Page 2 of Timber Hollow

2

Charger

six days to full moon

O ne good thing about marrying into the White family is that the men work during the day, and everyone else leaves me alone. Every day like clockwork, Ethan, his dad, and brothers leave the White Estate in their flashy, overpriced cars at 7 AM on the dot. All of them in a little parade following Stephen's Rolls Royce through the gates.

It means however, that every day at 6:10 I am woken up by roving hands and pleads of " Come on baby, I need you before work," followed by five minutes of grunting, and then he's out of the house twenty minutes later without so much as a have a good day, love you .

So, every morning when he leaves, I can get up and move around the house without stepping on eggshells and pretending to be enamored with all of the glitz and glamor around. The first thing I do almost every day is go 'for a walk' around the Estate. Usually by the second mile, I've shifted, stashing my clothes in a hollowed-out tree. That typically takes up most of the morning. Afterwards, my routine is pretty simple. When I'm in the shower a maid will bring up a cup of coffee, placing it on the edge of the sink. After getting dressed in leggings and a tee shirt I take my mug into the library, settle myself in the large window seat, scrolling through social media and the news. Eventually, someone will come and collect my empty mug as they come through cleaning the already pristine house. When I get bored of doom scrolling, I pick up whatever book I left lying on the seat, and curl up with a blanket, emerging from my cocoon only when I need to use the bathroom, or in search of snacks.

There is a little pull chain that operates a bell in the kitchen for the cook staff. I've been told repeatedly that I can use it to have them bring anything I want up. I can't bring myself to pull on the chain, though. The house is huge, but the kitchen is only a set of stairs away. My mother always called me lazy as a kid, but even I can manage to descend the stairs for a good snacko . Ethan? Not so much. If I am considered lazy, then Ethan would be… worse, much worse. Every time Ethan uses one of the chains that are littered throughout the house I have to suppress the way my lip wants to curl, the disgust unfurling in my belly.

Ethan's house is large, but even with the various rooms and the massive lawns, the library is still where I spend most of my time. The July heat has nearly given way to August, bringing with it the even hotter breeze, and the potential for forest fires. The cooler temperatures of fall are still a long way off, but even so, the west coast doesn't get nearly as cold in the fall as home. However, with the smallest chill in the air in the earliest hours of the morning, the grounds staff has already warned me against going outside so frequently in the fall and winter months. Already advised to find a new hobby for the morning, rather than my walk around the grounds.

And already, I want to scream. My wolf feels as restless as I am.

Of course, my plain black leggings and comfy t-shirt are not considered acceptable attire in the White family. So every day at 4:15 I trudge back into the closet and choose one of the ensembles that was carefully chosen and selected for me by Cordelia's stylist. My wardrobe has dwindled to a handful of leggings, big t-shirts, and the stray black dress I'd managed to hang on to. Cordelia does not approve of many of the pieces, and what the matriarch of the family says, goes. So within the first few months of dating Ethan, the majority of my wardrobe was slowly donated, new pieces that made me want to light myself on fire replacing them. The Whites are hosting a fundraising dinner tonight for homeless shelters in the county, which means I have to select my outfit from the side of the closet I'd been told was appropriate for events.

Starched white shirt, grey tweed skirt with threads of green, purple, and blue throughout the houndstooth stitching, and a matching blazer. Nude heels from the rack. The selections are simple. Easy. Carefully, I style my bleached hair in a loose updo, slightly side-swept with strands left out around my face. A couple of swipes of concealer, mascara, and nude lipstick complete the look.

I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I don't know who this doll with wide brown eyes staring back at me is. With a small shudder, I leave the closet and dutifully make my way to the entryway. Truthfully, I am running a little late, but only by a minute or two.

That's nothing compared to the additional ten minutes I spend standing at the end of the stairs in the entryway, waiting for him. I hear the engine first, Ethan's Dodge Charger whipping into the driveway through the large windows. When he parks the car, he leaves the driver-side door open as he walks into the house. A butler opens the oversized door to the house for him, Ethan doesn’t even break stride.

My fiance’s watery blue eyes hungrily roam over my body, an ugly, self-satisfied smirk on his face. Then he's roughly pulling me into a bruising kiss the moment he's within touching distance. His hands grip the back of my head, tangling in my hair and wrinkling my shirt.

"How was your day?" I ask when Ethan releases me, straightening the hair he's mussed up, attempting to smooth my shirt, knowing Cordelia will eventually say some snide remark about it when we get to the main house.

"A day. Are you ready?" He answers, barely looking at me as he turns back around and begins walking out the door, tugging me with him. "Mother is waiting for us, we'll be late if we don't leave now," Ethan says like I am the sole reason we are ever late. He's still wearing the khaki suit he wore to work, though the navy blue tie is loosened.

