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CHAPTER ONE: FLOWER MOON - PART ONE
Dawn let out a deep breath. She was well and truly on her own now.
Elated, and a bit nervous, Dawn Meadows waved at Gerry as he drove away. She was so grateful that, despite her parents’ upset and concern, the older man had helped her move into the city. Well, not so much the city as a small, sweet suburb of it. But still, a bigger, more exciting place than the tiny town she’d grown up in.
She watched Gerry carefully maneuver the heavy-duty work truck and huge covered trailer out of the narrow, full apartment parking lot. It wasn’t that she had a lot of things. She didn’t, only a few pieces of furniture — a bed, a dresser, a comfy chair, and a table — and less than a dozen boxes. But, as a hind, her deer-like legs weren’t exactly made to fit in a normal car. And, while she usually preferred to travel everywhere by hoof, the trip from her family’s farm to her new apartment would have been too much distance to cover for her. Not to mention she’d never have made it with all her things in tow.
And, truth be told, never having gone very far from the farm, it’d been a little thrilling to ride in Gerry’s trailer, seeing the world pass by her at highway speeds. It’d made the whole thing — leaving her childhood home, striking out on her own — feel both frighteningly real and achingly exciting.
She bent to pick up the last of her things stuffed haphazardly into a half-opened cardboard box that sat on the concrete walkway of her building.
Her building.
Wiping sweat off her brow that the satin scarf holding back her now messy mass of chestnut curls hadn’t managed to catch, she looked up at the tall wooden structure. It looked like some proud, formidable forest fortress in the middle of the brick and vinyl siding city. Gerry had said it looked spooky, haunted. Dawn smiled. She thought, from the moment she’d seen it online, it looked like it had a soul.
“How’s the move going?”
Startled, Dawn instinctively scampered back a few steps, her hooves tripping all over themselves as the box in her arms jostled, spilling her things in a cluttered drizzle onto the ground. Her heart pounding, she looked up at the tall, auburn-haired, human man smiling down at her. “Sorry,” he said, reaching out a hand to settle her, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Staring at his hand on her arm, his pale fingers stark against her tawny skin, she blushed, feeling ridiculous. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe easier. “No, I was just,” she shook her hands and assured him, “lost in thought.” Like her mother always accused her of being. She was always warning Dawn that what had been cute when she was a child made her careless as an adult. Dawn stepped back, away from the man’s touch, as she set down the box and bent her front legs low to reach down so she could pick up her things. Anxiously, she wiped her suddenly sweaty palms against her tshirt, before reaching for the random mismash of possessions scattered on the ground.
The man knelt too, bringing his body closer to hers as he leaned down to help, surrounding her in a chemical fog of canned masculinity — like artificial wood and leather with an almost metallic undertone — that made her want to shake her suddenly clouded head. “I noticed you earlier and thought I’d say hi. You know, welcome you to the building.” He handed her an opened, half-empty box of batteries and smiled. “Welcome.”
She took it from him. “Thank you. I’m Dawn.”
He nodded. “In apartment 302B.”
Surprised, she wondered how he knew that.
He shrugged, picking up her hairbrush. “I’m Tucker. Tucker Jones. I’m a caretaker, so I know all the new tenants.” He handed it to her, handle-first, so his fingers were clutching the soft bristles. His cheeks flushed even as his sky bright gaze softened, and looked her over from hooves to head. “So, if you ever need anything, I’m your guy.”
Gingerly, Dawn took the brush from him, trying not to think about this stranger touching something so personal. Which was nonsense; it was only a hairbrush. She didn’t know why she felt so embarrassed. But the idea of him touching something she used not just on her hair but also on the fur covering her lower half… She felt her cheeks burn and her skin suddenly seemed too tight.
Chastising herself for overreacting, she tossed it in the box before grabbing a notebook filled with half-finished moving checklists that had carelessly fallen by her hoof and a flashlight that had rolled by the stairs, throwing those on top as well. “Thank you.” She stood up again, her legs pawing in place a bit.
On a breathless gasp, she stiffened when her back legs bumped into the walkway steps. God, she was such a klutz. Calm down, you flinching fawn, she scolded herself, tensing her joints as she forced them to still. He was just trying to help her. Be neighborly.
