Welcome to Castle Cove: A Design Your Destiny Novel, #1

Welcome to Castle Cove

A Design Your Destiny Novel

Kory M. Shrum

Contents

An Exclusive Offer for You

Instructions

Start

Stop and see who it is

Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear

Get the hell out of here

See what he has to say

Answer Katie’s phone call

I want to stay home

Call her back later

I’m not a ninja! Call the police

Do something

Stay inside as told

Lean closer and hear what she says

She needs help. Call 911

Go back to my apartment

Wait for the paramedics

Don’t ask questions! Run

Turn and look

I have to know! Look and see what’s happening

Nope. Get inside

Mace this prick!

Don’t make him mad. One more bite and I’m a goner

Hell yes, I’m out of here

I moved here for a new life. I’m not turning back now

Bagged

I’ll stay

Donor

This is totally something I would do

I plan to leave town first chance I get

Flirting is the last thing I need right now!

Yes, I would appreciate the help

Yes, please. I don’t want to be alone

Go with Ethan and Dr. Grange

Leave Castle Cove

No, alone time sounds perfect

Call Katie and see if she wants to go out

Call Dr. Grange and ask her where baby vamps hang out

Call Ethan Benedict and apologize for missing our meeting

Accept the offer

It would be nice to go out

Blow Spencer off

Leave the booth and talk to Spencer

Follow Spencer out

Go back to the bar

Find out the truth about Castle Cove

Let him go

Get into the car with Katie

Call for Kristine’s help

Go into the bar and get checked out

Go home and go to bed

Try to find Katie. She could be in serious trouble

Call a cab

Let Spencer take me home

Listen to his explanation

Get out of the car

I want to know the truth

I want to see more

Leave tonight

Go by Alpha’s

Go by Katie’s apartment

Go into Alpha’s and ask around

Take a closer look

Report her missing

Look in the bedroom

Open the curtains first

Take a nap

Leave with the driver now and solve this mystery later

Go inside the labyrinth

Romance with a hot soul-eater

Make another choice

Hell yes, I want it

A long, happy, human life

Truth

Romance

Romance with a loyal lesbian werewolf

Romance with a vampire fan boy

Nope. Time to get the hell out of Castle Cove

Truth

Have another drink

Ask about Katie and this sacrifice business

Ask about Vendetta

Stay in Castle Cove

Give Kristine my number

Call it a night

Go to the police station

Throw back the covers

Author’s Choice

Thank you!

Get Your Three Free Books Today

Night Tide in Castle Cove

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Kory M. Shrum

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places have been used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. Although every precaution has been taken in preparation of the book, the publisher and the author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of information contained in this book or its misuse.

Copyright © 2018 Kory M. Shrum

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Silviya Yordanova

www.darkimaginarium.com

An Exclusive Offer for You

Connecting with my readers is the best part of my job as a writer. One way that I like to connect is by sending 2-3 newsletters a month with a subscribers-only giveaway, free stories from your favorite series, and personal updates (read: pictures of my dog).

When you first sign up for the mailing list, I send you at least three free stories right away.

If giveaways and free stories sound like something you’re interested in, please look for the special offer in the back of this book.

Happy reading.

Kory M. Shrum

For Kimberly Benedicto,

the best choice I ever made

Instructions

This is a different kind of novel. It requires an adventurous mind and inquisitive soul to fully enjoy.

Unlike most stories, you can read this one in many different ways, depending upon the choices you make.

You can make selections based on what you would do in a situation and see where that gets you. Or you can track every choice you make and make sure you’ve left no stone unturned. This is a great way to uncover as many secrets as you can about this strange town and its stranger residents.

Or you can choose not to choose. In the back of this book is a chapter called Author’s Choice, which is written in the traditional novel style (from beginning to end, no choices). If you select Author’s Choice, you will not get all of the story but it will be a complete story. This is a good option for those who want to visit Castle Cove but don’t want to explore it.

If you choose to explore, you will want to track your choices. When you reach the end of a story path, you can select Create a New Story and it will take you to the beginning again.

If you want to stay on the same path, but redo a choice or two, you will need to go back. Knowing which choice you want to redo will help.

You must decide if you will read it as a detective or as an experience.

The choice is up to you.

I tell myself not to, that looking will only make this worse, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t resist pivoting in my seat and craning my neck to see the wall clock above the exit. 4:53. Seven more minutes. Just seven minutes and I can pack up and go home and finally end this train-wreck of a week. A book, a glass of chilled wine, and maybe even a hot bath…yeah. Throw a decent night of sleep on top and a lazy Saturday morning to follow and I’ll be right as rain.

