Chapter four
Roan
I spill half the coffee from the mug I just stole down my trousers as I run across the street. That’s it. I can’t go back to Cool Beans. Fuck, I probably won't be able to show my face to anyone again.
Do they all think I'm some kind of fucking scam artist?
Based on the gossip the large, hairy monster shared with the other Wolven café proprietor, the only way people will be dealing with me is from a distance.
Perhaps that’s a good thing for now. This will give me a chance to get settled, get stuck in with cleaning up the gallery and show people I’m up for the job I was hired for.
Yesterday was a long day of introductions and reminding Louise over and over again that I was just Roan, a regular person who happened to be an artist. That’s supposed to be all that matters about me here.
Who my mother is doesn’t matter, how I grew up, or anything revolving around class doesn’t need to be mentioned.
I don’t need her getting wind of where I’ve gone.
The last introduction of the day was with Connie Lumzag, the owner of the retro motel I’m staying at.
She is probably the nicest person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.
Besides being understanding during my sleep-deprived, very late check-in, she also doesn’t seem scared to talk to me.
When the mayor introduced me again as Lady Rowena again, she didn’t miss a single beat when I corrected her.
Connie just called me Roan and introduced me to her family.
All the Orcs were excited to talk to me.
Her sons were bouncing off the wall, trying to pull me out to their workshop to show me the 1952 Victory motorcycle they are fixing up because it’s a British classic.
It seems the retro vibes at the motel come from a family of history lovers and vintage enthusiasts.
I’m hopeful that Connie and I will be good friends, even if it’s simply for our shared ability to smile and nod while two teenage boys talk a mile a minute about wet clutch plates.
The bike I bought yesterday morning is still stashed in the narrow alley between the diner and the centre. It's a bit rusty, but I need to stick with my budget. Plus, I can't drive, so it's not like I could just purchase a vehicle to get from place to place.
Hallow's Cove is quiet and scenic. It’s a little more spread out than I thought it would be, but after taking a map from the Information Centre, I realised there is really only one road I'll need.
The sun is just beginning to illuminate the horizon when I unlock the front door to the Hallow's Cove Arts Centre. During the initial key handover and contract signing, I did my best to keep a neutral expression, but now I let myself feel it all.
Tears well up in my eyes as I look at the absolute rubbish heap I've been put in charge of turning around.
Louise told me it needed some cleaning, but this is outrageous.
The piles of papers, boxes of decade-old leaflets, and decrepit furniture are all my job to remove, apparently, as is dusting, mopping, repainting, and refitting the whole building.
The building is structurally sound, at least.
My contract includes a small budget for this, but all art supplies and equipment for my projects comes out of my pocket and my meager salary.
Oh, and I've got to have one community event by the end of the year.
I sink into a chair, determined to wallow in self pity for a few moments before I start being a good person again. The chair gives out from under me in seconds. I tip over backwards, the rest of my coffee splashing across my chest in the process.
My screech echoes in the deserted space as pain radiates through me. The only thing worse is the embarrassment. I know that my weight has nothing to do with why the chair crumbled like a cheap charcoal stick, but my ego is hurt.
Hallow's Cove was supposed to be a new start, away from my mother's unwanted influence, so I could prove myself to be a real artist. But here I am—flattened, drenched in hot coffee, and crying.
Maybe this is a sign.
Rowena Darrington is barely capable of sticking up for herself, and Roan had thought two separate Wolven were flirting with her since arriving. Two Wolven who were mated to each other.
I've known a lot of monsters in my time. Elves, Vampires, and Orcs are all a part of high society circles. University was even more inclusive, but Wolven are still a mystery to me.
Clearly, those two will remain that way, because I can never show my face in that café again.
For several long minutes, I lay on the ground. The broken wood of the chair digs into my light jacket, probably ruining the material. It’s only when I'm cold, teeth-chattering wetness sinking into my shirt, that I finally move.
The bathroom is small and dusty, but there's no trash piled up, and the water runs clear. I clean myself up the best I can, discarding my jacket and top until I'm left in a camisole and hearty, damp trousers.
I've got a list to make.
Sweat pours from me as I drag another box of old papers to the industrial recycling bins at the back of the centre. I want to say that after hours of work, I'm feeling better about my situation, that physical labour has done everything that my mother’s housekeeper used to claim it would.
I am, in fact, feeling more hopeless. I've entered some sort of Hydra-possessed building where no matter how much trash I remove, twice as much appears in its place.
Will I ever see the real floors and walls here?
Any other time, I simply would’ve called in a team of builders to remove all this.
A specialist team of interior designers would renovate the ground and first floor gallery, and make the second floor a working studio.
Then, as the piece de resistance, I would have instructed my old agent to hire a professional gallerist to man and fill the bottom floors.
But that's not how I'm working anymore. All those contacts? My mother's. I wouldn't know a single bloody person on the European art scene if it weren't for her introduction
I'm a new person here.
Flashing money I didn’t earn will only make the rumour mill so much worse. I was hired to do a job, and I can do it. I can’t let town gossip or stupid attempts at flirting with mated men get in my way.
When I come back inside, there's a wolf face pressed up against one of the arched windows. I stumble, clutching the base of my throat, until I realise it's the brown Wolven with glasses. When his copper gaze moves to me, his adorable fluffy tail starts to wag and he waves his hand.
I swallow a lot of feelings, but I wipe sweat from my upper lip as I unlock the front door for him. Whatever he's here for, might as well get it over with, since it can be any more embarrassing than this morning.
“Hey, Roan.” He smiles brightly, sharp canine teeth catching the bright sunshine. “Wow this is… a room.”
“Hi…” Fuck, what's his name?
“Mitch,” he fills in the blank, stretching out his hand. His grip is firm in mine, and when his claws trail across my skin it sends a zing of arousal right through me. Fuck, no. He's mated and I'm not like that. “I thought I should try to make a better impression.”
My stomach drops. Yeah, yeah, makes sense. Tell the stupid human to stay the fuck away, that you’re mated. Gods, what the fuck is wrong with me?
“I'm so sorry,” I rush out. “I'm not sure what came over this morning, but that's no excuse. I swear that's not—”
“Oh!” He barks a laugh. “No, no, darlin’, he likes ‘em flirty. He's just… introverted.”
My brows pinch together in confusion even as a thick Southern accent slips through his voice. It sends the butterflies in my stomach into motion, and a blush rises in my cheeks.
“Okay,” I nod as my voice trails off. “Is there something I can do for you?”