Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He’s going to rape me.
The thought is utterly terrifying.
I can feel the prod of his cock against my backside as he pushes against my skirt. Oh god, my fucking skirt. It doesn’t feel like enough clothing to protect me from him.
“How’s it fucking feel to be helpless, Scarface?” Brady says in a horrible voice, his grip on my hand so tight that I know I’m going to have bruises on my wrist.
Then again, I have bigger problems than a few bruises.
I wrestle to get free, panic giving me strength. I fling myself backward against him, over and over, but he just laughs. No matter what I do, he’s stronger than me. I’m weak and shaky from a lack of food, too.
Desperate, I fling my head back and knock my skull against his nose.
It hurts. A sharp pain lances through the back of my head.
But it gets a reaction. Brady swears loudly and lets me go, and I immediately scramble forward, trying to climb over the hood of the car to the safety of the other side. If I can get away from him, I can keep a car between us—
Cruel hands hook on my ankle. “Oh no you fucking don’t,” he snarls, ripping me backward. The fabric hikes up my hips as he hauls me back down, and scratches tear up my legs. “You’re going to fucking pay for that one.”
That’s the only warning I get before a hard fist smacks me in the ear, making my already aching head ring.
I cry out; I can’t help it. The pain is immediate and intense, and it makes me dizzy. The world weaves around me as he thunders blow after blow on my head, hitting me with such a hard fist that it feels like a rock is being pounded into my skull. My head slams against the car hood once, and I struggle to fight against him, but I’m losing strength.
I’m only dimly aware when he stops hitting me and rips at my clothing again, jerking at my panties. I push against his grip again, but it’s feeble. I’m too dizzy, too much blackness swirling in front of my eyes from his fists.
I will not faint, I tell myself. I will not. I’m stronger than that.
“You…” he says, and then goes silent. Metal crunches nearby, all of it dim in my ringing ears.
Then, suddenly, Brady lets me go. My wrist and stump are freed, and he stops pressing on my legs, holding me against the car.
Something hot and wet splatters against my back, and I’m struck with the horrible thought—did he just…did he just come on the back of my dress?
Except it’s really wet, and that would be a hell of a lot of come. Not that I know how much is normal.
Still dizzy, I slide along the side of the car, trying to crawl away from him now that I’m free. My nose is bleeding, my one eye swelling shut, and my face feels like it’s on fire. I stumble away, and when Brady doesn’t try to stop me, I turn around to face him.
He’s…not there. All I see is gold.
My heart stutters.
Gold.
Golden scales, golden muzzle, and great, plate-sized black-and-gold eyes as a dragon leans in to grab me. I put up a hand, flinching backward—as if that will solve anything—and notice my arm is covered in blood. Shocked, I stare at it, and then I look down.
Brady’s at my feet, dead. He’s been torn apart by the dragon’s claws, lying in a pool of blood, his pants halfway down his thighs. His shirt—and chest—are shredded and soaked, and his face is raked open.
Like mine was.
The dragon’s claws curl around me, and it’s too much. I faint…and I’m glad.
7
JURIK
The female human collapses in my grasp.
The sight of her fills me with such a mixture of emotions—both rage and frustration and yet it ebbs away, leaving such…tenderness. It’s an odd mixture, one I have not felt in a long, long time.
I have not felt anything but the rage in so long.
It is gone instantly once the human male dies. The moment his blood covers my claws, the rage bubbles away. All that is left is her.
I scoop her up carefully, crooning as I stroke a claw against her face. She is unconscious, her face slack, and for a moment, I worry she is dead. I press my muzzle against her face, alarm racing through my thoughts, but then I feel her gentle breath on my scales.
I have never felt such anger as I did when I saw the male hurting her.
The scent of both of them crept over me, easing me out of my mindless state. I smelled her, first, and the world sharpened around me. I took to the air as memories of her flooded through my mind.
This is my female. The one that tried to feed me. The one that fled. My memories are weak and threatened to be overwhelmed by the tidal wave of sound and color that the madness brings, but Luminoura touches her mind to mine, distantly, as if reminding me of who I am.