Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
“Hazel!” Lou’s deep froggy voice hollers from downstairs. I run to the door and poke my head out. He’s standing below, looking for me.
“Up here.”
He swings his big head up and frowns. “You’re not allowed up there during working hours!”
“Again, Lou, not my boss.”
His frown deepens. “Dan wants to pay.”
He marches back inside.
I turn and look at the gorgeous sleeping naked man on my couch and my heart squeezes into a tight little ball. I know this is a horrible idea, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like it’s the right thing to do. I almost want him here.
Like I’m glad that he’s here.
I shake my head, close the door, and hurry back downstairs wondering what this weird little town has done to me.
CHAPTER THREE
August
A heavy groan rumbles out of me as I close my eyes and let the hot water wash over my face.
This has got to stop.
It’s a never-ending hell. Ripping up one town after another. Ripping up my body. Bringing danger wherever I go.
I don’t even know where I am right now.
I turn my head and force my eyes open. A pink towel. More beauty products than I can count crowded around the small sink. A tiny pair of bunny slippers by the door.
The memory comes back, but it’s all cloudy and full of holes. I remember climbing into the dumpster and passing out. Then, the bright light when someone opened the door. Stumbling up the steps. A scent that was like fire in my lungs. I had lost so much blood and I was so weak. I didn’t know what was happening.
“Fuck,” I wince as I reach for the soap with my injured arm and a bolt of pain lights me up. I’m going to kill that French fucker with the sword.
No. He’s just doing his job. He’s doing what’s right. He’s doing what you’re too cowardly to do.
I sigh as I take the soap and wash the dried blood off my skin. Pink water swirls around my feet before disappearing down the drain.
“You see what you do?” I whisper to my bear. “You’re fucking ruining my life.”
He’s not even paying attention. He doesn’t give a shit. He’s somewhere deep inside, licking his wounds, getting healed up for the next fight, sulking like the asshole that he is.
All of my wounds are closed at least. Everywhere still hurts like crazy and I’m not done healing by a long shot, but at least I’m not going to bleed out all over this nice person’s apartment. Whoever they are.
I’m wondering what kind of person would pull a bleeding naked man out of the dumpster and let them stay in their home when I hear the front door open.
My body perks up. Adrenaline courses through my veins. I slowly turn the water off and take the pink towel off the rack.
The smell on it stuns me for a second. It’s so intriguing that it grabs all of my attention and makes me forget that there’s probably an armed paramilitary shifter force in the living room about to take me down.
I bring the towel to my nose and inhale deeply. My whole body comes alive. It ignites. My bear snaps to attention, on full alert now.
I can’t take my nose away. I can’t stop inhaling this intoxicating scent. It’s so addictive. It’s fucking incredible. Every one of the hairs on my arms and neck are standing straight up as I take another long whiff.
A knock on the door jerks me out of my daze. “Hello?” a feminine voice says. “Are you okay in there?”
I whip the towel around my waist and tie it into a knot.
I’m bracing for my maniac bear to come charging out, but he’s just watching from inside, calm as can be.
That’s not normal. How badly did he get his ass kicked? Is he afraid to come out now?
“I’m going to open the door, okay?” the girl says.
I step back, looking for weapons in the small bathroom. This could be a trap. The Foxhounds can be behind her, or this town’s entire police department. I grab the ceramic top of the toilet and hold it up as the door handle turns.
The door slowly opens and the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen steps into the bathroom. My heart clenches. My breath gets caught in my throat. All I can do is stare at her in awe as her mouth drops while she looks at me like I’m a crazy person.
“Please don’t break my toilet,” she says when she sees the top part in my hands. “The landlord will be pissed and then it will be a whole thing. He’s still mad that I painted the living room.”
I can’t answer. I can’t even move, let alone talk.
My hands are gripping the ceramic so hard I’m worried it’s going to crack as my whole body hums with warmth.