Despicable by Rory Miles

BELLATRIX

I make it to the kitchen as the water begins to boil in the teapot on the electric stove. She looks up from the glass container filled with dried leaves, pausing mid-scoop and glances over me. “The clothes fit.”

“Yeah. You have tea?” I point to the jar.

Wow, look at us in our awkward conversation. This is why I despise trying to make new friends, you have to stumble through the first few encounters like an idiot until you figure out if you actually like the person or if you need to hightail it out of there and find someone more suited to your personality. For me, it’s usually the latter because I’m a peach once you get to know me—read: sarcastic asshole.

Harlow nods, going back to filling a cloth bag. “The family who lived here before owned a tea shop. It’s part of why I claimed this house. A garage full of teas and the supplies to steep it? My kind of place. I’m only missing a few types, but they usually send some in the supply drops.”

“Hm. Are there any houses of former distillers? I do love tequila.”

Moving to the breakfast bar side of the dark gray and black granite counter, I lean my arms against the back of the barstool.

“No tequila,” Harlow says with an apologetic smile. “But I do know of a house full of beer. Pilfering it might be hard, but I think we can manage it.”

My kind of woman. It may be a little early to say I like her, but hell, I like her.

“Cool. When do we leave?”

The change that comes over her face is instant. The happy spark in her gaze flickers out and her smile falls. She drops the tea bags into the mugs on the counter, grabs the teapot and switches the burner off, then pours the water over the leaves.

“You can’t stay here.”

Okay. I take back what I said.

“Do you want me to leave now?” The bite in my voice is sharper than I intended, and she lifts her eyes to meet mine.

“You can leave when the rain lets up.”

“Fine,” I snap, waving off the tea she tries to hand me. “I’ll wait by the door.”

“You don’t have to do that.” A hint of regret creeps into her words.

Rolling my eyes on the way to the foyer, I huff out a hard breath. Seriously. I made it all of ten minutes on the island before someone decided they didn’t want me either? I’ve been trying so hard not to feel sorry for myself or sound like a baby, but I’m so tired and my muscles ache, so I’m not doing a good job of controlling my emotions.

Harlow follows after me, and I’m too close to freaking out to stay here. Honestly, I get why she might be hesitant to let me stay, but my heart can’t take any more rejection. Grabbing my wet socks and shoes, I thank her for the clothes and run out of her house, leaving my wet ones behind.

“Bellatrix!”

I don’t glance at her to see what she wants, she made it pretty clear I couldn’t stay, and the rain has let up so now it’s a light trickle. I can find my own way. She doesn’t owe me anything, and I definitely don’t want to be a burden.

The street is paved smooth, so the bottoms of my feet don’t hurt too bad from walking, and the water helps too. I start toward the bend in the road, really the only other direction I can go unless I want to start exploring the other houses on this loop. After the encounter with Harlow, I’m not in the mood to experience another warm welcome. My nerves can only handle so much.

I walk along the curb where the water is the deepest. The sewage system seems to work okay because a drain I pass is taking water as fast as it runs down to it, but there was enough moisture that there’s a small stream flowing along the edges of the road. Thunder rumbles in the distance, threatening me. With a soft growl of frustration, I start walking faster. There has to be open shelter somewhere. A park, maybe?

Trees hug the road the farther I walk, creeping in close enough to feel a bit stifling. This island isn’t exactly a forest, but the foliage is lush and thick, probably thanks to the rain and water surrounding it.

By the time I reach the end of the curve, the rain has stopped. My socks are dripping where I clench them in my hand. While I don’t have a constant stream of water to cushion the ground, I continue to walk without shoes, holding them in my other hand. This is my only pair, and I don’t want to destroy them any more than I already have.

Up ahead is a strip of stores on one side of the road, and a row of small beach-style huts across from them. The homes aren’t nearly as fancy as Harlow’s was, but they’re still cute and welcoming. I eye the storefronts, wondering if the doors will be unlocked.

Seeing as there’s no one around, it can’t hurt to try.

Moving to the sidewalk, I cross the parking lot and go to the first store, peering into the windows. Most of the shelves are empty, but there are a few boxes of feminine products, toilet paper, paper towels, and other household products. No food though. I go to the next window, gasping when I see a wall of shoes. I glance up and read the sign above the store. Island Feet.

“Guess it’s time to say goodbye.” I stare at my shoes, twisting my mouth to the side. If anyone were around, I’d probably look absolutely insane.

But you know what? Who the fuck cares anymore?

Certainly not Harlow.

I drop the shoes and socks outside the door and try the knob. Locked. Of fucking course. It was too good to be true. Scowling, I yank the bobby pins out of my hair, frowning when I notice how flimsy they are. There are two grades of bobby pins: the kind that are short and made of weak metal that bends or warps easily, or the kind that seem like they’re made of steel and could hold an updo in place for days.

