Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
She thinks I’m a monster too.
You’re scaring the shit out of her. Go, run, run until you can’t anymore. Just leave her. If we hurt her, I’ll kill us both.
I twist and scream from inside and the last thing I hear before my bear relents and runs forward, is Wynter crying. Even from this far away, I can smell her tears, and I know she’s my mate.
My worst fears have come true.
It took close to four hours to bring my bear under control. After we turned from Wynter on the street, he bolted. Straight up the mountain and down the other side. It was fucking freezing up there. My bear didn’t care, but now, sitting on a bar stool at the breakfast bar I built for my grandmother a few years ago, I’m still chilled to the bone.
I stare out into her backyard, at the lawn leading to the tree line that runs ten square acres between her house and mine. I’ve not slept at all, but if I missed our usual Sunday morning breakfast I’d be getting grilled under white lights by her and that’s the last thing I need right now.
She’s still getting dressed, so I push off the counter and swing open the refrigerator, nearly tearing the door off as I reach in to grab at the food inside.
A green pepper is first and its fate is sealed as my fingers close around it, popping it like a soap bubble as pepper juice and seeds spray into my palm.
At my feet, my grandmother’s sibling dachshunds jump to see what’s dropped, then look up at me with disgust.
“What?” I grit out. “Dogs don’t like green pepper?” They wag their tails and sit, waiting to see if any other manna from heaven may fall their way.
My gran spoils them about as much as I spoil her, but they make her smile and I’d pay a king’s ransom for that. Instead, I just paid the adoption fee at the shelter.
I reach for the package of bacon and toss it across the counter, only I fling it so hard, it barely grazes the granite surface and ends up cracking a pane of glass in the window over the sink.
Fuck.
I grunt as I think about that shithead Robert touching Wynter.
Sleep has been impossible enough since I first saw her, but last night after I got my psychotic bear under control, all he kept roaring about was killing that damn realtor for touching what is ours. I’m lucky I’m not sitting in a cell at the county jail on a murder charge.
I spent the few hours I had in bed jerking off remembering the light touch of her fingers on my hand.
The switch has flipped with him and I’m not sure what to do. I’m battling the demons of my past along with this hairy obsessed animal and there’s only so much I can take.
I grab an onion and a potato out of the basket on the counter and do my best to set them down on the cutting board like a civilized human, but when I pull my hand back they are both as flat as pancakes.
I growl, a deep possessive pain wrapping around my chest as I reach for the carton of eggs, but before I can get them in my grip, a voice from behind stalls my motion.
“You’re going to break them all before you can make my omelet.” I turn to see a soft smile on Gran’s face, then her hand reaches out to tug gently at my wrist. “Maybe it’s my turn to cook today. Sit.” She nods at the counter stool and I grunt but acquiesce, knowing if I don’t calm the fuck down, it won’t just be all the eggs that are cracked.
“Sorry,” I manage. “I wanted to make your breakfast.”
“You make my breakfast more than you should. You treat me like a princess. It’s my turn today.” She takes the remaining ingredients out of the refrigerator and gives me a knowing look. “Anything you want to tell me?”
She knows me too well. I lean my elbows on the cool stone counter and press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to push away the image of Wynter because she’s all I see. It feels like every cell in my body is going to go supernova and I can’t imagine living much longer like this.
I’d do anything for my grandmother.
After everything that happened with my parents, I was just ten years old, and if it wasn’t for her I know I wouldn’t be here now. She’s coming up on her seven-third birthday, but she reminds me of a brunette Helen Mirren, without the English accent. She’s fully capable of taking care of herself and her business, but to the extent she will let me, I take care of her.