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 also notice how callused and scarred my hand is, and how jagged and short my fingernails are. Ugh.
I pull away from him.
He immediately catches my hand and pulls my fingers back to his mouth, putting them against his lips once more. Vaguely, I hear the motorcycles purr away and know that they’re not coming any closer. We could move apart from each other any time now.
Except, I don’t know that I want to.
I do not want you to, either, Zohr tells me, his eyes intense. What is wrong with touching?
Nothing. I just…
You are afraid of me. I realize this. His hand caresses my fingers, still placed over his mouth. You think I am not aware? I can smell your fear when I mention changing forms. But know this, my Emma—I would never harm you. Even when I was wild with pain, did I hurt you?
I shake my head.
I did not. I could not. You are my mate. My existence. My reason to continue on in this strange, terrible world. I could never hurt you. But my battle-form is part of who I am. I cannot remain as you see me right now forever and be happy. I must change, and I do not want you to be scared of me.
I know. It’s just… I swallow hard, thinking of that night of terror, of being clutched in his claws, blood everywhere, and unable to talk to him at all. You weren’t you. You were somewhere else, and I just worry it’ll happen again when you transform once more.
You mean when I change to battle-form and see how badly my wings have fared? There is light humor in his tone. I have no hopes that they are salvageable, my mate. I accept that they are gone. I gave them up for you.
I pull my hand away, stung. “But I didn’t ask you to.” God, now that sounds petty and resentful. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. I feel awful. He’s given up so much and I’m still…
You are still afraid, he agrees. I can sense this. You are afraid of what I am, and you are afraid you will lose me. You are afraid you will want me to leave you and I will not, and you are afraid of what will happen when that day comes.
Maybe he’s been listening in on my thoughts, after all.
It is difficult not to, though I try to tune it out. I know you do not care for it, but it is like asking a thirsty male to only take one sip when he would drink a river. I want more than just a sip of you.
And what if all I’ve got are sips?
Then I will take what you can offer and learn to be patient. I feel a hand touch mine. His claws brush against my skin—again, sharp, but so careful not to cut me—and then he takes my hand in his. You are everything I want, my Emma. I would do nothing that would upset you.
I look up and meet his eyes again. “I just…I worry that we moved too fast. That girl who took her pants off and got on top of you? I worry that you think that is who I am.”
That is who you are. A protest forms in my mouth, but he stops me again with a firm thought. You are brave and caring. You are unafraid to help another, even if it means risking yourself. That is who you are, Emma. If you mean that you are not experienced in mating and not comfortable with approaching me, then we will wait. Or you can use me until you get comfortable.
Use you? I can feel my eyes widening.
A surge of amusement rushes through his thoughts. Of course. I am yours for the taking.
I can’t help but be filled with a bit of wistful longing at that. How many times when I was a girl did I hope that Jack and I would run into cute boys? I was desperate for someone to talk to, to hold hands with. Someone to kiss.
I will kiss you.
I know. I bite my lip and consider him, then shake my head. Not tonight. I’m still…rattled.
Because of Azar’s men? I cannot smell them on the wind any longer. Nor do I hear their metal dragons.
I had hoped he’d given up on us, I admit.
He is Salorian. He will never give up.
That’s depressing.
Think about kisses instead of Azar. I know I will. The look he gives me is downright roguish.
I’m tempted to give in, but I hesitate. I’m cautious by nature, and I’m most comfortable when I can think things through. Tomorrow?
Tomorrow, he agrees. After you take out my stitches.
I’m not sure…I begin, and then stop.
He gives me a knowing look. Do you want to leave them in because you truly think my injuries need them? Or because you are afraid of how I will transform when they are gone?