This was going exactly the opposite of how she wanted it to. There were better ways to say she felt underappreciated, but those nicer ways didn’t make it into her vocabulary while she was angry and getting defensive. Sky held her breath. Maybe talking wasn’t a good idea at all right now. She waited for Brock to say something. As if. All he did was flare his nostrils and dart his eyes toward the hallway that led to her front door. He was about to bolt again.
His fingers tightened, crinkling the edges of the card. “I need to go.”
“Are you for real? You’re not going to acknowledge anything I just said?”
Brock turned, heading to the door.
“Brock!” Sky yelled, following after him. By the time she got to the doorway his feet were in the driveway.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
Brock didn’t answer. His truck door slammed shut and he backed out of the driveway, peeling away.
Hot, angry tears sprung into Sky’s eyes. The frustration welled up in her chest, boiling and threatening to bubble over.
“Dammit!” she cursed, striking her palm against the door frame.
Damn him for just leaving like that.
Again.
Sky rubbed her temples. Where was Brock headed? He had Rhys’ business card. Did that mean he was off to find the man?
And what if he did? What did Brock plan on doing?
Sky shuddered. Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe he was in a hurry to leave because he was done.
As in, done with her.
Frustrated, she turned and fell face first onto the love seat. The scream ripped out of her and into the cushions, so loud the pillows only half muffled it.
16
Seeing red was a real thing, not some silly metaphor. The road in front of the truck turned from neutral to a shade of cherry red that he knew he wasn’t imagining. Brock let off the gas pedal, taking the turn onto Wittfield Farm’s road. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing.
Sky had gone on a date with Rhys Dillon.
What in the hell?
What were the chances? Unless it was no coincidence at all. Did this man know that Sky knew Brock? Was he attempting to get information from her? Brock grunted out loud. That didn’t make sense either. There was no connection between Brock and this Rhys Dillon character. Brock was not law enforcement, so to the rest of the world he was just another firefighter.
Brock parked the truck in the field between the ranch hand cabins and woods. No one would mess with it, no matter how long it sat there. Nearly everyone working at Wittfield’s ranch was a shifter. The place was a haven for his kind, and even before Jax worked for Wittfield, they were all welcome to roam freely around the adjoining hundred acre woods near the farm.
He sent a text to Jax, who was still at the hospital, and got word back that his mother was sill resting. He replied, asking his friend to get Brianna to her mother in the afternoon, and told Jax to let the men know they needed to get home to their families. Brock’s orders. That gave him time. It was Sunday, and around this time of the morning, most of the ranch hands were likely still in bed asleep. Brock could have the woods all to himself. Closing the truck’s door quietly, he headed into the foliage. The shadows welcomed him, caressing his cheeks and asking why he had been gone for so long.
Life. That was the answer. A few weeks of hell on earth. His injured friend. The dead teenagers. His mother’s cancer. A ruthless suspected drug lord... who was now making moves on Brock’s woman.
Brock dug his nails into his palms. More than a few trees would get clawed today. Because it was a safe area, he didn’t have to go too far into the woods to undress. Ever since that mystery man had wandered into the area tailing Jax’s bear, they had taken precautions. Zeke had helped Mr. Wittfield install conspicuous CCTV cameras at every road leading into the farm or the woods. He and anyone else wandering around would be stopped and questioned.
Tucking his clothes behind a fallen log, Brock released his bear. The rhythmic pulsing spread through his body, re-arranging bone, flesh, muscle and skin, covering him in fur, expanding him as the transformation spread, receding his humanness and allowing his feral bear to take over.
Fully transformed, his animal stretched its legs out, and got down on all fours. Brock let out that roar he had been holding in. It pierced the trees, sending several birds flying. It was a cry of frustration and agony that had been trapped for days, made worse by the news from his mother. After this there was a second one he belted out at the top of his lungs in response to Sky and this date with Rhys. For good measure, he roared a third time.
Digging his back claws into the dirt, Brock released his human mind and worries, replacing it with simple, primal instincts. Whiffing in the air, smelling fruit, grooming his fur against some rough tree bark. Yes, that was all his animal had in mind now. It pushed off from the ground and ran. The pent up energy from not shifting for over a week beat behind its eyes, making his poor bear vision seem even worse. Brock’s animal ran until exhaustion forced it to stop. He collapsed on a creek bank, nuzzling his nose into the water and letting the coolness soothe him.