Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Time crept by at a snail’s pace, the dangers of the storm making each second feel like a disastrous eternity. Two of the barriers around his gourd pasture were down now, and Dustin knew that soon the other four would blow over as well, leaving his babies defenseless. Dustin refused to sit and watch his hard work be destroyed as he cursed and raged angrily at the weather. And regardless that the alphas and betas commanded that no one go outside to be a hero, they weren’t there to watch, and Dustin refused to let the pack suffer if he could help it. So, he put on his heavy poncho, grabbed a canvas bag of ten-inch spikes and a hammer, and slid open the barn door.
Rain, hail, and wind slapped him in his face so hard he had to put his arm up as a shield to block the worst of it so he could take a breath. What in the actual hell? Fear passed under his skin before he stepped from under the protection of his shelter to brave the elements. Small branches, sticks, and debris from the nearby woods were falling harder than the hail pelting his head and shoulders. Dustin flinched up at the stretch of lightning that streaked too close to the trees for his comfort. It was so dark that even with his enhanced sight, it was difficult to see, and the cabins in the distance were even darker, some with plumes of smoke billowing from their chimneys.
Dustin just needed to get to the fall harvest fields since the reinforced structure of the greenhouses seemed to be holding up okay. He gritted his teeth and trudged through the four-inch-deep mud with all of the strength his thigh muscles could stand. It took too long and more energy than he had, but he made it to his newly ripened fall fruit that sat unprotected and at the mercy of the hail.
Dustin had just reached the field when the last two corners of the tarp covering the field snapped, and the wind caught underneath and propelled it into the air. Fuckin’ hell! Dustin ran to catch one of the ends, his body taking a beating while he fought through the torrential rains. He gripped the edge of the thick cover and hauled it down to the ground, fighting against 120-mile-per-hour gusts, a greater opponent than any he’d ever battled. If he wasn’t as strong a shifter as he was, he’d be blown away by now.
Dustin managed to keep one edge of the tarp under his boot while he dug blindly in his bag for the nails. Squatting on the soaked earth, he pounded the metal stake through the hole rings as deep as the flooded ground would allow, feeling little hope that it would stay put. He moved down the line as quickly as he could, desperately hammering and spitting as rain and soggy leaves smacked him in the face. Dustin was down on one knee, his full concentration on his task and trying to be careful not to hit his fingers with the steel hammer slipping in his grip. It was because of the thunder and howling winds raging around him that he barely heard the tree fall or the heavy debris that was hefted into the air and hurled in his direction. Dustin squinted and pulled back the hood on his heavy poncho, trying to see where the danger was, when he was struck in his back so hard that it knocked the air out of his lungs and sent his large body tumbling into the wet field. The wind forced him over scattered branches and other objects that flew by him in a sloshing blur.
“Ungh!” Dustin landed flat on his back as sparks of pain flamed behind his closed eyelids. He tried to turn over and get to his feet, but within seconds, the ache in his back changed from a dull warmth to red-hot needles. He bowed forward, clutching his stomach and wondering if he’d actually cracked a few ribs. “Fuck!”
He squinted in the darkness, trying to see what it was that knocked him on his ass, and cursed when he noticed a wood bench seat from the community yard lying a few feet away from him. Dustin struggled to inhale as the storm refused to show mercy. Lying there on his back, Dustin felt as if he was being tortured, like nature was waterboarding and slowly suffocating him. Dustin wanted to yell, to cry out for help, but he knew it’d be a colossal waste of his last bit of energy to be heard over the wind’s battle cry.
Get up, come on, get up. Even the thought of moving made raw agony tear at every fiber of his being. Dustin needed help—he needed his wolf—but the pain and fear was too much for him to shift. What if he’d done some permanent damage and needed medical attention? God, why did I risk his life? Dustin beat himself mentally while he lay there alone and terrified.