Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Whisper pressed harder against my legs, letting me know he felt the same way.
“Soon, buddy. We’ll get out of here as soon as—”
“Can I pet your cat?” My head shot to the left as a cute little girl in a frilly black dress pointed at Whisper with a very breakable, very tasty finger.
“Eh...” I glanced from the snack-size kid to the ginormous predator. Even after twenty years together, I still didn’t quite trust that Whisper could fight base instincts. For all I knew, Frank’s great-grandchild was firmly on the menu. “I’m not sure that would be a great idea.”
“No fair! If she’s petting the kitty, I want to as well!” A chubby little boy came darting up, his mother chasing after him in terror.
“Randal, come back here. We’ve discussed this. You are not allowed near that thing.”
That thing raised his lips a little, exposing his fangs.
“Behave.” I nudged him, struggling to hold back my smile. In a way, I almost felt as if Whisper had adopted a lot of Lucien’s traits. He was grumpy to most, wary of everyone, and almost aloof with power. Yet...there were parts of Rook in him too. The way his gleaming eyes softened on the children as a crowd formed around us. The way his shoulders lowered as if deliberately making himself not as scary.
I swore his energy switched between the harsh stubbornness of Lucien and the trusting sweetness of Rook. It was probably all in my imagination, but after two decades of disappearing into places people rarely went, I’d had a few profound moments that proved we weren’t alone in this world.
“Oooo, he’s so fluffy!” Another little girl in a black pinafore flung her arms around Whisper’s thick neck.
“Ah, shit.” Bending down, I grabbed the child and jerked her into my arms, holding her away from sharp teeth. But Whisper merely chuffed as if laughing at a joke, then flung himself onto his back, presenting his sable belly for every squealing little ragamuffin surrounding us.
The children whooped in joy and launched themselves on him.
The almost forty-year-old panther vanished under a horde of Frank’s great-grandchildren and their parents almost died of a heart attack.
I headed to the bar, grabbed a drink, and kept watch from the shadows as Whisper became the unofficial babysitter.
He’d tell me when he was ready to go, and then we’d vanish into the night again...just the two of us.
Chapter Forty-Four
Forty years...
I HADN’T BEEN BACK TO THE GLACIER in over twenty years.
Yet here I was—dragged back by my opinionated companion who suddenly decided (in the middle of the night) to travel from our home a few hundred kilometres away to the place where Rook and Lucien had died.
In the middle of fucking winter.
We’d driven here—even though he’d snarled and wanted to walk, his age had finally caught up with him.
Frank had suggested, all those years ago, that Whisper’s lifespan would exceed that of a normal panther by at least double. At least, that was what I recalled. He’d flown past that and then some.
I didn’t know his exact date of birth, but he had to be closing in on sixty.
“It’s fucking freezing,” I muttered over the howl of icy wind. “You’ve finally gone senile after all this time.”
The giant predator huffed and rolled his eyes at me. Snowflakes stuck to his pelt, his whiskers shivering in the frigid breeze.
Cast in silver moonlight, he looked like an old warrior from some Icelandic myth.
His once-glossy midnight coat had frosted with silver over the decades—especially around his muzzle, cheeks, and eyebrows, giving his face a distinguished, haughty mask. He’d grown leaner too as his muscles wasted and his bones turned thick with arthritis. But...he was still dangerous. Still hunted in the forest we called home, even if he moved with a noticeable creak.
Shifting a little on the ice, he lifted his left front paw—the one that’d burned when he’d tried to claw through the door to get to a burning Lucien. It’d healed but left him with the slightest limp, made worse on cold mornings or by doing something idiotic like standing in a blizzard at midnight.
“What’s up, buddy?” I bundled my jacket tighter around me, my eighty-year-old joints extremely unhappy about being out here. What was left of my white hair stayed tucked under my beanie, and I wore two scarves and a thick pair of gloves.
I never used to feel the cold but now I did thanks to age catching up to me.
As Frank’s kids took over Snowflake Corp, and I distanced myself from everyone, I lost track of people who would miss me when I was gone.
The only one I’d miss was Whisper and...we were as old as each other.
Whisper glanced at me, his golden eyes milky with cataracts, but even under the haze, they still glowed with ancient intelligence.
Chuffing quietly, he slinked toward the spot where the lab lay entombed in ice. The same spot where Rook had exploded into snow. The same spot where Lucien had detonated into flame.