Beauty and the Brute [Werescape III] Read Online Free PDF

leaping back and forth.
    Sit. Dammit.
    She stood, pulling on my hand, studying the ghost town of New Pittsburgh.
    Calm. Beauty was oddly calm. She needed to release my hand before my Gods-be-damned
    Wolf clawed through my ribcage.
    Her gaze slid to mine.
    Like she wanted to say something.
    She was dead out here alone.
    Protect, Wolf said.
    I couldn't let them kill her before. I wasn't now. Damned dog. “You better come with me."
    * * * *
    Holding Brutus’ hand was the strangest sensation. Wasn't he the Shifter who despised
    Normals? Why would he take me along? For trade? Women were hot commodities. And his poker face revealed nothing.
    "You can't stay here, Lorelei. You're dead out here alone. I'm heading west. That's away from Yale. You better come with me."
    He spoke a lot for a man who had little interest in Normals. But he made valuable points. And if I deserved to die for my hand in killing New Pittsburgh's community, Brutus could certainly see to that punishment for me.
    His strong tug led me to the stirrup where he stepped into the saddle, and extended his palm again.
    Those brown eyes of his. Unreadable. What danced within them so obscurely? His inscrutable gaze guaranteed one thing. I had no choice but to go with him. Or maybe that was what gnawed at me the most. I had nowhere to go. With him, I had a chance to find a place to escape him.
    He pulled me behind the saddle to straddle his demon horse's barrel-shaped haunches and headed west.
    Sitting behind his broad shoulders was in itself strange. He seemed to be protecting me. But how could anyone believe a Normal-hating Shifter would safeguard a Normal without payment of some kind? What did he want?
    His mount sidestepped with a hop.
    The world shook.
    I grabbed at Brutus’ solid back, snaking my hands around the curve of his steely ribs.
    He got the horse back on track and shot me an indefinable glance. “Scoot forward. Hang on. I
    don't need to worry about a woman with an injury."
    Thanks for the insult. I scooted forward anyway, dropping my hands along his sides. No fat on his hard waist. Unlike Glover who shoved me against a wall and pressed his disgusting soft belly body against me. The pig.
    The horse jolted into a trot.
    "We're moving fast now. Hold on,” Brutus barked over his shoulder.
    That was the last thing he said to me until stopping for water at midday.
    Sunlight danced upon the mercurial surface like piercing white light.
    Forcing my eyes to squint. To block the blinding reflection of the hot sun directly overhead where I stood and tried to stretch the kinks out of my screaming leg muscles. At least four hours had passed since Brutus kicked that stallion of his into forward ho. Four mind-numbing joggling torturous stretches of eternity that had to equate to, let me see, sixty minutes times four hours is two-hundred-and-forty minutes. And one minute is sixty seconds. So, that's twohundred—and-forty times sixty. Hell. Too damned long on a horse moving faster than a rocking walk. I planted my palms against my lower back and leaned backward as far as possible.
    Enough to stretch out the kink in said back. How many humans left on earth had been taught to even calculate with simple addition? They were all dead. My tutor. June's cousins. The people who made me who I am. The people who made me laugh. Who...
    Brutus bent over next to his black stallion and ran his palms down the horse's monster front leg.
    Slowly. Almost tenderly by the look of the careful motion. Checking for something. His fingers splayed as if he enjoyed the feel of the beast's rippled flesh. As if they were lovers.
    Measured, premeditated movement that reflected a special relationship tied them together.
    Like mates.
    Brutus reached the leg's shiny black hoof and moved on to assess the rear haunch before squatting beside me.
    "Did you bring food?” Brutus asked.
    The glistening water jigged near my brown hiking boots and the grassy edge of the river.
    Food? From New Pittsburgh?