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)
My wolf wants her mate. She wants another round with him. Wants me to figure out who he is. Where to find him. How to get his attention.
I wake every morning sweaty, horned up, and desperate for a release.
I turn my head, listening to what sounded like a soft footfall.
But no. I’m imagining things. All I hear is the sound of car horns blaring in celebration. The Wolf Ridge football team must’ve won their game. Earlier cheers drifted on the breeze from the stadium. The team always puts on a great show for the town.
I didn’t go to the game, despite my wolf’s desperation to get out there and sniff every man in town. There’s something about being home when the rest of the town is gathered that feels juicy. Probably because those were the only times I could focus on my art when I lived under my parents’ rule.
I wonder whether Asher was allowed to play in tonight’s game. He was absent from class for the last three days, but football matters here. I wouldn’t be surprised if Principal Olsen let him on the field tonight. He would consider Asher’s actions in my classroom justified from a wolf perspective. A male wolf defending the honor of a female is part of our culture. It’s just that those actions aren’t allowed at school or in front of humans.
I sigh and stand from the patio chair. I’m too restless to enjoy the beautiful night. My skin is hot and itchy. Maybe I should just shift and try to run it off. Would I sleep better? Or would it compound my problems?
I turn toward the door and freeze. The gasp is so sharp it hurts my throat.
If this were a horror film, they would have played that jump-scare sound. You know, the angry violin slash?
Because standing on my porch is the hulking form of one of my students.
Not just any of my students. The one who hates me because of a judgment call I made five years ago. The one I just had suspended for fighting in my classroom.
Asher Martin.
His eyes narrow as he lifts his nose to take in my scent. “You’re afraid of me.” Is that scorn in his voice?
It seems more like anger.
But maybe that’s just his everyday vibe toward me.
Hell, it was his general vibe even before he hit full puberty and became a wolf. He grew up in a violent home. Violence breeds violence, as we all know.
And right now, I have a 250-pound angry linebacker standing on my porch, no doubt here for revenge. Whether it’s revenge for the past or revenge for getting him suspended this week, I can’t be sure.
I glance toward my parents’ house. Should I call for help? They might be back from the game by now. But then there would be more repercussions for Asher. My mom would have him punished to the full extent of pack law for threatening me. I’m not sure I want that for him. I never believed he deserved the angry rebel hoodlum reputation he got in this town.
Asher’s nostrils flare when I look toward the house. “Thinking of calling for help?” He prowls closer.
I hold my ground with my neck stiff and straight, but my heart hammers against my sternum. My palms are damp with sweat. I know Asher smells my fear.
“You really don’t understand why I’m here, do you, Lotta?” His voice is soft and dangerous. He drops the Ms. James, which is just as well. He always manages to infuse it with enough taunt to make me certain it doesn’t convey any respect.
“You think I want revenge. That makes sense after what you did to me and my family.” He steps even closer.
I resist the urge to back up. I’m still Asher’s teacher, dammit.
“Or maybe you think I want something from you.” He cocks his head, studying me. “Maybe I’m here to see if you’re really taking off your panties for your students.”
A flash of anger brings out my wolf, but it’s too late.
Asher moves before I finish balling my fists. He pins me up against the wall of the casita with a hand around my throat, his other hand holding under one knee.
I cry out with shock at his sudden violence. But I realize he isn’t choking me. I’m dangling above the ground, my weight held by my knee rather than my throat.
He’s just scaring me. Showing me how much stronger he is. What he’s capable of. One squeeze of that powerful fist, and he could snap my neck. No amount of shifter healing properties would bring me back from that.
“Let’s see if you can figure out the real reason I’m here,” he growls.
I try to kick him in the balls, but he traps my free leg by pinning it against the wall with his hips. His body presses against mine. I feel every ridge of his rock-hard muscles.