Entangling the Web by Ally Patra

Prologue

I glanced around the messy cottage and jerked a hand through my hair.

Shit.

I’d planned to bring Chloe to the guest house as soon as possible and spend as much time with her as I could, but it had already been a week since I’d last seen her. She needed space to catch up on her coursework, and I . . .

I had to focus on getting this place in order.

By the time we’d made it to the hospital, I was wasting away. When I got home, I’d gone on a binge-eating spree and consumed two weeks’ worth of calories.

I’d done nothing but eat and sleep since I’d gotten home.

My metabolism was too fast under the best conditions, and healing required a lot of energy, as did shifting forms. I’d regain my weight and muscle in no time, but . . .

There were piles of takeout boxes everywhere. I’d covered the floor with them, the countertops, and they’d spilled over into my bedroom. My fridge was empty. Did I even own a full set of tableware, much less a spoon?

I couldn’t bring her here yet—no way in hell.

No one had done anything important or productive while I was away, either.

My mother had stayed locked in her room and drowned herself in whiskey—no surprise there. And Liv? She hadn’t touched a single bill or checked the mailbox, for fuck’s sake.

She was angry at me for leaving.

My sister had dodged me for five days straight, glaring at me every time she breezed past me in the halls of the main house, and . . . honestly?

I was lonely.

If Liv was mad, couldn’t she at least be upset in the same room as me? I hadn’t seen her in over a month.

I sighed.

I was alone with a stack of overdue notices and a voicemail full of angry messages. I’d avoided having a cellphone for many reasons—most of them being that I never wanted to hear from anyone.

Except if I got to talk to Chloe, then it was worth the aggravation.

The phone buzzed, vibrating an empty pizza box. I grabbed it.

Chloe, 6:58 P.M.

Finally done with classes. I miss you.

We’d fallen into a routine. Sweet messages in the morning, a little flirting around lunchtime, and some photos in the afternoon.

It all changed when the sun set.

She was anxious every night. I didn’t know what she’d gone through when she was alone in the woods. By the time I’d regenerated and found my way back to her, she was covered in blood and minutes from death. But she’d held on, as she’d done without me for two days and two nights, and she survived.

Chloe was a fighter.

She never backed down from me while we were lost out there together, and in the end, she’d faced Marco alone.

I’d never forgive myself for my mistakes—for not being able to protect her when she needed me the most.

But she never mentioned it, never blamed me, never complained.

I admired how eager she was to move forward—to put one foot in front of the other.

And this time, I’d be there to help her when she stumbled . . .

If I could get my shit together.

I kicked a plastic takeout box toward the door with a sigh. I’d told everybody not to bother me—including the housekeeper—and they listened.

Everyone always listened.

But all I wanted was the one person who never took a single thing I said seriously.

Alex, 6:58 P.M.

What are you doing right now?

She replied with a photo of herself wearing a lacy pink bra and nothing else. A loose strap fell down her shoulder.

God, I loved it when she was bold.

Steam clouded the bathroom in her apartment, and her lips were curled into a smirk.

I wanted to taste them.

I made a noise like a groan of pain.

Not being able to touch her was killing me.

I could remember the way she smelled, like strawberries and wildflowers, and I’d do anything to get her in my bed and spread her scent across my sheets and pillowcases.

I was hard just thinking about it.

Chloe, 7:03 P.M.

I guess you can look… this time.

Alex, 7:04 P.M.

Test out your waterproof phone case. I need a closer view.

I stumbled toward the bedroom, my golden eyes flashing in the hallway mirror. Outside, the light was fading.

The stacks of paperwork could wait. The trash wasn’t going anywhere.

My phone lit up—she’d sent me a video this time. I fumbled with my belt, tapping the screen to open it. I had to see her—had to listen to her soft sighs, and watch her beautiful body . . .

Water drummed on her bare skin, and strands of wet, curly hair clung to her breasts. Her chest heaved, her breaths ragged as she slipped her fingers between her thighs.

I growled, my fangs sliding out of their sheathes, and shivered with pleasure. I fell back onto the bed.

“Alex,” she panted, breathing my name. “I want you to touch me.” She moaned, melting against the tile while she fingered herself.

She was the match to my kerosene, lighting me on fire.

I wouldn’t let her have fun without me—I wasn’t shy. I’d make sure she knew how I felt about her little show.

I turned the camera on and flipped it around, groaning with the first stroke. It was like we were together again if I closed my eyes.

Did she know what she did to me? My mate, my love . . .

My Chloe.