Wolf Shifter Diaries: Lies Tamed (Sweet Paranormal Wolf & Fae Fantasy Romance Series Book 2) E. Hall (best fiction novels of all time .txt) 📖

The oven dings. As I take the muffins out to cool, Heather, Harper, and Hannah enter the kitchen.

Heather says, “Smells like a wet dog in here.”

My stomach clenches.

The others chuckle as they sit down at the long farm table that could seat a few dozen people.

Their eyes track my every movement. I don’t think they realize how uncomfortable this makes me feel. Or maybe they do, and that’s the point.

I glance at my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator. Do I have blueberry stuck between my teeth? I check my sneaker for a square of toilet paper stuck to the sole. Nope.

I set the muffins in a basket and bring them over to the table. The three shifters hurriedly get up and leave the room. Maybe they’re allergic to blueberries. Or me.

I plop down at the end of the table. Sitting here, alone and without distractions, only highlights how strange my life has become and how there’s a certain loneliness that comes with being Magical’s Most Wanted.

My inner-terrain continues to shift, uncertain where to settle. I still don’t know where I fit in here or if I do. I shoulder a nagging feeling that I don’t care, but that notion tilts my inner world even further askew because I do care. Corbin is my home, and this is his home. Of course, I want a place in it.

Even at this early morning hour, the lodge is already alive with activity. Now and at other mealtimes, I’ve observed the typical groups like from high school. Some like drama and pop culture. There are nerdy-geeks, athletic types, and the cliquey-girly posse that just vacated the table.

Maybe there is a crossover-group that I’m not aware of—a collect-all for people like me. Or maybe I’m just me. Kenna Slade, the one and only. Ding, ding, ding. That’s the right answer.

I tear a page from my diary and jot a note for Corbin. I walk to where he lives in a small, private residence just behind the main lodge.

I leave the note, telling him I’m going for a run, along with a muffin on his doorstep. He was on patrol last night, so he’s probably exhausted.

Then again, wolves don’t get tired like regular people. As I synthesize with my magic, I’m able to draw on new levels of energy. I do so now, urging my wolf toward the surface. I could go for a regular run with sneakers, shorts, and a tank top, but shifting into a wolf is way cooler.

I gaze ahead at the place where the horizon meets the sky in gradients of blue I didn’t know were possible this far north. The trees are well into turning autumn colors, washing the landscape in reds and golds.

I close my eyes as my wolf comes to life. Heat and cold slide from my fingertips and toes all the way into my center as my bones and organs and inner composition changes along with the outer into a wolf with reddish fur and eyes that match my own.

I’m still Kenna and can access my thoughts, but their emotional meanings slip away. It’s just sensation without worry or concern or labels like left out, excluded, or lonely.

The dirt path under my feet becomes a streak of color as I bound along the trails that stretch toward the mountains. My mind goes quiet, and I am wild and free.

Of course, my senses are still on alert. I pick up the increasingly familiar scents of other wolves, animals, and traces of magic. I’m on a steep learning curve, but my wolf processes it differently than I would. Life seems simpler as a wolf, and I like it this way.

I streak past rush grass and spear thistles. A stand of pine trees line the base of the Montmartres Mountains, and the bold green of the birch trees’ leaves are fading toward yellow.

I spent the summer at Headquarters while Corbin hunted a rogue werewolf. Unfortunately, it’s still out there.

A picnic table seems oddly out of place, but I imagine the wolves enjoy picnicking out here. I catch the scent of a few members of the pack who must have been out this way last night. Then a strong scent practically drowns my senses with its wolfiness.

I almost stop but will let Corbin catch me. He’s a careful, quiet runner, but my senses are attuned to him no matter if we’re in physical or wolf form. He’s behind me, coming up fast on my right flank. I brace myself in case I misjudged his speed, but then stop abruptly as Corbin tackles me. His copper eyes sparkle. He wears a playful smile as our pelts and bones and paws crash together.

If I could laugh, I would. I’m not sure what to call the gleeful sound I make other than a yip. It’s kind of like a cross between a purr, a giggle, and a sound unique to wolves.

As our connection grows, our line of communicating in the wolf-way is improving. It’s not like we can read each other’s thoughts, but it’s an energetic and species-unique language all its own.

I understand the wolf-way of communicating like high tech internal walkie talkies. Sometimes my end has static, but I’m working on it.

You thought you’d get away with going on a run without me this morning? Corbin asks.

I figured since you were on patrol all night, you’d be exhausted, I reply.

Ate that blueberry muffin and now I’m like new. 

You didn’t have steak for breakfast? The wolves love their meat.

That too. Scarfed it down before tracking you down.

Corbin has me pinned to the ground and then nuzzles me with his snout. I want to shift back to human form. As though sensing this, he lets out