Since these are the weaker kind, they’re basically useless. I shove them back into my hair, pinning up the few strands that are a smidge too short for a ponytail. Turning, I scour the parking lot for a rock. There are a few bigger stones, but I don’t want to make a huge mess, so I opt for the fist-size one I spot near one of the streetlamps.

“Ow, fuck,” I mutter to myself. This parking lot is filled with random rocks and they dig into the bottoms of my feet.

Picking up my rock, I slowly walk back to the storefront, glaring at it like somehow it personally offended me. Lining up with the door, I take a step back so I can give it some oomph, and then swing my arm back.

This glass is mine.

Bringing my arm forward, I grunt and put my back into the throw. The rock sails through the air and a crazed grin spreads over my face as I watch it hit the pane, only, it doesn’t shatter like I expected. The rock drops to the ground with a thud and a small chip is all the evidence there is of my attempted break in.

“They make that look so easy in the movies,” I murmur.

“Well, for starters, those windows probably aren’t as thick as these. I guess when they built the little town, they made sure shifters couldn’t break things,” a voice, rich and deep like an eighteen-year aged bourbon, says from behind me.

I squeak, whirling around to face a fox. No. Not a literal fox. A silver fox.

My GOD.

Remember earlier when I mentioned I liked sex? The sentiment doesn’t exactly mean I’m led by my vagina, but shit, if she wanted to lead me to him, I’m not going to fight her because damn. Even after being rejected, I can’t deny he’s fine. In fact, he might be just what I need to make me forget about Chad, the bastard.

His hair is trimmed short on the sides, a bit longer on top, and the natural brunette color is peppered with gray. He has a strong jaw, or what I assume is a strong jaw. The guy looks like Henry Cavil but a bit older and with tattoos covering him. They travel up both arms, hiding the rest of the image under the shirt sleeve. I start to study the art, but I’ve already stared long enough.

Lifting my eyes to meet his dark blue ones, I laugh. “Horrible idea. How am I supposed to break and enter now?”

Mirth swims in his gaze, and he runs his hand over the slight stubble covering his jaw. “That’s against the law.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” I ask with a smirk, mustering up some of the woman I used to be before this morning happened.

A dark chuckle, a quick, heated perusal of my body, and an answering smirk have me stepping closer. “Me,” he says. What I said about his voice being like bourbon holds true. It’s rich and dark and intoxicating. His alpha nature curls around me, not oppressing like Garry’s but still riddled with you will bend the knee.

“You?” I set my hand on my hip and shake my head. “Who died and made you king?”

Of course the alpha reject would take it upon himself to try and control things. I guess I can’t escape pack dynamics on this moon-forsaken island.

“You’re funny.” He glances past me and to the store. “I’m not a king, but I am in charge of protecting the supplies, and I can’t let you break in for a pair of shoes.”

I frown, and he tips his head to the side, studying my face.

“But I can let you in so you can get what you need.”

Instant suspicion narrows my eyes. “Why?” I rub at my sore wrists, but stop when his eyes follow the motion.

“Because it’s my job.” A frown tugs at his lips.

I scoff. “You said your job was to protect the supplies, not hand them out. I don’t know who you are and I’m not comfortable owing you favors.” No matter how hot or alpha he may be.

“The supplies are for everyone. I do protect them, but I also help people get inside the stores.” He pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and swings them around his finger, lifting a dark eyebrow at me.

“Fine,” I say, turning back toward the store. “But no funny business.”

“Funny business?”

I wave my hand, hoping he’ll forget I even said that because why the hell would I say something like that? For the love of everything chaotic, I swear I’m going insane. The taser must have done a number on me.

“What’s your name by the way?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Dax.” His dark blue eyes jump from my ass to meet my gaze, and not an ounce of shame fills them.

“I’m Bellatrix.” The only people who call me Trix are my friends and family, and he’s neither.

“The pleasure is mine.” He walks past me, intentionally brushing his shoulder against mine, and smiles.

“I’m sure it is,” I whisper to myself, taking advantage of the view.

There are two types of men. The men who let the pants wear them, and the men who wear the pants. Dax owns his jeans.

I bite my cheek, reminding myself that I shouldn’t recover from my rejection by jumping this guy. The idea isn’t half bad, though.

No.

If Bella were here, she’d be rolling her eyes and calling me ridiculous. My sister’s face flashing in my mind is enough to sober my promiscuous thoughts, and I wait patiently for Dax to open the store.

He slips a key into the lock and twists the knob. “Wolfsbane Island’s finest shoe emporium is now open for business.”

“You’re a real comedian.” I go inside, ignoring the way my stomach tightens when I pass him and glance around. “At least there aren’t any Crocs.”

