Page 8 of Pack Kasen: Part 3
That’s new.
He was never like this before, and I can’t believe I was so blind not to see this side of him.
“Stayawayfrom me.” I’m struggling to stand when he lunges at me, moving faster than I thought he could.
Stupid when he’s a shifter like me.
He pins me to the ground, shoving my head to the side and exposing my throat.
I kick out, fighting to push him away. “Getoffme.”
A howl rings out, distracting him.
He pauses.
Yanking my arm free from where he has it trapped at my side, I punch his stomach as hard as I can.
Not hard enough, Kat.
He wobbles, but he doesn’t fall. His eyes harden as his grip on me tightens.
A door bangs, and vicious growls raise all the hair on the back of my neck.
I know that growl.
Aren.
Cristofer hesitates for the barest of seconds, then he scrambles up and, sprinting away, snatches up the bag by the door as he flees.
I wish I’d thought to grab hold of him. It would have been fun to see Aren tear his throat out.
Another growl comes from farther away, and when I try to shout at Aren that he’s going in the wrong direction, I can only whisper it.
I lean against the wall, needing support as my heartbeat, loud and sluggish, echoes in my mind.
Head woozy and stomach churning, I tell myself that I’m imagining the large blond-brown wolf who materializes at the open doorway.
The wolf’s gold eyes are familiar.
“Aren…” My vision blurs around the edges.
He’s reaching for me, a wolf one second, a man the next, as my world turns black.
My eyes snap open.
I’m in a familiar room, with sunlight pouring in through large windows that reveal towering pines and mountains off in the distance.
I’m back in Burning Wood, northern Montana.
And Aren, the Wolf King, is sitting in a wooden dining chair at the foot of my bed, fingers steepled together, watching me.
It’s surreal.
The first time I saw him, I was lying on the floor of his throne room, looking up at the most handsome guy I’d ever seen in my life. Long Viking-style blond hair, a short beard, amber eyes, and a black rock T-shirt nearly identical to the one he’s wearing now.
The concern is different, so is the softness in his gaze. Seeing it, for some strange reason, makes me want to cry.
“How do you feel, Kitty cat?” he asks, softening his deep voice.
