Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Clearing her throat, she said, “Hello, Father—”
“I am sending a car at nightfall. I expect you to get in it and come back to Caldwell promptly. I will deal with you when you—”
Her heart thundered. “No.”
In the pause that followed, she imagined him at his desk in his study in Caldwell, a dark red, monogrammed robe tucked around his trim body, his black hair styled in a side part with nothing out of place, his elegant hand removing the reading glasses that sat at the end of his straight nose.
“I beg your pardon,” came the icy response.
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m not coming back—”
“Yes, you are. And you are going to apologize to Remis, and beg him to forgive you. Then you are getting mated in a month.”
“I’m not d-doing any of that.”
There was another stretch of silence, as if her father were translating her words into a language he could understand.
“Then you are a trespasser.” The brisk throat clearing was something she had heard before. When he was addressing a subordinate. “And I will have my head of security remove you from my premises—and let us think that through, shall we. Where will you go? What will you live off of—and before you say the love and support of your aunt, I control the finances of this entire bloodline. If you think for one minute anyone will take you in or give you funds, you are mistaken.”
“I can find my way—”
“No, you cannot. The sooner you realize this, the faster we can all put this folly of yours behind.”
She got to her feet. “I’m packing my bags right now. I’ll clear out at sunset.”
There was a third pause. And then her sire’s voice gentled some. “Mahricelle. Be reasonable. The mating has been planned for—”
“And I won’t trouble you again.”
“Darling, I worry over you. I want only good things for you, so please, let us resume our course. Remis is a fine male of worth who can provide quite readily for you. Your future is with him—and your mahmen, if she were here, would be saying the very same thing.”
Lowering her head, Mahrci rubbed over her eyebrows. “I can’t do this. Anymore.”
That cold tone, the one she hated because it frightened her, came back. “I did not realize being provided for and having your every desire catered to was such a burden. I have invested in you. I have supported you your entire life. I would hate for you to know what it is like to be without that—”
“Support?” she snapped. “Is that what this is? Because it feels like coercion to me. What I want to know is why Remis is so important to you.”
As another call beeped in, she could guess who it was and she was not answering it. “If you like him so much, I think you should mate him yourself.”
Mahrci hung up on her father and got to her feet in a rush.
But it was daytime, so she was going nowhere fast.
She was stuck in a gilded cage.
“Well, look who’s winning the OCD award this morning.”
Directly above Mahrci, in the study, Apex looked up from the floorboards he was kneeling on. Mayhem was leaning against the room’s archway, a tall figure whose godforsaken mullet was damp, suggesting he’d just had a shower. With a chocolate pudding cup in one hand, and an ornate silver spoon in the other, he was sporting a royal blue bathrobe that was marked on the pec with the same crest that was on the estate’s gates. The plates. The sheets.
Like Whestmorel was afraid guests would forget who was paying for everything. Or maybe he felt like he owned people while they were under his roof.
“Why aren’t you putting yourself down for some beauty rest,” Apex muttered. “Maybe your hair will fix itself if you sleep on it wet.”
“You love my hair.”
“No, I don’t.”
When one of the male’s bare feet started tapping, the repetitive beat took Apex back to the drive up here and the damn drum set the guy made out of everything.
“What,” Apex demanded.
“Hm?” That silver spoon got licked clean. “Oh, nothing.”
As Mayhem just stayed where he was, with the tapping and the fucking pudding and the stupid pretentious robe, it was a case of NOT AGAIN: For the second time in twenty-four hours, Apex wondered how the problems of other folks were suddenly all over his proverbial windshield.
“What’s wrong,” he grumbled.
In response, Mayhem’s eyes traveled around the voluminous—natch—room, like he was taking note of the collection of old hardbacks. In reality, it was doubtful anything was registering. He was doing the same thing with the spoon, going around and around the plastic pudding cup, the little scraping noise like the cymbal to that bouncing foot thing.
“Can you stop that?”
The guy shook himself to attention. “Huh?”