Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
It’s parked on the side of the diner.
Just as I’m shoving the key into the door, the dirt bikes arrive. There are four of them, each with a terrifying man on top, all of the men barefoot except for the one with the sword strapped to his back.
The story at the train station was true?!
My stomach drops as all four of them glare at my man. The engines roar as they accelerate, circling us in a threatening manner.
“Jackson!” August says as he looks at the guy in the lead. He’s the largest one and kind of resembles Gus. “I need some time. Something has changed.”
“No more time,” Jackson says sadly. “Your bear’s out of control.”
“You fucked up my chest,” the big guy with the tattoo sleeves hollers as he gets off his bike. He yanks up his t-shirt, showing four fresh pink scars running along his chest that look like they’re from bear claws. “This is permanent! It cut through the tissue!”
“It wasn’t me,” August says with a sigh. “It was my bear.”
“Same shit,” the big guy says with revenge in his eyes.
The blond guy steps off his bike, not saying a thing. He’s got huge broad shoulders and a fire in his blue eyes.
What is he…?
He’s stripping! Why is he stripping?
I watch in shock as he pulls off his shirt in one swift motion and begins to shake. His whole body quivers and then quakes in angry convulsions. His shoulders balloon even larger and then with a rip, a full-grown polar bear bursts out of him with a savage roar.
It takes my brain a second to absorb the shock, but then I realize… It’s all true. Shifters exist, August is one of them, and I’m his mate.
My pulse races as I turn and look at him.
He grabs my arm and pulls me protectively behind his large body.
“Do your thing,” I whisper to him as the polar bear snarls at us.
“What?” he whispers back.
“Your bear thing. Bring him out.”
“No,” he says with a fierce shake of his head. “I’m not risking it around you. I don’t trust him. Hazel, I… have to go with them.”
“They’ll kill you!”
“It’s the best thing.” He turns and looks at me with watery eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted was to look at your beautiful face. Just once. You’re even more stunning than I ever thought possible.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I wish I was all done up and wasn’t still wearing my dirty waitressing uniform at least.
“My time is up,” he continues, looking like his heart is breaking. “But now that I’ve met my incredible mate, I can die happy.”
My breath lodges in my throat as he leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. That big powerful hand cups the back of my neck as our lips open and I get a taste of his delicious tongue.
“Thank you,” he whispers when he pulls away. My chin is tilted up in the air, my eyes half closed, my heart beating wildly. There’s no way that’s going to be our last kiss. I want more of them. Every day, I want more.
He turns to surrender himself to the four shifters, but I grab his wrist and yank him back.
“No,” I say firmly when he looks at me in shock. “We’re not giving up yet.”
I pull him to my car and tell him to get in. I take a breath of relief when he does, because trying to force him in would be like trying to force in an elephant.
“Don’t do this,” Jackson says, looking exhausted. He looks at the Frenchman with the sword and nods his head. “Remy.”
Remy steps off his dirt bike with a grin and slides the sword out of the sheath strapped to his back. My door is open, but I’m not in the car yet as he comes over, gripping that sword with a smile on his face. He swipes it at my back tire, slicing through the rubber. The back left side of my car sinks down with a hiss as I shove my hand into my waitressing apron.
August jumps back out of the car. He growls at Remy.
“Back in,” I shout to him. “I can take care of this.”
“How?” he asks as Remy grins at me.
“With this!” I pull out a canister of pepper spray and point it menacingly at the Frenchman.
His forehead creases. “Chapstick?”
“Shit,” I say as I look at it and then reach back into my purse. I grab the real canister of pepper spray and yank it out. Before he can read the label, I’m pushing down on the button and spraying the fiery liquid into his eyes. He stumbles back with a scream.
The polar bear advances with a growl and I spray him too. He throws his head back and releases a vicious roar.
“Let’s go!” August shouts. I jump into the car and start the engine.