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)
“Aren’t you sweet? They haven’t come yet. Why don’t you get the coffee urn filled with water.” She points to the three-compartment sink where the urn has been filling with filtered water. I pick it up and carry it to the front of the bakery where I plug it in and add the fresh coffee grounds. I turn it on to brew, so people can self-serve when they come in for their morning pastry.
My mom unlocks the front door and stares at me in surprise. “Asher! I thought you were still home in bed. What are you doing here? You have school today, you know.“
“I couldn’t sleep. I came to see if I could be of use.”
My mom‘s concerned face softens into affection. “You are a sweet boy.”
“You’re the only person on this planet who thinks I’m sweet,” I say with a grin.
Not true,” Mrs. Angelson calls from the back.
“All right, the two of you, then.” I walk into the kitchen, pick up a chocolate croissant from the tray she just pulled out of the oven, and take a giant bite. “Mmm. Delicious.”
Mrs. Angelson pokes me. “You just came here for breakfast, didn’t you?”
“Mmm. It’s absolutely perfect, Mrs. A.” The flaky pastry melts in my mouth, dark chocolate oozing over my tongue.
My mom comes into the kitchen and puts an apron on. She falls into work beside Mrs. A without being told what to do. “I can see it going either way with you,” she says, picking up the dropped thread of conversation.
“Oh, boy,” I mutter. She lectured me all weekend about the fight at school, and it seems she’s not done yet.
My mom doesn’t know I’m in a class taught by our nemesis Carlotta James. Which means she also doesn’t know she was the teacher responsible for getting me suspended. If she knew, she’d be even more upset, and I don’t like to upset my mom. She went through four years of depression after my dad left, even though he wasn’t a fated mate, and she’s barely recovered from it now.
“You have the capacity to be an alpha, but you won’t get your shot at leadership if you don’t straighten up, Asher. You can’t go around breaking wrists and smashing noses at school and expect anyone to think you’re alpha material. It takes more than big muscles and a deep growl to command respect. In fact, your size may work against you when it comes to this town. People are afraid of a big wolf who carries bitterness in his heart.”
Bitterness in my heart? It seems like a strange thing to say.
“Fates, Mom,” I mutter. “Isn't it a bit early in the morning for you to be lecturing me about the state of my heart?”
“Yes, he needs another croissant for that,” Mrs. A says indulgently.
I take her words as permission to pilfer another one. She pours me a giant glass of milk to wash it down.
“What you really need is more protein. Is this all you’ve eaten today?” Mrs. A asks.
“I’m okay,” I mutter, downing the glass of milk. “Not hungry today.”
“You couldn’t sleep, and you’re not hungry.” My mom stops what she’s doing and puts her hands on her hips. “What do I need to know about this fight last week?”
“Nothing.” Fuck. I grab another croissant and stuff it in my mouth to avoid further discussion. I’m saved by the sound of a delivery truck pulling up in the back alley.
“There’s your Monday delivery.” I push open the back door and walk out to help.
It’s not like my mom and Mrs. A are wimps. They’re shifters, so they’re a lot stronger than human females their respective ages, but helping with heavy things is the chivalrous thing to do for the she-wolves in your life.
And these two she-wolves are the only people I’ve ever had in my corner.
Lotta
I splash cold water on my face before my last class. I’m barely functional today. I didn’t sleep last night. I’m starving but couldn’t eat breakfast or lunch because I’m nauseous as hell.
My fingers are trembly. I’m feverish.
I have that itchy feeling like I’m going to spontaneously shift again like I did the night of the full moon.
And now I’m terrified that the scent or sight of Asher in the next class will bring on something even worse. Some kind of shameful public spectacle that will lose me this job and forever shame me and my family.
I pick at the fabric of my T shirt at my sternum, pulling it out and in to fan myself and cool the sweat between my breasts.
The deep breath I draw to clear my head only makes me dizzy. And the worst part of all is the frantic thrum between my legs. The wetness there as I review over and over how it felt to be taken by the man who is my mate. The man who is barely a man.