Death Growl by Layla Dorine

Author:Layla Dorine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, menage, shifters, bonded mates, hurt-comfort, doctors, musicians, motorcycle club, enemies to lovers, intersex, nonbinary
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2022-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

THE LAST WEEK had been one of the longest in Cormac’s life and the next one wasn’t shaping up to be any better. When he’d heard the word suspended from the MC Prez, he’d expected to be told a month. Two weeks if the beating he’d taken was considered. Never in a million years had he expected to be told indefinitely.

Taking his vest off and handing it over had left him feeling exposed. Cut off in a way he hadn’t felt since a series of misunderstandings had gotten him drummed out of his previous pack over two decades before. At the time when it had happened, he’d been proud of himself for having done what he’d felt was right, despite the fact that neither his parents nor his siblings had backed him in any way. Now, he wished he could go back and erase everything he’d tried to do, so he would have a place and wolves to turn to now that his adoptive family had cast him out.

Suspension meant he’d had to paint over the MC emblem on the back of his bike. It had also meant that the room over the garage that would have been his would stand empty until someone else was recruited into the MC who chose to move in or until they allowed him to return. The snowstorm that had blown in, coupled with the slick, treacherous roads they’d traveled to get there, meant he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon either.

The apartment he’d found above the herbarium was drafty, so after the first night spent curling up in fur, he’d asked permission of the wolf who ran it to let him fix it up a bit, seeing as how he’d be living there awhile. Fortunately, the wolf had no issue with the idea once Cormac promised to arrange payment of the supplies himself in addition to the work he’d spent days completing.

The apartment was cozy now, and while small, it suited him just fine. He’d always carried everything he owned on the back of his bike, strapped to the sissy bar in a backpack or stuffed into the saddlebags. There was enough room between the bed and the stove to get a workout in. A basic one anyway. Pushups, sit-ups, shadowboxing, and some of the more stationary martial arts techniques he’d picked up.

The trio of circular windows along the wall let in enough light that he rarely bothered turning on the overhead, even in the dead of night. Then it was the moon that illuminated everything, and he could stare at the snowflakes falling through the beams, shimmering like, well, like eyes he’d struggled for years to put out of his head. Now they blended with golden ones, as if the sun and the moon were both taunting him.

How many punishments was he supposed to endure from one instance of petty jealousy?

Through those windows, he kept hoping to hear music—guitar playing and drums accompanying that amazing voice that haunted him like those silver-blue eyes and made him both hate and feel such heavy pangs of disappointment and longing.

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