Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Instinct. It would tell him eventually. A kiss would simply tell him more quickly.”
From the first, he’s been avoiding locking lips with me. Pain stabs my chest and shatters my heart. I can’t breathe, can’t swallow. Tears are ice picks in the backs of my eyes. I try to keep them in, but they fall anyway. Caden squashed his instinct once he suspected I was his mate.
Or am I? Maybe writing my sexual fantasies of him in that bloody book wrought some lust cloud that prompted those mating words. Maybe he didn’t finish them because he didn’t mean them.
“If he spoke even a few of the words, he knows,” Sabelle assures.
“That I’m his mate?”
“Yep,” Olivia adds. “No doubt that scares the crap out of him. In case you haven’t clued in, he doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t want anything to do with magic.”
“I gathered.” And it’s tearing us apart.
“Sorry.” Sympathy softens Sabelle’s face.
I bite my lip but know I have to ask the question. “Is there any chance he feels this way because I wrote about him in that red book? Twice?”
Sabelle and Olivia both still.
“What did you write?” Olivia asks.
How to put this delicately without sounding sex starved?
With a smile, Sabelle says, “Did you ask to be his mate forever or for the night?”
“Just the night,” I assure.
“The truth is, we really don’t know,” Olivia finally says. “But probably not. Our theory is that the diary grants one’s true desire if you write it, and that you must have enough passion and power to make it come true. But it’s only a theory.”
I sniff at my tears, wishing I had more answers. “Do you have a book that describes this mating ritual?”
“Absolutely. Feel free to read anything in the library. Bram and I have been adding to the family collection like mad of late. Fiction is in that corner.” She points to the far left. “The rest is non-fiction. Human history, science, technology, et cetera, on the near left. The right and back wall are all magical tomes. What you want will be there. Let me know if you need help.”
My ears perk up. I wandered the library once, but the sheer number of books shelved here was overwhelming. I could arm myself with information and occupy my maudlin thoughts by tackling the article about magickind—but more information would help.
“Bram will never let you publish such an article,” Sabelle vows. “But as long as you’re going to stay among us, you should be informed.” She rises and heads for the library door. “’Night.”
I’ll argue with Bram about the article later.
Olivia follows behind Sabelle but pauses in the doorway. “Marrok will likely be hours with Bram and Tynan. If you want someone to talk to, I’m here. I know what it’s like to be among all these guys and have no idea what’s going on. I’ve recently been through the mating thing, so…”
I appreciate the other women, really. But I want to read up so I can verbally skewer Caden when he returns. And when Bram’s meeting ends, I’ll talk to him about transcasting. The issue of my article for Out of this Realm aside, magickind needs news. And dangerous or not, I’m the woman to give it to them.
Chapter
Forty-Nine
Ijolt awake, my neck screaming in protest from its awkward angle on the arm of the sofa. A book lies forgotten in my lap, and the magical Mating Call echoes in my head like a haunting melody.
Noises pierce the early morning quiet—shouting, marching. Christ, what time is it? The weak northern sunlight suggests it’s barely dawn.
Grimacing, I pull at my sore neck and approach the library door, closed sometime during the night. The muffled voices from the hall grow clearer, more urgent.
“You’re certain?” Bram asks in clipped, authoritative tones.
“Indeed. Saw him myself.” Hurstgrove. No mistaking that quiet upper-crust speech. The man scarcely ever raises his voice, as if he expects his words to be obeyed so he doesn’t bother shouting.
“Splendid. Shock returned five minutes ago. Let me see…”
Bram’s voice trails off, followed by pounding footsteps.
Heart racing, I crack open the door. Hurstgrove stands there, the very picture of aristocratic perfection in chocolate trousers and a crisp white shirt, both meticulously pressed. He has wide shoulders and a perfect patrician profile. At a glance, I can see why he’s one of England’s most eligible bachelors. If only humans knew just how special he really is.
Bram emerges from his office, Shock in tow, both looking like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.
“Where is Zain?” Shock growls, tension radiating from every muscle.
“Below,” Bram replies, somehow maintaining his air of command, despite his disheveled hair and rumpled shirt.
My curiosity burns. What does that matter?
“Let me go down,” Shock insists with a dangerous edge to his voice.
Bram shakes his head. “He shouldn’t see you here. Duke will fetch him. We’ll need him upstairs anyway.”