Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Tonight, I have a different problem. I sit beside Parker on my section of the couch, trying hard to ignore the urge to stare at the beautiful woman in the bed. I met Allison over a year ago, and I’ve never stopped thinking of her. And now that we’re here, in the same room, she’s like a beacon of light. Too beautiful to look at directly, but drawing me in just the same, a moth to a flame.
I close my eyes but can’t escape her scent. She smells like fruit cake and apple cider, which is what we had for dinner. The cake was moist and golden and very filling. Apparently, Bern’s brother Everest dropped it off, which explains the thick werebear scent coating the dishcloth the cake was wrapped in.
But now the scent of werebear is faded beside the supernova of Allison’s gorgeous scent. My owl would stare at her for hours if I let him.
I can’t let him. She probably already thinks I’m a freak.
“Lawrence,” Allison whispers, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
She’s awake and patting the blanket beside her.
I realize what she wants, and my skin heats like I’m too close to the fire.
“I can’t sleep like this. Will you hold me?”
Oh. Ohhhh.
It’s official. I’ve died and entered paradise.
I unfold from the couch and make my way to her. I have to stoop under the slanting ceiling. She’s changed into a pajama set of gold silk shorts and a cami, with a hair wrap to match, and the sight of her bare skin is too much to take. My dick swells painfully, pressing against my jeans. I pause a moment, willing my erection to go down.
“You okay?” Her sweet voice almost has me creaming myself.
I bob my head and finish carefully lowering myself beside her on the tiny twin bed. I pin my arms to my sides, making sure not to touch her.
It works until she sighs and rolls into me, pressing her perfect body against mine. I swallow hard and try to think about baseball.
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m tired but wired. I get this way after expanding my energy like that, to call in help.”
“It w-w-was c-c-cool. W-w-what you d-did.”
“Parker didn’t think it would work. I wasn’t sure there for a while, either, but then the werebears showed up.”
“You c-c-called them t-to us.”
“I guess. It worked out. My animal prefers not to fight.”
What’s your animal? The words stick to my tongue. She might be keeping it a secret for a reason. She might be like Parker, a hybrid mishmash of animals that not even he can parse out.
I’ll let her offer up the information in her own time.
She snuggles closer. “Thanks,” she says and then adds, in a whisper so soft I barely catch it even with my shifter hearing: “You make me feel safe.”
I tip my head down and brush my cheek over her dark, fragrant curls. I want to hug her, but this is as close as I should get.
She nuzzles into my chest, taking my hand and propping it on her hip. I bite back a moan. I want nothing more than to tip her back and claim her lips.
Instead, I mold my palm to her curves and keep my breathing easy and even until her body relaxes further.
Her dark lashes fan over her flawless skin. Her breathing slows, and I know she’s asleep. If I were braver, I’d press my lips to her hair. Instead, I imagine doing it over and over again, and let the happy fantasy carry me through the night.
Fiona
The moon climbs towards midnight. Declan and I both sit on the floor of the treehouse. The temperature’s plummeted, but the walls keep the wind out, and there’s a stack of thick wool blankets, and I have one draped over my legs to keep me toasty. I haven’t gotten up the nerve to invite Declan to share it with me, yet.
I thought about leaving him to his thoughts, but my animal won’t let me leave his side. She’s usually skittish and angry around males, but Declan is different. There’s a bitter tinge to his scent. It stings my nose, but I don’t mind it. My scent gets bitter like that too.
“So you got plans for the holiday?” I ask.
“What holiday?”
“I hear you. Ever since the slavers took us, we haven’t really celebrated holidays.”
“What is there to celebrate?”
It’s so bleak, it stops my heart. “Damn,” I mutter.
Declan sucks in a breath. “Feck, I’m sorry, lass. I’m in a bad mood.”
“No kidding.” But there’s something in his profile that makes me want to set my hand on his jaw and comfort him.
I wouldn’t mind getting skin to skin with him, either.
He pulls out his flask and takes a sip. He offers it to me, and I take it but don’t drink. His fingerprints left a whiskey-soaked scent on the metal, and I just need a sniff to give me courage.