Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
What can I do? My phone is with my purse at the base of the swing. I can’t stay here and swing all night.
Yes, yes I can. That’s what I’m going to do.
Twenty minutes later my thighs burn so badly they’re cramping and my palms are so sweaty I can barely hold on to the chains. And my plan isn’t working. The wolves below me are restless. First they sat down to wait, but now they circle, coming in closer. One lunges and nips at my legs when I swing through the lowest point. I scream, trying to hold my feet as high in the air as possible.
On the swing back, it snaps its powerful jaws around my foot. My scream echoes off the canyon rocks. Pain slices through where a tooth punctures the top of my foot and I’m yanked forcefully from the swing. I land on my back on the ground and the wind gets knocked out of me, abruptly ending my high-pitched scream.
Panic roars through me. I need to run, escape, but I can barely stagger to my feet and I’m surrounded by three snarling wolves.
And then out of nowhere, a fourth wolf appears, launching into the ring and tussling with one of the first three.
I scream again, trying to back up, but I can’t. The wolves have me boxed in. The newer wolf, an enormous tan and white beast, springs free of the tussle and positions itself in front of me, like it’s claiming me as its food. Like it wants to fight the others for the right to eat me.
Oh God. I have never been so screwed in my life.
And I’ve also never been so certain I don’t want to die.
After the accident and my grief over Catrina, I often wondered what was the point of going on. Now, I’m quite positive I have so much to live for. Exploring this thing with Cole is at the top of my list.
And now I may not have the chance. No, fuck that. I’m getting out of this.
The wolves continue to snarl and snap at me and at the new wolf. Four more more wolves slink into my line of sight. Christ, how many of them are there in this pack?
I look around for a weapon within reach. There isn’t much, but I see a large rock. I slowly stoop to pick it up with shaking hands, but one of the wolves launches at me and knocks me to my back. I scream again.
The latest arrivals jump in and there’s more fighting. Maybe this is two packs fighting for their meal? Fur flies, snarls fills the air.
The tan and white wolf literally stands over me in a show of dominance and territory claimed. Eventually, the first three wolves drop the fight and trot away, turning every once in a while to snarl at the winning pack.
I’m still afraid to move. The wolf standing over me isn’t facing me, he’s facing out, but he still could turn and sink those terrifying teeth into my throat at any second.
All the growling stops. Apparently the winning wolves don’t need to show me dominance. They’re already sure of their dinner. I blink in the moonlight. Is one of the wolves wearing a chain with dog tags attached? Like military dog tags?
And then suddenly there’s a blur and a snapping of bones and Cole’s crouched over me buck naked. He scoops me up into his arms and lifts me easily. Looking down at one of the wolves, he says curtly, “I’m taking her to your cabin.”
Like talking to wolves is a normal thing.
Holy fuck. Cole just changed from a wolf!
Am I high?
Am I hallucinating?
It takes me more than a minute to believe what I just saw with my own eyes. My brain’s trying to produce a more plausible explanation, but there isn’t one. Cole is a wolf. They all are wolves. Werewolves. And the moon is full.
Holy shit, does this mean I’m still dinner? But a different kind of supernatural dinner?
As if he senses my fresh surge of fear, Cole looks into my eyes for the first time. His glow amber instead of their usual brown. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re safe now. Don’t be scared, babygirl. I’ve got you.”
He strides with long steps toward my car, stopping to pick up my purse from the ground on the way. His feet are bare, like the rest of him, but he doesn’t seem to notice the rocks and rough ground as he walks. He just takes me around to the passenger side, sets me on my feet and wrestles my sweatshirt off me to tie around his waist and cover his junk. Holy shit—his very erect, very long—I snap my eyes back up to his face.
“You’re bleeding.” He scans me. “Where?”
“I don’t know. My foot, probably. I got bit.” I think I’m going into shock, if I’m not there already. None of this is making sense.