Free Sleeping Beauty and the Lion: A Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling of Sleeping Beauty (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 3) by Sylvia Frost

now. Right here. In my mouth.
    “Daniel,” her voice brought me back.
    I clenched my back molars together so hard my ears popped. “I fought.”
    “I see.” Her voice was soft, enthralled, not judging me or pitying me. Just listening.
    “Some people put me in a bad situation.” I went on. “To get out, I had to hurt them. It was the right thing to do, but I hated that look in their eyes. As if all the bad things they’d done to me were okay, because in the end I’d proved them right by fighting back. I’d proved, I was just a monster.”
    “You’re not a monster.” Her fingers intertwined with mine, and I hated the rush of peace that washed over me at her touch. I was supposed to ease her fears, not the other way around.
    “You don’t know that,” I said.
    “You’re right. I don’t know it. But I feel it.” She squeezed my hand, and my gut twisted, the ice inside melting to something warm and embarrassingly mushy. My throat was too dry to speak.
    She kept talking. “And I know what you mean about people looking for excuses. When I was ten, my daddy got hit by a drunk driver. Back then we still lived in Missouri, and it was funny…” She didn’t laugh. I heard her swallow.
    “The guy who did it turned out to be the sheriff of the town,” she said. “So of course he wasn’t charged or anything. Mamma took him to trial in a civil suit and it got kind of nasty. In the end they said that Daddy was at fault because he wasn’t wearing a seat-belt and didn’t use his turn signal. The police department lost the records of the sheriff’s breathalyzer test.”
    She shrugged off my condolences preemptively, but I kept silent as I turned onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Above us the circular lights twinkled and the silver cables gleamed, impersonal and bright. A whole world revolved around us, not caring about Rose. Not caring about me. But as I held her hand the world didn’t matter. Only we did.
    “Middle school was tough enough for me as it was, you know.” She nodded down to her belly, her voice getting quieter and quieter. “But being the daughter of the woman who dared accuse the sheriff of manslaughter?”
    I rubbed her hand.
    Her shoulders bowed. “Well, I think no one ever liked me, but that was the excuse they needed to be really cruel. I remember every lunch I’d sit alone at the farthest table and at recess I’d have to walk around the playground, just so that I didn’t run into anyone else, because of the way they looked at me. The things they said.”
    She squeezed my hand even harder, hard enough now that I could actually, for the first time, really feel it. The whites of her eyes were fissured with red and glistening with tears.
    We reached the end of the bridge, and I flipped on my turn signal to pull over so I could hold her and rock her until she cried like she obviously needed to. But then I noticed something in my mirror. A black speck.
    A Humvee. It was still there. Still following. No question now. Lonan. It had to be.
    My inner lion, sedate from all the talking, perked up, eyes widening to take in the threat. There was no more time for analyzing emotions—-Rose’s physical safety had to be the first priority.
    I ripped the wheel to the right, spinning into a turn up a one-way street. Rose gasped and viced my hand.
    Checking over my shoulder, I ignored her, fully expecting the Humvee to be there, closer still, Lonan with a gun in the front seat, pointing right at her head.
    But the car wasn’t there.
    “Daniel!” Rose gasped. “This is a one-way street. Going the other way.”
    Facing front, I took in the wall of cars advancing toward us. Horns blared and my vision strobed as the two nearest vehicles flipped their headlights off and on again. I shook my head, trying to see straight, and yanked the shift into reverse before backing up into a parking garage.
    Rose let out another “oof” as she flew forward. The seatbelt cut into her shoulder. Her hand separated from