Untamed Vol. 1 (Untamed #1)

Untamed
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely
coincidental.

Copyright ©
2014 by June Gray.
All rights
reserved.

No part of this
book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from either the author or the publisher, except by a reviewer who may
quote a brief passage in a review.
 

First Edition.
Cover design by June Gray.

Good Foot font by
Jakob
Fisher
.

CHAPTER
ONE

The Smoky Mountain is home to many
ghost stories and legends…

I picked up the
brochure, amused by the cover photograph of a man in a cape holding a lantern,
trying—but mostly failing—to look spooky.

“Here we are.”

I jumped, the
brochure dropping back to the counter, as Tim Wells, the owner of Bryson City
Cabins, emerged from a room in the back.

“Sorry, didn’t
mean to scare you,” he said, spinning a set of keys on his finger.

I gave him a
tight smile. “I guess the long drive from Atlanta to Bryson City has worn me
out, made me a little jumpy.”

“Well, Miss…” He
looked down at the rental paperwork I’d filled out in his absence. “Chloe
Randall. Here are the keys to the cabin and information on the cabin and the
area.” He folded a piece of paper and handed it over along with the keys.

I studied the
piece of paper—directions to the rental cabin, what to expect inside,
even a list of things to do around this area of North Carolina. “Thank you,” I
said to Tim. “This is very helpful.”

He motioned with
his head to the brochure on the counter. “And if you’re interested in the ghost
walk, tonight is the perfect night for it. Halloween is usually our busiest
night.”

“This is your
business as well?” I asked, only now realizing that the man with the lantern is
Tim himself, only a lot less gray and jowly.

He leaned back
and grinned. “Yes. I’ve run the Smoky Mountain Ghost Walk for ten years now.”

“And do you see
actual ghosts during this walk?”

He chuckled. “No,
but I have had a few people capture orbs in their photographs.”

“Do you believe
in ghosts?”

He adjusted his
glasses. “I’ve lived here, at the edge of the Appalachians, all my life, so
I’ve grown up with all the myths and legends. While I don’t believe in ghosts
per se
, I do believe mysterious things
happen in the forest that are hard to explain.”

Goosebumps
prickled down the back of my spine. “Like what?”

He hitched up his
sleeves and leaned his elbows on the counter, eyes alight with excitement. “For
years now people who own cabins have reported that things go missing in their
homes. Batteries, gas cans, books, blankets, a mattress.”

“Sounds to me
like just a run-of-the-mill thief.”

“But there’s
never any damage or sign of forced entry,” he said. “This has been going on for
almost a decade now and nobody has been able to catch him.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Yes, plenty, and
always the same one. But the police have run the prints through national
records and it doesn’t match anyone.”

“That just means
this thief hasn’t been booked before.”

“
Or
,” he said, clearly enjoying this
conversation, “it could mean he doesn’t exist, at least not the way we think.
Every one of us here in Bryson City
have
felt his
presence, one way or another. Even if it’s intangible, like the strange feeling
of being watched. Some people theorize he’s a shifter, part man, part wolf. But
I like to think he’s a ghost. How else could he walk through walls and not ever
be seen?”

“Maybe it’s just
a vagabond who’s really, really sneaky,” I offered.

He straightened.
“You big city folks are always so cynical. Come to the ghost walk tonight and
I’ll make a believer out of you.”

I slipped the
keys in my jacket pocket. “Thank you, really, but I think I’m just staying in
tonight. I’m a little leery of Halloween, actually.”

“Any reason why?”

“Personal
reasons.” I bid him farewell and all too soon I was back in my Lexus, heading
back down the highway towards the little cabin in the woods.

Holy mother of…

I set my bags
down on the floor of the cabin and gaped at my new lodgings. This was not the
rustic-chic digs I’d envisioned. Instead it was a tiny one-bedroom structure
with exposed log walls, pitted wood floors, and a general feeling of gloom.

An old leather
couch sat in the corner facing a large stone fireplace; the only other pieces
of furniture in the place were a small dining table and two chairs. The
“kitchen” was a nothing but a six foot laminated counter that took up one wall
with a stove and fridge at either end.

