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Instead, I return to my room. The first thing I do is change my see-through dress for a simple yellow shift dress. After that, I try listening to music, but that doesn’t last long; nothing puts you off listening to love songs than having to reject the male you adore. I think about reading the books he brought for me, but they’re all romances so… yeah.
Eventually, I decide to curl up in the bed and think. I don’t even pretend that I’m not breathing West’s scent in from his side, or using it to soothe the jagged edges inside of me. West might have accused me of lying to him, but even if he thought I lied to him, I don’t lie to myself.
I slept so badly last night that it isn’t long before I knock out. Surrounded by West’s scent, I can pretend he’s here with me.
I don’t know how long I was sleeping for when the sound of the front door opening jerks me awake. Unlike some shifters, my senses are weaker when I first get up. My wolf can tell that someone’s near, and since no one is supposed to know we’re here, it has to be West.
It’s not.
I slip out into the front room right as a big, bulky male figure steps inside of the cabin. As my wolf goes from dozing to suddenly alert, she whines and snuffles through her snout as a dark, bitter,rottenscent slams into me, knocking me back a few steps.
He kicks the door closed behind him, blocking my only way out.
I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. At least a head taller than me and twice as wide, the wolf is nearly as big as Bishop—but there’s somethingwrongabout him. His shoulders are crooked, arms hunched forward. Those aren’t hands hanging off the edge of his gnarled wrists— they’repaws. His claws are long and thick and back, curving over knobby fingers.
He has no hair on his head. Completely bald up top, patches of fur stick out all over him. His chest is covered in thick brown fur, but so are half of his arms, and part of his neck. Fangs jut out of a twisted mouth. His expression is a broken snarl.
That’s not the only broken thing about him, either.
It’shim. His wolf feels fractured to mine, like someone took a shifter, broke him into a million pieces, but he’s still walking around with thin lines running through him. Only… he doesn’t want the glue to put him back together. He likes being shattered, and uses it as an excuse to do what he wants—
Takewhat he wants—
And nothing can stop him.
Feral. I’ve recognized a twisted male like this before. Nowhere near as cracked as the male in front of me, Quinn’s feral, Chase, has read has fracture to me the one time I met him.
Quinn has kept him whole, though. His love for her… he was a feral, but he wasn’tlost. He wasn’tinsane.
This male is, and he’s focusing all of his madness onme.
“Well, well, well… and what are you doing in my den, little wolf?”
Suddenly terrified as I am, my first ridiculous thought is: how can he speak through a mouth full of fangs like that? His words should be as mangled as his jaw, but though his voice is rough and deep and ragged, I have no problem understanding what he said.
Figuring out what he means takes me a second longer…
My den—
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
This wasn’t a lone wolf’s abandoned cabin that West found and renovated. It’s a feral’sdenthat he took over—and it looks like the male who owns it wants it back.
“Is it yours?” I squeak. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Here, why don’t I leave and you… you can have it back?”
“Leave?” His dark yellow eyes glitter with insanity. “You ain’t going nowhere without me.”
What—
He flexes. There’s no other word for what he does. His body tightens, then releases, but instead of shifting all of the way, he explodes out of the ratty jeans he had slung low on his hips.
I was staring at his misshapen body before. As the material of his jeans rains down on the living room floor, I can’t but lock on the massive dick swinging between his meaty thighs.
Before my eyes, it twitches, then starts to harden.
I swallow my moan of fright.
I thought me and my wolf could handle a feral. But anarousedferal…
