Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I’m his mate?
“Cy, where are you?” I call out. “Come to me. Please. It’s me. Remy. I need you.”
His face is suddenly there. Black shadows cloud around him, revealing only his handsome, fierce face. I hold it in my hands, leaning my forehead against his.
“Remy,” he croaks out, eyes widened with awe.
“Is this real?” I ask, hurt by his flinch at my deep rumble. “What? You don’t like my voice?”
He shakes his head and pins me with his intense blue eyes. “It’s not that. I’ve heard it before,” he murmurs. “I thought…I thought it was the killer.”
“You can hear me,” I choke out, still in disbelief. “You can hear me.”
His embrace is warm and loving. I don’t want to leave his arms. In our quiet, private dark hole, we can be at peace together.
“We have to…” He grinds his teeth together. “We have to figure out a way to get free. They have this…thing around my neck. I can’t move or fight it.”
“But you did,” I argue. “You’re here.”
His lips find mine. Soft and warm and addictive. It settles and shifts crooked parts within me. Everything seems to snap into place. I feel complete.
Well, almost.
I still need…something.
“Cy,” I breathe out. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared I’m going to lose you. I thought I hated you, but I don’t. I love you. Always have. But something happened on my birthday that started the strange shift from hate to love.”
“It’s because we’re mates,” he murmurs, lips pressing to mine.
“How?”
“I don’t know. Mates are usually formed through a bond built of shared sexual experiences over time, but this is different.”
“That quick? Explain it to me.”
“Not quick. I think…I think it’s been in the cards awhile. I didn’t quite understand before and thought maybe it was folktale, but it makes sense to me now,” Cy says, the darkness alight with his wolfish blue eyes. “We’re fated mates.”
“What?”
“Remy,” he murmurs, “do you remember where you came from? Who your father was? Do you know what you are?”
I’m mulling over his words when I’m jostled from outside of my private happy place. A poke. Something hot.
“Oh, what the fuck,” I yelp, clinging to Cy’s chest. “Something’s happening.”
“Stay with me,” he commands.
“It hurts. Cy, it hurts.” I whimper. “It hurts. Oh God, it hurts—”
My eyelids are heavy as I blink them open, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Pain in my legs is the first thing I notice. I’m bound to a chair, no longer in our cabin, but someone else’s. It takes a second to determine it must be the inside of Cash’s place. I move my mouth, but no words come out. Only a short while of being inside my head with Cy and being able to speak has left me floundering now that I’m no longer able to.
A short while?
It’s no longer night but midday based on the way the sun shines in and illuminates the space. How long was I gone inside my head? Twelve hours? More?
I skim the living room, hunting for Finnick. Something in my hard glare must ask the question that my bound hands cannot because Cash laughs. It’s a cruel, sadistic sound that makes my blood ice over.
To think…I kissed him.
Wanted him to blow me.
It feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality it was only a day or two, I think. I’m losing sense of time. I’m not sure what day it even is. Everything is confusing, and I want to crawl back inside my mind to be with Cy where it’s safe and warm.
“Your friend is dead,” Cash sneers. “The rest of them will soon meet him, though. Don’t worry. He won’t be alone for long.”
Finnick can’t be dead.
He’s part of our pack.
Ours.
“I thought you’d never wake from your wet dream,” Cash spits out, his gaze dropping to my lap where my dick is half hard and straining against my sweatpants, still aroused from seeing Cy. “Must’ve been good. Sorry to be a cockblock, but we need to talk about your future.” He waves a knife in front of me that drips with blood. My blood. “You’ve been hiding in your head long enough.”
I follow his stare to my legs. My thighs are bleeding through my torn sweats from long, shallow cuts. A cold sense of dread washes over me. Rather than letting him feel my fear, I lift my chin, meeting his dead eyes with mine. I try to burn him to the ground with just one look. The fact he visibly flinches tells me it must be a pretty nasty expression loaded with a thousand hateful words I’ll never be able to speak.
“You know, I was disgusted when the elders matched me with you,” he admits, his lip curling up at his words. “I was just eight years old when I found out I’d one day marry a fucking spineless Thatcher.” He says my last name—the same one Mom would never allow us to utter ever again once we went on the run—like it burns his tongue. “The runt son of a worthless king who was only good for the gifts he possessed and not much more. Father assured me I had nothing to worry about. He would take care of everything to ensure our family gets what’s rightfully owed to it.”