All of this sounds so good that I’m packing up before I realize what I’m doing.

What difference does seven minutes on a Friday make anyway, I ask myself as I shove my laptop, planner, and phone into my gray canvas bag. I can leave out the back door of the office building, right under that red EXIT sign, and make it to my car before anyone even realizes I’m gone.

And what are they going to do, deduct seven minutes from my pay?

No one is even going to see me.

You’re wrong there, I think. There’s definitely one person who will count those precious minutes like gold coins.

I pivot the other way, toward the front of B & B Creative Partners building, and gaze out across the open office. All the desks have been vacated and the computers sit dark save one.

In the blue light of the screen, Spencer’s face is expressionless unless I count the off-putting intensity in which he stares at me without blinking. His dark eyes drill into mine. I’ve always thought glasses softened a gaze. Nope. Spencer eyes me like a hawk eyes a field mouse scurrying in the high grass below, just waiting for his opportunity to swoop down and sink those talons in my neck.

I force a smile and half-hearted wave. Ready for the weekend?

He grunts.

I repress the urge to ask, is that a yes or a no, asshole?

But I decide striking up even a polite conversation isn’t worth it. After all, he’s part of the reason this work week has been so awful. I want to just grab his shoulders, shake him and demand, what is your problem, man?

Because it’s clear he has a problem. With me. He brought coffee to work for everyone but me, and was like oh I forgot you were here, which I’d believe since I’m new, except he smirked when he said it. Then three out of four times I’ve had to ask him about an account he has pulled out his phone and pretended to take a call, in order to avoid me. He told our boss Laura that the Find the Golden Egg Easter campaign was his idea. And even if I could overlook his credit-stealing and rude office behavior, there are his emails. No hello, no signature. Just one or two-line commands.

I want the Hannigan memo by 4:30.

You have to meet with the Yorks at 1:30. Be early.

Your fly is undone.

I guess I could see the last one as a courtesy. He didn’t have to tell me I was showing my lacy underwear to everyone. Or worse, he could’ve shouted it across the open office. But this one courtesy aside, he’s been a total shit to me.

Maybe I’m blowing his behavior out of proportion to his actual crimes. He can’t be blamed for everything.

I just moved to this new town, first of all. And as charming as Castle Cove is with its gorgeous cliffside coast, thick forests that makes the whole town reek of pine and wood chips, the people themselves have been standoffish. In grocery stores, at the post office, the gas station. They look long, they look hard, and not one has spared me a smile. If they speak to me at all, they ask a variation of the same question: Where are you from?

Baltimore wasn’t exactly a friendly city, but this vibe is nothing like Baltimore.

Which is why you moved, I remind myself. I wanted something new. I wanted all the possibility a drastic change could offer. I just need to adjust. That’s all.

I could just be lonely.

What am I saying? Of course I’m lonely. The whole reason I left Baltimore and took this job on a whim was to get away from the awful failed engagement and a career that was falling apart.

Getting dumped is really hard on job performance apparently. And I was one write up away from getting fired.

One month after Greg and I called it off and he moved out of the apartment we’d shared for three years—Bam! We ran into each other.

I was in the grocery store after work, looking at the canned spaghetti, trying to decide if I wanted the old traditional or spicy version.

I hadn’t even boiled water for a month. I’d stopped washing my hair and wearing makeup. My wardrobe consisted of mostly yoga pants.

But I was okay. I was breathing and getting up in the morning. I was still going to work and paying the bills. I was going to be fine. Probably.

While I was reading the back of a can of spicy spaghetti, someone called my name.

I turned, and there he was. Greg looking fit and gorgeous with his mussed black hair. The cut-off T-shirt he was wearing brought out that rich blue color of his eyes.

Sure, we were both wearing workout clothes, but it was clear he’d actually been working out. It was showing.

I had not. And it was also showing.

For a moment we just stood there, staring at each other. He looked caught between a smile and a grimace and I was caught between putting the spaghetti in my basket or back on the shelf. Hell, maybe I would’ve been frozen like that forever in some kind of oh-my-god-here’s-my-ex-and-of-course-I-look-like-shit-don’t-move challenge.

Then a woman’s high, bright voice called his name. He broke the stare first, turning toward the voice.

I bolted.

Before I even saw who it was, I’d grabbed my can of spaghetti and was out of there. Back home, I drank a whole bottle of wine in a tub that I hadn’t bothered to fill and cried while eating my cold pasta—from the can. It wasn’t just that he’d seen me frumpy and tired with greasy hair and no makeup. It wasn’t that I’d gained weight while we were together and more after he dumped me.

It was the freaking kale.