There’s every style of shoe, or almost every style of shoe, you could want. I scan the rows of shelves, looking for something practical. High-heels aren’t my favorite, and I can guarantee I won’t need any cute wedges or sandals. No. Here on this island, I’ll need comfortable shoes I don’t mind getting dirty in.

“What’s wrong with Crocs?”

“Why do you sound so offended? Those shoes are—”

“Comfortable, breathable, soft,” he offers.

“If you say so.” I chuckle and go to the wall with Vans. I’m more of a Converse-lady myself, but these will do in a pinch.

Oh moon. Being stuck on an island is a pinch? What the fuck is wrong with me? I am pretty sure I’m in denial or something, because this isn’t a normal reaction. Then again, I don’t envision myself crying at every turn when this is my new reality. Sure, maybe I’m avoiding the emotions I feel, but it’s better than falling apart in front of a stranger. Especially if that stranger is Mr. Silver Fox.

“The maroon are my favorite.”

I give Dax a look and snatch the dark navy pair. Then squint at him and slowly reach for the black pair. His eyebrows rise centimeter by centimeter, and by the time I’ve curled my fingers into the back of the shoes, they hit his hairline.

“Two?”

Nodding, I hold them at my side. “One for daytime, and one for night. Two pairs are essential.”

“Really?”

He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Absolutely. Look at my poor toes.” I pout and slide a foot forward, letting him see how raw they are from my short walk.

His eyes slip down my body, taking in my shorts, lean legs, pausing on my ankle which I find rather curious, and finally landing on my toes.

This man has no right to be so manly.

“Fine. Take two. The socks are over there.” When his eyes find my face, they’re pinched, and he abruptly turns to wait outside for me to finish.

“Okay.”

Do I feel bad for torturing the man? Eh.

Do I love having two pairs of brand-new shoes? Yes.

I have nothing, so I’m taking my joy where I can get it. I grab simple black ankle socks, because the no-peek ones are uncomfortable as hell and I’m not trying to impress anybody with my lack of sock showing.

Turning to head out, my gaze catches on a stack of shirts by the register. The black shirt has a wolf decal and Wolfsbane Island written across the front in a sprawling script. I take one, and check for any other things I might need in this store.

Sandals.

Hm. I eye my hoard, feeling a twinge of guilt for taking two pairs of shoes, and decide I’ll come back for sandals another day when my hands aren’t full. Besides, maybe he’ll forget about the second pair of Vans by then.

“Would you like a bag?” Dax deadpans when he sees I also grabbed a shirt.

“Oh! Yes, if you have a reusable one that’d be great.” I give him a shit eating grin.

He shakes his head and glances away again, suddenly growing serious.

Damn.

The people on this island are giving me whiplash.

I plop down and put on the socks and the black Vans, sighing in relief when I stand. “Are you in charge of housing too?”

Dax is studying the tree line, I follow his gaze, squinting when I don’t see anything. He grunts and turns back to me with a frown.

“What?”

“I asked if you were in charge of housing too.”

“No. No one is in charge of housing. Find an empty one and claim it.”

“Harlow didn’t take too kindly to me barging into her house. Can you tell me what houses to avoid at least? I’m not really a fan of having a pan swung at my face.”

His eyes widen. “Did she hurt you?”

“No. She didn’t want me in her house, which is understandable. I did barge in soaking wet, and I got mud all over her tiles. She’d just mopped, so she was a little pissed.” I tug on my shirt. “She gave me new clothes though, so that was nice.”

“She talked to you?”

“Uh, yeah.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “Why?”

“She doesn’t talk to us.”

“Is it because of the voices?” I tip my head to the side and study him. He doesn’t seem crazy, but with the sudden switch from happy to cold, it wouldn’t surprise me if he did hear voices.

“What?”

“You said us.” I wait for him to catch up.

Sometimes it takes a minute.

The moment it dawns on him, he barks out a laugh and runs his hand over his beard, eyeing me in appreciation. “I live with two roommates. Harlow doesn’t talk to us, as in, she doesn’t talk to me or my roommates.”

“Mmm. Well, that’s painfully boring.”

He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, so I take that as my cue to leave. He is trying hard not to like me, and I’m not sticking around to find out why.

“No tips on what houses to avoid?”

“Numbers one, three, fourteen, thirty-five, and fifty-one are taken. Oh, and don’t go near house number four.”

“Why not?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

“Trust me, you don’t want to live in that house.”

“If it were any other day, I’d make you explain. Thanks for the help.” I nod at him and continue in the direction I’d been headed.

Dax is fun, but I can’t let my desire to make connections cloud my judgement. We’re all here because we were rejected, and we’re all messed up. I need to find myself, find out more about the people who live here, and get settled before I try and make friends.