Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Shivers worked through my body every time I thought of it. That, and the other nice things he did for me—like give me massages when traveling made me stiff, clearing my empty plate or bowl, helping me up or letting me lean on him—had constantly made my resolve wobble.
If only this had been a different life. Maybe just a different situation. Wouldn’t that be a dream? A strong alpha staking his claim on me, providing for me, protecting me. If I could ignore that he was my jailor, suppressed my magic, and continually dragged me toward my punishment, I would daydream him being my rescuer. Or a handsome prince come to take me away to a charmed life full of love and laughter.
But no, in his eyes I was still a drug maker, a killer of innocents. Dragon food.
It was definitely time to go.
“Sylvester, how was today’s ride?” I asked as I neared. He’d get leftovers from the other wolves, way more than he could ever eat. We’d then spend the evening cooking and cutting the offerings into appetizers so that everyone could get a taste. It was clearly why they brought so much.
“I’m tired of trees,” he groused. “Trees for days. It didn’t take us half as long to get to that village. I want a town with lively music and a pretty little barmaid to sit on my lap.”
“Does that happen?” I helped prepare the meager vegetables we had left and the roots I’d found at our lunch stop. “Do barmaids really sit on your lap?”
“They do when I tip them well.”
We worked in silence for a moment. Someone brought us a pot of water before wandering away again.
“I didn’t see a tavern in your village.” Sylvester straightened from his crouch with a wince. He looked to be in his mid-forties but sometimes he acted much older. “Did you not have one?”
“No. I think there may have been one when I first arrived, but it went under at some point. I don’t much remember those early years.”
“What did you guys do for entertainment?”
I wiped my forehead with my forearm, scooping up the chopped vegetables and putting them into the pot. “I didn’t ever have time for entrainment. I ate, I worked, I slept. Whatever time I used for art or writing or my flowers came out of sleep or work time. Other people gathered together, though. They had dances occasionally and I often heard laughter and what not when I walked home from work. People provided entertainment for each other.”
“You were never invited?”
“I don’t have magic—” My words hitched. “Or, you know, I thought I didn’t. They thought I didn’t, which I think is more important. They didn’t invite me around.” I shrugged. “I didn’t have time, anyway. It was nice to hear the laughter on my way home.”
He shook his head as the first person arrived with meat. He was careful to reach around me and hand it to Sylvester.
“I heard you learned about . . .” He twirled his pointer finger in my general direction. “You know. The thing. With the alpha.” He cleared his throat. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it.”
“I’ll talk about it. Apparently, he knew I had magic the whole time and didn’t say anything. It took his wolf accidentally pulling said animal halfway out, and me confronting him about it, for him to ‘fess up. And he didn’t even really ‘fess up at first! If I hadn’t been watching his face closely, I would’ve missed the little eye flicker. ‘Little Wolf,’ he calls me. Clearly that means I’ve got a wolf hiding in me somewhere. I can’t meet her, though, because—”
I made an exasperated sound and cut myself off. There was no point in venting. It wouldn’t change anything. I needed to find someone to help me, and that person wouldn’t be in this camp.
“No, I meant—oh gods. Aurelia!” Sylvester snatched my wrist and held up my hand. Only then did I realize I’d nicked myself. “Shit. Here, let’s put water on it.”
“It’s fine, honestly.” I tried to pull my hand away.
“It’s bleeding all over! It must be deep. Here—”
He wrestled the knife out of my other hand and grabbed the pot with the vegetables.
“Don’t you ruin that food with my blood.” I yanked my hand.
“Doesn’t that hurt? Stop struggling, I’m trying to help you!”
“What is going on?” Weston’s voice slid deliciously across my flesh.
He walked in our direction, his movements fluid but hurried. Crimson smears crossed his bare torso and down one of his legs. His eyes were feral, vicious.
Sylvester let go of me and put his hands up, backing away. “I was only trying to help her, Alpha. She cut herself.”
“It’s fine, seriously.” I looked around for something to use to stop the flow of blood. “It’s just a little nick. I’ll live.”