Page 17

“ S o, are you okay? Do you wanna talk?”

Avery’s voice is soft, careful.

Not like she’s afraid of me, but like she knows I’m holding on by a thread.

She turns in her seat to look at me, concern written all over her face.

I shake my head.

Too fast.

Too automatic.

“No.”

But even as the word leaves my lips, I know it’s a lie.

Maybe I should talk. Maybe keeping it all locked inside is just going to make me combust.

Because something’s tearing me apart from the inside out.

“You’re the pretty lady in Uncle Kian’s cabin!”

Rosie’s voice pipes up from the back seat, where she’s securely buckled in her booster like the cutest damn chaos gremlin I’ve ever seen.

“Rosie,” Dante rumbles in that deep, Shifter growl tone that makes me wonder if it’s possible to be scared and comforted by a man at the same time.

He’s trying to hush her.

But she doesn’t care.

Kids don’t give a damn about adult tension.

“What? When did you meet Arliss, baby?” Avery asks, amusement and curiosity dancing in her voice.

Rosie launches into a completely unhinged version of how I magically appeared when she went to show Uncle Kian that the goats and ducks learned to follow her around when she’s in her fur, which, under any other circumstances might’ve made me laugh.

Might’ve.

But not now.

Not when my chest is a graveyard full of shattered hope.

Because I believed in the dream.

God help me, I believed.

See, I’ve been a book girlie since I was old enough to read words off a page.

Romance novels raised me more than most people ever did.

They were my escape when life turned dark.

When we moved to Dry Creek.

When Mom got sick.

When everything inside me wanted to fall apart.

Books saved my life.

Especially the paranormal ones.

Shifters.

Fated mates.

Wild devotion.

Fierce protectiveness.

Love so primal it bends Fate.

That was my escape.

That was my fantasy.

And when Kian told me he was a Shifter, and I was his mate, some part of me thought— this is it .

My story.

My happy-ever-after.

Boy meets girl.

Fated connection.

Obstacles, sure. Like those jerks at the bar. But the main characters always overcome them, and love wins.

That’s how it goes. Right?

Except nobody talks about the dark parts.

Not like this.

Not the Rut.

Not this twisted, terrifying biological bomb ticking inside him.

Because I overheard them.

Kian didn’t even know I was there.

But I heard every word.

He expects the Rut to hit him hard.

His Bull is going to lose control. Not metaphorically.

Literally.

There’s some deep, ancient instinct that’s going to override everything else.

His mind.

His soul.

Me.

And when that happens, he’ll be driven by one thing and one thing only.

The need to breed.

To propagate the species.

To fuck.

Other women.

Not because he wants to.

But because if he doesn’t, he might turn into his Bull.

Forever.

No more shifting back.

No more Kian.

Just hooves, horns, and a soul that used to be his.

Until it dies.

What the actual fuck?

This isn’t the romantic, slow-burn, fated love story I grew up reading.

This is a goddamn Greek tragedy dressed up in boots and muscles and a flannel that smells like my future.

And the worst part?

I don’t want to run.

I should. I know I should.

I should demand to be let out of this truck, to go home and lock my door and pretend I never laid eyes on him.

But I can’t.

Because when I think about him, my cowboy Romeo, with his golden hair and haunted eyes and the way he kissed me like he needed it more than air, well, I just get weak.

I mean, I ache. Inside. For him.

Goddamn it.

I love him.

And yes, I’m scared.

Terrified.

But I’m not ready to give up the fight.

Not yet.

Because maybe, please God maybe , we’re not at the end of the story.

Maybe we’re just getting to the part where the heroine decides she’s not leaving the monster to fight alone.

Even if it might destroy her.

Or me .

Quitting is not something I’m accustomed to though, so instead of tucking tail and running, I decide to look at my problem head on.

“Avery?”

“Yeah?”

She turns in her seat to look at me, soft brown eyes catching mine with a flicker of warmth and curiosity.

