Run, Run Rabbit Cambric Creek After Darkverse

C.M. Nascosta

Meduas Editoriale

First edition published by Meduas Editoriale 2022

Copyright © 2022 by C.M. Nascosta

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.

None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

About Author

Also By

The Party

High above the valley, the moon hung like a beacon, brightly lit and luminous.

Despite the unseasonably warm weather, there wasn’t a single cloud to hide its brilliance. As Vanessa sped along the rural highway, it seemed the moon was shining a spotlight down the road, lighting the way to the celebration like a bright, white runway.

She was already running late. Work always seemed to know when she had plans, creating a domino effect of late meetings and endless piles of paperwork, and once she’d arrived home, wardrobe indecision had set her back further. Now, she was attempting to make up for the lost time. The stretch of highway between Cambric Creek and Starling Heights always seemed empty, no matter what time of day she traversed it, which wasn’t often. Being the only car on the road often left her feeling discomfited, but she was grateful for the empty road then. There was no one to impede her progress, no one to slow her haste. No one to make her any later than she already was.

He would understand. Perhaps more than anyone else she knew, he would understand her tardiness and wouldn’t care. If he even notices. After all, hadn’t he been late just the previous month, the first time they’d spoken in several?

“You don’t need to apologize,” she’d smiled up once he’d finally appeared before the table that night in the over-priced restaurant he’d suggested, the waist-coated server ducking his head, pulling out the chair across from her for her tardy companion. The linen-covered table was already littered with the half-empty water and wineglass, the latter having already been refilled twice by the time he’d arrived, but it hadn’t mattered.

“That’s a relief,” he’d grinned down, his skin still holding its sun-kissed glow, his perfect white teeth blinding her for a moment. He’d been on vacation a month prior to that night, somewhere in the Maldives with someone who wasn’t her, and the knowledge had made her twist . . . but twisting had only ever made her fight harder. “Because I hadn’t planned on it.” His smile was cutting, but she had met it with a sharp-edged grin of her own. He was a wolf, a cocky, arrogant bastard of a wolf. But then again, so was she.

Vanessa reminded herself that he’d not apologized then, and she didn’t need to apologize now. All she had to do was get there. The moving dot representing her car on the GPS’s digital display showed how close she was to the hidden cul-de-sac where she needed to turn, following the circular road until she reached a private drive leading into the woods. Greenbridge Glen was the perfect backdrop for the nearly full moon — a tiny, sparsely populated hamlet, comprising a small resort and a smattering of private homes and not much else — nestled in the rolling hills of agriculture that stretched between the two towns. It was lush and green, the hills providing a perfect sea of shadows for the moon to cast her white light upon, guiding the way.

The house was a country estate, built at the turn of the previous century, replete with hundreds of winking leaded windows and deco archways, high on a hillside, surrounded by forested peaks and valleys. The Greenbridge Glen address was a tax shelter owned by several members of the Cambric Creek elite — a shifter who lived halfway around the world and the troll couple who had started the Food Gryphon chain; the heiress to the Deliquesce fortune, a ubiquitous home plumbing product marketed to minotaurs and centaurs; and several others, including the evening’s host.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me . . .”

The vast estate was on a private drive, a perfect setting for that night’s celebration . . . or at least it would be if the line at the valet wasn’t ten cars deep. Vanessa sighed, tapping her lacquered nails against the edge of the steering wheel as she idled at the curb, watching as another sleek luxury sedan slid into the queue. Eleven cars. Fuck it. She didn’t want to waste any more of the evening than she already had, taking her foot off the brake as a twelfth car took its place in the valet line. She would park down the road and hoof it up the hill, and she wouldn’t be forced to waste any more of the party.

It had become one of her favorite celebrations of the year; ironic, as she’d only started celebrating it since she’d met him. Lupercalia. There was something primal about this night, a tumidness that would weight the air even before the smells of sweat and sex permeated the ceremony; a heavy sense of expectation that seemed to curl around her, lifting her hair and licking down her bare legs. That’s what happens when you get this many hard cocks in a room at once. 

The throng of merrymakers had spilled out onto the lawn, she saw as soon as she crested the steep incline, only needing to step through a bit of landscaping, her spiked heels sinking into the black mulch at the base of the manicured shrubbery. A scowling security guard appeared before her, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening as she produced her gilt-edged invitation with a flourish and a beatific smile. It could have been worse, she reminded herself, kicking away the remnants of the mulch that clung to the toe of her black patent leather shoe. You could have wound up crawling through the bushes. You didn’t need to climb a tree or hop a fence, so we’ll call this a win.

As usual, no expense had been spared. The champagne was already flowing liberally, waistcoated servers gliding through the crowd, crystal flutes, hot hors d’oeuvres, and identical black masks on hand for those who had not brought their own. Vanessa wondered, as she looked around at the sea of staid cocktail attire, snagging a champagne flute from a passing tray, how many of these gossiping guests would stay as perfectly coiffed as they were now; how many of them would fall prey to the hysteria of the festivities, loosening their hair and clothing alike when the wolves began to run. She paused, wrinkling her nose at the unexpected taste of the champagne, before straightening her black lace mask and entering the fray.