THE DARKEST CHASE

  A SMALL TOWN GRUMPY SUNSHINE ROMANCE

  NICOLE SNOW

  ICE LIPS PRESS

  Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in July, 2024.

  Disclaimer: The following book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  Please respect this author’s hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!

  Cover Design – CoverLuv.

  Proofread by Sisters Get Lit.erary Author Services.

  CONTENTS

  About the Book

  1. In The Dark (Talia)

  2. Dark Horse (Micah)

  3. Dark Whispers (Talia)

  4. Darkest Light (Micah)

  5. Going Dark (Talia)

  6. Dark Dreams (Micah)

  7. Dark Days Coming (Talia)

  8. Darkest Before The Dawn (Micah)

  9. Darkest Hour (Talia)

  10. Dark Times (Micah)

  11. Dark Desires (Talia)

  12. Dark Side (Micah)

  13. Dark Shadows (Talia)

  14. Dark Forest (Micah)

  15. Darker Days (Talia)

  16. Dark Closet (Micah)

  17. Darkest Spaces (Talia)

  18. Dark Silence (Micah)

  19. Darkness Present (Talia)

  20. Dark Minded (Micah)

  21. Darkness Immortal (Talia)

  22. Oh Dark Hundred (Micah)

  23. Shot In The Dark (Talia)

  24. Dark Hunger (Micah)

  25. Light In The Dark (Talia)

  26. Darkness Lifted (Micah)

  27. Dark Delight (Talia)

  The Sweetest Obsession Preview

  About Nicole Snow

  More Books by Nicole

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Life is just full of crazy surprises with teeth.

  One day you’re the forever single wallflower keeping up the boring family furniture shop.

  The next, you’re getting mouth-to-mouth from a scary hot stranger who wants to make your life a thriller novel.

  Yes, my disaster has a name.

  Micah Ainsley.

  Everything I’m not. Nothing remotely good for me.

  He’s all wolf—moody, savage, and ferociously protective.

  I’m a human puppy.

  He thrives on secrets.

  Everybody knows what I had for breakfast.

  He’s experienced. So experienced.

  I’ve never even been kissed.

  But when he needs my help to take down a rich creep who just happens to be my new client, I’m game.

  I’m ready to live a little.

  I’m eager to prove I’m more than a hot mess with a cross-eyed crush on a coldhearted man who’s too old for me.

  Then another surprise bites me in the face.

  The night Micah claims me.

  The moment our wrong becomes reality and there’s no going back.

  The darkest chase is on and it only ends one way—sweet dreams or total devastation.

  1

  IN THE DARK (TALIA)

  Ithink I’ve been shut up in the workshop without ventilation for too long.

  Varnish. Fumes. Lack of oxygen.

  That sort of thing.

  That’s the only reason why I could possibly be standing here in the open doorway of Grandpa’s shop, blinking at the bright sunlight filtering in, drenched in the smell of spring wildflowers and the warm scent of rising bread from the bakery two doors down.

  All while a clean-cut, dark-haired man in a full three-piece uniform with a tailcoat and white kid gloves bows.

  There’s a heavy vellum envelope in his hand with A Touch of Grey written across it, closed with a wax seal.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at the envelope with our shop’s name on it. “You must have the wrong place.”

  “No mistake, Miss Grey. I’ve been asked to request your grandfather’s company,” the man says. I guess he’s a butler or a valet or something. The way he talks is so formal, polite but stilted and intimidating. He straightens, still holding the envelope, waiting for me to take it. “This invitation provides the time and date.”

  “But why?” I blurt out.

  The man only looks at me mildly, waiting for me to take the envelope.

  Yeah, I’m not getting any answers here.

  This is just too weird.

  And I have a funny feeling I know who’s behind this, considering the uniform and the fact that there’s only one family here in Redhaven who’d do something this dramatic. Any other rich client would send us an email or call.

  But the Arrendells just have to make a big production out of everything.

  Breathlessly, I take the envelope gently like it’ll grow teeth and bite me.

  By now, I’m used to the Arrendells being the kind of weird only filthy rich people can be. They’ve been the backdrop of my town for my entire life and they’ve always given me the creeps.

  Honestly, I’m not sure if I want anything to do with them.

  It’s not me they want, though.

  He asked for my grandfather.

  I turn that over as I break the seal. The smooth red wax crumbles against my fingertips, and there’s a hand-calligraphed invitation card addressed to Grandpa.

  We formally and humbly request Mr. Gerald Grey for a consultation on a custom commission project. Please arrive at the manor tomorrow at precisely 8:00 a.m.

  -L, M, and X Arrendell

  L and M—Lucia and Montero Arrendell—the Lord and Lady of the house and also the town’s First and Second selectmen.

  X… that must be Xavier.

  The only son left in town after the ugly scandals that left two of his brothers dead recently. I’d say I can’t begin to imagine how it feels to lose family that way, but unfortunately, I can.

  I glance over my shoulder, through the open door to the workshop. I can just hear the rhythmic sounds of Grandpa working the lathe.

