Daddy’s Innocent Mate

Daddy’s Innocent Mate Forced Marriage Shifter Romance Beaufort Creek Shifters Book 8 Layla Silver Copyright © 2023 by Layla Silver. All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of the book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, including recording, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in a book review. Contents Chapter 1 - Elias Chapter 2 - Francine Chapter 3 - Elias Chapter 4 - Francine Chapter 5 - Elias Chapter 6 - Francine Chapter 7 - Elias Chapter 8 - Francine Chapter 9 - Elias Chapter 10 - Francine Chapter 11 - Elias Chapter 12 - Francine Chapter 13 - Elias Chapter 14 - Francine Chapter 15 - Elias Chapter 16 - Francine Chapter 17 - Elias Chapter 18 - Francine Chapter 19 - Elias Epilogue - Francine About the Author Books by Layla Silver Chapter 1 - Elias Kids screeched like banshees directly from the pages of a mythology book as I stood at the door with a bag clutched in one hand and my son’s hand in the other. He glanced at me, glanced at the kids, then back at me with his brows knotted up like he had a bad case of gas. He even rubbed his stomach the way he always did after a bad taco night. “Dad, I don’t know,” he said in a low voice that didn’t seem necessary given how loud the younger children were yelling. If he didn’t want anybody to hear his uncertainty, he didn’t have to whisper it with those ghouls howling up a storm. He twisted his fingers into his curls. It was about time to start braiding his hair again. My fingers never forgot how to do it. Not like he’d been gone very long. Even if it had felt like an eternity in hell. I patted his shoulder while trying to mask the edge of disdain in my voice. “Let’s go talk to your teacher.” My kid was more receptive than most, mostly because of his experience, and mostly because of the fact that we had spent so much time together. So, the ire in my voice? Yeah, he probably picked up on that right quick. As the only adult in the room, that was probably poor manners. Everything was about confidence these days, or whatever the hell my cousin went on about. He was the alpha. He knew best. I gulped air and marched toward the desk at the far end of the room. Three grade-school-aged kids fluttered about, a tinier shifter trailing after them in a partially shifted form. She looked like maybe she was a wolf or something. Two older kids, maybe preteens, were chasing after the younger ones. Mixed-age classrooms were a lot like this in the morning, especially with a class this small. With the teacher they had, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Speaking of the aggravating woman, we were fast approaching her where she sat with a high chair pulled up close to her desk and a spoon in her right hand. In her left hand was a crochet hook, and in front of her was a super organized desk calendar, all color coded and highlighted and marked up. She had soil-brown skin with marigold undertones, the kind that could be found tilled in the field, rich with nutrients and soaked from the rain. Light sandy-brown hair hung in tight curls around her face, snipped into a symmetrical bob with the back pinned into two distinct buns above her ears. Almost like cat ears. I thought she was a cat—by the scent of her, I would have guessed bobcat—but nobody had ever seen her shift. During the invasion, she had allegedly been bunkered down with the likes of that girl Isaiah had snagged, shoved together with a bunch of kids and older folks into a steel fortress to be protected. I supposed she had a lot of guts to be dealing with shifter kids, the reckless little creatures that they were. The softness of her peachy eyes opposed the steel of her face, though they drilled into me like I was the devil incarnate walking toward her. Round frames sat on the bridge of her nose, enhancing the oval shape of her face. Vintage-inspired clothes decorated her body, those floral patterns on her blouse and pencil skirt giving her curves extra attention, drawing my gaze to the lower part of the desk where I knew her hips were hiding. I didn’t like her. But she was organized. That was the only reason I’d agreed to place my Archie here so soon after his return. Blake and Troy had insisted on the kid getting some stable environmental influence. I thought I was plenty stable for him most days. However much I did work on my bikes while he watched. Squeals sliced through my right ear, stabbing right into the drum and making me rub my head. I mean, it was stable enough here too, anyways. “Hi,” I said firmly over the noise. “Miss Elwyn, Blake should have called on my behalf. This is Archie.” Miss Stuck-Up and Wouldn’t-Budge-An-Inch-About-Building-Issues glared at me like I was interrupting a personal chat with the president of the United States. While balancing the spoon and the book, she turned her soft eyes to my kid—and that steely gaze melted into a darling schoolteacher expression if I ever saw one. There was no fooling me for a second. She had jutted her nose in the air and criticized everything I did with her precious stage for the school play a month or so ago. Whatever expertise I thought I had she’d attempted to thwart with something she read in a book. So my little nicknames for her were more than fitting. And, in this case, they could have been much filthier if I wanted them to be. She was lucky I was in the presence of