Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
After a couple days of travel off the beaten track, we’d finally started getting close to the port where the ship that would take us out of this kingdom was docked and waiting for us. We knew Alexander and the rest of Granny’s gang would be waiting for us, and as such, we wasted no time unpacking and packing the tents. We only unpacked what was essential.
Everyone was on edge.
The familiar craving caught my attention, beckoning me to get up and cross to my pack where more of Granny’s altered product waited. After six tries—three back-to-back that nearly killed me, two others that Weston knew about, and one to put me over the edge I took in secret but that he later found out about anyway because I was shit at secrets—the hook had finally stuck in its jagged point. It was the point I’d been trying to reach. I wanted to see how bad it was, how long it lasted, and if it came with any side effects.
After I’d accidentally spilled the secret, Weston hadn’t exploded at me like before. He’d gone a steely sort of silent. He wouldn’t eat with me and hadn’t slept with me, instead staying curled up in wolf form a few feet away to guard me, but keeping his distance. The only thing he’d said was he was glad I was safe but disappointed I hadn’t stuck to our agreement.
Disappointed.
It had fucking killed me to hear him say that. He was a man with great integrity, who’d gone against his better judgment to trust me, and I’d been the one to renege on the bargain.
Worse still was his absence in my daily life. I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed his presence—how comfortable I’d grown in his proximity—or how much I looked forward to sharing a meal with him or sliding into his arms after a hard day of travel. I had missed his soft good-nights and murmured good-mornings, his sweet kisses and the way he looked into my eyes. Most of all, I’d missed the idle chatter and light banter we shared. It had only been two days, but it had felt like a lifetime without someone I’d come to think of as not just a lover, but a friend.
My apology had been heartfelt. I might’ve cried a little. He’d forgiven me immediately without a single word about consequences if I did it again. He hadn’t needed to.
Now I lay on my side facing him upon the cot, taking in his handsome face as the emberflies drifted overhead. At this point in our journey, there were just as many in our camp every night as there had been in the village. Everyone thought it was very cool. I just thought it was comfortable.
His eyes opened slowly, as though he’d felt my gaze.
“Hey,” he said quietly, watching me watch him. “You okay?”
“Yes.” I reached up to lightly trace the curve of his bottom lip. “I still have cravings. It’s funny—my brain is thinking, ‘why don’t you try that hallucinogen again, that was fun.’ And while it was fun—mostly—I’ve done it a million times before. I’ve never had that thought. The chemical is telling me to do it again, and my brain is bending it to make it about the product. Nowhere does the sickness enter my mind.” I turned my hand, letting my thumb run along the stubble of his chin. “It’s dangerous. Which, I know, is what you’ve been saying from the beginning.”
“Can I help at all?”
I shook my head, now running my finger along his brow line and then down the bridge of his thin, straight nose.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, continuing on my mission to learn as much about him as he knew about me. Part of me wanted to see if these incredible feelings for him would continue to grow, and the other part of me was just curious to know more about him.
“Fuchsia.”
I crinkled my nose. “Fuchsia? As in . . . hot pink?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that a little—I don’t know, loud?”
“Very loud.” He kissed the tip of my finger as I let it drift past his lips. “In my job, which spills over into my personal life on a regular basis, I have to stay reserved. I can’t react too much or show extreme emotions. I can’t laugh too hard—or much at all, really—or cry. I can’t show strong anger and definitely no weakness. I must always maintain control of myself so that the pack knows I maintain control of my leadership. That denotes safety. It means I’m holding us together, and if we are unified, we are better protected. Do you see?”
“And so you choose little ways to step outside of a controlled, reserved life?”
“Yes.”
“Loudly anger-fucking me in the trees does not speak of a controlled, reserved life.”
“You are the exception.”