White Mountain Cliffs Boots Novels & Stories

Chloe nodded, “You go ahead. I will be there soon.” I walked a couple stores down and found a different shoe store that had a lot of platform shoes. I walked in and immediately found my boots! They added over six inches in height, so I could reach my mate a lot easier, without looking like a spider-monkey climbing all over him. I tried them on, then tried walking in them. Goodness! I sure wish I had a day to practice wearing these away from my mate. Right now, I look like a newborn calf. When mom and Chloe walked in, mom laughed when she watched me walking. She suggested, “Sweetie, just act like you’re walking on the ground. It’s just higher up. That’s all.”

How had she gotten there? She did all she could even as the sand gave way to the extra weight of the ten pound wolf holding her legs captive and the tree trunks pulling her down. Clara reached for a tree trunk few millimeters from her sandy support, she lost her balance feeling her muscles protest as all the weight was transferred to her other hand. The wolf ripped off her boots, its claws radiant in the night, pulling at the earth. Clara stretched further ignoring the growing pain in her legs as the wolf struck a sharp claw against bare flesh, it’s swaying grey fur wet from the rain.

Inside, on a layer of white tissue paper, were two tiny boots. Cowboy boots. Brown leather, soft as butter. Rubber soles still shiny with newness. Little straps with miniature buckles. And on the side of each one, burned into the leather, a tiny snowflake—the ranch's symbol. I forgot how to breathe for a moment. "Marco…" my voice came out a thread.

It would excuse my behaviour, but at least it would explain it. I shower quickly and dress. Pulling my hair back into a simple ponytail. I’m wearing khaki pants, a dark vest and dark green and black plaid shirt to protect my arms from the forest. I slide my feet into a pair of combat boots, wiggling my toes around. Hoping that they get a lot more comfortable, fast.

Then, turning my newly-acquired seat around, I set myself in a comfortable position for the main event: Juliana's spiked heels. Turning them over and over, I examine them carefully: what exactly do I have? I'm in luck. The boots were toe-teeteringly high... The heels are at least four inches long, certainly long enough to make a usable tool. She can't have walked far... And it must be decent paths or roads... So the car must be parked close by... The tips are steel; only perhaps a quarter of an inch diameter, of the kind that make a disaster zone of vinyl lay or parquet flooring.

The freezing wind of the high peaks did not just howl; it screamed through the gaps in the pine logs, a high-frequency whistle that seemed to mock the fragile, shuddering grip we had on the cliff face. My raw, peeled palms were clamped so tightly against the frozen sap of the staircase that the skin had begun to fuse with the wood, the stinging frost of the timber competing with the searing, wet heat of my own blood. Every tremor of the wind made the heavy, iron-bracketed supports groan—a deep, resonant sound of ancient, rusted metal fatigue that vibrated straight through the soles of my heavy riding boots.

I was shocked when we ended up in the garage; I didn't think Zane wanted to take me out on his bike to have this conversation. My blood filled with adrenaline when I spotted the black motorcycle and the two helmets perched on the seat; it looked expensive and beautiful, making me more nervous, especially since I had never been on one before. "Put these on," Cliff said, handing me some boots to replace the flats I had worn. I didn't argue as I slid on a pair of socks and then the boots. "I moved it, so it was easy for you both to get on. Have you ever been on one before?" Cliff asked. I looked up at the werewolf. His dark skin was stained with what I assumed to be some kind of motor oil.

I fastened the silver clasp at my throat, the cold metal a stark contrast to my feverish skin. Silence was my ally tonight, my only shield. I knelt by my trunk, my fingers ghosting over rows of boots, seeking the pair with the softest, most worn leather soles. I found a pair i liked. I pulled them on, lacing them with practiced efficiency until they were a second skin, snug against my calves.

I want to be the mug feeling the contact of her lips on mine. “It’ll be fun. I will be right behind you so you won’t go anywhere. My people have purchases proper boots for you and the outdoor kit. You even have some crampons. It’ll be huge fun,” I tell her as I lean across the island and rest on my forearms. “Yeah, come on,” Mitch says. “Don’t you want a go at winning five hundred dollars.”

“Shit. Where are you?” “Hiding in a closet.” “What can you see?” I roll my eyes. “Amara I’m literally in the tiniest hallway closet in a basement.” “Tell me anyway.” I look around. “Coats.” “What colors are they?” “Just tell me.” “Uh. Dark green and black. Bright orange. One that looks like it will come down to the feet of whoever’s wearing it.” “Okay. What else?” I look down. “Boots.” “Is there mud on them?”