But her prey instincts — the annoying need to always be alert, always ready for any threat or surprise — were strong. Embedded in her bones and brain from eons of generational survival, they were so much stronger than they should be, considering that the world had long since changed. Nothing and no one was hunting her. Since the magical community came out of hiding and joined the human world, there were laws protecting those like her, that had once been hunted as the rarest of trophy prizes. She was safe, damn it, wherever she was.
She just needed to convince her body of that. So she bowed her head and stared at his shuffling sneakered feet, willing her fickle body to fucking relax.
“So the move’s going well?” he asked, his piercing blue eyes seeming to watch her hooves closely too. “I would have offered to help, but you know…” He blushed again, his cheeks pinkening, as his gaze took in the length of her legs, all four of them. “I mean, I didn’t know if you’d be okay with all those stairs.”
Dawn winced as her legs began to fidget again at his close attention, the clatter of her hooves on the concrete loud in her ears. Stop it. She stilled her body and forced herself to smile. “I’m okay with stairs. But, yeah, I’m glad this place has an elevator.” She shrugged as she gripped the box in her hands close to her chest. “Made moving easier.”
His smile widened again, meeting her eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad too.” He shrugged. “That you like the building.” He flushed. “That you moved in. We’ve never had a centaur here.”
“A hind,” she corrected. She looked back at her shorter body, with its sandy fur, dappled with white spots by her short white-tipped tail. “Centaurs look more like horses. We resemble deer.”
He shook his head. “Right. Right. Hind.” He bit his lip shyly and leaned in closer to her. “That’s prettier than centaur anyway.”
Was it? She guessed. With another shrug, she stepped back onto the steps. “Thanks. And I do like it here. The building is so interesting.”
“You mean ugly.” The man laughed. “Like some big, old, rotting tree.”
She tilted her head, knowing she shouldn’t feel insulted, not on behalf of some building who couldn’t very well feel the slight. She looked at it again and supposed she could see what he was saying. The dark wood paneling was old and weathered, chipped and discolored in several places. The building was oddly shaped, not in some neat, tidy boxed-in construction over some perfectly dug-up and paved-over space, but rather a sprawling complex that jutted and sunk, that swelled and ebbed, along the uneven hill it rested on. It was as if the builder had expanded upon the land, making something that felt organic, if a little strange. Working with the existing area, rather than against it.
She shrugged. “It looks like it’s been here forever. Like a natural wonder that someone carved a home out of.” She shook her head. She was being fanciful again. Foolish. “And then there’s the pond out back with the garden.” She pointed beyond them, past the dumpsters. “It’s lovely.”
The man paled and stiffened almost imperceptibly, his smile twitching into a slight frown. “You should be careful of that place. Never know what kind of plants and critters and…” he shook his head and said, “whatever else is back there.”
She blinked at his sudden change in demeanor, only to find it had vanished as quickly as it’d appeared. “Right. Well, thanks.” She coughed and clutched her box again. “I should go, start unpacking.” Great, she thought as she inwardly cringed at herself, not awkward at all. She stumbled up the stairs backward, her gaze still on him as she moved. “It was,” she said with a small wave, “good meeting you.”
He followed her, matching her step for step. “Well, I’m always around. Apartment 202B. Right below you. If you ever need me.” He moved past her, opening the door for her, forcing her to skitter out of the swinging door’s way and bump into him, her hands and box brushing his chest. She winced apologetically. Not that he seemed to mind. He just continued to give her that friendly grin. “To fix a leaky sink or change a lightbulb or whatever. I’m your guy.”
“Thanks.” Quickly, she backed through the doorway. “Again.”
“Seriously. Whatever you need, I’m just a call away.”
She nodded and dug out her keys from the satchel slung across her shoulders. “Got it.”
“Promise me.”
Gripping her keys, she looked up at him. His gaze suddenly seemed very serious, even as that pink flush seemed to burn redder across his cheeks. She nodded slowly. “…Sure.” Fiddling with the keys, she opened the heavy, locked main door. “See you around.” She gave him one more polite smile before she bounded up the stairs. Like the spooked, little doe she was.
