Voiceless Read online

  Voiceless

  The Willowdale Village Collection - Book 1

  M. Sinclair

  Copyright © 2020 M. Sinclair

  Published by M. Sinclair

  In USA

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced/transmitted/distributed in any form. No part of this publication shall be shared by any means including photocopying, recording, or any electronic/mechanical method, or the Internet, without prior written consent of the author. Cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law are the exception. The unauthorized reproduction/transmitting of this work is illegal. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The Union of Love & Madness

  Editorial Team

  Chantal Fleming

  Niki Trento-Spencer

  Formatted by Kassie Morse

  To my parents for consistently fueling and supporting my dreams growing up. From being a ballet dancer to authoring my first book, you have always been my biggest fans.

  Contents

  1. Colette Allard

  2. Dylan Graves

  3. Colette Allard

  4. Hunter Graves

  5. Colette Allard

  6. Luca Graves

  7. Colette Allard

  8. Colette Allard

  9. Dylan Graves

  10. Colette Allard

  11. Hunter Graves

  12. Colette Allard

  13. Luca Graves

  14. Colette Allard

  15. Colette Allard

  Colette Graves

  Colette Graves

  The Willowdale Village Collection

  Fearless

  M. Sinclair

  Published Work

  Stalk me… really, I’m into it.

  Description

  I’d spent my entire life voiceless.

  Ignored. Put to the side. All because I couldn’t communicate with the humans that I was surrounded by. All because I wasn’t surrounded by my own kind, my parents subjected me to the worst type of loneliness because of their own bias and history. That all changed when I turned eighteen though.

  The day that I decided to pick up and move to Willowdale Village.

  A place that signified the exact opposite of my upbringing. A place where I found my best friend. A place where I opened up my own business, a small ballet studio where I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I could talk to others. A place where people understood why I couldn’t talk. A place where everyone was different. A place where I met the Graves brothers, a family of wolf shifters, that planned on changing my life forever.

  A place I now called home.

  But what happens when my parents come to visit with an unexpected guest? One that not only wants to bring me back to where I grew up but place a very unwanted ring on my finger? I have a feeling that no one will be happy about this, least of all me, and the reaction of the Graves brothers is nothing to be happy about either.

  The Willowdale Village collection consists of several standalone stories about the women that live in this supernatural town and their stories of finding themselves and love. You won’t find any dark romance here, only possessive alpha males and true happily ever afters. Each woman is absolutely unique and strong for their own reason. PNR UF Reverse Harem with +18 sexual content, swearing, and adult themes.

  This collection of short stories has been created by the author in an effort to give back. A certain percentage of the first month’s proceeds (for each new novel release within the collection) will be donated towards a select unique cause.

  1

  Colette Allard

  Exhaustion didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling at this exact moment.

  My eyes were half shut as I leaned my head against the filthy Greyhound Bus station window, waiting on the last leg of my journey. The one that would take me south and into California. Not that I didn’t find Seattle enjoyable or even beautiful, but I was hoping for something warmer than the east coast city I’d run from.

  Then again, literally anything would be warmer than the small town of Pales, Maine. I know, sounds appealing, right? Well, it wasn’t, for the record. It fucking wasn’t.

  I closed my eyes experimentally, just to see how exhausted I truly was. Immediately, a sigh of relief slipped from my mouth, feeling the weight of the past twenty-four hours on my body lessen. This sucked. This sucked so goddamn much and I had absolutely no one to blame but myself.

  If I had grown the balls to take more than five hundred dollars from my father’s office, I could have afforded a business class suite on the previous leg of my little journey across the United States. Well, I suppose ‘little’ would imply a few states instead of Maine to Washington, but the time had gone by fairly fast while tucked into my small bench of the Amtrak. I was a bit pissed I had to take the bus down to California, but if it got me there, I wouldn’t complain. Plus, it left me with a bit of money left over which was important… for you know, food and shit.

  I could have taken more, for the record, he had tens of thousands of dollars in there. I had left home for a reason though and I truly had no urge to be more indebted to them than necessary. I had also felt guilty.

  My original ticket had cost me almost two hundred and fifty dollars because I’d bought it ten minutes before the train left, taking a chance and hoping that across the country would bring me better luck than Maine.

  I’d been a half an hour into my eighteenth birthday when I’d decided that was it. That was the night I would have to leave. I couldn’t and wouldn’t wait any longer than that. It didn’t matter to me if I didn’t graduate. Although, I would be surprised if I didn’t because I’d taken all but two finals. It didn’t matter to me if my parents noticed my absence. Which they probably wouldn’t. All I cared about was finally taking the freedom that was so rightly mine. One I’d been deprived of most of my life.