  I offer the valet a thin smile.

  “Um, this seems less like an invitation and more like a demand.”

  His lips twitch faintly. A hint of weariness, maybe?

  “Please forgive the tone. The young master is rather accustomed to getting his way, yes. May I tell him he can expect Mr. Grey in the morning?”

  “Well… let me talk to him first.” I flash my politest smile, though I feel like I’m putting on a mask. Especially when this guy keeps standing here like he’s waiting for me to go talk to Grandpa now and come back with an immediate answer. I take a step back, one hand on the shop door, my smile frozen in place. “We’ll be in touch. No need to wait around, dude.”

  The valet looks like he might protest.

  I almost feel bad for him.

  Too bad.

  If Xavier Arrendell is anything like the rest of his kin—and from the rumors, he’s the most short-tempered of them all—then he won’t like this minion coming home without an answer.

  “Sorry to be so short. It’s just a busy day for us,” I say, hastily closing the door in his face before I bustle back into the rear of the shop.

  God, I need a minute.

  I’m not good with people or unexpected surprises.

  And I really do need to talk to Grandpa before we can even think about accepting this invite to hell.

  When I step into the workshop, my grandfather stops the lathe. He still uses the old manual kind with a foot pedal, and its whirring grinds to a halt, along with the bassinet leg he’s been shaping.

  “Serena?” he asks. “Is that you? Would you mind bringing me a glass of water, please? All this sawdust is choking me somethin’ fierce.”

  My heart sinks when he calls me that name.

  So it’s a bad day.

  He thinks I’m my mother again. He’s forgotten my parents have been gone for over twenty years, killed in a car wreck caused by a drunk when I was just a toddler.

  At twenty-seven, I guess I do look a lot like my mother did when she died, though. Now I know I made the right choice, not letting the Arrendell valet see him.

  Gerald Grey is a proud man.

  He’ll probably work until he dies because he can’t stand not being useful. He’s been showing more signs of dementia since last year, and we don’t like to talk about it.

  It’s so hard.

  But he knows it’s there, just like I do.

  I won’t hurt his pride by letting anybody see him when he’s not completely himself.

  And I’m not going to upset him by arguing, either.

  For now, I’ll be Serena, even if it shreds my heart.

  “Sure, Dad,” I say cheerfully as I walk to the sink and fill a glass, then bring it back to him and press it into his wrinkled hands. “How’s work going?”

  He takes the glass with a grateful nod, then scratches a hand through his sparse remaining hair. It’s tinged grey with a fading touch of the same red as mine.

  We have the same eyes, too. His midnight-blue gaze darkens as he looks over the piece mounted on the lathe.

  “Slow.” He draws the word out thoughtfully and takes a long sip from the glass. When he speaks a
gain, his voice is smoother. “Then again, handcrafted’s always slow as molasses. It’ll come when it comes.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” I squeeze his shoulder.

  “Eh, we’ll see.”

  He looks down at his free hand, flexing it slowly. His knuckles are thick and swollen, his fingertips shaking slightly.

  Dementia isn’t the only thing on his plate.

  I know he’d rather die than admit his rheumatoid arthritis hurts him. God, if he’s mentally back in time right now to when my mother was my age, he probably doesn’t even understand why his hands hurt, so gnarled and broken.

  Keeping my smile right now feels harder than it was with the Arrendell valet.

  Seeing him like this, everything he is fading away…

  It’s a blister on the soul.

  Even worse because when he forgets himself, he’s still a brilliant craftsman. The bassinet leg on the lathe already looks like art, etched with delicate grooves. It’s like the Alzheimer’s patients you hear about who forget who they are, yet they can still play a full Mozart piece while swearing they’ve never touched a piano in their lives.

  Even when Grandpa’s so far away, his talent still lives in his hands. Muscle memory.

  No wonder someone like Xavier Arrendell wants his magic before it’s gone.

  Like the mind reader he is, Grandpa glances at the thick envelope clutched in my fingers. “What’s that?”

  “This?” I shrug, tucking it under my arm with a smile. “Invitation to a class reunion. I probably won’t go.”

  He chuckles. “You were always so shy. Talia’s taking after you, ya know. I worry about her. The kids at school pick on her too damn much.”

  Crap, crap.

  No, I’m not going to cry.

  My eyes sting anyway, but I bolt on my smile like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

  “She’ll be okay,” I say faintly. “Talia, she can hold her own. I promise you she’s stronger than she looks.”

  Right.

  I definitely don’t feel strong right now.

  Not when I’m completely helpless to do anything to set his mind straight today, much less stall the inevitable.

  No matter how many custom orders we take in, no matter how much artisan furniture we ship out, we’ll never have enough money to buy real treatments for the disease destroying his hands.

  Let alone the demon eating his mind.

  Not that there’s any cure for dementia, but it can be slowed, minimized—if you pay through the nose. There’s even a promising new study out of Minnesota that’s seen better results than any of the treatments on the market.

  But it’s funded by big corporate sponsors.

  And it costs a lot of money to buy a spot for late-stage human trials.

