He is Creed Three (Windwalkers #3) Read Online Lisa Renee Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Windwalkers Series by Lisa Renee Jones
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Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
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She stumbles with the unexpected action, and my instinct is to reach for her, but I force myself to pull back. “Holy hell,” I murmur, running my hand over the back of my neck. She’s naked and so damn hot. My woman. Mine. Fuck. Not mine. She can’t be mine. I’m X2 positive. I am not what she needs. “I can’t touch you.” I snap up my jeans from the floor and shove my legs inside. “Get dressed before I don’t let you.”

“I—”

“Get dressed, Addie,” I order, balling my fists by my sides, doing all I can to protect her from me.

As if she realizes what I battle, she pales and then darts toward the closet and begins to dress.

I try not to watch. I fail. My gaze follows every inch of the pink silk of her panties as they slide up her long legs and over that little triangle of dark hair. I rotate, offering her my back and inhaling a breath, trying to calm the sudden raging lust ravishing my body.

“They turned black in the hotel restroom after we…saw each other,” she announces from behind me. “I told you that. This isn’t new. They changed back to normal in a few minutes. I’m sure they will this time, too.”

Before I can stop myself, I turn to face her. Mistake. Big mistake. She’s presently putting on her bra. Pink like the panties. Sheer. I want to rip it off. My gaze jerks to her face. “I’m back to why didn’t you contact me and tell me right away?”

“At first, I really did think you knew, and then…” She slips on a pair of slacks and reaches for a crème silk blouse. “And then you know what happened. You left. And it’s not like you can control it any more than me.”

“I shouldn’t have touched you again. We’re clearly bonding without the blood exchange.”

She makes a sound of disbelief and slips on her shoes. “Right.” Her arms cross in front of her, but not before I see her hands shake. “Of course. Well, now you know. It happens when you touch me. So don’t touch me.”

She doesn’t yell the words. She doesn’t say them with acid. But there is ice—so cold, it’s an arctic chill. She doesn’t understand I’m protecting her.

“I didn’t mean that how you took it. This isn’t how lifebonding, as we know it, works. We have no idea what is happening to you or how dangerous it might be.”

“I think we’re fine,” she says, her tone more scientific than emotional. She’s shutting down and shutting me out to protect herself. “I freaked out the first time I saw it, too, but I’ve read the research about lifebonding at least a hundred times over,” she adds. “I believe we’re reacting to the mark. We’re not actually bonding.”

I know her. I know her so well. The quiet of her reaction represents far more hurt than a raised voice or outward signs of anger. I’ve hurt her. I keep hurting her. It’s then that I know I can’t leave this like this. I can’t keep doing this to her.

“I want you, Addie,” I confess. “I want you so badly that I can barely breathe sometimes. But I’m X2 positive. I don’t know what that means for me. I don’t know what it does to you. And I’ve seen what Ava is. I will not let you become that.”

“We both know Ava was an evil bitch before she ever completed the bonding. If lifebonding is some joining of kindred spirits, then Ava and Julian were tainted before they ever met.”

“If X2 is about who I am at my core, then that’s a whole other problem. You have no idea who I am or what my family is.”

She draws back, the look on her face wounded. “You’re right. I don’t know because you never really let me inside, now did you?”

“I was—I am—trying to protect—”

“Don’t you dare say, ‘protect me,’” she warns, jabbing a finger at the air. “Don’t say it. If you need to believe that to make yourself feel better about pushing me away, fine, but keep it to yourself.”

I forget distance, stepping toward her. “Addie—”

A knock sounds on the door. “Room service.”

“Great,” I murmur. “Now they get here. An hour after I ordered.”

“I’ll get it,” she says, turning toward the door.

I’m there before she is, pressing a solid palm on the wooden surface and stopping her from opening it. “If one of Julian’s spies notices your eyes, he’ll know you’re my lifebond. And he will hunt you down and do horrible things to you just to punish me.”

She pales and backs away, and I can feel the tension in her. And I can’t even open the door and get rid of the service person. I have no shirt, and I’m wrapped up with a bunch of bandages. I yank them away; the wounds are healed now, but there’s blood on my skin. With a frustrated grumble, I call out, “Leave it at the door.”


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