Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
I’d kill for some honey. For something warm and soothing. To be back home, in my bed.
A cough shot through me, and my ribs ached in response.
A wet hand rubbed over my forehead and the back of my neck as I dragged a ragged, painful breath in. Tilting my head, I peered up at him. His features were smooth, and he was staring again, being so, so watchful, like he really was weighing some part of my soul in his invisible scales, seeing if I was worthy or not.
I wasn’t sure I was, but I’d like to hope so.
And that’s when he picked me up, pressing me against him and his buzzing skin and the presence I was getting used to. So, so easily.
“You’re sure?” I whispered. “Your back is okay?” I checked, taking in the immaculate line of his jaw.
“It’s fine.”
For some damn reason I didn’t understand, I said, “You can call me Gracie,” ignoring just how strange it felt to say my name out loud to another person after so long.
His glance was so quick I almost missed it. “Gracie,” he actually said.
A sinking sensation suddenly socked me in the gut, and I flinched up at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I don’t want to smell your rotting corpse.”
My whole body jerked. “Am I dying? Is that why you’re finally talking to me?” I just about shrieked, or tried to.
It didn’t feel like I was. Dying, I meant. Wouldn’t my stomach hurt if I was on my deathbed? I felt like shit, but I couldn’t be dying. I couldn’t….
The way he looked at me made me instantly stop panicking. “No. You’re not dying. Your heartbeat is normal; you don’t smell poisoned. You… smell like you haven’t showered in days.” He made a noise in his throat. “You smell ill.”
Uh, rude. And maybe I felt like hell and smelled like it, but not bad enough to keep my trap shut. “You haven’t showered either,” I reminded him, each syllable costing me but totally worth it.
He huffed. “I don’t sweat the way you do.”
Maybe he had a point there.
Then he added, “It’s fine. I’ve smelled worse.”
He’d smelled worse. Oh, I would have laughed if I had the energy. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it does a little,” I admitted.
He sighed and carried me back toward the wall. “I thought people stopped talking when they don’t feel well,” he said under his breath.
Someone wasn’t just trying to be nice; he was back to being sarcastic too. “I’m not sick enough, I guess,” I said under my breath right back, letting out a tiny, dry laugh that cost me a fortune of discomfort. Oh boy. It wasn’t going to be the cartel that got me; it was going to be pneumonia or whatever this shit was. That would be my luck.
He grunted as he set me down so, so gently, surprising me for about the millionth time by that point. Maybe he was going to make up for all the lack of surprises I’d missed out on over my life by keeping my circle so small. I eyed him as I leaned back against the wall, closing one eye as my head throbbed worse. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
The Defender balanced on the balls of his feet. His grouchy face there, totally focused on me. “I’m fine.”
I hoped he was. I sighed. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”
“Unless you die from talking too much, no.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re tough. You’ll be fine.”
It wouldn’t sink in until way later that he’d said I was tough. That he thought that about me. All I managed to do was swallow. “I hope you’re right. I’ve got a lot left I’d like to do someday.” I sniffled. “I haven’t even learned how to swim yet,” I told him for some fucking reason, probably because after this shit, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stick my face under water ever again, much less swim.
He stared.
And I just frowned at that beautiful face. “Really though. Why are you being so nice? Why are you doing this?”
His eyebrows arched. “I’m not being nice.” The rest of his face caught up in an expression that fell somewhere between a frown and confusion. “You did the same for me.”
He had a point. That didn’t mean I trusted him all that much though, even with how kind he was trying to be… or how nice he was being. It made more sense that he didn’t want to have to deal with my smelly, dead body. I was sick, and my brain wasn’t running on all cylinders, but I was still going to accept anything he was willing to throw my way.
I smiled weakly. At least I tried to. I probably just looked dehydrated. “You look a lot better,” I told him quietly.