Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
That’s odd. Surely he knows that I’d simply be able to unlock the door and leave. He sets the key on a small, dark, antique table and opens the door to leave. Then he looks back at me and back at the key, all the while strumming his fingers on the door frame. He cocks a raised brow in a humorous fashion that I didn’t expect.
The humor forces my lips to twitch up, and once again there’s a warmth I don’t expect to feel and yet can’t deny. I smirk at his back as he palms the key and pockets it on his way out. He’s smart to take it; I have to admit I would be tempted to lock the door if given a chance.
Although it is just a door, and I am not naïve. The state of my predicament leaves me with a chill as I’m left alone in his bed. If I locked him out, I’m sure nothing would stop him from busting through the door. I take a moment to admire the intricate carvings that seem to shimmer with the low light from the flames.
A small shiver runs through my body, so I quickly put the shirt on. It’s far too big, but at least it’s something. I don’t know what to think. A week ago, I was just me. A shit life in a shit town knowing more awful things were bound to happen. And then they did, and I fought it tooth and nail like I’d prepared to do. But now…
I just don’t know how to react so I can survive this too. My stomach rumbles in pain and I curl into a ball on the bed. I was so stupid not to eat, but at least the vampires decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and gave me away.
The sight of Drago on his throne flashes in my memory. I close my eyes and sigh as warmth flows through me. After a moment the chill returns and I cautiously pull back the covers. I sit cross-legged and stare at the door.
As if on cue, there’s a knock. Every muscle tightens as I stare wide-eyed at the unlocked door. As a fear slips in that it could be someone else, the door opens and Drago enters. Only something feels off. I pull the covers closer to my body and up to my chest. He gives me a questioning look and tilts his head in an odd way. My eyes travel along his body. I don’t feel the same lust for him as I did only minutes ago. My back stiffens as he slowly walks toward the bed. His gait is different; something is wrong, and I don’t feel anything I felt a moment ago. His lips part and then his eyes close as he inhales deeply. His hands land down hard on the post of the bed and his knuckles turn white as his fists clamp the carved wood frame. His grip is so strong I can only imagine he’s going to destroy it.
My heart hammers and I struggle to speak. Something’s happened and I don’t know what.
I don’t feel threatened by his actions, it’s not threatening in the least. Although I can’t imagine why he seems to be holding himself back from me. Maybe he’s going to shift. The thought is as exhilarating as it is frightening. I’ve never seen a dragon, but I would love to. After a moment he seems to catch his breath and relax his grip, but he doesn’t move. I don’t understand. My brows furrow, and I swear he was wearing darker leather pants. I search his face again and notice a small scar I hadn’t seen earlier. My breath freezes in my lungs.
This is not Drago.
The three brothers are nearly identical, but I know that whoever this is, it’s not Drago. As if to prove me right, his eyes open and flash reptilian. But instead of the frightening red color I expect, his irises turn a bright green.
A fear like no other runs through me.
I kick against the mattress and push my body backward until my shoulders slam into the headboard. Fuck, my head bashes against the hard frame. My heart races and all I can hear is his ragged breath and my blood rushing in my ears. My breath comes in pants as I stare back at him with wide, frightened eyes.
His eyes return to normal and his breathing calms. He slowly raises his hands in the air, palms toward me, and takes a step away. My muscles remain coiled though. I don’t trust him whatsoever and I’m not ready to die.
“I apologize,” his voice is calm and slow, but he speaks clearly. “I was not anticipating that.”
My lips part but the words don’t come. Swallowing thickly, I remind myself I cannot afford to appear weak. I will not be intimidated by him. I barely manage the question “Who are you?”