Page 7 of Echo Of A Wolf

While I couldn’t help everyone, I could at least attempt to help myself and Xander. My raven pecked at me, but I forced her away as my laptop dinged with a new email.

It was from the woman who’d hired me to ghostwrite for her. The subject line read: Touching Base—Is all good?

Crap.

I set my coffee down. She probably thought I was flaking on her. I knew I should have reached out earlier this week to let her know where I was with the book. There hadn’t been much to say, though.

I was stuck. End of story.

Clicking reply on her email, I wrote a message that I hoped came across as confident I’d be able to hit the deadline still, and then I got to work.

Writer’s block be damned, this book would be written.

4

DEAN

Usually, I enjoyed working the dinner shift at Mariam’s Diner. It was an escape.

Cooking had always been that for me.

Even though I was only making burgers and fries, I still enjoyed knowing I was curbing a person’s hunger. However, for the last couple days, cooking hadn’t felt as good as it used to.

Tonight was no exception.

My wolf was too amped up, and his tension had bled over into me. The kitchen felt like a prison, and I found myself constantly checking the clock for the time, anxiously counting down to close so I could get out of here.

I blamed Xander and Astrid for the way I felt.

That whole scene with them at the coffee shop had been what set my wolf off. We still hadn’t fully recovered. Just thinking about Xander and the way he’d challenged me and my wolf by stepping up to us like that had anger simmering through me again. I’d tried to let it go, to not think of either of them, but for whatever reason, it was easier said than done.

It didn’t help that it felt as though I was being followed the last couple of days.

While it was possible I was being paranoid, it was also just as possible that I wasn’t. I’d learned long ago that anything in this world was feasible, no matter how crazy it might sound.

I figured cooking would have kept me busy enough to not think about any of it, to forget, but instead being here had amplified things for me in the worst of ways.

The kitchen was too loud. Servers couldn’t get their crap together. Customers were hard to please. And the stress of keeping my wolf hidden throughout it all was taxing as hell.

I needed a break—no, I needed a fucking vacation.

My wrist brushed against the hot grill, the sting of pain pulling me from my thoughts.

“Damn it,” I seethed, jerking my arm away.

The scent of burning flesh filled my nose.

“You okay, man?” Chris, the dishwasher, asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, untying my apron. “Just another battle wound.” One that would be healed by tomorrow, thanks to my wolf.

“I got a new one yesterday,” he said, holding up his hand.

I barely glanced at the wound on his palm.

“I’m taking a break,” I muttered.

“Sure, no problem. Looks like it’s clearing out for the night out there anyway.” He hooked his thumb toward the server window. “That should be your last burger of the night.”

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