Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I took off running, not caring about being silent. This wasn’t a hunt. I leaped over a fallen log, swerving around a thick copse of bushes which caused three rabbits to bolt from their cover. A primal instinct made me ditch my original plan and chase after the frightened creatures. They’d survive today—although they didn’t know it—but at least I’d give them a bit of a workout.
Even in my wolf form, I was a good physical therapist. Always thinking about others and whatnot.
The rabbits zipped through the woods like tiny brown comets. I locked in on their fluffy white tails as I swerved around trees and dove through bushes. The thrill of the chase made me run faster, pushing my muscles, making my heart pound in my chest. I rarely got to do this in the Philly neighborhood I moved from—and by rarely, I meant never. I’d have to drive quite a bit out of town just to find a place I could safely shift. It would typically take around three weeks before I got the incessant itch to turn into my wolf form.
There were a couple of reasons why I was excited for this move, some more intense than others, but being able to shift whenever I wanted was up there at the top of the list.
The woods began to open as the rabbits led me into a clearing filled with yellow and orange marigolds. A stream snaked around the edge, its clear surface dappled with the falling drops of rain. The fleeing rabbits splashed across the water and disappeared into the brush on the other side.
I let them escape. The chase was over. I padded over to the stream, dipped my head down and lapped at the fresh water.
Damn, even the water tasted better here than in Philly. I should have made this move years—
Another wolf.
I scented it before I heard the rustling from behind me. And it wasn’t a regular wolf, either. It had the unique mix of human and animal to it.
Another shifter.
I stood tall with my ears up and tail raised. Body language was everything when meeting other wolves, whether they were shifters or not. I tended to be more dominant so I kept that apparent in how I stood, and instinctively bared my teeth. I dipped my head slightly while keeping eye contact with the other wolf.
The shifter had a beautiful coat, even drenched with rain. They seemed as surprised as I was before collecting themselves and becoming submissive to my presence. The wolf flattened his ears, closed his eyes and lay down. They appeared seconds away from rolling over and showing their belly.
I decided to shift then. Whoever this was, I wanted to greet them with words, not just body language. It took me only a handful of seconds before I was back in my human form, standing tall at six feet, wearing the same workout clothes I had on before shifting. The wolf raised its head and locked those amber-golden eyes on mine. A shifting haze consumed its form, growing taller as they went from four legs to just two, the mirage-like effect dissipating and leaving behind a man.
An incredibly handsome man. One with a friendly smile that immediately dispelled any tension in the air. The raindrops fell down his forehead. An interesting white streak crossed from his left eyebrow to the side of his head, slashing through his golden-blond buzz cut. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and decided a streak of white would look good on him.
And they were right.
“Hi,” he said, not moving, gaze pinned on me. There was something else there. Almost like he was analyzing me. Drinking me in.
I took a step forward. Wet leaves and dirt pressed under my sneakers. Something about the space between us felt abnormal. I wanted to shake the man’s hand.
“Hello,” I said, trying not to be awkward. I was typically fine talking to handsome men considering I was often around them at work, helping them rehab and care for their—typically very fit, very six-pack prominent—bodies, but something about this one temporarily stole my breath away.
A moment of rain-soaked silence lapsed before I remembered what words were. “I, um, my name is Miles.”
“Miles, I’m Dylan. Everyone calls me Dyl, though.”
Dylan… why did that name sound so familiar? And, come to think of it, why did Dylan look so familiar?
“I didn’t realize there’d be other shifters running through here,” I said, trying to put together the pieces in my current “fuck, this guy’s hot” state of mind. He wore a slightly oversized T-shirt but the rain made it cling to his muscular form. It was late September in Vermont which meant it was still in the low seventies, but judging by the way Dylan’s nipples poked through his shirt, I would have thought it was much colder out here.