Howl My Name (BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance) (Grayslake Book 5) Read Online Free Page B

did. One more throw, one more punch, one more pounce, and one more wrench of a head.
    Now she was left with a panting male standing above two dead bodies, his chest heaving with the exertion, but she noticed something else about him. Not a hint of fur peppered his skin and his eyes remained human. Yes, the strength of his animal was present, but the beast’s presence was nowhere to be seen.
    The wolf let her uncle’s body fall to the ground, his head banging against the tile, and he stepped over Daniel.
    His steps didn’t falter, each one firm as he strode through the puddles of blood—hers and theirs. When he was close enough, he crouched and reached for her bindings. A quick tug had her arms free and then the restraints at her ankles disappeared. He didn’t attempt to touch her or help her from the seat. He simply remained in place, brown eyes focused on her.
    “E-E—” she licked her lips and winced with the sting. “Ezekiel got away.”
    He shrugged. “I’ll hunt him in a little bit.”
    She nodded and then voiced the only question banging through her head. One both her human and bear wanted the answer to. “Who are you?”
    “Your new Itan.”
    “You’re a wolf,” she rasped.
    “Ain’t that the truth, but Terrence doesn’t give a fuck.” He shrugged.
    “Terrence?” She swallowed hard. The Southeast Itan was named Terrence. He couldn’t mean…
    “Yup, the bear needs someone to do his dirty work, and baby,” he licked his lips, gathering a few droplets of the blood that lingered there. “I love dirty.”
     

Chapter Four
     
    Women. God. Damned. Women.
    Screw that. It was one. One, battered, bloodied, curvy, and sexy as hell even when she looked like she was gonna die, female.
    The werebear currently scaring the shit outta him also made him want to commit murder. The need to kill something didn’t really bother him. The scaring him though… that wasn’t cool. He was Reid Bennett, alpha asshole, badass motherfucker, and homicidal wolf. Nothing scared him.
    Except the aforementioned battered, not-quite-so-bloodied, curvy, sexy, half-dead woman.
    “What the fuck?”
    He didn’t have to yell. Not when all conversation quieted at his appearance. Everyone froze in place, wide eyes trained one him as he slowly strolled into the room. He pretended he wasn’t covered in dirt and grime, blood drying on his skin and soaked into his clothes. Mud crumbled and littered the ground with every step, leaving a line of filth in his wake. Memories of his mother scolding him for trailing grass and crap into the house reared up and he kicked it back down. He didn’t have time for a painful walk down memory lane. He still needed an explanation for the shit in front of him.
    Mainly a—was that wound seeping blood?—half-dead Evelyn puttering around the kitchen.
    She hadn’t looked at him yet, continuing to pad from the stove to the granite-topped island and back again, attention on her task. The only sounds in the room came from her, from the soft shuffle of her feet and the occasional hitch in her breathing. It was enough to nearly send him over the edge. His wolf wanted out to rip them into small pieces for letting her do anything but lay in bed and recover.
    “I said,” his tone remained harsh, but he kept his voice even. Evelyn was busy pulling a pan from the oven and he didn’t want to startle her. “What the ever-loving fuck?”
    The large male sitting at the breakfast bar carefully turned on his stool, identity gradually revealed with the careful movement. At least the idiot had enough self-preservation to move slowly. His wolf was ready to tear into anyone who drew his attention. It was angry—furious—over Evelyn’s continued work. She was baking, that much was obvious, but not a single man in the den should have let her on her feet. Sure, her inner-bear worked to repair the damage—many of her cuts and scrapes were nothing more than harsh red lines of skin—but she wasn’t healed by any