Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
My stomach twists every time. I know exactly what he means. He’s talking about the babies. About selling them. My babies. Logan’s baby.
The thought makes me want to vomit.
I shuffle to the tiny stove and force myself to open another can of the disgusting food he brings. Chef Boyardee ravioli that smells like dog food. Vienna sausages swimming in jelly. Spam so salty it hurts my tongue.
My sensitive nose rebels, but I eat anyway. I have to. The babies need food. And if I don’t eat, Dirk won’t let me get away with skipping the handful of vitamins he shoves at me afterward.
I don’t trust them. They’re not even proper prenatal vitamins—just random bitter pills in unmarked bottles. Dirk claims they’ll “make the babies grow faster.” Which only makes me more afraid. Faster for what? For selling?
So I hide them under my tongue and spit them out later when he isn’t looking. But sometimes the bitter taste leaks through before I can get rid of them, and I’m sure some of it seeps into me. And maybe it’s just my imagination, but every time it happens, the Heat raging inside me seems to get worse.
God, the Heat.
My breasts ache constantly, swollen and heavy, milk leaking through whatever shirt I have on. My pussy is slick and throbbing, aching for release. For Logan. Not Dirk—never Dirk. Just the thought of him touching me makes me sick.
He made me share his bed the first night, but when I stiffened and tried to roll away, he sneered.
“Don’t worry, babe—I don’t want your fat, disgusting body. You were big before but now you’re a fucking whale.”
The words cut sharper than knives.
Logan made me feel beautiful. Logan stroked my curves and kissed my belly and called me kitten. But Dirk? He insults me—rips at me with his words until I want to curl up and disappear.
I hate him.
And I’m starting to lose hope. Logan hasn’t come. I’m chained, miserable, and on fire inside with a need I can’t satisfy. My body is screaming for an Alpha’s touch, and the only Alpha I want may never find me.
I stroke my belly with my free hand, feeling the little kicks fluttering under my palm. Tears prick my eyes.
“Don’t worry, my sweet little Patricia…my brave little Daniel,” I whisper, though my voice shakes. “I’ll keep you safe. Somehow, I’ll protect you.”
Even if it kills me.
57
LOGAN
The drive feels endless. I push the truck harder, chewing up miles of Kentucky backroads, desperate to get to Poppy before the full moon rips control from me. The tug of it is already clawing under my skin, the Wolf pacing, ready to tear his way out.
By the time I pull up in front of the sagging shack, the moon is huge and white, cresting the horizon. My blood boils with the pull to Shift. Not yet, I snarl at my Wolf. Not until I know she’s safe.
I can smell her. Even through the cracked walls and filthy siding, I catch the sweet-sharp scent of Poppy’s Heat. It makes my cock hard and my Wolf howl, but it also makes me sick with rage—Dirk locked her in there, denying her everything she needs.
I hammer on the door.
“DIRK!” My voice comes out a roar. “Open the fucking door!”
There’s movement inside, then the rattle of the lock. The door jerks open and Dirk stands there grinning, a shotgun in his hands.
“Always knew you’d come sniffing around, big bro,” he sneers. “Figured I’d be ready.”
He pulls the trigger.
Blam!
The blast is deafening. I dive sideways but a spray of burning pellets tears across my shoulder, searing through skin. The pain is white-hot, shocking—and it’s the last straw. The Wolf I’ve been fighting to cage rips free.
Bone cracks, fur explodes from my skin. The silver wound sizzles against my shifting flesh, but it only drives my Wolf harder. I hear Poppy scream inside the shack, her voice high and terrified. It’s all I need.
With a snarl that shakes the night, my Wolf launches himself into the air.
Dirk’s eyes go wide as he tries to backpedal, his body already jerking, starting the Shift—but he’s too damn slow. My Wolf’s jaws close around his throat. Flesh, cartilage, bone—everything gives in one sickening crunch.
Hot blood sprays the doorway, steaming in the cold night air. Dirk’s shotgun clatters to the floor, useless.
Behind him, Poppy screams again.
And I stand over my brother’s body, the copper tang of his blood thick on my tongue, my Wolf growling in savage triumph even as my human heart lurches with horror.
Oh God, I killed him—I really killed him!
58
POPPY
I can’t move.
Dirk’s body lies sprawled across the shack’s dirty wooden floor, his throat a ragged mess, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The smell of blood is sharp and metallic, and my stomach lurches, threatening to give up every last disgusting chunk of the Chef Boyardee ravioli I forced into it earlier.