Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“That’s right,” his deep, delicious voice rumbles in my ears. “No running. Not from me.”
He throws me over his shoulder and I remain limp, arms hang down as he strides away from the overlook’s edge. I’m eye level with his behind, and boy, is it a nice one. I probably shouldn’t be checking out my captor, but his backside and thighs fill out his ripped up jeans perfectly.
He carries me across the parking lot, past his big shiny truck and into his house. “No use trying to escape. You’re gonna be with me awhile.”
Okay, maybe I am his slave now. And that shouldn’t make me so terribly excited.
I wait for him to drop me to the floor and punish me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tromps down the hall, stopping a moment. A thud and his boots hit the floor. He took the time to toe them off. He strides to the room where I woke up and lays me on the bed.
He leaves a moment and I lie there, blinking at the low ceiling. I realize I’m toying with my collar, and I lower my hand.
A few minutes and he returns, shutting the door to close us in a warm, dark cocoon. Automatically my head tips back and I show my throat, acknowledging him as dominant. It’s always nerve-wracking to expose my throat to an apex predator, but I have to do it. Instinct is a bitch. With any luck this will appease him. In a perfect world, the submissive act is one of ultimate trust. I expose my neck, the ultimate show of faith. Offering my life if he wants to take it. I should be more afraid than I am, but something about him soothes my fox. In a perfect world, a dominant protects the weak. Maybe this one will protect me.
A hiss of indrawn breath and strong fingers wrap around my chin. “What is this?” A rough thumb traces my shivering pulse. His anger vibrates through me, but somehow my fox knows it’s not directed at me. I lie docile in his grip, obedient when he tips my face up to meet his blazing eyes. He’s close to shifting.
I put my hand to my neck. As soon as my fingers touch the seam running up my neck under the white leather, I remember. “It’s nothing,” I tell him. “A bite.”
“That’s not a bite,” the bear growls. “He fucking gnawed on you.”
I can only nod. My vampire master usually fed neatly from the artery, but that night he’d wanted to punish me.
Rough fingers fumble with the strip of leather. I realize he’s trying to unbuckle the collar and I panic, grabbing his wrist. He growls and I lie flat again, closing my eyes and pressing my hand to the bed. The leather tightens as he tugs, and when the buckle doesn’t yield he snarls again. A claw slides against my neck, close to my beating pulse, then a flick and the collar flies away. I grip the blanket, my breath coming faster.
Then my captor does something I’d never expect in a million years. Both his big hands settle around my head, gently angling it back to study the old wound.
“Shhhh, easy, kit.”
I blow out a long breath, willing myself to calm.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
When I open my eyes, he’s studying my neck, his hands cradling my head.
“Scarred,” he murmurs. “Takes a lot for a shifter to scar. There’s only one way for sure to do it.”
I nod. I know how shifters scar. The marks on my neck are like a brand, signalling my weakness. Telling any shifter who knows the signs that I’m vampire food. I’m scarred like a human.
I close my stinging eyes. I’m so sick of being a victim.
“Hey.” His thumb strokes my chin. “It’s okay. The scars aren’t so bad. I didn’t even notice them before.”
My face crumples further, and he tugs me close, saying gruffly, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice is gravelly but his arms around me are gentle. “Now,” he sets me back an inch so I can see his face, “we’re gonna lie down and sleep. It’s been a long night and you need it. No more running.”
I bite my lip. I can’t agree to that.
An avalanche-like rumble comes from his rock-hard chest. “You run, I won’t like it. There’ll be consequences. Understand?” His thick fingers squeeze my nape, not choking, but hard enough to make my spine go limp, signalling submission.
“Yes,” I answer. “I understand.” I understand consequences real well. I grew up in a clan of crazy, paranoid, in-bred fox shifters. The kind who sell their own to slavers because there are too many mouths to feed.
I wait but he doesn’t move, doesn’t change his grip. I’m beginning to think he’s going to hold me like this all day when he kneads my neck a little and tips my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are light, his bear still close, but he looks calm, thoughtful. The rough stubble and jagged scar make him look rugged, not ugly.