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)
“I…” He stops, biting down on what feels like the start of a confession. Deep, unexplainable feelings of tenderness and trust well inside me. He exhales a shuddering breath, bowing his head, the weight of the world pressing down despite his strength and fortitude.
“You can’t fight this, Goldie.” His voice is tight, gravelly. “You can’t fight who you are any more than we can. On the night of your birth, we were also coming into the world. None of us knew that this would be our destiny. We’ve just had longer to understand than you have. Will you give us the time to show you how good this can be? Will you stay here without running, without putting yourself in danger? We’re fighting a war for survival and can’t do it without you. We can’t make it if you put yourself in danger to escape us. The wolves won’t matter if you destroy us from the inside… if you break our hearts.”
I gaze up into his face, and my hand rises to cup his cheek.
This man might be arrogant but he’s also passionate, fierce, demanding, and intense. He has a fixed view of how things should be and wants them that way, come hell or high water. He feels with unfathomable intensity that makes my bones ache and my body yearn. He’s steel and I’m magnetized for him and his brothers.
I just didn’t understand him, that’s all. I didn’t see past his rough exterior to his heart, but now I do.
Hunter’s under the most pressure. He’s the eldest and the bearer of the traditions passed down from generation to generation. He carries the weight of the feud with the wolves on his shoulders and the future of his family line.
I’ve fought him, but I was wrong to form opinions of him without truly connecting with him.
They say not to judge a book by its cover, but that’s exactly what I did. What’s between Hunter’s pages is much more complex than I ever imagined.
“I won’t run,” I say. “I’ll stay.”
Hunter’s shoulders relax, and as I look from Robert to Evan, I see that the relief is shared.
“I need time, though. Time to get to know you, time to get used to all of this. Can you be patient with me?”
Hunter nods. “If it’s what you need.”
“It is.”
He touches my shoulder. “Can you sit? Have some water?”
I nod, and he helps me rise, his powerful arm beneath my shoulders. Evan hands me the water, and I sip it at first, then gulp as I realize how dry my throat is.
It’s then that I notice Hunter’s hands.
His palms are slashed, and blood has crusted over the wounds.
Robert has a cut along his cheek and matching knuckles. Evan is dirty and wounded, too.
These men really fought for me. They risked injury, and goodness knows what else to make sure I’m safe. I reach for Hunter’s hand, holding it tenderly. These are the hands of a killer. A killer who’s a protector. “We need to clean you up.”
He shakes his head as though he’s too big and bad to need medical assistance. “It’ll heal.”
“With dirt in it,” I say. “Bring me a bowl of warm water, a soft towel, and some ointment. I want to make sure you don’t get an infection.”
“We’re bears!” he laughs, but I can see from his expression that he’s delighted at my concern.
“Bears get infections, don’t they? Thorns in their paws?”
“I’ll go,” Evan says.
It takes him a few minutes to return, and then I clean all their visible wounds. They insist that no bandaging is necessary because they heal faster than humans. “Are these the only ones?” I ask, realizing that they weren’t wearing clothes when fighting in their bear form. Maybe their shirts and jeans are concealing more injuries.
Hunter shakes his head a little too vigorously.
“Show me,” I order.
He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, but he reaches behind his head and strips his shirt off with a flourish. Shifting on the bed, he turns until the wide expanse of his bare back is angled to me and I gasp. Jagged lines crisscross his back in deep welts. The blood is dry, and the edges are already pulling tight as his faster healing process kicks in. I reach out, hurting for his hurt, wincing as my finger dances over his heated skin in between the wounds. He shivers. “You don’t need to do this,” he murmurs, curling his spine. The muscles beneath his skin shift, making my mouth go dry.
“Let me help.” I dab gently, trying to clean away visible blood and dirt. He doesn’t flinch with pain. He’s strong and resilient, a rock of a man who resists any kind of care. Evan and Robert exchange glances. I can almost hear their thoughts, wondering if this is the moment that everything changes. When I’m done, Hunter’s wounds are visibly smaller, healing cleaner, and I can’t resist the urge to stroke over the thick corded muscles that joins his shoulder to his back. He shivers again, lowering his head, and a rumbling noise of contentment, similar to a cat’s purr, vibrates his skin.