Free Lycan Alpha Claim (#1): (BBW Shifter Romance) (Brief-Bites Novelette) by Tamara Rose Blodgett Page A

non-biological children. It's a form of
silent prejudice. But that's not enough to nail this guy. I need
more. I suspect there is more. But
ten sessions is a long damn time to hold out on my gut instinct. I
do listen to my gut more than most.
    My instincts never let me down.
    The ticks from my archaic clock swallow our
mutual silence.
    Bea leans forward, jagged short hair dyed an
inky black sweeps forward to cover an eye.
    She rests her forearms on her thighs.
    I wait.
    A minute goes by. Two.
    “ Tell me what he does to you,
Bea.” I feel the compulsion in my voice, and let it thread its way
to Bea with soft and deliberate insistence.
    My teeth ache a tiny bit less, and I release
an almost silent but grateful sigh.
    Her face lifts, the pierced bottom lip
trembling with the effort to keep that stoic expression glued in
place.
    I sit up straight, pen and paper
forgotten—breath held.
    Then she carefully unbuttons the cuffs of
her unseasonably warm long-sleeved shirt.
    Healing lines of varying depths litter her
skin.
    Cutter.
    Her sad eyes find mine. My heart is in my
gaze, there for the taking. She reaches for it with such
hesitation. Then crushes the pulsating mess of my feelings with,
“What he does to me at night, or during the day?”
    At night.
    I don't plant my face in my hands but it's
close. I know what happens at night.
    I've heard it before.

2
     
    Being a councilor probably isn't a great
career choice for me.
    Too empathetic.
    I carefully shut the door after Bea exits,
leaning my forehead against the other side.
    She won't be going back to that foster
family. Even now the cops are on their way to arrest that sick
excuse of a human being. He's done enough to Bea to get an
immediate lock up.
    I'm not going to cry, I
tell myself as the first, hot tear worms its way down my
face.
    I press my face against the expensive door
inside the clinic I share with other doctors and bite my lip.
    Pain sears where my teeth touch and I yelp,
immediately touching the tender spot with my finger.
    What the hell?
    I walk swiftly to the bathroom and gaze into
the mirror, looking closely at my teeth.
    I don't like what I see.
    My canine teeth, as they're called, seem to
be performing some kind of circus act and changing.
    Unbelievable .
    As if that twenty plus extra pounds I'm
running around with isn't enough to worry about. Or my lack of A
Man in the picture.
    Or my status of barren. Yup.
    Now I've got a case of skank mouth to top
off the misery cake like a spoiling cherry. Swell.
    I step away from the mirror with a shaky
laugh, tonguing off the bead of blood I put there. I'm sounding
like some of my patients who have nothing wrong with them except a
bad attitude.
    I dab at my sore lip with a bit of damp
toilet paper and toss it in the commode.
    Blood and tissue flow down in a swirl of
water as I flush. I watch it disappear as though transfixed.
    I need to get out of here .
    Bea's story of molestation isn't something
that will be out of my system tonight. Or tomorrow night.
    Or the next.
    I'll head to the gym and burn off some
steam.
    I use the bathroom and turn off the light. I
walk silently around my small office, doing the shut-down routine
by rote.
    I turn off the desk lamp.
    I upend the ashtray into the separator. The
illegal cigarette smell puffs up the nauseating after-odor.
    I waft a palm. God,
gross .
    Another horrible habit. But one I've found
is not something people can give up while also being challenged
with obtaining emotional wellness.
    Nope, they need the cigs. So I write the
prescription that waives the legality part of it. The lesser of the
two evils.
    I work my jaw back and forth, notice I'm
doing it and stop. My joints protest as I bend to pick up some
fallen threads and I sigh.
    More working out , I'm
only thirty-seven—not seventy-seven.
    Lastly, I scoot around the coffee table and
squeeze behind my couch for patients.
    The slatted blinds are already tilted up to
allow in light but offer a feeling of privacy for