Knight-in-Arms - Secrets: (BWWM Interracial Paranormal Shifter Romance Part One) by Athena Dore Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Athena Dore
an X. Knight living at Number 11.
Number 11 was up the road, at the end of the cul-de-sac. An elderly woman lived there. Rochelle had seen her around over the years, but never spoken to her and until now, had never even known her name. She wondered what the ‘X’ stood for. Xena? Xanthe? (Ale)Xandra? Suddenly, she was very curious. It was one of her weaknesses. Curiosity killed the cat, her dad would warn her as a child.
“But I’m not a cat, daddy” she always reminded him, which was all very well because she had a feeling that her ninth life had run out somewhere around the age of ten when she climbed a tree to dislodge her tangled kite, fell and broke her leg. That was what she told her parents, at least. The official version of events was that she jumped out the tree with the kite to see if she could fly…
But there was nothing dangerous in delivering a package to find out someone’s name.
She went upstairs and looked out her bedroom window. Mrs Knight’s car was there so she was obviously home now.
Rochelle threw on a jacket, grabbed her keys, and Mrs Knight’s package, and went outside.
It was only after she shut the door that she realised: this door was new and she didn’t yet have the key.
“You idiot!” She cried. She hit the door with her free hand – more out of frustration than expecting it to open. She couldn’t even phone her parents; her phone was on the wrong side of the door.
Oh well, first things first: Mrs Knight’s package. Rochelle started walking up the road. She could ask to borrow Mrs Knight’s phone and call Nico. It sounded like a good idea and having a plan made her feel a bit less annoyed about the inconvenience of being locked out.
The sky was divided down the middle like the sea crashing onto a sandy beach. Behind her, it was sunny and as warm as a British day can be in the early spring, while in front of her, stormy grey clouds loomed with the threat of rain.
If the weather held up, she’d walk to the library or something and hang out until Nico came. If not…she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Number 11. She was outside. The numbers were large and shiny and silver against the blue door. She pressed the doorbell. Somewhere behind the door, a dog barked.
She waited but besides the dog, there was nothing. Perhaps it might take her a while to get to the door, Rochelle thought. She waited a bit longer. Still nothing. Mrs Knight could be hard of hearing… She tried the doorbell again.
Moments later, the door opened a fraction.
“Hello?”
“Um, hello…”
Rochelle was startled. She’d been expecting Mrs Knight but here was a man she’d never seen before. He was tall and all dark hair and shadows, though from what she could see, he looked to be in his mid-thirties. Grandson, perhaps?
“Is Mrs Knight here?” she asked.
“Mrs Knight? There’s no one here by that name”.
“Yes, there is – the elderly woman with short, curly hair and glasses”.
“You mean the former occupant? She moved out a while ago. She’s in a home now, I believe”.
“Oh”, said Rochelle, “I’ve got a package for her...”. It was all she could think to say for the moment. Mrs Knight had moved out. She wasn’t sure where that left her and the package – cold and wet in the pending rain, probably.
The man looked down at the parcel.
“That’s for me” he said.
“You’re Mrs Knight?” she blurted out before she had time to think things through.
“Only on the weekends” he said.
For a second, Rochelle cringed. Clearly, he was mocking her. X. Knight had never been Mrs Knight; she saw that now. Not even Mrs Knight had been Mrs Knight. The X. Knight of the package was the Mr Knight standing before her.
“Sorry”, she said, “I meant you’re the owner of this package. I just assumed it was for the woman who lived here before; I didn’t know
Number 11 was up the road, at the end of the cul-de-sac. An elderly woman lived there. Rochelle had seen her around over the years, but never spoken to her and until now, had never even known her name. She wondered what the ‘X’ stood for. Xena? Xanthe? (Ale)Xandra? Suddenly, she was very curious. It was one of her weaknesses. Curiosity killed the cat, her dad would warn her as a child.
“But I’m not a cat, daddy” she always reminded him, which was all very well because she had a feeling that her ninth life had run out somewhere around the age of ten when she climbed a tree to dislodge her tangled kite, fell and broke her leg. That was what she told her parents, at least. The official version of events was that she jumped out the tree with the kite to see if she could fly…
But there was nothing dangerous in delivering a package to find out someone’s name.
She went upstairs and looked out her bedroom window. Mrs Knight’s car was there so she was obviously home now.
Rochelle threw on a jacket, grabbed her keys, and Mrs Knight’s package, and went outside.
It was only after she shut the door that she realised: this door was new and she didn’t yet have the key.
“You idiot!” She cried. She hit the door with her free hand – more out of frustration than expecting it to open. She couldn’t even phone her parents; her phone was on the wrong side of the door.
Oh well, first things first: Mrs Knight’s package. Rochelle started walking up the road. She could ask to borrow Mrs Knight’s phone and call Nico. It sounded like a good idea and having a plan made her feel a bit less annoyed about the inconvenience of being locked out.
The sky was divided down the middle like the sea crashing onto a sandy beach. Behind her, it was sunny and as warm as a British day can be in the early spring, while in front of her, stormy grey clouds loomed with the threat of rain.
If the weather held up, she’d walk to the library or something and hang out until Nico came. If not…she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Number 11. She was outside. The numbers were large and shiny and silver against the blue door. She pressed the doorbell. Somewhere behind the door, a dog barked.
She waited but besides the dog, there was nothing. Perhaps it might take her a while to get to the door, Rochelle thought. She waited a bit longer. Still nothing. Mrs Knight could be hard of hearing… She tried the doorbell again.
Moments later, the door opened a fraction.
“Hello?”
“Um, hello…”
Rochelle was startled. She’d been expecting Mrs Knight but here was a man she’d never seen before. He was tall and all dark hair and shadows, though from what she could see, he looked to be in his mid-thirties. Grandson, perhaps?
“Is Mrs Knight here?” she asked.
“Mrs Knight? There’s no one here by that name”.
“Yes, there is – the elderly woman with short, curly hair and glasses”.
“You mean the former occupant? She moved out a while ago. She’s in a home now, I believe”.
“Oh”, said Rochelle, “I’ve got a package for her...”. It was all she could think to say for the moment. Mrs Knight had moved out. She wasn’t sure where that left her and the package – cold and wet in the pending rain, probably.
The man looked down at the parcel.
“That’s for me” he said.
“You’re Mrs Knight?” she blurted out before she had time to think things through.
“Only on the weekends” he said.
For a second, Rochelle cringed. Clearly, he was mocking her. X. Knight had never been Mrs Knight; she saw that now. Not even Mrs Knight had been Mrs Knight. The X. Knight of the package was the Mr Knight standing before her.
“Sorry”, she said, “I meant you’re the owner of this package. I just assumed it was for the woman who lived here before; I didn’t know
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