Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Beauty. Let's go," he says, his voice gruff.
He may be unharmed, but he's far from fine. He just killed...something. This is all my fault. I wandered too far and look what he had to do to save me. I don't even know what the creature was.
"Draven–" I reach for him with trembling hands, but he angles his body away, sidestepping me. There's so much I want to say, but he's cold and surly, and I can't read his mind.
I fall into step behind him, murmuring my thanks, but he doesn't respond. So in a voice barely above a whisper, I say what's in my heart, "I'm sorry."
When we reach the house, he opens the door to let me in. "Go to your room," he commands.
My heart breaks, but I pop a kiss on his cheek and race to my room, slamming the door behind me. I'll figure out how to make it up to him in the morning when we've both had a chance to cool off.
Chapter Seven
Draven
I pace across my bed chamber, my heart still pounding with fear for Dahlia even though the danger has long since passed. The mountain lion is dead; its blood washed from my hands. But still, I hear his low growl. Still, I feel the cold hands of fear closing around my heart.
I could have lost her. The last words between us wouldn't have been the sweet things we spoke as she cuddled in my arms, but my hesitation. She deserves more than this life. I locked myself away, but I can't lock her away. The world needs her light and her laughter. It needs her kindness and her beauty.
But so do I.
I can't give her the world…but perhaps I can give her this little corner of it. I'm not the only monster in Screaming Woods. Maybe it's time to venture out into the world again. Baby steps. Those I can give her.
If she'll let me.
"You really fucked it up this time," I growl to myself, my tail twitching with irritation. I was cold to her. Part of me expected her to cower from me. I killed a wild animal with my bare hands. I was covered in its blood—save for my hands, I still am. I wanted to rage and howl like a wild thing. Letting her see me like that went against every instinct I have regarding her. I don't want her to fear me. The thought that she might feels like acid poured into my veins.
If she does, it's my own fault.
I have to fix it. Now. Not tomorrow. I won't sleep until I see her again.
I yank open the door to my suite and stomp out, seeking her room. I've haunted these halls for so long that I've memorized every step. Down the hall to the left, fourteen paces, and then take a right. Another eleven steps before hanging a left. This time, I follow the hallway to the end, take another right, and then another. This house is a veritable maze. The interior doesn't match the exterior, and there are more hallways than rooms. The man who built it was mad. He called himself an artist. I appreciate his genius; really, I do. But would a few straight lines have killed him?
I pause outside her door, listening. Always listening. Her soft voice reaches my ears. She's muttering to herself, too faintly for me to make out what she's saying. Judging by her tone, she isn't pleased. My beauty isn't one to keep her feelings to herself. They spill from her lips unbidden.
A soft thud sounds on the other side of the door.
I burst through the door like the police, ready to do battle for my girl. The only light in her room comes from a lamp beside the bed. Dahlia stands in the middle of the room in a thin nightgown, a pillow at her feet. Everything appears okay. There's no one else in the room, no apparent danger.
"Draven!" she gasps. "You startled me."
"I heard a noise. I thought you were hurt."
"I threw a pillow."
"Oh." I swallow, pushing the door closed behind me. "You're angry."
"Yes." She crosses to the bed and turns the lamp off, casting the room into darkness. Even though she's pissed, still, she does this for me to make me comfortable. I don't deserve her. And yet, I'll work like a dog to be worthy of her anyway. And yet, no one will ever love her better. I'll worship her if she lets me. She deserves that.
"Would you be less angry if I told you I'm an idiot?" I ask, pacing toward her.
"Would you mean it?" she sniffs.
"I am an idiot, Beauty." I exhale a ragged breath.
"I understand running, Draven," she says, her voice soft. "We all run. But you don't get to shut down and shut me out. You have to talk to me."