Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“Nice,” Channing says.
I turn away, rubbing my temples. My mind is a tornado of thoughts, spinning around the image of my Geo, scared and alone. Turning into a wolf without knowing or understanding how it works. So much more intense than my puberty surprises of getting my period for the first time or growing hair in places it hadn’t been before.
I sink onto the couch. “He’s thirteen.”
“He’s at the right age for it.”
What if he went too far and couldn’t find his way home? What if a hunter found him? Would he shift back? Is he able to shift back and forth at will? What if he went out alone and was hurt?
Geo’s all I have. I lost Geoffrey. I can’t lose him, too.
“Julia,” Channing is calling. “Julia.”
I blink up at him.
“Breathe,” he chides me gently, and I suck in a breath.
“That’s it.” Channing sits on the couch beside me. The springs creak under his solid weight, and my cushion tilts me towards him. “Deep breaths. It’ll be okay.”
“He’s just a kid. He’s too young. He can’t be out there alone.” My chest feels tight. That’s where my anxiety builds up, under my breastbone. If I were alone, I’d rub it away.
Channing stretches an arm behind me, resting it on the back of the couch. He’s not touching me, but I’m enveloped in his warmth.
“I know. That’s why I’m here,” Channing says, his deep voice an ocean of calm. “This is perfectly normal.”
My breathing eases. Channing’s hand hovers over my shoulder, inches away, still not touching.
“He won’t be alone. I’ll be with him.” Channing’s eyes have dark rims and golden striations radiating out from the pupil. There’s a bit of blond scruff on his chiseled cheeks.
He’s so much bigger and broader than I am, taking up more than his share of space on the couch. In addition to the bomber jacket, he’s wearing baggy sweatpants and black boots. And no shirt.
I wrinkle my nose. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
He shrugs, his face doing the aw, shucks expression I know too well.
I straighten, scooting an inch to the left, away from him. He probably left his shirt in some poor woman’s bed. I remember he was quite the ladies’ man when he was in high school.
He probably gave her a night to remember and snuck out before dawn. She’s probably waking up now, realizing he’s gone. At least he left the shirt, she’ll think, picking it up to inhale his scent. It’s the only memento she has of the god who rocked her world all night.
Why am I thinking of Channing in bed? That’s just wrong.
I press my hands to my cheeks. My skin scorches my palms.
“Julia?” His gaze falls to the wedding band Geoffrey gave me.
I’m not sure why I’m still wearing it. At first, I wasn't ready to take it off. Then it was comforting, and I wore it as a shield. And as the years went by, it never came off.
I fly off the couch, crossing the room. I’m warm all over. Is this a hot flash? It’s gotta be a hot flash. “You need to go.” I need to get control. This, whatever this is, needs to stop. “Now.”
“Julia.” The soft command in his voice makes me turn. He’s risen from the couch, and the whole room seems smaller. “I’m not leaving.”
“Well, that’s a change.”
His face hardens, and I know the blow landed. It hurts to hurt him, but I’ll bring out the big guns if I have to. If that’s what it takes him to leave.
Because I’m not sure he’s the kind of role model I want for Geo. He may be a shifter, but he’s wild and reckless. He showed up here without a shirt and on a motorcycle. Who does that? And why? This guy is not mentor material. Besides, seeing him is sort of painful. It reminds me of better times.
Of Geoffrey. Of how lonely I am now.
“I fucked up,” he says. “I know that. If I could go back in time, I’d do it differently. But I’m here now, and I’m going to be here for Geo. And for you.” He steps close, into my space. His eyes roam over my face.
I don’t know why he added that last part–And for you.
I don’t need anything from him.
I definitely don’t want to take him up on it.
What do I look like to him? He’s changed so much, but I’ve changed, too. Is he noticing how much older I look? All the wrinkles I have? Am I still even attractive to a male anymore?
My spine turns to steel. “This conversation is over. I need to get to work.”
For a second, he stands there, looming over me. He’s a foot taller and has a hundred pounds more muscle than me packed onto his taut frame. Maybe two hundred pounds.