Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Right. We’re supposed to be running from something, not doing…whatever this is. I stroke my fingers against his cheek. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
Instead of answering, he bumps his elbow against his door and carefully pushes his way inside. He walks around a large king bed made of wood and thick bands of black iron and gently sets me on the edge.
His shorts are still tented to an impressive degree and I reach for him. “I think it’s your turn.”
He blocks me easily, shifting to the side. “Sleep.”
I blink at being rejected for the second time. He glances at a chair in the corner and for a second, I’m worried he’s going to choose to spend the rest of the night there.
But he slides in beside me and pulls the covers over both of us.
“Declan—”
“Sleep,” he says, voice low but certain. His arm lands across my waist, heavy and protective. “I’ve got you.”
His erection prods at my backside and I wiggle against him.
“Settle down.” He groans and clamps his arm tighter around my waist. “We’ll get there,” he promises.
Even though he’s turning me down, it doesn’t feel like rejection. I like the sound of we. And the promise of more to come.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Declan
Any other time, any other woman, and the long, silken strands of hair tickling my chest when I wake would irritate the life out of me.
This morning, my only frustration is that I don’t want to move and wake Emery. Now that I have her in my bed, I don’t want her to leave.
Dawn creeps through the slit in the curtains, thin and gray. The room smells like her—warm skin, a faint trace of cinnamon—too sweet for this cold house.
Even unconscious and softly snoring, her body’s pressed tight to me. Her plush behind fits against my thigh, every slow inhale rubbing heat along my skin. The lines along my ribs stir faintly, like something dreaming under my skin. It’s the closest thing they ever get to purring, content while the Rider’s away and Emery’s in my arms.
The green ring that circled her wrist last night now coils farther up her arm, glowing faintly in the dim room. It’s not a trick of the early morning light. The line around her wrist isn’t a line anymore. It’s a vine, curling upward in thin, glowing filaments that crawl beneath her skin. A pulse of panic cuts through the peaceful morning. The mark shouldn’t have spread that fast.
“Mmm.” She lets out a soft, sleepy, contented sigh. At least the mark doesn’t seem to be hurting her.
She restlessly shifts her legs. The shirt I gave her has twisted around her waist, baring one hip and a long stretch of thigh. I trace the curve of her hip, eager to relearn the sounds she made when she came apart in my hands. The small taste I had of her last night wasn’t enough. The painful hard-on I went to sleep with returns with a vengeance.
I drag a breath through my teeth, forcing my hand to stay where it is—clutching her hip. Her skin is warm but not burning. No metallic tang in the air. No hoofbeats.
Safe. For now.
I should wake her, tell her what the spreading mark means before it reaches her shoulder. Or her heart.
Anxiety thrums through my veins as I watch the slow rise and fall of her ribs, the way the glow of the curse lights her skin from within.
How am I going to fix this?
She shifts, a low murmur slipping out. Her heel slides down my shin. My body answers before my brain catches up.
I bend my head until my lips brush the edge of her hair. “Emery,” I whisper.
She stirs but doesn’t open her eyes. “Mmm?”
The sound vibrates against my chest. I could tell her to go back to sleep, pretend for one more hour that we’re just two normal people enjoying each other.
Instead, my hand slides from her hip to her stomach. She shifts, leaning back against me as if inviting me to continue exploring. I skim my fingertips against soft skin, over her ribs to the underside of her breast.
Heat rolls under the tattoos across my chest, the Rider’s leash tugging in time with my heartbeat. It wants more contact, but the air stays clean. No iron. No threat.
My pulse pounds.
Her breathing stops as if she’s afraid to do anything that might break the spell.
Without another thought, I cup her breast, the soft weight filling my palm. She’s a package I’m desperate to unwrap. I stroke two fingers against her hardening nipple, lightly pinching the tight peak. Her body shudders against me and I let out a satisfied groan.
“Declan,” she whimpers.
“Good morning.” I bury my face against her neck and kiss the spot below her ear while my fingers continue teasing her nipple.