I walked over to
the only interior door to find, with some relief, that the queen bed at least
looked clean, the covers apparently freshly laundered. The headboard was made
from old pallets and was stained a dark color, lending the room a small amount
of style.

I sat on the bed,
pulled out my cell phone, and called my best friend. “Anna,” I said as soon as
she picked up. “What have I done?”

Anna’s tinkling
laugh filtered through the line. “Told you to look at the pictures before
renting it!” she said with too much glee. “How bad is it?”

“It’s pretty bad.
There’s no TV, no radio. There are a few books on the side table of the bed,
but that’s it for entertainment.”

“So why did you
go again?”

I sighed. “You
know why.”

“Yeah,” she said
softly. She knew more than anyone how much I’d been hurting the past month.

“I just… I need
this week to myself, to get away from Atlanta. I can’t be there while he has
his stupid annual Halloween party with his new girlfriend.” I fell back onto
the bed, staring up at the exposed beams
criss-crossing
over the ceiling, trying hard to push away the memories of my ex-boyfriend
Ethan and not altogether succeeding. “We were together for almost three years,
but he replaced me in less than a week.”

Anna sighed. “But
going up to North Carolina to a tiny town we’ve never heard of, roughing it in
some cabin… isn’t that a little like cutting off your nose to spite your face?”
she asked. “Because let’s face it, the Ritz-Carlton is more your speed.”

I glanced again
at the log walls and the thick lines of concrete holding them together, trying
to convince myself that I could last seven days in this place. “I want to prove
to Ethan that I’m not as high-maintenance as he claims,” I said. It was only
one of the three reasons why he’d said he couldn’t be with me anymore.

Anna
tsked
. “I still can’t believe Mr. Metrosexual himself said
that. Remember that time it took him two hours to get ready for that
fundraising gala you organized?”

A rueful smile
pulled at my lips, but any joy in that memory was now tainted by what he’d told
me the night we broke up.

“You’re a lot of work, Chloe. It’s so
exhausting being around you. You’re too much of a perfectionist.”

“I’m not—”

I’d started to
say I wasn’t like that, but we both knew I was persnickety about some things.
Okay, maybe a lot of things. And maybe I was a bit spoiled, having grown up in
a wealthy family, but that wasn’t really my fault. But I wasn’t beyond help,
and the purpose of this week was to prove I could be spontaneous and carefree.

Now all I had to
do was survive the next seven days in this almost-empty cabin and try not to
lose my mind.

“Hey, you still
there?” Anna asked.

I blinked,
clearing my thoughts. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re not
thinking about trying to get Ethan back, are you?”

I bit my lower lip.
Did I want him back? “Maybe,” I said on a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Chloe…” The
disappointment in Anna’s voice was so pronounced I found myself cringing.

As a twenty-seven
year old woman, I knew I
shouldn’t
want him back. I should just say “good riddance” and move on to someone who
would appreciate everything about me. But Ethan and I had been together for
almost three years, and I’d loved him longer than that—letting go was not
going to happen overnight.

“Hey Anna, I’d
better go,” I said in place of a real answer. The woman had known me nearly my
entire life. She really didn’t need to hear the words to know the answer
anyway.

“Me too. I need
to do my rounds,” she said. “Be careful out there, okay? Lock the doors and
windows, all that stuff.”

“Yes, Mom,” I
teased. “I’ll see you Monday.”

~

A trip back into
town and a few hours later, I stood in the middle of the cabin feeling a little
more comfortable with the place. It had taken until well after sundown and a
visit to nearly every open store in town, but I’d managed to find a few things
that would make the cabin a little more livable.

I’d purchased a
rug and placed it in front of the couch, a chenille throw to cover the faded
flowery print of the couch, and some candlesticks and place settings for the
dining table. For the bedroom I’d bought new sheets for the bed and new cream
curtains to replace the original nearly-transparent green panels.

I walked over to
the glass vase on the new coffee table—it was particle board but the best
I could do under such circumstances—and rearranged the daisies and
chrysanthemums so that the flowers were evenly distributed.

I stepped back
and admired my handiwork, literally dusting my hands together in satisfaction.
“There, that’s a little more cozy,” I said out loud, then headed to the
en-suite bathroom, where my new towels and bath mats were waiting.

