Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Shane scowled and threw some tools off the bed before jumping off. “You’re so fucking ridiculous. All you need is to be around people more so you don’t end up scaring guys off with some weird alpha pack bullshit.”
Jag shook his head, and they didn’t even share a goodbye before Shane slammed the truck door behind him and drove off. At least digging for half the night would get Jag tired enough to sleep instead of chasing his own thoughts until dawn.
On cloudless nights like this one, a bright moon might provide enough illumination for the task, but at the moment it had the form of a thin crescent, so Jag switched on the large flashlight Shane had tossed him along with the shovel and the pickaxe. The sharp white light reflected off bits of aluminium scattered on the nearby hill of scrap, and while the piles of other people’s garbage were nothing like the forested hills Jag had grown up in, they were remote enough to provide him with a safe home.
His gaze passed over the shape bundled up in an old patterned carpet, but the stranger’s identity was none of his business. Like everyone else, he would become feed for the worms. The circle of life, Jag’s mother had called it, and he wasn’t one to attempt comprehending the rules of nature.
With the shovel in hand, he approached a spot that looked soft and stone-free, and pushed the tool into the dirt.
Something groaned. But it wasn’t a rock grazed by the steel, so he spun around in alarm, ready to defend himself from whatever predator might have crept up on him. He could see no eyes shining in the darkness and no one stalking his way, but another grunt locked Jag’s breath in his throat, because he knew there was only one place where the sound could have come from.
This just wasn’t his night.
With blood pounding in his temples, he scooted by the body and tugged on the edge of the carpet, prompting it to unroll. A shiver ran down his spine when soft groans continued, as if the corpse had somehow come back to life now that they were in a remote location. Perhaps it was the other way around and the guy simply needed a few more minutes to die? Jag wasn’t cruel and wouldn’t bury him alive, but if mistakes had been made, he had the shovel to finish the stranger off before sending him to the bottom of the pit he’d later dig.
Though it was extremely unprofessional for one of Frank’s customers to deliver someone who was still breathing. Jag wasn’t sure what unprofessional meant, since Frank never used that word against him, but he figured out from context that it described someone doing their job poorly.
Jag held the shovel ready to strike, but then the body emerged like a butterfly leaving its cocoon, and he gave a soft exhale full of wonder. A folded pair of glasses reflected the light Jag’s way, but he was too busy staring at a man whose skin was as vivid as the feathers of an exotic bird.
His entire torso and arms were covered with bright images of people in lush costumes, and while the color didn’t extend beyond his hip, there was a silhouette of a crouching person etched into the front of his thigh, facing a groin that had bright hair on one side and brown on the other.
Breathless, Jag let the shovel fall and stumbled forward, taking in the stocky form that appeared strong yet had enough fat to insulate him from the cold in winter. Unlike Jag’s own body, which had visible muscles, this man’s form reminded him of a young bear, though no bear Jag had ever seen had its coat color split in the middle. The sharp difference in tone was also present on the stranger’s head, where mid-length strands were stuck to his forehead above thick brows, and lashes that followed the same pattern of blond on the left and brown on the right. Even his short, tidy beard was split in the middle when it came to color.
Jag rested on one knee and leaned over the stranger whose body seemed soft as a pillow, only to flinch when the full, pink mouth opened, sucking in air. The man’s eyes remained shut, overshadowed by the heavy brow line, but while the swelling on his broad, handsome face was hard to miss, from up close Jag could also spot discoloration blooming under the colorful tattoos.
A large open wound gaped in his arm, slicing right through the image of a woman with fiery hair, but despite revealing the meat and fat usually hidden from view, it didn’t seem to bleed any longer.
The man let out a little whimper that reminded Jag of a wolf cub begging to be set free. He stole a glance at the dick nestled between thick thighs Jag could imagine kneading for hours. While soft, it was of a good size, but how much would it grow?