Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
They want to end our clan by hurting our mate, so we have no choice but to end them. Their jealousy over our clan's wealth has been a trigger for years. They never settle, and with every move, they squander what they accumulate on drinking and drugs, gambling and excess. Their lack of self-control has been their undoing for generations.
Their eerie yellow eyes blink, narrow pupils staring at us with malice and mischief. Creator, I hate wolves. They circle us, never moving closer, and we watch, letting loose growling rumbles that disturb the surrounding leaves. Hunter steps forward, an offensive move, and the wolves keep moving around us, forcing us to turn until we’re back-to-back, bear rump to bear rump.
“Hold ground,” Hunter growls in my mind. “Swipe when you can.”
I drag my four-inch claws across the mud, ready to feel flesh parting beneath them. If they get closer, they risk getting seriously maimed. A well-placed swipe can gouge out veins and arteries, even organs. I taste anticipated blood, metallic and warm, against my tongue. I lunge forward, startling the nearest wolf, who backs up a few feet. Hunter and Evan do the same, widening the distance between us and forcing the wolves back. In a one-on-one fight, they don’t stand a chance. Maybe they sense that we’re ready to take this confrontation further than any of our recent run-ins because the biggest one howls, and the others perk up their ears before they begin to slink back, noses lowered, growling defensively. I snarl and slash the air in front of me.
“Kill,” my bear growls loudly, his demand reverberating against my skull.
“No,” Hunter says. “We push them back.”
So, that’s what we do. We push the wolves back to the edges of the forest, the line we consider the border of our territory. We scent the line, looking for the wolves’ point of entry and exit, wanting to know where we’ll need to patrol as the days go on. We mark our territory like the apex predators that we are.
It’s hours before we return home, but I’m ready to see Goldie. I’m ready to make her ours before it’s too late.
25
GOLDIE
I make my phone calls. Unsurprisingly, the sheriff’s office inspires me with no confidence. I got all the references I needed for the insurance company, who told me they’d send an assessor by the end of the week. I can’t believe that it is going to take so long to get them to look at the damage. At this rate, it'll be weeks before I see any money and maybe months before I can get the store repaired and get back to business. My savings are there for a rainy day, but they won’t last long. I remember what Evan said, how they’ll pay my bills while I’m here. It was a sweet offer, but I don’t feel comfortable taking their money. Relying on them will only feed into their sense of entitlement about my place here. To maintain my independence, I’ll have to find another way to keep my head above water.
I call my mom, not actually wanting to speak to her but knowing if I don’t, she’ll hound me with messages and moan when we finally make contact. It’s draining and annoying and, not for the first time, I consider how little I get from our relationship, and how much she always takes.
“Goldie. I thought you’d forgotten about us,” is the first thing she says.
I can’t win with her. “No, Mom. I’ve just been busy.”
“Tinkering with locks?” She sighs theatrically, magnifying my deep sadness without even knowing it. When am I going to get to tinker with locks again?
“It’s called working,” I say, unable to keep the snark from my voice, even though I know it’ll only make it worse.
“Well, if you found a husband, you wouldn’t need to work.”
Evan told me they’d take care of me, and a petulant part of me wishes I could just tell her I’ve found three men. Seeing her expression would be the highlight of my life.
“I like working,” I reiterate for the thousandth time.
“Well, your dad has been making a big mess. He’s taken up a hobby and swamped my dining table with his stupid model-making.” She rambles on for at least ten minutes about how terrible her life is and how selfish my dad is for wanting to have an interest. I hold the phone away from my head, finding her voice grating and her constant reveling in victimhood like nails on a chalkboard. She asks me nothing about my life, and I don’t share. What would be the point?
I gaze around at the unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house. My life has been upturned, and I don’t feel I can tell the person who is supposed to love me the most.
For a moment, I drift back into her bear dream world again, shutting out the drone of her moaning. I remember the softness of her voice when she used to tell me the story, and I wonder why she could be like that for a few minutes but transformed into this other cold, awful person for the rest of the time.