Chance Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire 6) by T. S. Joyce Page A

can’t imagine sending a kid to stay with someone with his views, you know? Who thought he was some sort of hero for planning the murder of a pack.” She inhaled deeply and ran her fingertips lightly down the scars on his ribcage. She’d done that a lot tonight. “But even knowing what I know now about my dad, I still missed this place. The woods, Galena, four-wheelers, snow machines. I had fun memories between the messed up stuff, you know?”
    Chance stroked her hair and dragged his gaze from the stars above to look at something even prettier—his Em. “Like what?” He wanted to know every single thing about her.
    “Like, my dad would take me to the gas station in town on the mornings he had to work, and we would get cherry fried pies. It was our tradition. Even now, cherry fried pies are my favorite breakfast food.”
    “Because of the good memories associated with them?”
    “Yeah. But now, every good memory is tainted. I feel guilty for having any good thoughts about him. I have these moments where a memory will make me smile, and I’ll immediately have this sick ache in my stomach. He wasn’t a good man.”
    “But he was good to you in his own way.”
    “You’re being too forgiving,” she whispered. Her smile faded, and she leaned over and pressed her lips gently onto his claw-mark scar. “I’ll never forgive him for this.”
    Chance tucked her hair behind her ear. His chest hurt for what she must be going through. Sure, she’d made the right decision to stop her hunting, but it was at the expense of everything she’d ever known. Every moment, every thought, every word her father and uncle had ever spoken to her would be ruined now.
    Emily rolled onto her stomach and arched her back, propping up on her elbows as she fiddled with the edge of a pillow. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder and hid part of her face. He didn’t like that—her hiding from him.
    “Do you think you’ll ever be able to look at me and not think of him?” she asked in a careful tone.
    “Yes.” It was the easiest answer in the world.
    “How do you know?”
    Chance ran his finger up the curve of her spine, then pulled her hair away from her face. “Because I already do. I see you , Em. Not your father. Not what he trained you to do.”
    The smile was back on her mouth, spreading slowly, making his heart thump against his sternum. God, she was stunning. Em leaned forward and kissed his lips, then each of his cheeks before she nuzzled against his face and whispered, “You’re my favorite.”
    A banging echoed on the front door, and the change in Emily was instant. In a flash, she had one leg off the bed, one knee resting on the mattress, and she held a long buck knife with the dull edge of the blade resting tightly against her forearm. Her eyes had gone fiery and every muscle was tensed, ready. Holy shit, where had she been hiding that huge knife?
    Another pounding knock sounded, hard enough that the walls rattled.
    “Chance, get your ass out here,” Link yelled. “Now!”
    Aw, shit. “Stay here.”
    “Who is it?” Em asked.
    Chance ghosted her an empty smile. She was going to hate this. “That would be my alpha.”
    “Oh, my gosh, Lincoln McCall is here?” she whisper screamed. Her grip tightened on the handle of her knife.
    “It’ll be fine.” Probably.
    Chance shoved his legs into his jeans and jogged to the door as Link huffed and puffed and threatened to bring the entire damned house down.
    What he saw on Link’s face when he opened the door was nothing shy of terrifying. Snow-white eyes, his lips twisted in a feral snarl, and his hands clenched at his sides like he was trying desperately hard not to sock Chance in the jaw. Hello, Crazy McCall.
    “Good evening,” Chance said.
    Link’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Tell me you didn’t claim her.”
    “That’s none of your damned—”
    “Tell me now, or I’m going to go look at her back myself.”
    “No, I didn’t claim her.