Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Why would my dad–
I snatch the canvas from her hand and rip the necklace off, pulling up most of the collage with it. I hold it up. “What happened? What happened with my dad?”
I try to remember the last time I saw her before my dad was banished. It was the night I’d told her about him stealing. She hadn’t shown up the next afternoon for our session. And by the night after, he was banished.
“Nothing. It just reminded me of–of tutoring you. Before he left, that’s all.”
I stare at her, then look down at the necklace lying across my palm. There’s something here I don’t understand.
Lotta’s beautiful cornflower blue eyes fill with tears. What’s in her expression? Regret? Yes, but something else. Something that looks like a wound. Like she’s been hurt.
I suddenly feel like I’ve been knocked to my knees. Or perhaps I do drop to my knees–I’m not sure. The room is spinning. I’m hot. My canines have dropped.
“Did he…” It’s hard to speak. My larynx is being dragged along a rusty blade. “Did he hurt you?” I can barely rasp the words out.
She holds her hands up, as if to wave away my anger. “Your mom stopped him,” she says quickly. “Nothing happened. He tried, that’s all.”
Tried.
My vision turns red. Rage explodes all around me. My dad laid hands on my mate. Assaulted her! I’m going to kill the bastard.
And I had it backwards all this time. I thought she’d done him wrong. Oh fate.
I let out a howl of rage.
I’m not sure when I shifted, but my four paws scrabble over Lotta’s polished saltillo tile. I’m slamming into walls, knocking over furniture, trying to get out of confinement.
Lotta throws open the door, and I bolt for the outdoors.
I need to hunt my progenitor and kill him.
Lotta
My vision goes wavy, and I clap a hand over my mouth to hold in a sob. My casita feels like a tiny card house in Asher’s wake. There are claw marks on the wall. A broken barstool lies on its side on the floor.
My mate is in so much pain.
In this moment, with the advantage of hindsight, I’m sure I did the right thing. My wolf or my muse or whatever part of me it is that sees into my future was guiding me when I swore the council to secrecy about what happened.
There’d been a mix-up about where I was supposed to meet Asher. I’d told him I couldn’t make it to Sweet Treats after school, but I’d come to his house later, but he was waiting at the bakery for me. His dad pulled me into the house. He was angry with me for defending Asher the day before, and he launched into a tirade against me, how I was uppity like my mom, and that pack royalty shouldn’t exist.
And then his aggression got physical. I don’t know why I couldn’t shift to defend myself–probably he had some form of alpha command that held me in place. All I remember is that he had me pinned against a wall with my shirt half-torn when Asher’s mom walked in and beat him off. Only then did I shift and run straight home.
I ran into my house coated in the scent of fear and drunken shifter. There was no hiding what had happened from my parents, and my mom wasn’t going to allow the man who laid a finger on her daughter to remain in the pack.
It had been a horrific, vicious decision.
I didn’t want to hurt Asher. My mom said I’d be protecting him and his mom because his dad was a monster who hurt them both. She said I had the opportunity to rid him from their lives, and the pack would thank me.
I made one stipulation. I asked that the council proceedings be sealed from the pack before I spoke. I was underage, so everyone thought it was about protecting my privacy, but it wasn’t. It was for Asher. Even then, not knowing he was my mate, I intuited how much this knowledge would hurt him.
I recounted the attempted assault, and I told them about Asher’s dad stealing money from the till at the brewery. I asked that if they ever needed to give a public reason for his banishment, his thieving was why. My mom had spent all night before the meeting digging up proof of his on-going crimes, so it wasn’t just my word.
When I returned and realized how much Asher hated me, I’d questioned my decision. Not because I needed his understanding–I was willing to be the villain to him. It was because it seemed he’d suffered terribly anyway. The pack had treated him like shit without even knowing what happened. But now, seeing his anguish at finding out the truth, I’m sure I did the right thing. Feeling wronged by me allowed him to have a sense of righteous anger and rebellion. He retained his dignity. Had he borne the shame of his father’s deeds through his teen years, I fear he would’ve shut down completely. Perhaps even left town, as well.