Thorn in Her Side
A Witch-Shifter Paranormal Romance
By: Elizabeth Alcroft
Copyright 2020 by Elizabeth Alcroft.
All rights reserved.
Acknowledgments
This is for all of us who felt like mental illness was a curse – and for all of us who found a way out when we finally, finally asked for help.
Thanks to all of those people who have helped me along the way, especially my husband, Gage.
Chapter One
In retrospect, maybe pissing off the large, muscled new neighbor in his creepy murder shed wasn’t the greatest plan. In Cleo’s defense, however, he was the one who overreacted to her very sensible request. On the other hand, that was an alarming number of chains and vices on the far wall. The number of saws was simply excessive. Maybe knocking on his oversized murder shed door and starting with a list of demands wasn’t the best tactic. Next time Cleo would definitely lead with social niceties. She was out of practice with acting like a normal person.
“Lemme get this straight,” New Neighbor said flatly, “for reasons you don’t want to explain, you'd prefer that I stayed in my house twice a month. And in case I get confused, you’ll give me a schedule.”
“I’ve already printed it out,” Cleo said helpfully, and thrust out the wrinkled paper. She’d printed it out earlier that day, and it had been in her pocket for a few hours. The edges were streaked with mud, which probably meant her backside was probably muddy too.
He looked at the paper with open disdain. One long arm crossed the dusty work table he was sitting behind, and plucked it from her hand. He studied it, a crease appearing between heavy brows. He was unreasonably good looking. She didn’t want to notice the heavy honey brown waves tumbling over his forehead. She definitely didn’t care that his eyes were lined with lashes so long that Cleo could only hope to possess after a run to a beauty supply store, YouTube tutorials, and patience she didn’t possess. He looked like an escapee model surrounded by sawdust. Cleo wished he’d go back to the other models. He did not belong in this neighborhood at all. She rejected his hotness.
New Neighbor raised his (not gorgeous) dark brown eyes. “Moon cycles.”
Cleo tried to look confused. She suspected failure on that front, but kept going forward. “The moon has nothing to do with this. Just stay inside, alright?” Her mind scrambled up something stupid and served it. “I have a group of friends who prefer to be anonymous, if you get my drift.”
Now his flat look shifted into pure irritation. “The local AA meeting is at the church, not your backyard. And it’s not contingent on lunar cycles.” His face twisted. “Try a different lie.”
Rude. She was lying, but he didn’t have to point it out. “When Milton lived here, he never went out. You’re outside all the damn time. I didn’t have to print a schedule for Milt. My friends and I have a regular… bonfire night. They’re shy. It’s a private thing. I’m just asking for a bit of privacy every so often.”
“Privacy according to this schedule,” he waved it around. “No.”
“What about,” she started.
He cut her off. “No, because I don’t care about your weird friends and whatever it is you do during the new and full moons. I’m not an idiot. You and your goth homies can have bonfire nights whenever you want, but I’m out here to work. I’m not looking at you. This is my job. This is my office.”
“A murder shed is your office?” Cleo asked doubtfully. The words were out before she could stop them.
“I'm a woodworker,” Rude New Neighbor said. He was even hot when he was indignant, and nobody looked good indignant. He took a deep breath and visibly released the tension from his too-broad shoulders.
“Listen,” Rude New Neighbor was aiming for calm. Cleo detracted points for being fake-nice. She hated that shit. “I get that you just want to be left alone. I do too. I just want to do my work. I’m not interested in what you do, or what your friends do. This workshop is where I can do that. I will not… stare or... bother... you and your friends…Would you stop touching that?”
Cleo had wandered away during his fake Nice Guy speech. Her eye had a caught sight of a small carved bowl in between tidy stacks of paperwork and receipts. It was a pretty little thing, slightly lopsided, worn smooth by time and handling. Her index finger slid around and around that edge easily. The bowl had the certain resonance that all deeply loved things did.
She continued to hold it even after he asked, just a moment. Usually she only resonated with plants and living things. Her natural affinity was with growing things, not objects like her sister Siobhan. Interesting. Cleo placed it carefully back in its spot.
“Just leave me and my,” Cleo paused almost imperceptibly, “friends alone.”
Rude New Neighbor grunted in assent, and tipped his head in acquiescence.
Cleo made her way out of the murder shed, conscious of those brown eyes on her back the whole time.
Chapter Two
Cleo’s car was damn hot. The AC had broken a while back, which wasn’t a problem until the heat came in, and then she wanted to die. Death would be easier than scrounging up the amount the mechanic said she’d need to fix it. She cruised through town, sweating in her tank top, and failed to center herself.
Her mom’s place was about two hours away, and Cleo swore to herself she’d use that time to meditate, to contemplate peace. Instead, her mind was replaying the greatest hits reel of all the crazy shit her mom had said. Cleo had thought she’d let some of that go, but the way it came up in her brain suggested that maybe not. Maybe not at all, actually.
Orlaith was beautiful in a distinctly witchy way. She was all slender curves and sweetly waving black hair and
