Page 15 of Rescued By The Wolf

“Excuse me?” She squawks.

“I said no. I’m not going back with you. Mom, your husband, Roger, he’s a freaking creep. I can’t be around him.”

“How dare you talk about Roger like that! He’s been nothing but kind to you. He organized this whole trip and how do you repay him? By running off with the first man you see and shacking up with him.”

I want to point out that she shacked up with so many men over the years, but I bite my tongue.

“Mom, Roger came after me the other night. He stopped me and said that if I wanted to live in his house, I had to do stuff for him. Sexual stuff, Mom,” I stress.

I want her to believe me, but deep down, I know it’s a lost cause. She can’t believe what I’m saying. She just can’t.

“Stop. Lying,” she practically snarls at me, and I shake my head.

“It’s not a lie.”

“Get your things,” she snaps, and I shake my head.

“I’m not going back.”

“Then what are you going to do? The tour ends tomorrow. We leave in two days. What’s your plan, Sophie?”

“I’m staying here. With Flint.”

I sound confident when I say it, but I’m already having doubts.

How long before Flint gets sick of me? Where will I go when that happens?

“You’re making a mistake,” my mom warns.

“No, I’m not.”

My mom glares at me and I stare back.

“Fine. Have it your way,” she grits out before she turns on her heel and stomps off.

I watch her go for a bit before I close the door and lean back against it. My mind is racing, but I don’t want to think about my mom or Roger right now.

It’s getting late, and I know Flint will be home soon so I head to the kitchen.

I’ll surprise him with dinner. That will help distract me too.

I try to forget all about my moms visit as I wash my hands and get to work.

EIGHT

Flint

I’m not in control of my wolf as I walk in the front door. All day, all I could think about was biting and claiming my mate. It’s the full moon tonight, and the mating heat is starting as I close the door behind me.

“Hey, welcome home,” Sophie says as she pokes her head out of the kitchen.

Her pale blonde hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants that mold to her legs and have my mouth watering.

Taste her, my wolf urges, and I nod.

We will.

“It smells good in here,” I say, trying to sound normal as I kick off my boots.

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