Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“What the fuck is this?” Logan’s heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway.
Wilde finally drops my arm, choosing to ignore his dad as he heads toward his bedroom.
My bedroom. Fuck.
My stomach draws up into a tight knot under my ribs.
“That’s Rayne’s room now.” Logan says it as a challenge. As a punishment.
It’s enough to make Wilde stop in his tracks and swivel to face not his father but me.
The look he gives me could freeze water in the desert. “Is that right?” There’s a threat in his words like he’s daring me to confirm the fact.
For some reason, it makes my nipples hard.
Fate help me, Wilde’s gaze drops to the front of my tented tank top.
His dad says, “Your workout room is now a nursery. Looks like you’ll have to find somewhere else to crash.”
“Logan, no,” my mother entreats. She stands just outside the master bedroom in a short bathrobe that swells at the belly. It’s apparent she was sleeping in the nude.
Ugh. Not something I want to think about.
“Wilde belongs here, no matter what happened in South Carolina. Especially if he’s in trouble.”
Logan’s teeth grind.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offer, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I already feel so out of place here.
“No.” Logan gives his son a death stare. “Wilde will sleep on the couch. He can put his things in the nursery for now.”
“Naw, I’m good.” Wilde drops a single duffel bag onto the floor by the couch, toes off his sneakers, and stretches his giant form out on the sofa. He’s too big for it. His feet hang off one edge, his arm drops onto the floor.
“I’ll get a pillow,” I say.
Logan seems to see me for the first time. “Put some clothes on first, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
I scurry to the room–Wilde’s room–and pull on a pair of pajama pants. When I return with the pillow, Logan and my mom have gone back to their room. It’s just me and Wilde.
I swear to fate, it’s like walking into a forcefield of hate. Like my body slows down when I get close to him, reluctant to even enter his sphere of anger. But there’s also heat. An inferno of heat that licks through my core and limbs.
I take the memo and stop to toss the pillow at him.
He refuses to catch it, letting it hit his body and drop to the floor then staring at it. “Pick it up, Runt.” His eyes glint with green again, like just the sight of me makes him angry enough to shift.
My belly flip flops.
To say I’m scared is an understatement. I’m terrified of him. Of what he might do to me the moment he gets a chance.
But I don’t show it. “Pick it up, yourself, jackass.” I toss my hair as I turn on my heel and strut back to the bedroom like I’m a spoiled princess, and he’s the serf instead of the other way around.
His growl seems to surround me, to enter me. To turn my blood to molten lava.
I gasp as I throw open the door to the bedroom and close it behind me, leaning against it as if I expect him to come and beat it down any moment.
When my heart stops racing, I strip out of the pajama pants and crawl under the covers. I lie there for a long time, but sleep completely eludes me. For some reason, I’m feverish again, a slow pulsing heat starting up between my legs. I’ve never been one to masturbate, but I bring my fingers there, surprised by how sensitive I am. The barest brush makes me shiver and clench.
I keep touching, to take the edge off, but sleep still eludes me. All night long, I’m tossing and turning and squeezing my legs together with no relief.
Finally, at dawn, I slip into a fitful dream about meeting Wilde in his wolf form out on the mesa. He’s hunting me, a huge black wolf, walking slowly on enormous paws, toying with his prey. I run and run until I crash into Bailey, who hands me a shotgun. Silver bullets, she says. It’s the only way to kill them.
I aim the shotgun right at his chest but find it impossible to pull the trigger.
I can’t kill Wilde, I tell her frantically. He’s my stepbrother now.
Do it, she urges. Or you’ll never sleep in peace again.
Wilde leaps with a snarl. Now is the moment. It’s either kill or be killed. But I don’t do it. Instead, I allow Wilde to tackle me to the ground and eat me whole.
Wilde
I can’t sleep on a fucking couch. I don’t even fit on the damn thing. The indignity of it rankles me to my core. But it’s not the couch that really gets under my skin.
It’s the damn runt. Her scent is still on my palm.