Bride of Glass (Brides of the Hunt Book 2) Read online

  Bride of Glass

  By

  Jeanette Lynn

  Bride of Glass

  © Jeanette Lynn 2018

  Copyright Jeanette Lynn

  All Rights Reserved.

  Thank you for purchasing and downloading this e book.

  It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and or distributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes.

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  Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Read before you proceed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Jeanette Lynn’s Books

  Please read before you proceed

  Warning:

  This book contains foul language, snarky humor, curvy women, hairy, humanoid man-beasts, and sexually explicit material, intended for readers 18 and older.

  It also contains ménage a trois situations, humanoid beast men, foul language, a shit-ton of inner dialogue, a snarky heroine, reverse harem, abduction, dubious consent, and violence.

  CHAPTER 1

  It wasn’t every day you won an all-expenses paid trip to an exclusive ski resort. It also wasn’t every day you just so happened to hate skiing but loved the snow and just so happened to have a very generous neighbor with a timeshare at a cozy little cabin—ahem—who was willing to make a trade.

  “Thanks, Hank.” Lips tipping up, I smiled shyly, peeking up at the man to study his profile. Lean muscles flexing, he scooped up the last of his bags to stuff them in his trunk.

  Slamming the lid shut hard enough to make the bumper rattle, he turned to me, all luscious six feet of yumminess, long legs, and cute dimples, and grinned. “Ah, Lindy-lou, it’s me who should be thanking you.”

  Reaching out, Hank chucked me under the chin, much like one would a sibling or baby cousin. I hated it about as much as that stupid nickname, but I loved the way the words rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and smooth, almost meaningfully—or so I freaking wished—the feel of his warm hand touching my just-shy-of-a-double chin leaving happy tingles in its wake.

  I was pathetic, really, truly pathetic, but I’m a loser—a shy, geeky loser who doesn’t know how to speak up for herself—and this is my life.

  Heart in my eyes, shining up at him searchingly, I soaked up all that he was, like he was the sun and I the eager flower.

  Oh, good lord. I grimaced, shaking a few thick ringed yet wild curls loose from my bun, giving myself a small case of much needed whiplash. I’m romanticizing again, and I’m doing a shit job of it. I, the eager flower? He, the sun? Where do I come up with this crap?! Oh, ugh. Someone gag me now. Blech.

  Face scrunching up in disgust, I had to put the blame squarely on the shoulders of whom it belonged, this nonsensical love words vomit—my cousin Joanie, who was technically my cousin by marriage once upon a time, before Tia Lela divorced Joanie’s dad, Olaf, when she was ten, for being the douche that he is. That once despondent ten year old grew into a woman full of eye rolling dramatics and crazy, romantic notions, eating up romance novels like they were going out of style, dragging me to every book turned movie there ever was and then some. I was beginning to think it had all officially rotted my brain, tugging me down into the over-romanticized depths of her over the top, overly dramatic, never-find-a-real-man-better-than-a-book-boyfriend, woe-is-me despair. Thanks Joanie-girl, you suck.

  And me, too, I had to add, for allowing myself to get sucked into her madness.

  “Hey, you alright there?” Hank frowned, dark brows pulling low over rich brown skin.

  Naughty thoughts assailed me, like licking the tiny prickles of sweat beading the column of his throat, reaching up and smoothing a hand over the frown lines crinkling his brow, smothering each and every sign of discontent marring that disgustingly swoon worthy man, smothering him with kisses until they disappeared. Thoughts better left locked up tight. Yep.

  Swallowing hard, I found him even more attractive like this, all cute and crinkly nosed, blinking confusedly. Who knew befuddled men could be so sexy? Mouth gone dry, I swallowed thickly. Whoa... mama.

  “Hey? You al-”

  “Perfect,” I blurted, blinking owlishly.

