The Hidden (Shadowed Wings #1) - Ivy Asher Page 0,1

wanted a good fuck, but at this point, my hand is more likely to give me that than you are,” I answer simply and motion out the open doorway.

He stares at me openmouthed for a few beats as his eyes grow more and more incredulous. “I should have fucking known you’d be some alpha bitch when you got on that butch-ass motorcycle and brought me here,” he accuses, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on.

My eyes narrow with anger. “That butch-ass bike is a Ducati XDiavel S, and she feels better between my thighs than I’m sure you ever would have. Bye, Troy, wish I could say it was nice to meet you.”

“My name is James,” he barks at me and then stomps out the door, mumbling something about how I probably don’t even like men. He makes a beeline for his shitty truck, and I slam the door, leaning back against it with a huff. James? I could have sworn it started with a T.

I shrug it off as irritation and anger pump through me. I can feel my wolf wanting to respond, and I take a couple of deep breaths to try to calm the both of us down. As much as she wants to rip out of me like the big bad alpha bitch that she is, I’m a fucking latent. No matter how much I try to shift, it just doesn’t happen. The failure to do what should come naturally to me as a shifter hurts me and the animal that prowls underneath my skin, but I’ve learned to accept that it is what it is and there isn’t shit I can do about any of it.

I thumb the large moonstone ring that I wear on my middle finger. It was my mother’s, and I always feel close to her as I rub the same metal wrapped around my finger that was once wrapped around hers. I haven’t taken it off since my grandmother gave it to me at fifteen, and playing with it or touching it in some way has become like a soothing tic. A truck engine roars to life, and the sound of tires kicking up gravel resonates just on the other side of the door.

The peeling wallpaper and obnoxious floral bedspread of the motel room are suddenly all I can see, and I try not to cringe. I was fine to get my orgasm on in here, but now the thought of staying in this place for the night makes my skin crawl. I grab my jacket off the back of the chair that’s tucked into a small desk with a cracked top. The leather and the quilt stitching of my jacket hug me tightly, like the old friends they are, as I shove one arm into a sleeve, then the other, and zip it up. I grab my pack and helmet and head out.

“Well, Gran, it looks like it’s just me and you again,” I announce, as I strap my helmet on and make my way back to my bike. I power up my GPS as I straddle my motorcycle, and my thighs and lower back give a twinge of protest. Gran, of course, doesn’t answer since she’s in an urn in my backpack, but just like touching my mother’s ring soothes me, talking to Gran while I take this trip helps me feel a hell of a lot better about it. The engine of my bike roars to life under me, and I pat the pack on my back reassuringly.

Gran always hated that I loved vehicles of the two-wheeled variety as opposed to the four-wheeled options, but something about the wind as it rushes past me sends my soul flying. I’ve been hooked on bikes since shop class when we were tasked with building one my sophomore year of high school. Even though Gran put up a fuss about it, I could always see a gleam of longing in her eyes when I talked about my love of speed and what it felt like to cut through the wind on one. She grumbled, but she never did stop me from saving up my money and buying my first bike.

I take off out of the parking lot, careful not to eat it on the gravel, and head back out toward the highway. I have about four hours of easy road ahead of me before I reach the final destination of this four-day road trip. I was hoping for