Page 7 of Chaos At Second Sight

Next thing I knew, a thick rod of an arm barreled down in front of me, blocking my way. The momentum shoved me backward with an oof as I collided with a wall of solid muscle.

Capers!

Warm air trickled across my neck, and the thing took a greedy breath.

I wheeled around, hand on my chest, just in time for a massive furry hand with five beastly fingers tipped in black claws to land on the top of my head.

I was wearing Lachlan’s wereball cap with his number three on it, and the beast didn’t seem to like it.

“Hey! You can’t have it!” I sputtered as the creature peeled it away and looked at it with nothing but disgust. The offending cap was torn in half and tossed aside.

The beast dropped to its knees before me. My breath caught, my eyes lingering on several thorns stuck in its muzzle from when I had hit it. Furry, defined arms snuck around my waist and clutched me so tight, not even a strike of lightning could divide us.

But I didn’t mind that…

Because there were sparks. Mate-bond sparks that lit me up from the inside like the beast had plugged me into a generator.

But it was only when I heard him speak in a strange, throaty voice—or rather, when I heard what he said—that I passed out for good.

“Hello, Mate.”

GRANDMA RIONA

From my perch on a pine tree, I gawked at my granddaughter being carried away bridal-style by the blackest, meanest-looking thing I’d ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes on. They were far out, deep in rogue land, but the hideous beast didn’t seem to mind that.

My best friend, my rifle, lay on the ground after it had slipped from my shaking hands, the bullets scattered around. I bet it was useless against that thing.

“Ian. We need the bear traps,” I told my mate through our mind-link.

“Sure. How many?”

“All of them.”

CHAPTER THREE

YVAINE

Plop.

On my forehead.

Plop.

On my nose.

Plop.

On my chin.

It was raining in my room.

An image of umbrellas popping up through the holes in the ceiling to cover the roof flashed through my mind. I pulled the woolen blanket higher and rubbed my face against it. Warmer than usual. Softer, too.

Wind brushed my hair.

Wait. I was outside.

I must’ve taken a nap after playing with the wolves, and now a drizzle had rolled in. It had been sunny, from what I remembered, but this was Scotland; the weather changed personalities every fifteen minutes.