  Licking my lips, I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing myself to let it out slowly, blinking only when absolutely necessary. I felt entranced, lost in that look, afraid if my gaze darted away for even a second it would disappear and I’d be lost. I couldn’t look away. Yeesh, how I must look, what he must think of me.

  Smiling down at me softly, a slightly perplexed expression on his face, Hank’s handsomely kissable lips pursed just the tiniest bit. Deep green eyes studying me so intently, it was like I’d died and gone to heaven. Don’t ever stop looking at me, I begged mentally. See me. Yes, you’re looking at me, but see me.

  For a moment, I almost swore I heard angels faintly singing our names, as if this was all kismet, everything falling into place—this is all how it’s supposed to be! Theeeennn, well… he spoke.

  “You know…” Giving a little shake of his head, he snorted. “You look just like my Auntie’s Jack Russell, Cujo. Hah!” Hank’s demeanor instantly changed, smile morphing gleefully, face lighting up as he beamed down at me, and he chuckled, delighted. “I figured it out. I thought, heck, what is that…? But then it was like, ah-hah! Cujo!” Animated at the idea, the man spoke rapidly, faster than my shocked mind could keep up. “He gets this crazy puppy dog look on his face when I come in, right, just like, well, just like that. Like that one you got on right there. It’s the cutest thing…” There was more, but blood was pounding in my ears and I couldn’t make the rest of it out, my chest heaving as I gaped.

  Squish. Gargle. Squish. Flop. Splat. No worries, that was just me pooping my heart to accidently step on it, much like Hanky-doo over there had just done. No big whoop at all. Nope.

  And... Oh god, I’m dying.

  Unaware of the gobsmacked look on my face, the man slapped his knee, chuckling and shaking his head, oblivious to my plight, while I blinked furiously and my jaw swung in the breeze. He’s likening me to a dog. Albeit a much loved, from the sound of it, pup, but still... a yappy little dog. Jesus help me.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, he continued with a goofy grin, “It’s like, man, since I met you, I just- Damn, where have I seen that look before, right?” Slapping a hand to his washboard stomach, patting it through his loose fit grey shirt, the one with a certain alien movie on the front of it—the one we’d totally bonded over upon my first spotti
ng it and scrounging up the guts to chat him up in his driveway that first time, or so I’d thought—now I just felt... like I was holding the short end of the stick. Ya suck, honey, I told myself. Just face it, chick, you freaking suck.

  As I choked on my own spit quietly, suffering in shameful silence, Hank chuckled again. “Funny, right?”

  Eyes so wide it hurt, I forced a laugh, lest he think he’d just inadvertently crushed me at his feet or something, because, yeah, he kinda had—though hell if I’d come right out and admit that—I blinked a few times as I opened my fat gob wide and let my overloud cackle rattle off.

  Clearing my throat when my theatrics started to become a little too obvious, I dropped the act, Hank’s timeshare cabin key firmly clutched in my hand, putting on my I don’t give a poodle mask until my face appeared perfectly expressionless.

  I hoped he bought it but, honestly, even I, discombobulated as I can be at times, wasn’t convinced my easily bamboozled self would’ve believed it. Not even a little. What am I playing at? Oh, that’s right, not totally-on-accident—for his part—by-dint-of-I’m-just-not-enough kinda design type of thing, being crushed and trying to feign otherwise.

  Proceed, I bellowed in my head. We’re sassy and fierce, and we don’t care what some freaking stupid guy next door says! Fierce… so fierce, damn it. A tigress!

  Even in my head, my words grew forced and flat.

  Jutting a hip, popping that generously rounded curve out there, hoping I didn’t stick the thing out there too far, I rested my hand on it casually. Clearing my throat, readjusting my sweaty palm when it kept slipping off, I ignored the faint blush slowly blossoming across my cheeks.

  “Right. Heh. Heh. Nope. Yep. Funny,” I mumbled faintly, settling for standing up straight, both hands smacking to my hips as Hank gave me a funny look.

