Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Trick gave her a look filled with sympathy. “Baby, you were one of those females. In fact, you were leading the ‘Dominic Brigade.’” He’d have been jealous if it hadn’t been so damn ridiculous. Even his wolf had been amused.
“I was not. Why was Greta crying?”
“Because she was so happy that her boys had found themselves mates that were worthy of them. Or at least that’s what she said.”
Frankie gaped. “No!”
“Oh yeah. You don’t remember wiping her tears with the bottom of your shirt?”
“No. For which I’m glad.”
“You also took some selfies of you both, pouting like supermodels.”
“Stop lying!”
Trick laughed. “It’s not a lie. Check your cell phone.”
“Later.” Once she was in a state where she could handle the shame.
“Yes, later. Now you need to shower.”
He helped her out of bed, but she still swayed. Bracing her hand on the wall, she said, “I’m okay. I’ve got this.”
She showered and dressed, every movement clunky and lazy and pitiful. Then she was walking alongside him through the tunnels, her footsteps dragging, her arms hanging loose at her sides. Leaving her bed had truly been a mistake. At first she’d felt a little better. Now she was back to wanting to curl up on the floor and die.
As they neared the kitchen, the smell of greasy food made her stomach roll. But her attention was on the sound of someone crying. No, a recording of someone crying.
“I love you, Taryn,” sobbed Greta. “I really do. I should have told you that before.”
A loud voice overrode the recording. “That is not me.”
“Greta, it’s a video,” said Taryn. “We can all see you on it, clear as day.”
“It’s not me,” Greta insisted.
“Woman, we know what you look like.”
At that moment Frankie and Trick walked into the kitchen. Heads turned their way, and several pairs of bloodshot eyes met theirs. It made her feel slightly better to know that she wasn’t the only one suffering . . . though she had to admit that none of them looked quite as bad as her.
Lydia winced. “Damn, sweetie, I thought I looked like shit.”
Frankie wanted to speak, but all that came out was a grunt.
Trick sighed and spoke to Lydia. “Frankie’s body is here. She is not.”
Asshole.
A few hours later, Grace suggested a pack run. Everybody, including the kids, went along. The wolves all padded through the woods, ambushing one another and play fighting. Riley’s raven repeatedly dive-bombed Greta and circled the kids to make them laugh.
After a while they all settled in a small clearing. Some rested on the ground or lapped at the river, while others pounced and wrestled each other to the ground. Savannah dangled from a tree branch and threw acorns at the other kids—Dexter then collected the acorns and either put them in his pocket or tossed them in the river.
Frankie’s wolf sprawled on the ground, enjoying the heat of the sun. Her mate stayed close at all times, protective and possessive. Whenever he crowded her too much, she snapped her teeth. He either licked at her jaw in apology or growled in frustration.
Hours later, when she shifted back into her human form, Frankie was feeling a lot better. Which was a good thing, since she’d previously agreed to have dinner at Clara’s house that evening. The invite had also been extended to Trick, Lydia, and Cam, so all four of them hopped into the SUV, and Trick drove them to Bjorn Pack territory.
Honestly, Frankie was a little nervous. Not just because she had no idea if Clara’s sons would be there, but also because it still felt weird to be around relative strangers who treated her as though she were one of their family.
Clara’s cabin wasn’t far from Iris’s. Neatly planted flowers surrounded it, some exotic, some common. The floral scents gave the place a restful, welcoming feel.
Clara eagerly ushered them inside and kissed their cheeks, chattering happily. Looking around, Frankie saw that the decor was earthy and rustic, full of antiques and knickknacks. Clara had good taste.
While the home was smaller than Iris’s cabin, Frankie couldn’t help but note that she didn’t feel cramped, whereas the house she’d grown up in was three times this size, yet she’d felt more confined in that house than she had anywhere else.
Frankie couldn’t have been more relieved to hear that Clara’s sons wouldn’t be there. The scents of lavender, lacquered wood, and sizzling-hot food also went a long way to putting her at ease. And when Clara and Cesar sensed that Frankie and Trick were mated, they were so delighted that more of her tension slipped away.
Everyone talked and laughed at the dining table. All the while, the TV played low in the background since, as Cesar told his mate, “If I can’t watch the game, I can at least listen to it from here.”