Son of Kong (Sons of Beasts Book 2) by T. S. Joyce

Author:T. S. Joyce [Joyce, T. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Wicked Willow Press
Published: 2017-08-22T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Torren had bolted.

That was the only word she could think of when he asked her to stay where she was in that sexy, snarly voice of his. Stay while he gracefully glided on all fours toward a dilapidated staircase. He didn’t take the stairs like a human, nope. He scaled the side of it, pulling himself up and up until he slipped over the ledge and made his way into the office on the second level. The big window was cracked, but she could still see his rampage and hear the deafening crash as he threw something against the wall.

He was king. She was going to dig in and do as much research about gorilla shifters as possible, but he’d gone to war with two massive silverbacks tonight and held his own. And then he’d shelved his rage—for her. But now he was losing it up there.

Her heart ached for him.

Inhaling deep, she closed her eyes and tucked her tiger back inside her. The clothes she’d worn would be shredded and useless, even if she could find them under the pile of rubble. She still tried, rummaging around for at least a shirt, but stopped when she found the two wads of cash. Cash he’d fought for. Cash he would give to his sister so she could hear.

There was another deafening crash above. He’d asked her to stay down here so she wouldn’t have to witness the rage that took the animal after a fight gone bad, but it was important that she see it.

Slowly, she made her way up the stairs, and at the top, she stared sadly at a big dent in the middle of the metal door. She put her fist in it. It was much bigger than her own knuckles—that of a silverback fist.

Pain. This was a man full of pain, and stuck in a life he couldn’t escape. Being king wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when the crown didn’t fit the man.

Candace pushed open the door and stepped inside. She hesitated. There had been a desk, but it was in splinters. There were holes in the walls and broken chairs, a broken bookshelf. The only thing left untouched was a charcoal gray couch where Torren sat, face in his battered, tattooed hands. He was human again, and his black hair stood up in spikes as though he’d ran his hands through it roughly. He was still puffed up, every muscle in his body tensed.

“I don’t want you to see me like this. Afterward…it’s hard.”

“Because of guilt?”

“Most of the time,” he rumbled, not removing his face from his hands. “Tonight, it’s different.”

After the span of a few heartbeats, Candace made her way to him, pushed his shoulders back, and straddled his lap. She cupped his cheeks and searched his blazing green eyes. “Tell me.”

Torren was pale, and streams of drying blood ran down his chest from a bite at the base of his neck that was already closed, and well on its way to healing.

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