Switch of Fate Prequel by Lisa Ladew & Grace Quillen

Author:Lisa Ladew & Grace Quillen [Ladew, Lisa & Quillen, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Heat Publishing LLC
Published: 2018-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

15 – Sir Dewey Gets Mean

Growler’s mind swam in the dark and night and black and ink and he dreamt of the Great Bear, and himself as a cub and his family and life.

A whisper reached in Growler’s ear and poked at his wandering mind. “Old chap,” the proper voice slurred, just like Sir Dewey’s did. That bear was nothing if not proper, at least in front of the shifters and switches, unless there was a feat of strength to be accomplished, then he was a show-off with a grin that turned many switchy heads.

Growler couldn’t keep his mind in one place. It swam like he was asleep but wanting to be awake and should be awake, but couldn’t break the surface of sleep. Growler tried to reach Sir Dewey. To open his eyes and see Sir Dewey. Was that him? His eyes weighed billions of pounds. They would never open again. His mind sank once more beneath the storm.

Sir Dewey. A good guy, but a newcomer to the cosh.

Growler shook his head not sure suddenly who he was, who he wanted, who the thoughts were about. Fierce light screamed into his brain, blinding him. His pupils wouldn’t contract. Or dilate. Or whatever the fuck pupils were supposed to do when light shone on them. He didn’t schitting know. He didn’t have to know. The pupils knew. He growled. It hurt. A lot!

Sir Dewey spoke. So many words. He shook Growler. So much shaking. Still Growler couldn’t’ respond.

Sir Dewey’s proper tone and pomp rolled through Growler’s mind. And he was mad. Whoa. “Wake the shite up you focking peasant! Your bear is a cub, a little roly poly cub that I laugh at when I see it! Your focking maypole is the size of an inchworm. That’s what we call you when you’re not around! Inchworm!” Growler tried to care. That was mean as shit. He hadn’t known Sir Dewey had it in him. There, a little spark of irritation. Flame it, fan it. He growled. Yes, anger. Even though he knew Sir Dewey wasn’t really mad. No, he was terrified.

Sir Dewey thought Growler was dying.

Could he be? Growler yanked his shoulders out of Sir Dewey’s hands, the movement shooting agony through Growler’s legs at the thigh, pulling him to consciousness, where he now realized why he hadn’t wanted to go.

“Old chap!” Sir Dewey yelled, his voice pained and different.

Growler growled and swiped out with his claws, the agony making him crazy. He strained to see. It was night time. Sir Dewey had a torch. Had he been asleep? Blood. His blood everywhere. Not asleep. Fainted from shock. Which should not have happened. His bear should have come forward and healed and commanded him at the moment his human fainted.

“The Bear swive it,” Sir Dewey grunted, his relief at Growler moving or trying to move so evident it was comical. Growler want to laugh/growl even through the blinding pain that surely meant his legs were cut right off. Through an

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