He had freaking kale in his plastic handcart. I knew that man. He only ate kale when he was trying.

And he wasn’t trying for me. Not anymore.

That night I started looking for jobs in ad agencies all over the country. The farther the better. The next morning, I woke to find an email notifying me of a brand new listing. It was for an account manager at B & B Creative Partners, an advertising agency in Castle Cove. I’d never heard of this place, but the description was perfect. And I was certain that my boss would be more than willing to get rid of me after the month I’d had.

Two phone interviews later, I had a new job and a reason to leave Baltimore behind.

I will never tell Spencer all of this, of course. But sometimes I imagine shouting it into his face, ending with an impassioned, so give me a break, man!

I replay this particular daydream now as he stares me down.

4:59.

I log off and power down my desktop computer. I make sure all the pens end up in their black wire cup and the rainbow sticky notes are back in a pile. I like coming to work on Monday to a tidy desk. I might be totally out of control in the rest of my life, but my desk is together and ready for action, damn it.

Even if I’m not.

5:00.

Have a great weekend, Spencer, I call, offering a cheerful wave.

He says nothing. What an a-hole.

I can’t get out of this building fast enough. With my bag over one shoulder, my jacket in hand, I rush toward the red exit sign and the waiting parking lot beyond. I’m almost to the door when someone calls my name.

My stomach drops. God, what now?

Choice 1

Stop and see who it is

Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear

Stop and see who it is

Ishould’ve known it was too good to be true. A beautiful weekend at home was beginning to feel too real. I compose a smile and turn around.

It’s Laura, my boss.

She stands in the hallway just outside her office door with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She pulls the phone away from her head and asks, Can I have just a minute? It won’t take long.

Of course. I soften my smile, trying to infuse it with sincerity, but I suspect the hint of desperation is still there.

I’m glad I didn’t run into the parking lot. Blowing off the boss after the first week on the job would’ve gone over really well.

I step into her office, and she closes the door behind us. She takes a seat at her large desk and I select a chair opposite her. And wait.

She continues to listen to whomever is on the other end of the line. I can hear the melodic masculine voice from where I sit. I take the moment to appreciate the photos of her kids in pretty sterling silver picture frames and the luxurious navy-blue sofa in the corner.

My phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it. Whoever is calling will have to wait. Laura can be rude if she wants. She cuts my paycheck.

All of that sounds great, Laura says finally, tapping her nails on her desktop. They’re black with red tips. Yes, we look forward to seeing it in action. Please send him our best regards. Thanks. Yes, you too.

She ends the call.

I apologize for the wait and for holding you over on a Friday, she begins flashing me that brilliant white smile. I’m certain that her teeth must be veneers. They’re too perfect. Like the red hair framing her bone-white face. I’m sure you’re as desperate for a day off as I am.

You have no idea.

Do you have plans this weekend? she asks.

My heart skips a beat. I don’t think she’s just curious. I have a feeling she’s going to ask me to work. Before I can decide if I should lie and make up some plans or admit to being free, she barrels on.

That was Ethan’s assistant, Liam, on the phone. Ethan wants you to visit Labyrinth this weekend, see the establishment first hand. He’s certain it will help you formulate a marketing plan. He’ll give you the VIP treatment of course.

That’s nice. I hope my face is neutral.

Because I can’t say no. Ethan Benedict is the other B in the B & B Creative Partners. Apparently, Ethan Benedict and Laura Benson struck up a partnership to promote Mr. Benedict’s many businesses in Castle Cove. That makes him both my boss and my client.

He owns First Night Theatre in Old Town. A classy renovated theatre a couple of blocks from my apartment that looks like it was cut right out of time, with its classic Broadway-esque marquee. It must’ve cost Mr. Benedict a fortune to restore it to its 1920s glory.

He also has a restaurant in Cliffside, High Tide, focusing on seafood dishes served on pristine white tablecloths overlooking the ocean. And don’t forget The Magic Bean, a coffee shop on the edge of CCU’s campus.

I would almost prefer any of these establishments to the velvet and leather night club I’ve been invited to. Labyrinth, a converted warehouse on the northwestern edge of town. At the very end of the Red Light district, sometimes called the Quarter. The strip of town known for its dark bars and raucous night life.

I have no idea what I will wear.

Laura’s lips quirk in a knowing smile. Perhaps it isn’t your scene, but it will be good to visit anyway. Ethan would like to meet our newest Castle Cove resident.

Another 100-watt smile.

So when will you go? she presses, tapping her nails against the desktop again.

Not will you go, but when.

I’m very tired tonight, I tell her. But maybe after a good night of sleep…

Great! I’ll tell Ethan you’ll be there tomorrow. Club opens at 10.

