Cinder's Wolf: A Shifter Retelling of Cinderella (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 2) by Sylvia Frost Page A
Authors: Sylvia Frost
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dark stone counters were bare of even a toothbrush or water stain, and the place smelled of the lemony disinfectant his maid used. Not her.
Next, he checked the kitchen. Equally as empty. Cynthia hadn’t decided to make herself breakfast, but she had put away the dishes before she left; the bottle of wine sat corked on the counter next to his smart refrigerator.
He picked up the bottle, plucked out the cork, and sniffed. A hint of his mate’s scent mingled with the now slightly oxidized aroma of the pinot noir, but not enough to track her.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
His hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, and it was a testament to his control that it didn’t shatter. He set it down in his granite sink. The rejuvenation Rex had felt from finally getting rest was beginning to fade, and it wasn’t just panic and anger that was replacing it. Pain came too.
The throbbing started in his matemark on his ankle. Like all werebeasts, he had the patch of fur since birth, where his mate had grown hers only after their first meeting. The pain radiating up his hamstring was almost unnoticeable now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. It would get worse the more time they spent apart in the early days of the bond. The longer she was gone.
Gone .
The single word shattered Rex’s denial, sending him tearing through the rest of the house. His library, his guest room, the dining room, even the secret room located behind a bookshelf, Rex sprinted through them all. His breath felt tight in his chest. Such a trip normally shouldn’t have winded him, but his wolf scratched at his skin.
Finally, Rex burst out onto the terrace. The sounds of car horns and other human chatter assaulted his wolf’s ears, and he braced himself against the balcony, completely naked and not caring, staring down at the streets. The air tasted of gasoline, hot dog vendors, and humans. So many humans. Below him, tiny dots swirled around each other like the worthless, meaningless ants they were.
None of them was her.
He raked his hands through his hair and whirled to pace back inside to his front door. His keen wolf’s eyesight caught the indentation of her heels on his oriental carpet.
How the hell had she escaped? Their mate bond should’ve made it painful for her to leave. More than that. She shouldn’t have wanted to. Not after last night. He knew he hadn’t.
He reached the handle, turned it, and was unsurprised to find it opened with ease. He hadn’t locked the door behind him because he had never counted on the need to keep someone in. Rex’s inner wolf howled, and before Rex could stop himself, he kicked his door with his full werebeast force. It popped off its hinges like it was the tab on a can of soda.
Still, his wolf wasn’t satisfied. There were too many city smells to track his mate through, so instead, it wanted to destroy everything. The entire damn island if need be. Rex groaned in pain as his spine shifted against his will. The change was coming. He had to do something. He’d end up ruining his entire apartment, or worse.
Doubled over in agony, half from trying to contain his wolf, and the other half from the loss of Cynthia, Rex stumbled back to his room and plucked his phone from the charger. He hit the second number on his speed dial. It was his assistant Rose’s cell phone. She picked up on the eighth ring.
“Hi, Mr. West. Hi,” she said, her voice raspy with sleep. It was ten, so she should’ve been at work, but she had a bad habit of coming in late on Sundays. Every day really. She also was known to fall asleep at her desk. Unfortunately, she was the only secretary he had ever hired who was actually able to find typos in his emails and knew the art of a good expresso.
“Rose, I need you to text me the phone number and address of everyone on last night’s guest list.”
“There are quite a few, sir.”
“Now,” Rex snapped, his wolf growling that he should fire her for being so slow.
“O-okay. Just
Next, he checked the kitchen. Equally as empty. Cynthia hadn’t decided to make herself breakfast, but she had put away the dishes before she left; the bottle of wine sat corked on the counter next to his smart refrigerator.
He picked up the bottle, plucked out the cork, and sniffed. A hint of his mate’s scent mingled with the now slightly oxidized aroma of the pinot noir, but not enough to track her.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
His hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, and it was a testament to his control that it didn’t shatter. He set it down in his granite sink. The rejuvenation Rex had felt from finally getting rest was beginning to fade, and it wasn’t just panic and anger that was replacing it. Pain came too.
The throbbing started in his matemark on his ankle. Like all werebeasts, he had the patch of fur since birth, where his mate had grown hers only after their first meeting. The pain radiating up his hamstring was almost unnoticeable now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. It would get worse the more time they spent apart in the early days of the bond. The longer she was gone.
Gone .
The single word shattered Rex’s denial, sending him tearing through the rest of the house. His library, his guest room, the dining room, even the secret room located behind a bookshelf, Rex sprinted through them all. His breath felt tight in his chest. Such a trip normally shouldn’t have winded him, but his wolf scratched at his skin.
Finally, Rex burst out onto the terrace. The sounds of car horns and other human chatter assaulted his wolf’s ears, and he braced himself against the balcony, completely naked and not caring, staring down at the streets. The air tasted of gasoline, hot dog vendors, and humans. So many humans. Below him, tiny dots swirled around each other like the worthless, meaningless ants they were.
None of them was her.
He raked his hands through his hair and whirled to pace back inside to his front door. His keen wolf’s eyesight caught the indentation of her heels on his oriental carpet.
How the hell had she escaped? Their mate bond should’ve made it painful for her to leave. More than that. She shouldn’t have wanted to. Not after last night. He knew he hadn’t.
He reached the handle, turned it, and was unsurprised to find it opened with ease. He hadn’t locked the door behind him because he had never counted on the need to keep someone in. Rex’s inner wolf howled, and before Rex could stop himself, he kicked his door with his full werebeast force. It popped off its hinges like it was the tab on a can of soda.
Still, his wolf wasn’t satisfied. There were too many city smells to track his mate through, so instead, it wanted to destroy everything. The entire damn island if need be. Rex groaned in pain as his spine shifted against his will. The change was coming. He had to do something. He’d end up ruining his entire apartment, or worse.
Doubled over in agony, half from trying to contain his wolf, and the other half from the loss of Cynthia, Rex stumbled back to his room and plucked his phone from the charger. He hit the second number on his speed dial. It was his assistant Rose’s cell phone. She picked up on the eighth ring.
“Hi, Mr. West. Hi,” she said, her voice raspy with sleep. It was ten, so she should’ve been at work, but she had a bad habit of coming in late on Sundays. Every day really. She also was known to fall asleep at her desk. Unfortunately, she was the only secretary he had ever hired who was actually able to find typos in his emails and knew the art of a good expresso.
“Rose, I need you to text me the phone number and address of everyone on last night’s guest list.”
“There are quite a few, sir.”
“Now,” Rex snapped, his wolf growling that he should fire her for being so slow.
“O-okay. Just
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