cake with its intricate, silver magical symbols and had to admit, it was going to be one hell of an elegant Winter Solstice wedding. The cake was exactly the sort of cake she’d have had made for herself. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to freeze to death? The forecast says we’re going to get snow tonight.”
“That’s what warmth spells are for,” Velma said dismissively.
Of course she was unconcerned. Everything about Velma and this wedding screamed money. It would cost a pretty penny to get a warmth spell that would last long enough to keep her from freezing in the December night air.
Velma turned her attention to Aron. “Could you please take Chadwick over to the gardens and specifically the magical waterfall? I want him to get familiar with the area before the ceremony.”
“Of course, V.” Guilt flickered over Aron’s face as he quickly averted his gaze, clearly unable to look Frankie in the eye. Her stomach dropped straight to the floor. He was there to marry Velma. Oh goddess, why was he doing this to her? Was he so much of a bastard that he’d forgotten how much they’d meant to each other? Or that there was no way she wouldn’t be on the island? Was he so cold hearted that he’d flaunt his wedding right in front of her?
“Frankie?” her sister said, her voice full of concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Frankie turned her gaze to Zinnia, not really seeing her, then bolted for the door. Velma stepped out of her way with a surprised yip right before Frankie bowled her over. She heard the rapid bark of Aron’s dog right behind her, even felt his soft fur brush her ankle. He must’ve leaped out of Aron’s grasp. She knew she should pause, pick the dog up, and return him, but she couldn’t. She felt like her heart had been ripped right out of her chest and if she didn’t keep moving, no doubt she’d lie right down there on the floor and bleed out.
Frankie burst out onto the snowy street, her gaze blind to the twinkling lights winking on the gaslight poles, the carriages complete with golden horses rolling down the cobbled streets, and the town square yule tree waiting to be decorated at midnight to celebrate the winter solstice.
She’d realized with the way Aron had left, that he’d likely moved on. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like they’d kept in touch. Hell, he hadn’t even said goodbye. He’d just up and left. No explanation. No see ya later. No nothing. She’d be crazy to think he’d been pining for her the way she was for him.
Frankie’d tried to stop loving him, she really had. But her heart wouldn’t let go. For twelve months, every time there was word of a new shifter in town, hope would blossom in her chest, and she’d find a way to seek him out just to see if he was Aron. It was ironic that when he finally did show up, she’d had no idea. He had walked right into her sister’s bakery and surprised the living daylights out of her. She just couldn’t get over him choosing Witch Island to get married.
