Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Of course, she just wanted me back under her watchful eye. She and my dad could have helped me financially while I was in school–they have plenty of money–but they refused. They were basically starving me out.
Which reminds me, I am starting to shake with hunger. I need protein and not the couple of slices of ham I have in my mini-fridge. I will have to invite myself to dinner with my parents.
They will be delighted. Me, not so much. I walk across the pool deck to their back slider, which I find open. “Hey, guys!”
The house is air conditioned to seventy degrees, and the cool air feels good on my flushed skin. I hadn’t realized I was running warm.
“Hi, honey!” My mom has a glass of white wine in her hand, and she’s moving around the kitchen, cooking and drinking at the same time. She’s still in her work clothes, minus the heels, her sleeveless blouse opened at the throat and coming untucked from her pencil skirt.
“Hey, peanut.” My dad is standing on a stepladder, installing new drapes.
My mom gives my outfit a critical up and down. “Tell me you didn’t wear those clothes to teach today.”
I try to resist my nervous system’s instant reaction to her judgment. The heat in my face. The spike of anger. The clench of my palms.
Only seven months.
Then I will move away and pursue my art.
“I woke up late,” I confess. I figure if they hadn’t already noticed my late departure, someone in this small town is sure to tell them.
“Lotta, I stuck my neck out to get this job for you. Don’t embarrass me by proving you’re not responsible enough–”
“All right, Denise,” my dad cuts in.
“Mom, I know. I’m not blowing off the job. The full moon threw me off.”
Both my parents stop what they’re doing to peer at me. My mom puts a hand on her hip. “Did you shift?”
Gah. I really don’t want to have this conversation with them. They know I didn’t shift the entire time I was at college. That I found it easier to fit in and live with humans that way. Of course, that’s why they wanted me back home.
“Yes.”
They shoot each other pleased looks. “That’s great honey,” my dad says. “I’ll bet it felt good.”
I force a smile. “It did. But it ramped up my metabolism. I slept hard, and now I’m starving.”
“Well!” My mom beams. “Let’s get some food into you. Set the table, hon. I’m almost finished with this beef stir fry.”
I hate that they’re happy about this. I don’t want to admit that my dad was right–it did feel good. The whole situation reeks of a told-you-so. For most of my upbringing, they’ve been telling me art is for humans. Cities are for humans.
When I chose to attend art school in a big city against their wishes, they told me how bad it was for me to never shift, how I would make myself sick, how my wolf might go dormant, or I might suffer from a human-like ailment like cancer.
They refused to help me with tuition or living expenses in hopes I would tuck tail and return.
For over four years, I’ve been trying to prove them wrong. So I really hate to make them right about anything. Especially anything that makes them share victorious smiles about me.
I guess that’s the trade-off for a home-cooked meal that will actually satisfy my ravenous wolf. I set the table and pour myself a glass of wine, drinking half the glass down in a few gulps to try to relax.
Not that the buzz from alcohol lasts very long for wolf shifters. We metabolize too quickly. Hopefully it will be enough to get through dinner.
My mom finishes and dishes out the meal onto the three plates I set.
I slide into a chair and put my napkin on my lap. My stomach gives a loud rumble.
“Coming,” my dad says before my mom tells him. He washes his hands and sits down at the table, searching my face with delight. “I didn’t see you on the run last night.”
I pick up my fork and dig in. It’s a simple dish–snap peas, tomatoes, and beef with cashews and some kind of plum sauce. It tastes like heaven. I gobble down a bite before I answer. “No. I wasn’t planning on joining. That’s why I didn’t go to the pack hall. But I heard the yips and howls from the school and…I guess I couldn’t resist.” I force a cheerful note into my voice like it was something I chose rather than something my wolf forced onto me.
“Did you find any of your old friends?”
I’m still shoveling food into my mouth. “Uh…I honestly don’t know who I was running with.” Heat crawls up my neck. I’m suddenly feverish again, remembering that male.