Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
“Will…”
He stepped into the kitchen, moonlight casting a dim glow on his face, and something inside me ached.
He was big in high school, but now…
I swallowed, trying to wet my dry mouth.
A light spatter of raindrops glimmered on top of his messy but trimmed head of chocolate hair, and I’d never seen him with scruff on his face before, but it made him look harder—and more dangerous—in ways I didn’t realize would look so good on him.
His chest was broader, his arms in his black hoodie thicker, and he brought up his hands, using a cloth to wipe off blood that coated his fingers. Tattoos adorned the backs of his hands, disappearing up the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
He didn’t have any tattoos the last time I saw him.
The night he was arrested.
Where was the blood from? Hunting?
I backed away as he slowly advanced, but he wasn’t looking at me as he approached, just gazing at his hands as he cleaned them.
The cricket bat. Where was it?
I blinked long and hard. Shit. I’d set it down on the fridge floor when I packed the food.
I flashed my eyes to the refrigerator, gauging the distance.
Searching the counters, I spotted a trio of glass apothecary jars and reached out, swiping one onto the floor between us. It crashed, shattering everywhere, and he paused a moment, a smile in his eyes as I continued to back away, making my way for the fridge.
“This won’t end with you in my sleeping bag this time,” he warned.
I grabbed another jar and shoved it to the floor, backing up some more and closing the distance. If he charged me, he’d slip on the glass.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I taunted. “You’re still not the alpha.”
The dark eyebrow above one of his eyes cocked, but he didn’t stop, continuing toward me.
The pulse in my neck thumped, my stomach swimming, but…as the glass crunched under his shoe and his gaze held mine, the pulse between my legs throbbed, and I almost cried.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked.
“Have you been bad?”
I locked my jaw, but I remained silent.
A wicked smile spread across his face, and I knew this was it. I didn’t think it would happen like this, but I always knew it was coming.
“You know,” I said. “Don’t you?”
He nodded. “Don’t you want to explain?”
“Would it matter?”
He shook his head.
I gulped. Yeah, didn’t think so.
He served two-and-a-half years in prison because of me. And not just him. His best friends, Damon Torrance and Kai Mori, too.
I dropped my eyes for a moment, knowing he didn’t deserve it, but I also knew I wouldn’t have done anything differently if I could. I’d told him to stay away from me. I’d warned him.
“I wish I’d never met you,” I said, almost whispering.
He stopped, glass grinding under him. “Believe me, girl, the feeling is fucking mutual.”
I backed up, but my hand brushed my leg, and I felt something in my pocket. I continued making my way for the fridge, but I reached into my pants and pulled out the hunk of metal, seeing a folding knife with a black handle.
Where did this come from?
I didn’t carry knives.
I dropped the net and unsheathed the blade, holding it out in front of me, but he shot out and grabbed my wrist, prying my fingers open. I fought against it, trying to keep the weapon, but he was too strong. I cried out as I couldn’t hold it anymore and it fell to the floor, clanking on the marble.
Whipping me around, he fisted my collar and brought me in, pinning me between his body and the counter.
He looked down into my eyes, and I breathed hard, a lock of hair brushing against my mouth.
“You like alphas?” he challenged me.
I sharpened my eyes on him. “We want what we want.”
He glared, those words far more familiar than he wanted to remember, and if I weren’t so fucking scared, I’d laugh.
Growling, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “Time to meet one then,” he said.
Emory
Nine Years Ago
“Why are you quitting?”
I stood there, avoiding my coach’s eyes as I gripped the strap of my bookbag that hung across my chest.
“I don’t have time,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”
I risked a glance, seeing her gaze hard on me under the short blonde hair hanging just over her eyes. “You made a commitment,” she argued. “We need you.”
I shifted on my feet, a curtain of self-loathing covering every inch of me.
This was shitty. I knew that.
I was good at swimming. I could help the team, and she put a lot of work into training me over the last year. I didn’t want to quit.
But she’d just have to deal with it. I couldn’t explain, even if not explaining meant that she’d misunderstand my silence as being irresponsible and selfish.