Free Running Free by K Webster Page B

frustration. “What do I do? How do I sever the imprint?”
    “Oh,” he says with a chuckle, “you can’t do that.”
    “But he’s human,” I hiss.
    With a flash of a grin, he says, “Wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened in Woodland Creek and I can assure you that it won’t be the last. Let that heart of yours work its magic. The rest of you will soon follow suit.”
    He leaves me on the front porch in a puddle of confusion. Apparently my heart does know Gun. I can feel it down to the fabric of my soul. It doesn’t mean that my mind agrees though. However, my body does. Like last night when we were all over each other.
    Two against one.
    “You coming?”
    I lift my chin to meet the heated eyes of my supposed soulmate.
    Soulmate. Soulmate. Soulmate.
    The concept is foreign but doesn’t taste bitter on my tongue.
    In fact, it’s quite decadent.
    But he’s human…
    My mind still hasn’t wrapped itself around this concept. I’m not sure that it ever will.
    But you accepted Luca as your brother not but a few hours before…
    Shit.
    “Yes. I hope that it’s okay I brought my… ” What exactly are Otis and Suzie to me?
    “Your family is always welcome here.”
    My heart does that pitter-patter thing again and before I know what’s happened, I’ve thrown myself into his arms. His lips dip down to mine and he kisses me sweetly. My fingers skitter over his rough face and I moan into his mouth.
    This feels right.
    “Come on.” His voice is hoarse and his eyes are molten chocolate, hardly containing his desire for me. “Lasagna is almost done.”
    He threads his hand with mine and guides me into his house that drips with his clean, masculine scent. I want to roll around in his bed and wear his scent everywhere I go. I want him to make love to me — claim me as his. I want to tell him what I am.
    The last thought crushes me.
    The only sensible part of me left, my mind, steps in and valiantly protects my heart.
    I can’t tell him what I am.
    He’d run for the fucking hills.
    I’m a dog. A goddamned dog.
    And Gun’s a human.
    Those two don’t mix.
    I slink into a chair as he moves effortlessly through the kitchen. His navy thermal is plastered to his body and I crave to peel it off him. As he flits about the kitchen pouring wine and pulling food from the oven, I simply stare at him.
    He’d make a fine husband.
    And as he pours a glass of milk for Suzie and pats her head when he sets it down in front of her, I simply want to cry for him.
    He’d make a fine father.
    When he turns and flashes me a panty-melting grin that promises naked decadence later, I simply gape at him.
    He’d make a fine lover.
    I swallow down my grief over the unfairness of life. It’s doubtful I’ll be able to resist him physically and can pretty much believe we’ll be fucking soon — I’ll discover whether or not he’ll be a fine lover.
    However, I’ll never know about the other two.
    And for the first time in my entire existence, my heart that has barely shown signs of life, is crushed.

Gunnar
    When I was a child, my mother would buy me puzzles. She’d said I liked solving the impossible. I saw the big picture whereas everyone else only saw pieces. My mom told me I was special.
    She casually told me once that I’d make a great detective one day. Her subtle suggestion resonated within me and fueled a fire I didn’t know existed. I wanted to make her proud. I wanted to solve the unsolvable.
    A few months before my seventeenth birthday, my mother explained to me that she had pancreatic cancer.
    We can fix this, I’d said.
    We’ll find a cure , I’d assured her.
    Only we couldn’t fix it. We couldn’t cure it.
    Her disease was a complicated puzzle — one that nobody on God’s green earth seemed to be able to figure out. The cancer ravaged her body with the force of an unexpected tornado at the beginning of spring. My mother was in its path and the destruction, while quick, was fatal.
    As