Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
At some point, she’ll trust me enough to invite me into her house again.
At some point, she’ll ask me to kiss her.
At some point, she’ll realize I’m not going anywhere. And so I’ve been going slow.
Perhaps too slow, now, because her doorstep isn’t marked with my scent, and some strange male is going to be over there tomorrow and won’t realize that she’s claimed, and the thought goes all over me, like a hand rubbing my fur in the wrong direction.
What if this other male is praxiian and thinks that he should claim her as his? What if Tabitha thinks I’m not interested because I’ve never marked my interest? All of a sudden, my choice to go “slow” seems incredibly stupid.
I’ll just have to fix this. The answer is obvious. I’ll mark her doorstep and let any male who even gets close to it know that she’s claimed and I’ll kill anyone that thinks they can get in the way. I’ve always thought of myself as laid back as far as my race goes, but the thought of another male approaching Tabitha’s house—Tabitha’s sanctum—has me prowling furiously next to my sled, too agitated to go inside and smell my brother and his scent-marked mate together.
Dark.
Once it gets dark, I’ll go over and mark her doorstep with my intentions. Problem solved.
TABITHA
My homemade perimeter alarm goes off in the middle of the night, setting me instantly on edge.
With my first harvest, I’d opted to buy weapons instead of a perimeter security system, thinking that I’d rather be able to defend myself above all else. A perimeter security system won’t do me much good if I can’t take down whoever’s determined to break in. So I opted for the stun-stick and made my own security system instead. There’s a flimsy cord that I pull across the path to my front door, and on the cord I’ve hung all kinds of small metal bits. The theory was that anyone that tripped across the cord would make a ton of noise and alert me instantly.
It works, too. The sound the trip-cord makes is unearthly in the darkness, and I immediately reach for the stun-stick I keep under the bed, flicking it on. It hums, powering up, and my heart pounds. The small hairs on my arms prickle and stand upright, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Whoever this is, they picked the wrong woman to rob. I’ve been preparing for this sort of thing since I arrived, and no one is taking me back to the slave pens.
I hunch low, moving from the bedroom to the kitchen. I’m wearing nothing except a nightgown, but there’s no time to get anything else. Weapons are more important. I move to the front of the house, watching the front door for the inevitable jiggling of the handle as they break in. It sounds like whoever is out front is tangled in my cord, because I keep hearing jingling and some annoyed muttering.
Good. Let that keep him—or her—busy for a while.
I crouch-waddle toward the pantry and slide my stun-stick onto the counter so it can be ready. At the back of the pantry, I find the bottles stuffed with rags that I’ve been keeping handy—homemade Molotov cocktails. I’m not sure how flammable the alcohol-based sanitizer is, but all I know is that I’m not going down without a fight.
I will burn this whole farm down to the ground before I let anyone take me back.
With one bottle in hand, I set it by the door, along with my lighter. I return to the kitchen to get my stun-stick, and then realize that I don’t hear anything…no more chiming, clattering noise from my line. Whoever it is must have gotten detangled. I watch the door, waiting for the handle to jiggle as they break in, but there’s nothing.
Are they…gone?
I press an ear to the door, and I hear what sounds like heavy breathing. Someone’s still there, all right. Bastard. I hear a growl, and then strangely enough…a purr.
The purr almost sounds like my name, too.
What the fuck?
Moving to the far side of the door, I touch the broken screen and activate the vid. There’s a large figure on my doorstep all right, shoulders hunched and one strong arm working furiously. Is he…detangling himself still? But then why is everything quiet?
It’s too dark to make out the form and features of whoever is on my doorstep. I contemplate my next move. Do I use my stun-stick and hope I can get contact before they try to push me aside? Or should I go straight for the nuclear option and just lob a Molotov and hope that they fuck off? I’ve got a fire extinguisher somewhere around here.
“Tabitha,” the man on my porch groans, and then I hear even more purring.