Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
“Wow,” I say into the microphone. “What an honor. Thank you, Mr. Shields. For your service, for your guidance, for your friendship, and for this wonderful opportunity.”
The crowd cheers extra loud and my bear starts to lose it.
No! Please no!
He charges forward, slashing and hacking his way out. I stumble back as I try to fight him off. My skin tightens as my muscles balloon up.
The crowd gasps and watches in horror as I drop to my knees on the stage, struggling to keep my rabid bear in check. I must look like a monster—disheveled hair, grotesquely swollen body, golden eyes, large canines piercing out.
My wicked grizzly charges again. This time, long brown hairs sprout from my skin before I manage to reign him in, barely. I’m exhausted. I’m breathing heavily as adrenaline surges through my veins. He seems more powerful than ever. One more charge and he’ll break through. I know he will.
I have to get out of here. Now.
I leap off the stage and push my way through the stunned crowd. I’m almost at the front exit when Remy and the rest of The Foxhounds step in my path.
“End of the road, mon ami,” Remy says with his palm out.
I try to push past him, but he grabs my forearm hard.
Everyone is watching. I can’t breathe. My whole life is imploding. This fucking asshole bear. Why did he pick today of all days to ruin my life?
I didn’t realize he was so desperate to find our mate. I guess I ignored all the signs. I brushed him off and focused on my career. I’m paying the price now.
“Come with us outside,” Jackson says as he steps beside Remy. “We just want to talk.”
These guys don’t want to talk. They want to decapitate me.
I try to yank my hand away from Remy’s grip, but the wolf shifter is strong and he holds on.
“Let. Go.”
“No escape this time,” Remy says, shaking his head.
“Let go!” I scream as I slice my free hand down. Long black claws split through my fingertips and slash through his flesh.
Hot blood splatters everywhere. On me, on the howling wolf shifter, and on the screaming crowd. He releases me and grabs his wounded arm. Four long deep gashes are spitting out blood as he cradles his mangled arm to his chest.
“Câlisse!” he curses in French as the rest of The Foxhounds step up. “Ostie de tabarnak fucking shit my arm, you feral fuck!”
The crowd stares at me in horror as The Eradicators push their way over to help.
It sinks into everyone staring at me. The new director of the AFA is a feral bear.
Time to go. Now.
I turn and push the receptionist out of my way. She falls back as I bound forward, sprinting toward the exit.
The Foxhounds and The Eradicators sprint after me.
I yank open the front door and my heart stops when I see the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen standing there. She recoils as she looks up at me in shock.
Every cell in my body recognizes her immediately. It’s like living in a dark room your entire life when someone suddenly rips open the curtains and the sun shines in. Her light fills up every inch of me.
This beautiful girl is my mate.
There’s no other explanation.
“Get him!” one of the brutes chasing me shouts as they barrel forward.
I don’t have time to stand here and stare at her in awe, even though it’s all I want to do. I could spend the next hundred years in this spot, admiring every inch of her. Her long golden hair, her stunning hazel eyes hidden behind those big round glasses, her curves, her delicious scent—all of it could keep me entertained and enthralled for a century.
Take her. She’s ours.
I don’t know who says it, me or my bear, but I listen to that voice.
She screams as I lunge forward, grab her soft supple body, and toss her over my shoulder. I plant my palm firmly on her ass and rush out of the building with two elite AFA teams on my heels.
“What are you doing?!” she screams as I race through the parking lot as fast as I can. I head right for my red Tesla Roadster, yank open the passenger door, and toss her in. She screams as I slam the door closed, leap over the hood, and get inside.
“Shit!” I shout as I slam my foot on the pedal just as Grayson Brooks—the huge polar bear shifter on The Foxhounds—collides into the back of my car with his shoulder. The back window shatters as we fishtail over the concrete, metal crunching as the huge polar bear shifter dents the shit out of my car.
The spinning wheels fall back onto the ground and we take off like a rocket, flying over the grass as the rest of the agents chase us. I spin onto the road and fly down it as six of them chase me.