  For so long I’d lived by their rules and my focus had been on what they needed. But what type of life is one where everything is pre-dictated by someone that doesn’t listen to you? Doesn’t hear you? It’s not a life. So I left, and I didn’t feel guilty about it.

  I did feel a bit stupid right now though. Did I really think I’d be able to do this? All on my own? I had a little under half my money left and I hadn’t eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours, scared that I would need the little money I had left for something down the line. I didn’t exactly have a lot of experience of managing finances, so I was somewhat winging it at this point. I figured erring on the side of caution was good because I’d heard Los Angeles, my final destination, was extremely expensive. I nibbled my lip, wondering if maybe the most expensive city, or one of them, in the country had been the best choice for me. Probably not.

  No point in worrying about it now, though. My ticket for the bus was bought and here I was, waiting for it.

  I pulled the sleeves of my oversized hoodie over my palms and adjusted my beanie, making sure the dark grey fabric covered my vibrant purple hair. My leggings were insulated and keeping my limbs fairly warm, although in retrospect considering it was spring, I should have brought a warmer jacket. I’d only brought the essentials I could fit into a large backpack.

  Now I felt like it was nothing, maybe one week of clothes at the most. Maker, I was so unprepared in life. I hated how sheltered, naive, and let’s not forget about how stupid I’d been. All this crap wasn’t helping the headache that was pounding through my temples as something was said over the loudspeaker, the low voice slightly slurred and hard to understa
nd.

  I frowned and shook my head, trusting my small watch to alert me when I needed to be ready to hop onto the bus. I didn’t want to check my phone either because I was worried the battery would die and then I would have no way to order an uber or anything like that once in Los Angeles. And yes, I had forgotten my fucking phone charger. Don’t remind me.

  I was failing at this hard core.

  Inhaling deeply, I tried to center and relax. I desperately wanted to listen to classical music and go to my happy place. Where was my happy place? Dancing. Forever and always dancing.

  In ballet, you didn’t have parents who didn’t listen to you.

  In ballet, you didn’t feel the weight of expectations on you.

  In ballet, you didn't have choices being made about your future.

  In ballet, everything was different. The medium of dance itself was difficult, it required years of intense training to mold your body into a perfect tool for the art form that I so desperately loved. But once you reached a certain point? When you were comfortable with your body, relying on muscle memory, it became something so much more than a physical activity.

  You became an extension of the art itself.

  I was no longer Colette Allard. I was a tool to express the stunning choreography that someone had hand crafted to a masterpiece of music. I was art itself, rather than a girl who was voiceless to everyone. Invisible. Unimportant.

  It had been a difficult choice to leave the current company I’d been studying under. Despite being only seventeen, I’d been working with a ballet company out of Maine after they had seen one of my performances at my home academy a year and a half beforehand. I’d been all but groomed to enter into the company, despite not being sure I wanted that. I loved dancing, of course, but did I want to do it for money? I wasn’t positive. It was so sacred to me, and somehow making it a job took away something from that. My thoughts wandered to my most recent practice.

  “Again,” Anatoly shouted, his thick Russian accent causing me to jump slightly.

  I rolled my shoulders back and placed myself at the barre, ready to move past our warm up already. I knew we would be practicing a sequence from The Firebird today. It was by far one of my favorites.

  As the music came on from the old stereo system he insisted using, I found myself staring ahead into the mirror. I had a love-hate relationship with mirrors. As a dancer, I valued that they could help you position yourself until you could find the placement of your hips and arms on your own. I also hated the mirror because it often showed warped images of your body and its movement. A happy medium was necessary.

  I shook my limbs out as I rolled through my pointe shoes, their black satin color matching my convertible tights, leotard, and insulated warm-up pants. I winced, feeling my right big toe pulsing with pain from yesterday when I had bled through the lamb’s wool protecting my toes as well as the satin on the shoes. Fun shit, right? That was why I always wore black. Blood didn’t bother me, but it did make it look like I enjoyed brutally hurting my feet… which I suppose wasn’t terribly off base.

  Tchaikovsky’s classics had a wonderful effect on me and I was falling into the warm-up before I even realized it. I rolled my neck and shoulders as I continued to work through my shoes, needing them warm and less stiff than they were currently. I could feel my energy building as I mentally prepared for the next few exercises.

  I lost track of time as we worked through a combination of plies, tendus, and glisses. My arms swayed as a natural extension from my elbow as I closed my eyes, refusing to compare and focus on the other dancers around me. I knew it wouldn’t do any good and would probably just mess up my current precise movements.

  When the crescendo of one of his songs hit, we worked our way through ronds de jambes, fondus, and frappès. My movements, which had been deep and developed, turned quick and sharp as I allowed myself a bit of creative freedom when it came to my arm placement.

  My instructor was probably scowling at me, but I think he took it easy on me considering I was so young. He let me get away with things that the others didn’t. It also helped I wasn’t being paid like they were, so I had no contract to hold me here. Just my love of dancing.

