More than a Cheetah (Shifty Book 6)

by Sara Summers

  “Not a fan of Shifty University, then?” I had to ask. If Ross hated SUV, we could have a problem on our hands.

  “Not exactly.” He gave me a tight-lipped almost-smile.

  I scratched my head.

  Oh boy, Brooke would have a lot of work to do with this one. But hey, things would work out, right? They always had before.

  I sent up a prayer to the Creator for Brooke and Ross. They’d need all the prayers they could get.

  ***

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at book 7

  More than a Lion

  ***

  Author’s Note

  Thanks for reading! I hope you love these characters and their stories as much as I do. If so, please, leave a review! Reviews can help other readers find and fall in love with these characters and stories like you and I have.

  Thanks again for reading!

  Sincerely,

  Sara Summers

  P.S. Keep up with me and the rest of my characters on my website, iamsarasummers.blogspot.com. Hope to see you there!

  ***

  More than a Lion

  By Sara Summers

  Chapter 1

  I wanted to change the world, you know. Sitting in that cafeteria, that’s all I could think about. I was going to keep convincing people to come to Shifty University, I was going to set off an explosion of peace and equality and respect. I never realized that I was the one who needed to change, not the world.

  But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let’s slow down, back to step one in my change-the-world plan.

  Step one: Stop being sick

  This is the mountain I had to climb, the mountain that was keeping me from my goals. That was the inspiration behind this text-conversation.

  I sat in the cafeteria, eating salad and waiting for Jazz. She was late again—I was blaming her newfound lateness on Haiden, her mate, but I didn’t hold it against her. She deserved him.

  Me: Snag a hammer from one of the construction guys on your way here

  J: Why?

  Me: We’re going to whack my stomach until it works again.

  J: NO

  Me: It has to be done

  J: …

  Me: My body, my choice. It’s worth the pain.

  J: It won’t work and you know it

  Me: At least then I’ll be sick for a reason.

  I shoveled an angry salad bite into my mouth.

  Stupid salad, stupid broken digestive system, stupid food-resistant body.

  I was so frustrated that I almost didn’t feel the markings on my back start tingling. But then, how could I ever be that frustrated with a problem I’d been struggling with for the last three years?

  The tingling in the markings on my back woke me out of my anger-stration (anger and frustration), and I turned to look behind me. My mouth was still full of salad; I was too shocked to chew or swallow.

  Where is he?

  I wondered, still looking backward and waiting for him to come through the door.

  “Hello.” I shrieked and jumped when a man sat down in front of me. His arms were folded over his chest, the muscles practically jumping out of the hoodie he was wearing. I hadn’t seen him, and I definitely hadn’t expected him. He smirked when I put my hand on my chest, my heart still pounding like that hammer Jazz refused to bring.

  “Oh my gosh.” I forced myself to breathe. Holy heck, he had scared me.

  And that was when I realized he was my mate.

  His hair was golden and tousled, sticking out from the black hood over his head. He looked a little dirty, which led me to believe he had run the whole way there or just didn’t care for showering—I’d be okay with either.

  He was my mate, he could be a caveman and I’d cuddle with him in the dirt.

  “You scared me.” I breathed, my eyes still racing up and down his body, checking him out. Yeah, he was hot.

  Score one for me.

  Scratch that, score eternity for me. That guy was mine forever, and dang, he was sexy.

  “I can tell.” His smirk turned into the slyest, sexiest smile I’d ever seen. “I’m Ross.” He held out his hand to shake mine.

  Good name, Ross.

  I hesitated to take his hand. I’d heard it hurt to have your mate marks change, and I, well, I was already in plenty of pain thanks to said broken stomach. Food didn’t like to process inside me, and if I was going to add back pain to that…

  Well, that would suck.

  “Is something wrong?” Ross’s smile started to slide. I swallowed.

  “Nope, nothing.”

  Oh, screw it. My sickness isn’t going to stop me from having this.

  I stuck my hand into his, saying,

  “I’m Brooke.”

  Before everything went black.

  Score 7,992 for the sickness. Low pain tolerance sucks.

  ***

  About Me

  I'm married to the koolest kid in town, and we basically spend our time adventuring and nerding out over things we won't admit to being into. We live in Idaho Falls, Idaho, which is... a place. And it's windy-- really windy.

  I'm usually either writing up a storm on my handy dandy writing chair, reading inspiring quotes on Pinterest, or out some place with my man. I also dabble in the art of singing (though I never do it well) and do hair occasionally, but those are more of hobbies. I'm obsessed with leggings, muddy buddies, and garlic salt, and I'll never turn down a good back massage.

  Finally, as you've maybe discerned, I'm a writer. Completely, totally, and unapologetically. I'm a writer because I love to write, and I love to write because it makes me a better me. Writing reminds me of the good in the world and helps me understand myself more.

  So yeah. I write.

  I write a lot. :D