I roll my eyes at his back, and say "Yes, of course." My heels click against the hardwood as I follow him out of the house, and into the Charger. Ethan is already seated by the time I land in the passenger seat, the engine rumbling. He peels out of the circular driveway nearly as soon as my door closes, throwing me back against the seat. The drive to the main house takes all of two minutes and is done in complete silence. Ethan never likes to talk about work when he comes home and never cares to ask what I do all day while he's gone, so there is nothing really to talk about. Honestly, I would have preferred to walk over, but arguing with Ethan is like talking to a brick wall. Regardless of what I say, he'll do what he wants. So I don't bother anymore.

My wolf stays silent too, pacing within the confines of my mind. I am not looking forward to going to the main house and rubbing elbows with people who by all rights should be good, kind, and generous. That is what their public persona would have you think. Behind closed doors, they take off that mask. Ethan, of course, does not see it that way. He's known all of these people his whole life, so to him this really is family dinner.

"Watch your mouth tonight. Father has invited the Senator." Ethan says as we pull into the manicured drive of the main house. There is a humongous wisteria tree that shades the drive and the entryway, though the flowers have all gone now. When Ethan first brought me, it had been in full bloom, massive tendrils of flowers swaying lightly in the breeze.

"Won't say a word." I declare, clenching my jaw, anger burning in my belly. Ethan does nothing, just throws the shifter into park, and exits the vehicle, the car door slamming behind him. My door closes much softer, solidly thunking as I follow Ethan to the door of his parent’s house.

"Ladies first," He says as his parent's butler opens the door for us, and for a moment— one single shining moment my anger dissipates. Then, Ethan swats my ass as I enter before him. The urge to shift and rip his fucking hand off rises up my throat like bile. As Ethan enters his parent's house, his entire demeanor changes. Ordinarily, he's at best only half interested in what I have to say, or what I'm doing.

Inside these walls, I'm a novelty. A new shiny toy he gets to parade around, something he gets to rub his brother's noses in.

It is no secret that Ethan likes me best for my body. I'm well aware of that fact, and usually, it doesn't bother me. These dinners, though, where Ethan and his brothers get together, get deep into their cups, and start talking about their wives– my hackles rise. Like Cordelia and Cassandra, Ethan's brother's wives are all rail thin, vapid, and petty. John is married to Vanessa, Phil to Karina. Beyond the fact I don't like being shown off like a show pony, a bright shiny penny, their spoiled rich boy attitudes are despicable. And it's not like I need any help making my future sisters-in-law hate me. They seem to manage that all by themselves, even if I hardly say a word.

"God I love that fat ass of yours," Ethan whispers in my ear as he throws his arm over my shoulder. "I'm gonna bend you over the Charger later. Fuck you against it like the dirty whore you are." He says, pressing a kiss against my temple as we enter the sitting room. Disgust makes my lip curl. His family—extended and not— are milling about, cocktails in hand. The person who must be the Senator is next to Cordelia and Stephen, a gaggle of older women and men circling the trio. His brothers all cheer as Ethan enters, clearly already on their second or third drink. He immediately steers us over to them, and I silently begin to count the minutes until food is served, smiling and nodding at the conversation I'm only half listening to.

It’s not like I’m expected to say anything.

When dinner is served, it is of course a drawn-out, multi-course affair. I'm seated between Ethan and Karina. She's not half bad unless you count her absolutely abhorrent attitude when one single drop of alcohol splashes her tongue. Luckily for me, she's sipping wine tonight and hasn't yet broken into Stephen's scotch. She'll still be a miserable cunt, but she won't immediately start hurling insults at me. No, that will be later when the ladies start gathering in the sitting rooms when the expensive Port wines come out.

Servants first bring out little crab cakes with hollandaise sauce drizzled over the top, the breading on the cakes perfectly crisp and delicate. I eat the whole thing, mopping up the extra sauce with my last bite of crispy delicate crab. My plate is cleared before almost everyone else, and Ethan's punishing grip on my thigh reminds me to eat the next course a little more demurely. Karina eats maybe one bite in between sipping her wine and gossiping to Vanessa.

Then, there's a soup that looks more like baby food than a broth. It tastes like a lovely summer squash, peppery and creamy though. As I take sips of that, Ethan strikes up a conversation with his dad about the account they're working on, the Senator joining in with interest. It wouldn’t take a genius to understand that whatever business deal they're cooking up is definitely not above board. The three men don't use explicit language to talk about the deal, but they don't specifically try to hide what they're discussing, either.

The Senator thinks he's so clever, referring to the capitol as the "home office" and veiling his words behind " Well this is for the good of the American people". He's convinced himself that there is no wrongdoing in his underhanded dealings with the Whites. He wants them to get him re-elected for another term. And, in return, the Whites will have exclusive first dibs on the oil drilling that the Senator plans to approve. The Whites help him, he helps the Whites. I only get down half of my soup before my stomach turns, listening to the men.

After the soup, there is a light Caesar salad, greens cut from the small garden on the grounds, and crispy crunchy croutons sprinkled on the top. I'm beyond ready to leave, barely able to restrain myself from performing an old-fashioned lobotomy. I think a fork to the eyeball will probably do it. If nothing else, it would end the evening. Dinner takes entirely too long with these people.

And to think, I get to do this for the rest of my life, week after week. Month after month.