  Finally, we moved onto extensions and I let out a sound of relief as I grabbed the arch of my foot and bent towards the barre, my foot near my ear. Shit. That felt so amazing.

  “Fantastic, Colette!” his voice echoed. “You have been working on your flexibility.”

  You have no idea buddy.

  I preened at his compliment, but then I sagged slightly. How sad was it that his compliment was the first I’d heard in forever? How sad was it that my own parents had never been to a recital of mine? I tried to shake the thought, but I was left with the feeling that something would have to change.

  I couldn’t live like this forever.

  Honestly, I couldn’t tell you how long I’d been sitting there before I pulled myself from my daydream. I yawned and opened my eyes, looking around feeling a bit confused about why it was taking so long. I knew they had said they would call us when the bus was leaving and the alarm on my clock had yet to go off. In fact, it said we had around fifteen minutes. What the hell was going on?

  Standing up, I realized the terminal was far clearer than it had been a few hours ago. The Seattle sky darkened as rain poured down outside. An awful feeling infiltrated my gut as I walked up to the counter.

  “Hi there, how can I help you?” An older woman, maybe mid-sixties with silver hair elegantly pulled up, asked with a slight smile from behind the counter.

  Well, she seemed rather chipper.

  Honestly, I almost considered just taking out the notebook I kept on me, but I first gave sign language a shot. Was it too much to hope that she knew it? Unlikely, but what the hell, at least I could say I tried.

  Moving my fingers in a practiced movement, I asked, “I was wondering if bus 574 is still on schedule for Los Angeles?”

  Her brow dipped as she immediately put a pad of paper and pen on the counter, making my life a hell of a lot easier. I wrote out the message and instantly her eyes filled with concern and something else. Now why did I feel like I was going to run out of good news? Not that I’d really had any recently.

  “I’m sorry, hun, that bus left almost three hours ago. We had to reschedule the system a bit because of the incoming storm,” she explained softly, “but that was only by about half an hour.”

  Confused and my shoulders slumping, a sense of true disappointment filling me, I checked my watch. I looked skyward, realizing I hadn’t fucking taken into account the time change. This. This was not my day.

  I sighed and looked back down at the paper, trying to figure out what to do. “Can I exchange my ticket for a different time?” I wrote out as her brow pinched further.

  “Normally, yes,” she leveled, looking a bit unsure, “but it’s Friday, we won’t be having another one down to LA until Monday. You are more than welcome to try Amtrak…”

  Alright, it was clear Los Angeles was not in the cards for me.

  I quickly wrote. “What do you have available for tonight?” When in Rome, right?

  Her eyes sparkled in relief, no doubt at finding a positive answer to my question, as she quickly pulled out a system map.

  I listened to her explain that there were three more buses leaving tonight. The first was going back east, which was not my cup of tea, nor could I afford it. The second was heading to Canada. I hadn’t even thought to bring my passport. See, folks? This was poor planning. This was what I got for not preparing.

  The final looked to be a relatively short journey, comparatively at least. I pointed to it with a questioning look, feeling hopeful since it went towards the mountains. Mountains were cool.

  Yes, I was at that point of exhaustion that I was describing mountains as ‘cool.’

  “Oh! That is the train to Galena and then Willowdale Village. Both are beautiful but Willowdale is an adorable tourist spot in the mountains that gets very pop
ular during the winter season. The folks there are very friendly.” She nodded in somewhat approval.

  My fox popped an eye open at her mentioning of the location, almost causing a whine of excitement to break through my throat. Immediately, she hopped around in my head, pacing and letting out a small sound of approval. Apparently, she was thrilled about this possible location. Well, okay then. That made it easier. Willowdale Village it was.

  My shifted side and I hadn’t had much freedom in our life so our relationship could be odd, but I never doubted her instincts on things. If she thought it was a good idea then it probably was.

  With that in mind, I nodded, pointing towards it before handing her my ticket to LA to exchange.

  Immediately, she gave me back two twenties and a ten, making my night as I breathed a bit easier. She pointed me in the direction of the bus waiting outside. “Be safe, hun!” she called as I offered her a small smile.

  Honestly, it was people like her that I was thankful for.Thankful for someone that actually took the time to answer my questions instead of pretending I was dumb because I couldn’t communicate the same way they were used to. I could laugh, giggle and even moan with pleasure...but the Maker fucked me out of being able to speak my mind. Literally...voiceless.

  I shook my head, trying to clear my head from that negativity. The bus was empty except for the bus driver who I offered a nod to before settling into one of the back rows, sighing in relief, knowing that no matter where I ended up… it was somewhere else than ‘home.’ I powered up my phone, curious to see if anyone had noticed I was gone.