By the time she shut the door to her new apartment, her heart was positively racing. She felt so completely pathetic. Why the hell did she act like this? Panicking at the smallest things. At nothing! She dropped the box on her kitchen counter and sighed. How was she going to make it here, in the city, full of strangers and neighbors and coworkers, if she couldn’t handle a simple, goddamned conversation?
And she didn’t just want to survive; she wanted to thrive! She wanted to make friends. Maybe even date. How would she do any of that, if she couldn’t even talk to people? This was precisely why she’d moved all the way out here. To prove to her family — to herself — that she could. That she could be brave and strong. On her own. On her terms. That she didn’t need to hide on the farm or be taken care of by her family, too afraid of the big, bad world.
Yet, here she was, hiding in her apartment.
Dawn huffed and stomped her hoof. That was it. She was going out. She probably should stay in and unpack, but the idea of locking herself away in the small space suddenly made her heart hurt. So she grabbed her keys again and headed out. Except she didn’t really have anywhere to go. She was new in town. She didn’t have any friends. Didn’t know the area well.
She supposed that she could just start wandering. One of the major reasons she’d chosen this area was that it was a small walking neighborhood, where everything she could ever need — the grocery store, the hardware store, the bank, her job — was all within an easy, quick, enjoyable walk from her home. She knew she should probably head into the heart of the town, get to know the area, the people.
But, though she hated to admit it, her stomach still fluttered with residual nerves. She wanted to be bold but, it seemed, she wasn’t quite yet. So she headed toward the other reason she’d chosen this looming tower as her new home.
Like she’d told Tucker, she’d been surprised to find, just beyond the dumpsters and behind the garage, the small, hidden pond surrounded by a rather wild-looking garden that was a lush mix of flowers, greenery, and weeds. As if someone had come into this wonderful little patch of unexpected nature and seen it as the oasis it was and couldn’t bear to disturb it and, instead of fencing it in or taming it down, had nurtured it. It looked… cared for. And she’d fallen madly and immediately in love with it.
She stepped onto the ground, the switch between hard, ungiving pavement and soft, yielding soil felt almost magical. It was like walking into another world. Remembering what Tucker had said, she looked around. She wasn’t the best with plants, but she did know a thing or two. And nothing looked poisonous or terribly harmful. She spotted patches of thistle and chamomile, tansy and wild mint. Daisies and dandelions sprouted equally proudly from the ground. And the lovely mix of all the flowers absolutely banished any odors from the garbage that was sweating under the warm sun. The most dangerous things Dawn could see were the busy bees buzzing from flower to flower. This place was tranquil and peaceful in a way she could feel in every breath.
For a moment, she wondered if she was allowed to be here. There weren’t benches or walking paths, inviting people to sit and stay, to wander and explore. But she could feel its welcoming presence call to her, urging her in. So, settling down onto the soft clover beneath the proud-looking willow tree, she pulled out her phone and thumbed over to the latest ebook she was reading, content to get lost in the beauty of this place and the wonder of the story. She sat like that for who-knows-how-long, just enjoying the sunny afternoon, the twittering sounds of birds, and the lovely scent of fresh flowers.
Until a loud clatter made her stiffen, her head popping up from her screen. She looked across the way at a dark-haired man now standing several feet away from her, gardening tools at his big, booted feet. His large body seemed out of place — too huge, too hard — among the delicate blossoms and serene water. He hunched his shoulders awkwardly, as if he knew it and was trying to make himself smaller somehow. His amber eyes stared at her, studying her, as if taking in the whole of her in a sweeping gaze that suddenly made them feel much closer than the several yards separating them. Dawn sucked in a shallow breath and fought the urge to squirm under such scrutiny, those niggling nerves returning to flutter in her belly. As if in response, he grunted at her and turned away. “Sorry.”
Quickly, if a bit clumsily, Dawn stood, looking at his long-fingered, calloused hands reaching for the trowel on the ground. He must be the groundskeeper. She looked around the garden then at him. He wasn’t what she’d imagined, when she pictured the hands that had clearly tended the place. She’d pictured someone like her sister, Hannah, strong, certainly, but also sweet and pretty as the flowers she loved. This man was… not that.
