The Outcast's Wife: A Clarkson Reclaimed

basket with a hot meal-stew, fresh bread, a thermos of coffee-and drove my truck out towards

barn a little ways off the main path. I parked and walked towards it, the smell of hay and old wood

nside. There, in a pile of hay, were Ethan and Jennifer. They were trespa

here?" I demanded, s

hriek. Ethan got to his feet, his face a mask of fur

" I said, my voice level. "

en we're ready,

racticed, manipulative whimp

oved me hard. I stumbled back, losing my grip on the basket. The hot stew and c

e'd brought, no doubt, part of his disgusting "stud" offer. He snatched it up. "Is this what you want so

my late grandmother. Before I could react, he lunged, ripped it from my neck

nk of your family

tated. Just then, the sound of a truck engine cut through

crying and burned; Ethan, panting with

moving quickly. He gently peeled the hot, soaked fabric of my shirt away from my skin, his touch

expression of pure, cold

e grabbed Jennifer's hand and pulled h

nyone else in two lifetimes. He led me to his cabin to tend to my burns. As he gently

voice raw and vuln