  Grimacing but forcing it back, I shrugged unconcernedly. “Hurt my shoulder, you know?” I gestured to my pretend injury, letting said pretend injured shoulder slump a little for emphasis. “Standing like this is much, uh, easier. The, erm, other way was, uh,” I winced, “hard, erm, er?”

  “Oh... right.” The Hankster spoke slowly, nodding along as his brows shot up. “I gotcha.” As if he didn’t get it at all.

  The soundtrack to Misery was probably playing in his head, warning alarms blaring concernedly. It was overdone, really, if he was thinking what I thought he was thinking. Uhm, or something. I mean, I didn’t even own an ax! Or a sturdy enough bed frame... or, erm, rope.

  And even if his mind wasn’t wondering along those lines, oh god, the things I was doing. Ack. He probably thinks I’m a huge dork now, if he didn’t before. Coughing inconspicuously, my gaze slid down the drive, studiously examining the flower beds separating our tiny yards. Ground, open up and swallow me. Right now, just split open and swallow me up whole.

  Where’s a giant alien worm to invade Earth and cart a chick off when you need one? Dune? The sand worms from Beetlejuice? Those crazy Tremors critters? You know, if it decided to store me for later long enough for the potential to escape. A vegetarian sarlacc, who simply wished to grip me in its digestive tract for eternity like some strange kind of booby prize, I ain’t picky!

  We lapsed into silence as things grew super awkward, the both of us just standing there, staring off at the world around us. The funny look on Hank’s handsome face grew constipated, pinched so tight I thought he might just lose his bowels right then and there along the slanted pavement, but I knew that wasn’t the case. No, he simply had a bad case of me. The thought was depressing. I make him look sick.

  My gaze slid back to him and I had to admit, even pre-dump face, the man was still freaking attractive. It was kind of disgusting. So not fair.

  Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I jingled the single key on its ring, the rounded metal ring with small bungee looking cord attached doing little loop de loops with it for a moment before curling my short, stubby digits around it and slipping it into my pocket.

  “So, thanks for trading me. It was cool of you and all that,” I blurted, nodding absently as I scratched at the back of my head. I was scrambling, but I’d fix this. Somehow.

  Damnit. I totally would.

  “Right. Yeah. No, thank you. I mean, all I had was the cabin to offer, ya know. It’s, uh, it’s my Auntie and Uncle’s.”

  Hank, I noticed, had turned slightly pink beneath his naturally darker complexion, his tone conveying just how bad the conversation had gone—staler than expired crackers, it said.

  Was that a deeper blush suddenly dusting his upper half? It wasn’t that hot out, not yet. Had the man just now realized he’d likened me to his Auntie’s dog? This Cujo? Was that slight to my person finally registering? Or was he embarrassed he’d had to borrow their cabin to get the ski package from me in the first place? Or was it, hmm. Was it something else…?

  “Right. That’s cool,” I replied a little too cheerfully. I was trying too hard and I knew it. I was also painfully aware of what it’s like to be on the receiving end of those kinds of feelings—all too well—and my sympathetic ass was quick to jump to the rescue. “So, you have an Auntie and Uncle...” My head bobbed along agreeably, like a hollow bobble head with stiff shoulders and a spring for a neck. “That’s awesome.”

  More silence, more standing around stupidly.

  “Yeah.” Now even Hank was fidgeting. “They are.”

  Gah, my awkwardness is like an infectious disease. It’s spreading like wildfire. Dark Lords avenge me, I’m contagious!

  “I’ll, uh, I’ll bet.” I gulped, the sound overloud, blushing even harder. Who needs makeup when you have natural rouge? It complemented my skin—that nice, natural tan I sported despite my aversion to the sun—perfectly.

  “Yup.”

  “Yup.”

  “Mmm, hmm.” After a minute it looked as if Hank was getting ready to say his goodbyes, and then he’d be off to ski with slope bunnies or whatever they’re called, and he’d never know how I felt. But he’d walk not run from me, because even if he did seem kinda weirded out by this whole thing, he was still a man.

