Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I watch him fully restrain himself again, put the mask on, and lay on the sleeping bag.
“At least you’re giving yourself basic comforts,” I mutter.
“Unless I shift and it shreds everything. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to replace a blanket, a pillow, shoes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Remind me not to leave any of my stilettos around where your wolf can reach them.”
He singes me with a dark look. He doesn’t find this funny. But I’d bet money he is picturing me in high heels.
“You change your mind and want to sleep beside me… I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“Lock that fuckin’ door, woman,” he commands in a guttural tone.
And I’m wet.
He glares at me, and his nostrils are flaring.
“Make me,” I challenge before I grab the dirty dishes and leave.
I receive a text message shortly after from Gus, one of the pack members parked down the road.
Erica Savage dropped off a basket here. Want me to bring it?
I reply to tell him I’ll get it. I walk down and he passes it to me.
It’s a Skye Quinn honeymoon basket, filled with all her homemade products as well as a bottle of her mate Andy’s moonshine along with two bottles of honey mead. A note is tied around the neck of one that says, “One for you now and one for the both of you later. Sending love and good vibes, Andy and Skye.”
Bless you, Skye Quinn.
There’s also a small box that reads,
Congratulations! From Grey and Stacy
with a dozen fat cookies in it.
Along with that I find a velvet pouch containing an elastic and crystal macrame style anklet with a note from Erica.
Extra protection. Please wear this on your ankle. It will stay on when you shift.
I don’t know what protection it’ll give me, but I immediately put it on.
I send text messages to Skye, Erica, and I don’t have Stacy’s number yet, so I send a message to Grey to pass on to her. I eat one of the cookies and immediately eat a second. They’re fat sugar cookies stuffed with delectable chunks of lavender-infused cheesecake.
***
The rain relentlessly pounds against the aluminum roof throughout the evening and I love the musical sound.
I know who else would love it. Bailey.
She’s always been the type to brighten at the aspect of a rainy day, saying she loved being inside while it rained, the curtains open while she drinks her tea and reads her romance novels.
I take a big wine glass from the basket and pour myself a full honey mead before I open all the blinds. The sky is stormy-looking, the color of Jared’s wolf, and I don’t expect it to let up soon.
I prefer being outdoors rather than inside in a library or a cozy reading nook like my bestie. I’m not the type who’s afraid to get her hair wet, either. Rain never stops me from having a good time. In fact, I love shifting and hitting the forest, getting all muddy while I run at full speed.
I’m scrolling on my phone in the bed for ages while listening to the rain hit this little silver house on wheels, and that pitter patter music seems to act like a lullaby as I catch myself drifting off, my phone bonking my forehead.
After I put it on the little table beside me and roll over, I run my hand across the sheets, caressing the space he should be inhabiting. I sink into sleep, imagining how nice it might feel if he were here, warm, spooning or holding me, pressing his lips to mine, making me feel safe.
And I dream. But I don’t dream of that safety, of the comfort. I dream of running in the rain, as wolf, my paws hitting the muck and splashing it, of the vivid scents of the wet forest. In my dream, it’s pouring hard, drenching my fur, and I find I can run faster and harder, so I do. I run like the wind, until I skid to a halt in the mud and find myself on the edge of a cliff, looking at a dark abyss below.
The deep, rumbling sound reminiscent of a muscle car’s engine sounds behind me in the dream, so I look back and there he is, yellow eyes, jagged teeth, and menace.
He’s stalking me, moving closer, saliva dripping from that angry mouth.
He won’t kill me. He’ll recognize I’m his mate.
Only, he doesn’t. When we’re almost nose to nose, he growls and snaps, catching my throat. And the muck underneath us falls away. We fall and fall and as we do, he’s shaking me, tearing my throat to shreds.
16
JARED
The ear-piercing scream that rips me from a dead sleep isn’t just an external alarm attacking my ears; it has an internal layer, too – one the likes I’ve never experienced until now.
Stark fear and heartbreak. Not mine. Hers.