Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“You, Cameron, have grown into quite the young warrior!” my mother unexpectedly exclaims at the top of her lungs as she approaches from the side. “You lack weapon discipline, but that is nothing I can’t correct in due time.”
I hastily pull myself out of P’s grip to fling myself into hers. “OhmyGreatOnes, Mom!”
She embraces me fiercely.
Hums.
Exhales a low murmur of relief.
Tears sting my stare causing me to squeeze my eyes closed.
It’s been…literal decades since my mother last touched me.
Held me.
Said my fucking name.
Emotions from both sides of me battle to be in the forefront of my mind leaving me mentally torn in two different directions that I’m anxious to take.
“We will have plenty of time to catch up, my young champion.” Mom states prior to pulling back to meet my now open eyed, bleary gaze. “For now, our duties to the innocent are not complete. I need to take this,” she pats the strap to the bag across her chest, “to the computer skilled griffin. He believes it may assist in his digital discoveries regarding Magitek.”
Her statement instantly inspires me to reach down into my combat boot to retrieve the small Ziploc bag from my sock. Upon standing back up, I offer her the object in my possession. “These might make his hacking a little easier.”
“What in the actual D, Pint-Size?!” Ptur grumps at the same time he stomps over. “Is that a bag of fucking hands?”
“I do not think my daughter has been provided with that personal detail regarding these appendages, dragonborn.”
Wow, she’s…very literal I see.
Yes.
Was she always like this?
Yes.
Is that normal for an orc?
Full.
Which is why I’m not?
Correct.
“First of all, it’s fingers not their whole hands, and second, it also contains a couple eyes.” My stare latches onto his. “Access to certain devices—like the ones some of the scientists and higher ups were using—requires biometric authentication. I remembered that you mentioned Griff momentarily being locked out of their system, so I figured gathering a few might help him out.”
An impressed expression doesn’t hesitate to grow on my mate. “Astute.”
“She gets that from her father.” The baggy is snatched out of my grasp and shoved into the bag. “Now, which way was the library?” Her massive dark, green-skinned frame sharply turns the direction of the deck. “This estate, dragonborn, is far too vast.” She marches away, criticism continuing, “How do you find this even remotely defensible?” Mom disapprovingly shakes her head in a way that makes me smile. “How have you dragons survived this long without a true warrior’s presence and intellect?”
Unhappy grumbles leak from my half encouraging me to grab a hold of his hand on a whispered, “Don’t worry. We’ll do family dinners at their house so that you don’t have to hear this every time she visits.”
Ptur chortles over the proclamation, kisses the back of my hand, and gives me a gentle tug for us to stroll behind her. Rather than lead, he verbally instructs her which way to turn and casually explains why having a hand-drawn map isn’t necessary for guests. Our eventual arrival in the kitchen has him momentarily halting my mother’s continued advancement to where Griff is probably stationed by encouraging Gene to block her path.
“Gene,” P summons him over from where he’s cheerfully cleaning the stove, “could you please deliver the bag Dai is carrying to Griff and bring me a glass of Leprechaun’s Breath to the living room when you’re finished?”
“Oh, I would love some swill myself, servant for the house of Draak,” Mom enthusiastically proclaims while pulling the bag off her body. “The darker the better.”
He politely nods his understanding and transfers the bag into his grip. “Of course, Lady Pennington. Do you have any other particular requests pertaining to your beverage?”
“I like it thick.”
“Very well.” Gene shifts his stare to me. “And can I get you anything, Lady Draak?”
Knowing he can’t quench the type of thirst I need taken care of, I swallow the building moans of P’s name and quietly decline, “No, thank you, Genie Gene.”
Soon, Pint-Size. I swear to you, Platinum and I will handle that particular Thirst soon.
Unless you’re going to fuck me on the kitchen table right now, it won’t be soon enough.
Can.
No, we can’t, Platinum! And for more than the obvious “it’s where everyone eats” reasons.
Ptur lets out a frustrated sigh and ushers his hand the direction Gene is moving. “There’s actually a package waiting for the two of you in the living room.”
Mom grunts, shrugs, and strolls off without a second thought, yet I shoot him a skeptical glare.
What could possibly be for both of us?
And is now really the time to be giving one another wedding gifts?
Er…fating gifts?
Bonded gifts?
Are any of those terms correct?
All of them?
Our continued trek takes us right into the living room revealing a sight that damn near stumbles me right back out of it.