Avery is, well, she’s beautiful in that earthy, glowing way. Like the kind of woman who gardens barefoot and still looks put together while wrangling a baby Grizzly and a six-year-old with sticky hands.

She’s been gently tearing her man a new one for letting their daughter run wild, but underneath the sass is something undeniable.

Love.

Fierce, burning, unapologetic love.

I envy it for a second.

Because I know exactly what it feels like to want someone so much it rewires your DNA.

“I changed my mind. I-I think I would really like to talk.”

She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

I nod, suddenly shy, but pushing forward anyway. “Yes. It’s just, see, I need to know more. About this. About what Kian is facing. Because if I don’t try to understand, I think I might go crazy.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I don’t duck my head. I need someone to bear witness to what I’m feeling.

Avery’s expression softens.

She studies me for a beat too long, like she’s scanning past the words and into my heart.

“So you do care about him?” she asks.

My throat tightens, but I say it. Out loud. Like it’s not terrifying.

“Yes. I do.”

Avery gasps, eyes lighting up like she’s just discovered a box of wine she forgot she ordered.

“Oh my God! This is great. This is so great. Okay— so wait —did you need to stop by your place or do something for your Gramps or?—?”

I grimace. “Um, no. I made that up. He’s actually playing cards and having tea with a neighbor lady.”

Avery claps her hands together, positively delighted. “Even better!” she says in a sing-song voice as she whips out her phone like she’s assembling a war council.

A flood of text message pings erupts from her phone, and she’s tapping so fast I half expect the screen to burst into flames.

“Hon?” she calls sweetly.

“Yeah?” Dante answers, glancing over.

“Take us to Penny and Max’s place.”

Dante blinks. “But we’re almost in town. And Penny should be resting?—”

Avery swivels toward him slowly, one eyebrow arched like a goddess of war who happens to be pregnant and packing a glittery vengeance.

“Do you really want to argue with the mother of your children?”

That’s when I see it in the rearview mirror. The baby bump.

A gentle swell beneath her flowy shirt.

My mouth opens in surprise. “Oh. You’re?—”

“Yes, very pregnant.”

Dante sputters. “What? Of course not. I don’t want to argue with you, Honey!”

“Good. Then drive.” Avery turns back to me, smiling sweetly.

“Congrats, that’s exciting.”

“It is! Thank you! We’re very happy,” she replies with a smile for me and a glare for Dante.

“Um, thank you?” Dante says, but it sounds like a question and I bite my lip to hide my grin.

“Arliss?”

I blink. “Um, yeah?”

Avery leans in conspiratorially, like she’s about to reveal state secrets.

“I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but, well, I should mention Penny’s been a little, uh, intense since she found out Max—he’s the Alpha of the Crew and her mate, and also a Jersey Devil—knocked her up with not one but two little bundles of joy.”

I stare. “Wait. What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She waves that away like it’s no big deal.

“The important thing is, she’s super knocked up with twins, her hormones are out of control, and she’s been kind of extra .

Like more than usual. But the good news is, being preggers hasn’t stopped her culinary skills any, and she has been baking up a storm! ”

“Um. Okay?” I say, because what else does one say to that?

Dante, bless him, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. And Rosie is singing sweetly and giggling as she draws on the window with her spit covered finger.

“Sweetheart, are you sure this is ideal right now? Penny’s probably nesting or sobbing into her mate’s socks again.” Dante interrupts, but I can tell it is out of concern for his woman.

Sweet. Weird, but sweet.

Avery beams. “Of course I’m sure. This is exactly what Arliss needs.”

I blink again. “Wait. What do I need?”

Avery turns in her seat, eyes gleaming.

“A Girl Club Meeting, of course.”

And that’s when I realize, I may have just stepped out of one supernatural heartbreak and straight into a Shifter sisterhood storm.

And I’m so not ready.

But something in my chest— small, trembling, and stubborn —sure as fuck wants to be.