The water
pressure in the shower was surprisingly good, the hot water holding out for at
least the twenty minutes it took me to feel clean. I dried off and changed into
a pair of panties and white shirt and slid under the covers with my iPad.

But I couldn’t
concentrate. I started and abandoned three new books, unable to focus on
anything. My head was buzzing with white noise and my body felt as if I’d
downed three espressos. I didn’t know what it was but there was a strange
feeling in the air, as if the mountains were vibrating with some odd form of
energy.

I got up, pulled
on my silk robe, and headed over to the sliding glass doors, thinking that
maybe some fresh air would clear my head. The moment I stepped outside, the
cool night air instantly assaulted me. I wrapped my robe tighter around me,
ineffective though it was, and stared into the pitch-dark wall of trees several
yards from the house, Tim’s words echoing in my head.

Mysterious things happen in the forest that
are hard to explain.

Could there be a
wild man out there, living in the woods undetected? It was certainly possible,
but to live out here for decades would have surely driven anyone insane. I’d
been in this cabin by myself for less than seven hours and already I was
feeling a little out of sorts.

Somewhere far
away, a wolf’s howl echoed through the mountains.

Goosebumps
prickled my skin as awareness came over me, that peculiar feeling of being
watched. I wrapped my arms around myself and scanned the area, my heart rate
speeding up inexplicably. Was he out there right now, this crazy old hermit who
broke into people’s homes, watching me from the shadows?

Or was he, as Tim
thought, a ghost with kleptomaniac tendencies?

Then it occurred
to me that I was a woman alone in the middle of nowhere and I was standing out
here in nothing but my drawers. Might as well hang a sign around my neck with
the letters TSTL—the internationally recognized acronym for Too Stupid to
Live—in neon paint, as smart as I was acting.

I hurried back
inside, making sure to lock the doors,
then
pulled the
curtains closed. I went out to the main living area and double-checked the
doors and the windows, then grabbed the largest knife from the kitchen drawers,
turned off the lights, and returned to the bedroom.

I was ready to
get back in bed when a noise out in the main living area froze the blood in my
veins. I listened, hoping, wishing,
praying
that I hadn’t
really heard anything. But there it was again, a creak on the floor. With the
knife in my hand I stomped over to the door, hoping all the noise would scare
the intruder away.

“Is anyone
there?” I asked, my fingers trembling as I felt along the wall for the light
switch. I blinked fast, trying to adjust to the darkness while I scanned the
room. I had almost convinced myself that I was alone, that I was just being
paranoid, when I caught some movement in the corner of the cabin.

There’s someone in here! Run! This is how
people die in horror movies, dummy!

My heart seized
in my chest. My brain shouted at me to run, but my limbs wouldn’t move. I could
only stare at the dark shadow in the corner, my brain trying its best to make
out a shape. Was it a coyote? A bear?

Then, finally, my
fingers made contact with the light switch.

I blinked as the
room filled with light and, as my eyes adjusted, I saw clearly the man hunched
over in the corner of the cabin, naked but for a pair of dark pants. He didn’t
move a muscle, only kept his head tucked by his knees, his face hidden by long,
dark hair.

I considered
screaming but quickly realized nobody would hear. Not out here. I held the
butcher knife tighter in my grip. “Who…” I tried to say. I swallowed, but my
mouth was dry. “What…”

Then slowly the
man turned his head, peering at me through the mess of hair. With his dark eyes
trained on me he slowly rose to his feet, straightening to his full height, and
it quickly became clear that this was no old, grizzled hermit. This man looked
no more than thirty. He was very tall and powerfully built, with deeply tanned
skin. Hair covered his wide chest and ripped stomach, trailing down below his
pants. His dark brown hair reached almost down to his shoulders in disheveled
waves, matching the short beard on his face.

A soft breath
rushed out between my lips. He was, in a word, magnificent.

He stood with his
feet apart, hands relaxed at his sides, but he didn’t say anything, only stood
stock still, measuring me with his gaze. He appeared calm as his eyes flicked
down to my bare legs, but I could sense the coiled tension in his body, like a
wolf ready to pounce on the unsuspecting rabbit.