Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I am stung and insulted. Am I not worthy of being her mate? She has given no indication that she finds me displeasing. Even now, the soft braid she made of my hair reminds me of how she takes care of me. Her thoughts were full of pleasure at the sight of it. She likes my appearance. Her thoughts when she thinks of mating are not of fear or revulsion, but shyness.
Does she not truly realize that I gave her my heart the moment I gave her my fires? That her spirit is now connected to mine and we will never be separated? That if she dies, I die, too?
But this is Emma. Fierce, independent, strong Emma, who had a sibling who betrayed her, and parents and a mentor who all died. No wonder she thinks she is better off alone, that she can depend on no one but herself.
My heart aches for my mate, that she is still so lonely.
I can demand that she sleep next to me every night. I can demand that she give me her body. I can push my thoughts into her mind and sift through her memories. It is my right as her mate. But how can I make her need me? How can I make her want me?
How do I make someone as independent as Emma not resent the bond we have together? How can I make her see that our spirits joined makes us both stronger?
This is not something that has ever occurred to me. When a drakoni gives his fires, it is after a long courtship battle with a female. She is subdued, angry but proud at a male that is strong enough to vanquish her. It is an honor to receive a male’s fires. She knows the bond between them will be for life and that there will be companionship and joy…and young.
Perhaps things are different with humans. Emma’s thoughts indicated that she did not expect to find a mate. I am the first one that has touched her, as well. Pride and fierce joy at the reminder rush through me, and I pull her small body against me. She is mine and mine alone.
My mate murmurs in her sleep, shifting, and she finally turns and curls against me. I stroke her hair with my claws, thinking.
I must find a way to make her realize that we are right together. That she will need and want me after we are both safe.
That she will never escape me.
And that she will never want to. But how do I convince someone so used to being alone of such a thing? She has to want to be with me.
She has to want to come to me. I cannot push her.
I continue to stroke her hair, troubled. I have much to think about.
20
ZOHR
One week later
I look into the wide brown eyes of my sweet, delicate mate and wonder how such a creature can be so bloodthirsty. Explain to me again?
Emma rolls her eyes at me, impatient. “You take the hook like so, right? And you grab the body of the worm and push it through, spearing it on here.” She demonstrates. “That’s called baiting the hook.”
You torture one creature to entice another?
“It’s not torture. The worm doesn’t feel anything. I think.” She gives me a sideways look. “Don’t ruin fishing for me, you big scaly chicken.”
I am nothing like a chicken, I tell her, irritated. I have seen them. They cluck and wander like fools. They are covered in feathers and they shit on everything. How is that like me?
She giggles, and the sound makes my spirit ache with the sweet pleasure of it. “Okay, so you’re nothing like a chicken. It’s just a human saying.” She pulls her fishing rod back and gently eases her line into the water, a bright red and white ball hanging off the line. She sits on the end of the dock and lets her legs dangle over the side, then glances at me. “Want me to cast your line for you?”
I can do it, I grumble. I do my best to mimic her movements, but my ball does not go more than an arm’s length in front of me in the water. I feel a flare of her amusement and it stifles my own annoyance at this task. As long as I can make her smile, I will endure it. I sit down next to her and pretend like my line is not directly at my feet.
Human sayings are strange, I tell her to distract her thoughts. Like when you said you were in my face and you were not…what was it?
She leans back, laughing uproariously. Her face is an expression of pure joy. “Atángana? You caught that?”
Of course I did. I am in your thoughts. What does it mean when you say you are in my face?