Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Not yet. Not before digging out the truth.
Monroe had always ranted and raved that DarkRiver thought it was too good for everyone else. Though Soleil knew her former alpha had been full of shit, she’d expected far different treatment for the simple reason that DarkRiver was a hugely powerful pack—and she was no one and nothing.
As it was, an older male juvenile with incredible bone structure, his hair light brown under his ball cap, and his eyes hazel with an unusual—she wanted to say almost purplish—tint to them had just dropped off a tray that held a mug of hot cocoa and a huge slice of cake.
“Tamsyn said you need to eat more—your body is close to breaking down muscle in order to fuel itself,” he’d told her in a firm tone that she wasn’t expecting from someone this young—especially when his voice was so clear and pure it threatened to distract her cat with its sheer aural beauty.
With a voice that hypnotic and a face that good-looking, this kid could grow up to be a rock star—or a cult leader.
“I’m no healer, man,” he’d added with a shrug, his expression dubious, “but that doesn’t sound good to me.”
Since Soleil respected Tamsyn and had a weakness for cake, she’d taken the tray and done her best to get through the cake. It had proved unexpectedly heavy, and she’d quickly realized it was made with crushed nuts. Almond or pistachio, perhaps. A good way to pack in a significant hit of energy.
Soleil’s stomach, however, could only hold so much, and she ended up leaving half the slice uneaten. It made her sad that she couldn’t take it with her. Wasting cake was sacrilege—but she couldn’t carry anything in her feline form.
A burp spilled out of her, an odd little rumble of a sound that made her cat rear back and pretend it didn’t know her. Nope, not this creature that made such inelegant sounds.
She could almost hear Farah’s giggle as she rubbed at her stomach. It remained concave, even though it felt as if she was full to her throat.
Stomach heavy or not, this was the best opportunity she’d get—DarkRiver usually gave her a half hour to forty-five minutes between checks. She’d have written it off as a security measure except they kept giving her things!
Cake, an extra blanket, a hot drink.
It bewildered her, how worried they seemed about her. She was, after all, an intruder.
Lucas is the son of a healer. … Doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do, he will never touch you in violence.
Heart aching for the boy the alpha had once been and confused by what to think of the man she’d considered a certain murderer only a day earlier, she walked to the window. Despite the lingering summer light, the world outside was quiet, haunted by all that had taken place so recently. No one was in the mood to be out and about.
The only other thing that might work in her favor was her cat’s coloring and the pattern of her ocelot coat—this close to sunset, she should be able to become just another part of it against the pale tan of the external wall.
After stripping with quick efficiency, she made sure to put her clothing items in the laundry basket placed in one corner of the bathroom. Her parents might have been loners who embraced freedom above all else, but they’d also often packed up and left at a moment’s notice.
As their child, Soleil had learned to be neat and tidy so as not to accidentally have her possessions left behind. And it would be rude to leave a mess, especially when everyone had gone out of their way to be kind to her.
“Ready?” she murmured to the other half of herself, still a little afraid the cat would balk. But it stretched, flexed its claws … and the world shimmered with light as her body broke into a million particles before re-forming into her other skin: a small cat of gold and orange with dark black patterns on its fur.
Her markings were distinctive, the black dots so close together they turned into lines in places. Twin black stripes ran down to the inner edges of large eyes designed to see the smallest movement, her ears erect and cupped. She was much smaller than a leopard or a jaguar, but that just meant she could slide through gaps that, to them, were impassable.
She had her scar in this form, too, a jagged line that bisected the fur of her face.
The cat shook itself to settle its fur into place, flicked the tail ringed by bands of black, then sniffed the air—and got a heavy wave of leopard scents in return. It reared back but didn’t retreat.
Her cat had never been a coward.
Scared and sad, but not a coward.