Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“You must have a thing for the sexy schoolgirl look,” I remarked, nodding at the skirt. “Let me see that top, I’ve never seen anything like it,” I added before he could answer.
He held it out to me and as he did, the cuff of his black shirt pulled up, exposing more of his wrist. What I saw there made me certain I knew who I was dealing with.
On the underside of his wrist was a set of white scars that were unmistakably teeth marks. I had seen those scars a thousand times—more, probably. And he’d gotten those scars protecting me, like a big brother should.
It was Cole—it had to be him. No one else would have those exact same scars on his left arm. Just looking at them brought back a memory so terrifying I had tried often to repress it, though I could never quite manage.
It had happened not long after my adoption into Cole’s family. I think I was still eleven because I remember my new family made a big deal out of my twelfth birthday party and Cole had his arm in a cast at the time.
We were at the neighbor’s house, just dropping off a bowl my adoptive mother had borrowed some time earlier. I think she’d sent me and Cole together because she wanted us to get to know each other, but she never could have imagined what would happen during the simple little errand.
Cole knocked on the door and we handed back the bowl, making polite small talk with the neighbor—Mrs. Krasinsky, I think her name was. Anyway, my new big brother introduced me dutifully and she smiled and shook my hand and said she hoped I would be happy with my new family, etcetera, etcetera… I remember being bored with the dull grownup talk and sad at the same time because all her talk about a “new family” only reminded me of how my real parents were dead.
At last she shut the door and we turned to go. But as we were walking down the steps of her Victorian house, her dog came around from the side yard and saw us.
Mr. Krasinsky, her husband, was a veterinarian who specialized in exotic pets, so this was no ordinary dog—it was a wolfdog—that is a dog that has some percentage of wolf in its heritage. This one must have been nearly 100 percent wolf because it was huge with sharply pointed ears, a long gray muzzle, and golden eyes.
The moment it saw me, it started to growl.
I have always been an animal lover. In fact, up until that point, I had been pretty sure I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grew up. But that day changed my life forever and not in a good way.
The wolfdog started growling, as I said, and I could feel my heart pounding right away. They say dogs can smell fear on you—well I was deathly afraid. I could tell somehow that the animal meant me harm.
It didn’t like me for some reason—I don’t know why. Maybe because of the Royal blood of the First Wolves that I supposedly have in my ancestry. I’ve since learned that different animals react to it in different ways. But for some reason, this wolfdog hated me right from the moment it saw me—or smelled me or whatever.
Cole saw the threat at once.
“Lilah, get behind me,” he said in a low, calm voice. “We’re going to walk backwards very slowly towards the fence. Okay?”
“O-okay,” I said, my voice shaking. But I didn’t even get a single step because it seemed like something in my voice set the wolfdog off.
The animal leapt at me and I knew right away it was going for my throat. Mrs. Krasinsky had opened the front door again and was in the act of shouting at it, but she would have been too late. In fact, I would have gotten my throat torn out then and there if Cole hadn’t stepped directly in front of me to take the full brunt of the attack himself.
He managed to get his left arm up and that was what the wolfdog latched onto. With a savage snarl it bit down hard on his wrist. I heard my big brother grunt in pain and a sound like a cracking tree branch.
But even though it had my big brother by the arm, the wolfdog was still crazy to get at me. It foamed at the mouth with fury as deep, terrifying growls rose from its shaggy throat. It was fighting to get away, but Cole somehow had it by the collar with his right hand and he was forcing his hurt left arm even further into its jaws to keep it from getting free and tearing my face off.
Because that was pretty clearly what it wanted to do—it didn’t give a shit about Cole—it wanted to get to me and it wanted to hurt me—maybe even kill me. Don’t ask me how I knew that—Were instinct maybe. But I remember feeling it in my bones and knowing that if Cole hadn’t been there, protecting me, I would have been lying there on the neighbors’ manicured front law with my throat ripped out and my blood painting the neat green grass scarlet.