Between Two Wolves (BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Menage Werewolf Romance) Read Online Free Page A

and wiggled out of it, sliding my arms in
and out of the sleeves of my shirt. I dropped the bra on top of my jeans. I
tucked a thermos filled with white wine in a towel under my arm. The jay
scolded again from the pines, and I jumped.
    It's just city girl nerves. You're out of
practice, that's all.
    The walk to the springs had one of the
most spectacular views in the area. From beneath the dark branches of the
pines, the path suddenly turned, and I stepped into the bright sunlight at the
edge of a drop off. Below was the river, an emerald strand tumbling over
boulders the size of my car. The water was full of shifts in color and
translucency from its mad rush over the rocks, churned white in some places,
almost clear in slower moving areas. It was stunningly beautiful. Everything
I'd been worrying about fell away, as I stood and took in the view.
    There were several pools along the
riverbank this year, some small ones, one or two larger ones. The water in them
was a kind of cloudy blue gray from the minerals in the water. I'd never quite
understood where the hot springs came from. Every time I saw them I vowed to
find out, and then I fell in love with them all over again with the magical
feeling of sitting on a rock in hot water while watching nature, and I forgot
that I cared where they came from. All I cared about was that they were there,
and someone took the time to make it easy to access them.
    I scrambled down the path to the river
and the pools, trying to decide which one to sample first. The temperatures
could differ radically between pools, with some being just above the chill
temperature of the river, and others so hot I could only stay in a few minutes
before feeling like a boiled lobster. I wanted something warm and comforting, a
pool I could melt into, and stay in for hours.
    So I dipped my toe in several of the
pools, testing the waters. Some were hot, some were cool, some were steaming. I
laughed at the image, me walking from pool to pool, feeling a little like
Goldilocks, wandering around until I found one that was just right. Easing down
the bank, I stepped into the pool. The water was perfect, almost too hot to
stand, but I knew I'd get used to it quickly. Uncapping the thermos, I poured
the cup full of wine, taking a long healthy swallow.
    I sat down on a rock, the water swirling
around my legs, curling my toes at the heat. Across the river was the edge of
the land that didn't belong to the park, and I tried to see into the darkness
of the pines. Even though it was only twenty yards or so away, it seemed like
another country, vaguely foreign, slightly spooky. I thought of wolves, and
woodsmen, and witches with poisoned apples, living in gingerbread cottages. I
was mixing up my fairy tales. And it's only my first glass of wine.
    Scattered all over the bank were small
stones, polished smooth by years in the river. Picking up a handful, I choose a
dozen or so that felt good in my hand, or looked interesting, or were just
plain pretty. I'd learned a little ritual ages ago, something to help clear the
mind. I held up one stone, wishing I'd remembered to bring something to write
with. I'd have to improvise.
    “This is the painting Harrison didn't
like. Take the memory and wash it away.” I threw the stone into the river. It
barely made a sound as it hit the water. I tried to visualize all the hurt
attached to that image washed away in the river. I picked another stone.
    “For the time he missed my birthday
party.” I flung the rock. It skipped once on the water and disappeared. I took
another sip of wine. I wasn't sure if it was the ritual, or the Chardonnay, but
I suddenly felt better.
    I went through the rocks one by one, letting
go of a little pain with each one, throwing the rock into the river. Finally I
was down to the last. It was different, bigger and black, polished to a high
sheen. I wondered what kind of rock it was. But again my knowledge of geology failed
me.
    “For my father. I miss you, Dad.