Read Online Sleeping Beauty and the Lion: A Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling of Sleeping Beauty (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 3) by Sylvia Frost - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sylvia Frost
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could read her moods through her smell. Embarrassment.
“I thought it was a little silly to wear on a date,” she confessed.
I darted forward between lanes and through a yellow light. “Why?”
Rose gripped the armrest, like this was a roller-coaster. “I, uh. It’s based on this book series I like.”
“Which is?”
“Matesofdarkness,” she mumbled all in one word.
I raised an eyebrow, smiling.
She tried to disappear into the leather seat.
I kept smiling and she relaxed just a little.
“It’s a YA series about werebeasts,” she explained, her eyes brighter and bigger than I’d ever seen them before. “There’s this character named Naomi and she’s this kind of sword-wielding badass.” Her hands danced in a cross between a sword fight and shaking maracas.
“And this necklace of yours is like her sword?”
Rose nodded vigorously. “Hers is made of meteorite and sets itself on fire every time she’s near the evil alpha werebeast dude. So some genius decided to make one out of magnesium so that if you go camping or something you can use the little sheath that comes with it to start a fire.”
“And you wear this around your neck?” I tried to keep my voice from sounding too concerned, but I kept picturing Rose walking around with a stick of something that I knew could issue sparks up to 3000 degrees Celsius. First a car accident, what next, an explosion? “It sounds dangerous.”
“Well,” Rose drawled. She smirked, but all too quickly her shyness gobbled back up her smile.
“What?” I coaxed.
“Maybe if I had worn it on my date, I could’ve set Lonan on fire when he tried to kiss me.”
I froze. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in my lungs. My hands loosened around the steering wheel. Rose regarded at me warily. Then I burst out laughing. The image of my danger-prone mate trying to set her date on fire was the most horrifyingly hilarious thing I had ever pictured. My chest shook.
“What?” she crossed her arms.
I wiped away a tear from the corner of my eye, surprised at myself. “Just…you, sitting at that table. Trying to ignite Lonan with your nail-clipper sized magnesium sword.” We hit a stoplight, and I mimed her trying to start a fire with her little sword furiously. I broke again, guffawing for the first time I could remember.
She hit me with the palm of her hand. “Watch it, maybe I’ll use you as kindling.”
I snorted incredulously. We both knew that all I’d have to do was kiss her hard and she’d melt. At the thought of kissing her, my pants got tighter still, and I was glad the steering wheel hid my crotch.
Her gaze intensified to mock-stern. “Hey,” she waggled her finger in a gesture that reminded me oddly of her mother. “You don’t know me.”
My desire went cold.
I didn’t know her. I had no idea how she would react when she found out the truth. If she admired some kind of fictional character who went around slaying werewolves with a burning sword, who knew what she might do to me. My stomach felt like a fist closed around an ice-cube.
“You’re right,” I said,” I don’t.”
Her face fell.
We drove in silence for a few more minutes.
Eventually the cobblestones and cramped array of Tribeca’s trendy shops, bars and restaurants gave way to the austere limestone faces of Wall Street. Not too far from here was the former headquarters of the FBSI, the organization that had once hunted and killed my kind, although was long since defunct. I often wondered if they were somehow affiliated with the scientists who had held me in captivity. But hunters didn’t study werebeasts, they murdered them.
Now their headquarters had long since been turned over to office spaces, but I made a sharp left toward the baseball stadium to avoid it anyway.
Rose coughed, and her hand closed around the seat belt. I tensed at the idea of her taking it off.
“S-so,” she started, “big Werehawks fan?”
I glanced at the stadium now on our right, then
“I thought it was a little silly to wear on a date,” she confessed.
I darted forward between lanes and through a yellow light. “Why?”
Rose gripped the armrest, like this was a roller-coaster. “I, uh. It’s based on this book series I like.”
“Which is?”
“Matesofdarkness,” she mumbled all in one word.
I raised an eyebrow, smiling.
She tried to disappear into the leather seat.
I kept smiling and she relaxed just a little.
“It’s a YA series about werebeasts,” she explained, her eyes brighter and bigger than I’d ever seen them before. “There’s this character named Naomi and she’s this kind of sword-wielding badass.” Her hands danced in a cross between a sword fight and shaking maracas.
“And this necklace of yours is like her sword?”
Rose nodded vigorously. “Hers is made of meteorite and sets itself on fire every time she’s near the evil alpha werebeast dude. So some genius decided to make one out of magnesium so that if you go camping or something you can use the little sheath that comes with it to start a fire.”
“And you wear this around your neck?” I tried to keep my voice from sounding too concerned, but I kept picturing Rose walking around with a stick of something that I knew could issue sparks up to 3000 degrees Celsius. First a car accident, what next, an explosion? “It sounds dangerous.”
“Well,” Rose drawled. She smirked, but all too quickly her shyness gobbled back up her smile.
“What?” I coaxed.
“Maybe if I had worn it on my date, I could’ve set Lonan on fire when he tried to kiss me.”
I froze. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in my lungs. My hands loosened around the steering wheel. Rose regarded at me warily. Then I burst out laughing. The image of my danger-prone mate trying to set her date on fire was the most horrifyingly hilarious thing I had ever pictured. My chest shook.
“What?” she crossed her arms.
I wiped away a tear from the corner of my eye, surprised at myself. “Just…you, sitting at that table. Trying to ignite Lonan with your nail-clipper sized magnesium sword.” We hit a stoplight, and I mimed her trying to start a fire with her little sword furiously. I broke again, guffawing for the first time I could remember.
She hit me with the palm of her hand. “Watch it, maybe I’ll use you as kindling.”
I snorted incredulously. We both knew that all I’d have to do was kiss her hard and she’d melt. At the thought of kissing her, my pants got tighter still, and I was glad the steering wheel hid my crotch.
Her gaze intensified to mock-stern. “Hey,” she waggled her finger in a gesture that reminded me oddly of her mother. “You don’t know me.”
My desire went cold.
I didn’t know her. I had no idea how she would react when she found out the truth. If she admired some kind of fictional character who went around slaying werewolves with a burning sword, who knew what she might do to me. My stomach felt like a fist closed around an ice-cube.
“You’re right,” I said,” I don’t.”
Her face fell.
We drove in silence for a few more minutes.
Eventually the cobblestones and cramped array of Tribeca’s trendy shops, bars and restaurants gave way to the austere limestone faces of Wall Street. Not too far from here was the former headquarters of the FBSI, the organization that had once hunted and killed my kind, although was long since defunct. I often wondered if they were somehow affiliated with the scientists who had held me in captivity. But hunters didn’t study werebeasts, they murdered them.
Now their headquarters had long since been turned over to office spaces, but I made a sharp left toward the baseball stadium to avoid it anyway.
Rose coughed, and her hand closed around the seat belt. I tensed at the idea of her taking it off.
“S-so,” she started, “big Werehawks fan?”
I glanced at the stadium now on our right, then
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