  What if he met one of those ski jumpin’ pea brains and that was it, he fell head over heels on a ski slope in butt numbing temperatures to some skinny twatwaffle in a pink glittery puffer jacket and furry, bunny lined boots and I never had my chance, never told him how I felt...?

  I’d die, I thought glibly, if a bit over dramatically.

  “M-m-maybe...” I slowly began, to stop and clam up abruptly right out the gate.

  Hank looked to me expectantly, all smiles and brotherly/neighborly love. He was trying, and it was like he just couldn’t help but like me, despite all the eh, erm-eek-ha-hoo-hee-ness to me. It was a good sign, or so I tried to convince myself.

  What I felt for the man was certainly not brotherly, way more friendly than neighborly. How will he know, though, if I never tell him? Come on, Rosalinda, for once in your life, grow a pair.

  Licking my suddenly dry lips, I went for broke. “Maybe when you get back we could hang out some time?” There, I’d said it. I was staring down at my sneakers the whole time while I did it, trying not to shit a brick the size of one of Abuelita Adelina’s chimichangas—man, I loved those things, picked up a bagful from the grocery store last trip and stuffed that food-gold into the freezer, as a matter of fact—still am—were—was—but yeah, the deed was done. The words, not the brick shitting—ahem—though the latter certainly felt eminent.

  Holding my breath, my cheeks dusting a deeper pink, he took so long in answering I peeked up at him.

  Poor old Hank couldn’t have looked more poleaxed if I’d beat him with the gaudy pink flamingos Miss Fipps two down loves so much, the stupid things invading her yard like a mob of plastic lawn ornaments were having a convention.

  Mouth opening and closing as he tried to answer that as diplomatically as possible, clearly wishing to decline, I gave the man an out.

  Hands on my ample hips again, I squinted up at him in the glaring sunli
ght and shrugged. “You know, or like friends. No big deal.” Arms flapping out, slapping at my sides, I gave them a wiggle. “It’s all cool.”

  I didn’t know why I kept doing the arm flap thing, like a wounded emu on a rampage—call me nervous, call me panicked, say what you will—but I did. Head bobbing along agreeably, I stopped, arms crossing over my chest when I caught Hank fighting another constipated grimace.

  Hank’s thick lips twitching as he rubbed at his stubble covered jaw, I knew I must have looked so stupid doing it, just by the look on his face.

  “No, yeah, as friends,” he said after a long moment, clearing his throat on a cool laugh. “I like you as a friend, Rosalinda.”

  Rosalinda. He stressed this, back to the formalities and forced civility.

  I almost liked it better when he treated me like his weird baby cousin. And, oh god, how socially inept am I? Scrubbing a hand down my face, I gave up all pretense of hiding any and all emotion and groaned.

  As per usual at this point in my attempts at trying to pretend to adhere to any and all societal norms, I simply wanted to implode. Self-doubt was my kryptonite, and I had it in spades. I wasn’t sure if that made me more human, or my own kind of internal General Zod.

  “You alright, uh, there?” Hank moved forward, his tall, well-built frame shading my short butt from the early morning heat. I loved it, hated it, wanted to club him over the head and drag his hot ass inside the house and never let him loose, and it made me groan harder.

  “Oh, yeah, no. I’m great,” I whispered hoarsely, promising myself not to pull a Joanie and spring myself at him, or cry.

  Head whipping up, I tried to offer the man a smile. It was the least I could do, considering, wasn’t it? Eyes widening, Hank took a healthy step back. Crud. The grudging twist of my lips must have looked manic.

  Whimpering on the inside, now I really wanted to cry. Why do the sane, hot ones always think I’m crazy? Mentally curling up into a tight little ball, I wailed inwardly. How do I always screw this up somehow? Holy crawfish and hot sauce, I’m a failure!