A.M.?

Laura laughs, a throaty sound. Her brown eyes catching the lamplight. "P.M. It’s a nightclub. He’ll be so pleased."

Her phone buzzes again and I politely excuse myself from her office before she can make any more unreasonable demands.

As I step into the parking lot, the chilly evening licks the back of my neck and I shiver. I see a red Tesla Roadster pull out of the paved lot and turn onto Pine Creek Road, just before I spot my own car in the parking lot, two spaces down from Laura’s Lexus. I pull my coat tighter and hustle toward my car.

As I cast nervous looks up at the swelling moon and the dancing shadows closing in. I can’t help but feel like my weekend won’t be as quiet as I planned.

Why is that first moment when I get home so glorious? I kick off my shoes, feel my heels soften into the plush carpet and sigh. I toss the bag onto the sofa and say hello to the cat, Sushi. He meows, batting the edge of his food dish. It’s mostly full, with a small quarter-sized part of the bowl showing at the bottom. Yet he’s crying like he’s going to perish of hunger at any moment. It’s hard to resist him though. With his soft gray fur, white-socked feet and big amber eyes—he knows I’m easy prey.

All right, all right, I say and add another half scoop to the bowl. He lets me pet him for a minute before batting my hand away. I’m surprised that I get away with that much, honestly.

Sushi has been on edge since we’ve arrived in Castle Cove. I’m sure it’s the new town, new apartment, and he’ll warm up to the place soon.

I call the pizza place listed on my fridge magnet, The Castle Cove Slice, and order a medium pizza with sausage and peppers. Stuffed crust. I do this while fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer and uncorking the chilled Moscato.

Okay, so while I have changed my zip code to escape my ex, I have not yet made adjustments to my diet or my drinking.

Baby steps.

Less than five minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, cold wine glass in hand, and only thirty minutes until my pizza arrives. My bag buzzes again.

I set my wine glass on a stone coaster long enough to sort through my junk and find the buzzing cell phone.

It’s Katie, my only friend in town – if I can call her that. We met at the new employee orientation, Monday. I’m in marketing, she’s in sales. But we were the only two people there, both new to town and therefore friends by circumstance as much as anything else.

I don’t know if she would be my natural choice for a friend. But there is something about being new and friendless that bonds people. And we’re both from big East Coast cities—Baltimore and Boston—finding ourselves in the much smaller and quainter Castle Cove.

My phone buzzes again, impatiently.

I look at my pjs and the wine and the paperback on the corner of my coffee table. Do I ignore the call and proceed with my night as planned? Or do I take Katie’s call, knowing she probably wants to hang out?

Choice 2

Answer Katie’s phone call

Call her back later

Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear

Whoever is calling my name can wait. My need to escape is too great.

Stepping outside, cool air licks my face and neck. It’s humid and damp and very much early April weather befitting a coastal town. Pine and ocean salt hang in the air. And there is something about it that just invites me to breathe deep.

So I do.

I hustle across the parking lot toward my car as the sun sinks below the horizon. I’m only a few steps from my car when the hair on the back of my neck rises and my stomach knots.

I slow my pace. The clear sensation of being watched overtakes me. I scan the parking lot and spot him immediately.

It’s always been strange to me—the way one’s eyes immediately lock on another’s if they’re staring. It doesn’t matter how crowded the room, or dark the parking lot. It’s like we know when someone is looking a little too hard.

I lock eyes with the man watching me. He has a cell phone pressed to the side of his head, but I can’t hear what he is saying at this distance.

But it’s his gaze that holds me steady. Then without warning, he terminates his call and starts toward me. He waves as if to get my attention.

Choice 3

Get the hell out of here

See what he has to say

Get the hell out of here

Rule number 1. When strange, unknown men start approaching you in dark parking lots, you don’t stick around.

I have my keys out and I’m hustling toward my car when he calls out.

I don’t stop.

I have the car open and I’ve thrown my bag inside when he says, Is that anyway to treat a client?

He wraps one hand around the door before I can close it. How in the world did he cross the parking lot so fast? He must’ve been at least a hundred feet away and seemed to cross it in a few steps.

I don’t know what kind of business you think I run, buddy, but I’m not your client.

I’m sorry, he says, relinquishing the door. He’s frowning when I shut the door. I thought you were the new hire at B & B. But if I am mistaken…

He says my name like a question.

A random parking lot intruder wouldn’t know my name, where I work, and refer to himself as my client.

My heart falters. Mr. Benedict?

He smiles. "So you do know me."

