Free Captiva Capitulation by Talyn Scott Page B

Blythe wore brand new Gucci, platform boots. The shearling trim-talls were a soft grey, and she adored them. Another expensive gift Sixten unveiled this morning, and she couldn’t refuse them if someone held a gun to her head…or a fang to her throat.“I never considered how tall you are.” She’d known Rock for years, yet Sixten had been her world, the center of her existence. “What are you, six-eight?” He was a couple inches taller than Sixten. Werewolves were somewhat larger, bulkier, where Vampires boasted leaner sinew. However, size meant nothing when comparing the two. She shook her head no. There wasn’t any way she could compare the species, and she was a mixture of both. A mutt if there ever was one.
    “Somewhere around there.”
    When they entered the main dining area, a static sensation racked her. Much the way a mild, electrical shock would, yet it jumped through her entire body. She curled her arms around her waist when a deep tingle traveled up her spine, she couldn’t stop her shiver, which caught Rock’s immediate attention. Then the flashing started in her left eye. A memory trickled in… a restaurant far from Italy, but nowhere near America. “Eat, Blythe, we have a ways to travel and your kind cannot survive entirely on blood.” A bite of steak met her mouth. “Swallow, I want to watch you swallow.”
    After requesting their table, he placed his large palm on her back, not low, but more toward the middle. In the next second, heat left his body. Not the heat from when Sixten cuddled next to her, but more like the blast that she would receive from flipping the car heater on high to fight a chilly night. At that, the flashing stopped, leaving behind her puzzling fragment of memory.
    “Better?”
    Not really. “Uh huh.”
    “Bane said you were able to see Jax before he went to Orlando,” Rock whispered, nodding at a few ginormous men.
    “Yeah, I wanted to spend more time with him, but Dru found a doctor who specializes in spinal surgeries for his, uh, kind.”
    “Our kind,” he corrected. “Doc said he’s made quite a bit of progress, though.”
    “In a certain form ,” she said, speaking of when her brother transformed entirely werewolf, “he can walk and sometimes run.”
    “Then that’s a good place to start,” Rock said over his shoulder.
    Passing numerous, awaiting guests crammed inside the vestibule, she dutifully trailed him. Glancing up, she realized that he’d cut his long, black hair. Now, styled into a blended, brush cut, the thickest layers remained on top with dark strands perfectly jelled. He wasn’t in his biking or fighting leathers, either, not that he always was. However, today, he wore a Zadig and Voltaire Jacket, the coffee-colored leather ending at his waist. Underneath, he’d tucked an ash-grey t-shirt inside white, straight leg jeans. Boots were still part of his package, but they were short, pretty much matching his jacket. Blythe had to admit that he looked fantastic, and the women here seemed to agree. But when did he not?
    They were seated at a window overlooking the ocean. He sat next to her on the long, padded bench instead of taking one of the two opposite chairs across from the table. The beach lingered somewhere behind her, the sun’s heat warming her back through the glass.
    “No one will sit at this table,” he said in a low rumble, motioning to the empty table next to them, an iridescent flash of miasma suddenly encompassing them.
    “Of course,” their host agreed after handing them menus. “I’ll send over your server.”
    “We’ll order now.”
    The host didn’t seem perturbed at Rock’s brashness. Probably another werewolf, she figured. Blythe glanced over the menu, couldn’t read half the offerings. So she tapped a nail on the first item she saw. “This is fine.”
    Their host smiled, nodding, “Canard aux peches, excellent choice, and for you, sir.”
    “I’ll have the shrimp and scallop au gratin. Triple that.” He