  Money we’ll never have.

  Still, if the richest family in town wants to hire us, that might help a little. At least we could keep his hands working for a few more months.

  Am I in the mood for a deal with the devil?

  I bite my lip and tighten my fingers against the invitation, watching Grandpa as he sets the half-empty glass down and bows over the lathe again, already hyperfocused, losing himself in work and forgetting I’m even here.

  I don’t want to put the burden of this meeting with the Arrendells on him.

  But I can go, can’t I?

  I’ve been working under him my entire life. Learning his trade. One day, this shop and the entire business will be mine.

  My stomach churns at the thought. I don’t usually do customer-facing things, and dealing with people like them—

  No, you can do it.

  He’s worth it.

  And he absolutely is.

  Fine, whatever.

  If the Arrendells really want us, they’ll just have to settle for the lesser Grey.

  My bravado’s not holding up as well the following morning.

  The very first thing I do is check my purse for my inhaler.

  I throw on a smart pink skirt suit—the only nice outfit I really have in my favorite color—and low heels, then pin my hair up before heading out, kissing Grandpa on the cheek as he hovers over his morning coffee in the kitchen of our loft above the shop.

  He glances up at me, his eyes bright and clear today. Present.

  “Look at you,” he says cheerfully. “What’s with the getup? Big date this early in the morning?”

  “Grandpa, no! I’m meeting a potential client.” I drop another kiss on top of his head. “I’ll tell you all about the job when I get back.”

  I leave him blinking after me curiously as I escape before he starts asking any real questions. He might not have been there yesterday, but he’s sharp today, and I’m—

  I’m not a good liar.

  I still feel a little weird not telling Grandpa where I’m going, but I don’t want to get his hopes up in case this doesn’t work out.

  I borrow our only vehicle for the uphill drive, a rickety dark-grey delivery truck.

  The Arrendell mansion looms over Redhaven like a twisted castle, perched at the peak of the tallest forested hill overlooking the small valley that cups our little colonial village.

  There’s only one road leading up, a winding paved lane that passes under bowers of trees bursting with spring growth.

  The mansion itself resembles a strange white dragon coiled at the peak, this eerie brooding thing of tall columns and white marble and old Gothic architecture.

  My nerves flutter wildly as I pull into the circular roundabout at the foot of the massive, palatial steps leading up to the house. As I park the truck, it coughs out a black cloud of smoke from the tailpipe.

  Way to make a good first impression.

  I feel like the universe is trying to remind me I don’t belong anywhere in spitting distance of this place.

  At least I’m a few minutes early, though.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder, tuck the shop’s project portfolio under my arm, and step out, handing the keys to a valet who looks nearly identical to the man who came to the shop yesterday.

  Wait. That is him, I think. His nose wrinkles at the bitter smell of exhaust.

  “Sorry!” I hate how small my voice sounds. “You, um, you have to pump the clutch a few times. If you don’t want to bother, you can just leave it here.”

  “Miss,” he says calmly, sliding behind the driver’s seat.

  I watch for a moment with a wince as the truck sputters while he fights the clutch. Then I turn—and nearly jump right out of my skin as the man from yesterday materializes at my elbow.

  The actual man from yesterday, I mean, though with their identical haircuts and nondescript faces I can’t be blamed for thinking they’re clones. Especially with those uniforms.

  I leap back with a little shriek, almost stumbling on the bottom step, but he catches my elbow smoothly and steadies me with a dry look.

  “Are you well, Miss Grey?”

  “Never been better,” I lie.

  “Right this way then,” he says cordially.

  “Thanks,” I answer faintly and follow him up the steps.

  I’m just killing it today.

  Please, shoot me now.

  Although I’ve lived in Redhaven my entire life, I’ve never been up to the big house. The four Arrendell sons all went to fancy private schools and never really mingled with the little people. They weren’t the kind of kids to have playdates with the locals, invite them over for fancy tea parties, that kind of thing. So actually seeing this house up close is… wow.

  Intimidating isn’t a big enough word.

  It’s a mountain of a house.

  Standing at the top of the stairs and looking up at the looming walls, it’s like it takes up the entire sky. The soaring front doors groan as the valet opens them with a grand flourish and leads me into a dim-lit stone foyer draped with red velvet all over the walls.

  This is too much house for one family.

  And it’s all so ostentatious, from the antique velvet furniture to the ornate gold wall sconces, the black-and-white checkered marble flooring, the vaulted ceilings.

  Everything echoes here.

  My heels chatter like ghosts in the high eaves with every clicking step, amping up my nerves.

  I’m sweating as the valet leads me through the manor.

  Thankfully, it’s not far.

  We swing off to the right, mount a short flight of stairs, head down another hallway, and then he stops outside a dark-varnished oak door with carved insets.

  It’s classical revival, a detail I can’t help noticing when it’s part of my job to know historic woodwork styles.

  That’s also what makes Grandpa’s brand so unique. He partners old styles and forgotten techniques with modern craftsmanship to create vintage looks bordering on elegantly exotic.