With much horror I realize that I just physically fled my new boss. Awesome first impression, and in a way, a perfect end to this perfect week.

I climb out of my car, leaving my bag in the passenger seat. Mr. Benedict, I am so sorry.

It’s my mistake. He takes a step back to accommodate the opening door. It is my mistake for approaching you like this. You had every right to be cautious. You come from a large city, don’t you?

He sounds more amused than offended.

I do. Don’t over apologize, I tell myself. I hate it when women do that. Instead I say, What can I do for you?

I make it a point of meeting all new residents sooner or later, he says with a smile. But for those of whom I employ, it’s especially important.

Right, I say, gathering my wits at last and managing a smile. I offer my hand. It’s very nice to meet you.

He takes it and turns it over, brushing a light kiss across the knuckles.

Old school or sexual harassment? Because of how I just acted, I’m going to let this slide.

I came by to invite you to the club you’ll be promoting, he says with a smile even more perfect than Laura’s. Seriously, where do these people go to the dentist? You seem pressed for time tonight, but I can send a car along tomorrow evening to pick you up.

Oh that isn’t necessary, I say, wrapping my hands around the car door like I’m using it as a shield against him.

I insist, he says. His gaze is dark and heavy.

When he takes just to staring, no words, the sense of danger creeps up the back of my neck.

Mr. Benedict? I say nervously, wondering if this is about to take some menacing turn. But that fear melts away almost instantly.

I find myself overrun with strange thoughts—like how handsome he is. And how great he smells. And how his eyes are so dark that they catch and hold all the light from the lot around us…giving them an unnatural glow, as if there were candles burning within…

The moment breaks, and he’s brushing another kiss across my knuckles. I want to keep you, but I can wait until tomorrow night.

He turns away suddenly, crossing the parking lot to a red Tesla Roadster parked beneath a streetlight. He climbs in and speeds off while I continue to stand there, face burning.

In my hand is a business card with his name printed in silver ink on black stock card. But I don’t remember him slipping this into my hand.

When I climb into my car and adjust the mirror, I feel a spasm in my neck. A sudden clenching and unclenching of the muscles beneath my jaw.

I gasp a little with the pain and turn the mirror so that I can see it.

There, about two inches beneath my jaw is wet. I touch my fingers to it again and find it warm and sticky. It’s a little red, but there’s no bruise or cut. Nothing mars the skin but this strange moisture.

Did a bird poop on me or something? But I don’t see anything on my shoulder or in my hair.

How strange, I think and turn on the car.

Why is that first moment when I get home so glorious? I kick off my shoes, feel my heels soften into the plush carpet and sigh. I toss the bag onto the sofa and say hello to the cat, Sushi. He meows, batting the edge of his food dish desperately. It’s mostly full, with a small quarter-sized part of the bowl showing at the bottom. Yet he’s crying like he’s going to perish of hunger at any moment. It’s hard to resist him though. With his soft gray fur, white-socked feet and big amber eyes—he knows I’m easy prey.

All right, all right, I say and add another half scoop to the bowl. He lets me pet him for a minute before batting my hand away. I’m surprised that I get away with that much petting, honestly.

Sushi has been on edge since we’ve arrived in Castle Cove. I’m sure it’s the new town, new apartment, and he’ll warm up to the place soon.

I call the pizza place listed on my fridge magnet The Castle Cove Slice and order a medium pizza with sausage and peppers. Stuffed crust. I do this while fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer and uncorking the chilled Moscato.

Okay, so no, while I have changed my zip code to escape my ex, I have not yet made adjustments to my diet or my drinking.

Baby steps.

Less than five minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, cold wine glass in hand, and only thirty minutes until my pizza arrives. My bag buzzes again.

I set my wine glass on a stone coaster long enough to sort through my junk and find the buzzing cell phone.

It’s Katie, my only friend in town – if I can call her that. We met at the new employee orientation, Monday. I’m in marketing, she’s in sales. But we were the only two people there, both new to town and therefore friends by circumstance as much as anything else.

I don’t know if she is my natural choice for a friend. But there is something about being new and friendless that bonds people. And we’re both from big East Coast cities—Baltimore and Boston—finding ourselves in the much smaller and quainter Castle Cove.

My phone buzzes again, impatiently.

I look at my pjs and the wine and the paperback on the corner of my coffee table. Do I ignore the call and proceed with my night as planned? Or do I take Katie’s call, knowing she probably wants to hang out?

Choice 4

Answer Katie’s phone call

Call her back later

See what he has to say

It’s clear this guy needs something. I can play hero for this damsel.

Do you need help? I call.

I’m looking for someone, he says, crossing the parking lot with a smile. He says my