But I left and I can't return. I won't return. As I walk to the apartment, my anger blisters the pavement with every step. A woman curled up under a pile of dirty blankets peers out as I pass and instinctively shrinks back into her nest. As I round the corner, two men step out and size up my prospects as prey.
I resist the urge to snarl at them, but just barely. I walk faster and they seem to decide I'm not worth chasing. I shouldn't be here. I should be home in bed, not prowling downtown Toronto at four a. A normal woman wouldn't be here. It's yet another reminder that I'm not normal. Not normal. I look down the darkened street and I can read a billet on a telephone post fifty feet off. I catch a whiff of fresh bread from a bakery starting production miles away.
I stop by a storefront, grab a bar over the windows, and flex my biceps. The metal groans in my hand. I chant the words in my head, flagellating myself with them. The anger only grows. Outside my apartment door, I stop and inhale deeply. I mustn't wake Philip. And if I do, I mustn't let him see me like this. I don't need a mirror to know what I look like: skin taut, color high, eyes incandescent with the rage that always seems to follow a Change now.
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Definitely not normal. When I finally enter the apartment, I hear his measured breathing from the bedroom. Still asleep. I'm nearly to the bathroom when his breathing catches. He frowns. He runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs. Damn it, Elena. We've discussed this. Wake me up and I'll go with you. To think. I'm sorry. I pretend to use the toilet, wash my hands with enough water to fill a Jacuzzi, then find a fingernail that needs elaborate filing attention.
When I finally decide Philip has fallen back asleep, I head for the bedroom. The bedside lamp is on. He's propped on his pillow, glasses in place. I hesitate in the doorway.
I can't bring myself to cross the threshold, to go and crawl into bed with him. I hate myself for it, but I can't do it. The memory of the night lingers and I feel out of place here. When I don't move, Philip shifts his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. I know you need your freedom and I'm trying-" He stops and rubs his hand across his mouth. His words slice through me. I know he doesn't mean them as a reprimand, but they are a reminder that I'm screwing this up, that I'm fortunate to have found someone as patient and understanding as Philip, but I'm wearing through that patience at breakneck speed and all I seem capable of doing is standing back and waiting for the final crash.
Maybe you could go out in the morning, early. If you prefer night, we could drive down to the lake.
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You could walk around. I could sit in the car and keep an eye on you. Maybe I could walk with you. Stay twenty paces behind or something. I'd probably get picked up by the cops, the middle-aged guy stalking the beautiful young blonde. You're supposed to remind me that forty-one is far from middle-aged. We can't, of course. I have to run under the cover of night and I have to do it alone.
There is no compromise. As he sits on the edge of the bed, watching me, I know we're doomed. My only hope is to make this relationship so otherwise perfect that Philip might come to overlook our one insurmountable problem. To do that, my first step should be to go to him, crawl in bed, kiss him and tell him I love him. But I can't. Not tonight. Tonight I'm something else, something he doesn't know and couldn't understand.
I don't want to go to him like this. Do you want breakfast? Something in his expression falters and I know I've failed-again. But he doesn't say anything. He pulls his smile back in place. Someplace in this city has to be open this early. We'll drive around until we find it.
Drink five cups of coffee and watch the sun come up. I wait until I hear the shower running, then head for the kitchen. Sometimes I get so hungry. See All Customer Reviews. Shop Books.
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- Men of The Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong. 9781841497433.
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Show More. Table of Contents TOC not available. Average Review. Write a Review. Bitten 4. Anonymous More than 1 year ago I don't think Armstrong could've started out her "Women of the Otherworld Series" any better. This is one of her best books ever.
Bitten (Women of the Otherworld Series #1)
This book inspires fear, hope, and so many other emotions its hard to count. She never lets you down with this first book and she never falters to let you care about the characters. Every single one of them. I highly recommend it for a good urban fantasy with some heartbreaking romance on the side.
The main characters Elena and Clay have a love hate relationship that many people could relate too. Their constant fighting and drama will catch the attention of the reader. This book is so different from all the other werewolf books because it relates back to real human life and the struggles, but of course adding the twist of a werewolf life as well. This is the type of book that the reader will not be able to put down. Page after page it gets more and more intense as the fight for territory, revenge, and the only female werewolf unravels.
This is an unending story, leaving the last page of the book as open interpretation. The only way to find out what happens next is to continue reading the series to find out more to this intense story of Elena and Clay. Armstrong's words just fly off the page and gives the reader very vivid images and grab their attention.
This book will pull the reader into a world of unending imagination.