He wasn’t unattractive, she supposed, but he certainly didn’t seem to put in much effort to attract either. Baggy clothes covered shoulders that seemed too broad and limbs too long for the rest of him. His dark hair was shaggy and in need of a trim. Stubble covered a jaw that seemed most comfortable clenched. Even his lips, thin and hard, looked like they wouldn’t know how to smile. When she looked closer, Dawn could see scars on the side of his face and down his neck and arms, like he’d been in a terrible accident or some brutal fight. He looked tense and tough and capable of many things, but Dawn would not have thought gardening one of them.
But what did she know?
“No, I’m sorry.” She tucked her phone back into her bag. “Am I in your way?”
Dropping to his knees in a smooth, controlled move that shouldn’t have looked graceful on a man his size but did, he shook his head. “Most people don’t come down here.”
She pawed the ground a bit, stopping only when she saw his gaze flick to her harried hooves crushing the grass and greenery beneath them. She stilled instantly. “Sorry.” She clutched her bag’s strap. “I can go.”
Again, he turned his back on her, hunching low over a patch of petunias, and huffed. “Do what you want.”
She should go. Leave him to… whatever he was doing. She really ought to. Instead, she swallowed hard and took a few steps toward him. “So you take care of this place?”
He grunted again, as if that was obvious. She supposed it was. Still. “It’s mostly perennial flowers. Native plants.” Wild things. “Right?”
He gave her another grunt.
Like she’d said, she didn’t know much about plants, wasn’t much of a gardener or grower, but she knew the basics. “They’re made to thrive on their own; how much tending do they need?”
He stiffened a bit and she felt like apologizing. She hadn’t meant it as a judgment, just a question. Opening her mouth to say so, he cut her off with a shrug. “Doesn’t take much, really. I just like…”
“Getting your hands dirty?” She smiled, thinking of Hannah, with dirt forever under her nails and staining her skin and pelt. “My sister always says that. Says that feeling the earth in her hands grounds her. That it takes care of her more than she could ever take care of it.”
She blushed. She was being fluffy-minded, again. Her mother would be so disappointed. No one wanted to hear her carry on like some excitable child. About to apologize, she looked up at the man, only to find him resting on his haunches and staring at her like he thought her as strange an oddity in this placid paradise as she found him. She coughed, her cheeks flushing hotly. “Sorry. I should go.” Without looking back at him, she scampered out of the garden and back onto the pavement, feeling the loss beneath her hooves.
She shook her head. The man must think her some nosy, nervous, nitwitted nuisance, disrupting and destroying his garden getaway. This was the problem with getting lost in lovely stories in lovely places; it made her mind soft, too full of pretty, happy things. It made it hard for her to see the world as it was instead of the way she wanted to see it, and made people think she was all those things too. Soft. Pretty. Fluffy. Her parents — and even her siblings — were always shaking their heads at her, thinking her too fragile for the real world. For real life.
Dawn hated proving them right.
Huffing, she headed back, only to almost run into an old woman throwing her garbage. Dawn blinked at the shrewd look on the woman’s pinched, wrinkled face as she took her in before looking over Dawn’s shoulder. Knowingly — judgmentally — she nodded toward the pond. “You be careful now.”
Dawn frowned and wondered if there really was something dangerous planted in that garden, for so many people to treat it like some cursed place. “Why?”
The old, silver-haired woman snorted, before saying in a low whisper, “That’s his place.”
Dawn leaned closer, curious. “Whose?”
The old woman looked at her skeptically, as if she thought Dawn should know. She supposed she did. She might think he looked odd in it, but that hulking man touched the soil like it belonged to him, like it was a part of him. Suddenly, it was as if she could sense his hands on every inch of that garden, his touch, surprisingly gentle and careful, on every leaf and root.
Yeah, she knew.
The woman nodded and stepped closer to Dawn to hiss in her ear. “He’s a werewolf, you know, and he’ll gobble a pretty, little thing like you right up.”
Shivering at the woman’s tone, Dawn leaned back and blinked blankly at the woman as she handed Dawn the black plastic trash bag and turned around to head back into the complex’s other building. Not knowing what else to do, Dawn gave the garden one last look before tossing the old woman’s bag into the bin and making her way to her own building.
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